#also i need you to know i wrote all this with a crab keeping me company 💜

[nebulein]

omg your collar snippet was SO GOOD!!! i am desperate to know more! had jonny ever tried to wear a collar before pat? i'm guessing he hasn't explained all of the internal angst to pat, so for pat it's just a little quirk of jonny's, and he doesn't really mind? but for jonny it's this huge foundational thing that is crushing him in self-doubt and loathing 😭😭😭

when pat realizes what this means to jonny will he:

a) come hell or high water find a collar or collar substitute that jonny can wear

or

b) make it his personal mission to disabuse jonny of the notion that there could ever be anything wrong with him and show him how little the collar matters to him

or both!

Aw, thank you so much 😊

I don't think Jonny tried wearing a collar before Pat, or he wouldn't have been so surprised at his own violent reaction to it. Then again a lot of his reaction is colored by what he went through his rookie years, constantly feeling nauseous and his body essentially giving out on him in the playoffs (I get very emotional when I remember that it's canon 🥲). So I think at most he's tried one on maybe when he was young, like in his teens, just to see what it was like, horsing around with friends, and it was fine. It didn't mean anything. But with Pat, whoo boy, hell yeah it means something.

Jonny's also someone who doesn't share when he's feeling crappy (the bigger the thing the less words he'll lose about it), so I think Pat doesn't realize the extent of what's wrong until he really makes Jonny sit down and talk to him about it.

We've discussed a couple of the collar alternatives in the the other posts, so let's say in this verse Pat tries to offer some suggestions for alternatives but they all get rejected by Jonny. If he can't wear a collar, he doesn't want a substitute bracelet. It's not the same thing, Pat, and Jonny's not in the habit for settling for second best. If he can't have a collar, he'll tough it out without one.

Which means of course that Pat will have to make it his personal mission to get it into Jonny's thick (omg so thick 😂) skull that he loves Jonny no matter what and ffs Jonny is not 'failing at being an omega' (that's admittedly the tougher one of the two). I think that'll probably take a lot of reassurances, both verbal and physical, not just from Pat but also from Seabs and Sharpy and Jonny's family, maybe even some therapy on Jonny's side, working through those issues on the road to accepting himself.

And it's not always gonna be smooth sailing. There's gonna be the patches where Jonny's hung up on something like wearing a tie for a photoshoot and Pat's like "not this again", where they snap at each other over the kitchen counter and go to bed angry, their patience with each other thoroughly exhausted. There's gonna be setbacks, even years down the road, like Jonny seeing Dylan collar his girlfriend and leaving the ceremony because he suddenly needs some fresh air. But eventually Jonny's bare collar stops being a story and he's still the captain of the Hawks and Pat's his alpha, no matter what anyone else says. And you know what? I think they'll be okay.

Also, as a friend of mine pointed out: have they considered perhaps wedding rings instead

Which LMAO d'uhhhhh yeah okay maybe they'll just go that route, once it occurs to them. Maybe they, too, like me, need a friend to point it out first. Idiots (all of us) 😂

[lady-ashfade]

Yandere Daemon Targaryen x Lannister reader. HC’s.

Request by anon: How about a spoiled Lannister Darling with yandere Daemon she has this man wrapped around her fingers also he leaves her during the war with crab feeders and she's super mad so he has to grovel after getting back.

Notes: So I’ve never done a romantic daemon before, and i honestly never thought I would was. But this request had me interested. So forgive me if it’s bad. Also this was the same plot but also different. I tried not to make it go over the top. But this was so fun to make.

Taglist: @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @second-try-stevie @prettyinblack231

Warnings: A bit of suggestions themes, yandere tendencies, the reader is constant in everything, daemon being a simp. Might be poor edited since it’s late.

Lets go back to where it all started. When the young lioness and dragon first met.

Givin your family’s high station you were welcome to the castle for some occasions.

You grew up with a wealthy family who spoiled you to no extent and as time went on you got used to it and demanded it. From the most beautiful dresses to jewelry to your own horses and carriages.

When you went to the castle you found a prince there who was only a few years older then you. You how you acted like you didn’t really care for him and that made the boy grow angry.

No one ever ignored him. He was a prince and every girl threw themselves at his feet begging to just have him give her a bit of attention. You were different. 

He had to get your attention somehow. Maybe fighting someone in front of you, or going up to you and starting conversation. As he keep reappearing you gave less and less interest and appeared bored. This made his mind scream to just have your attention. That’s where his obsession started.

When you had to leave his poor heart ached and even tried to talk people into having you stay. But you had to go back home with your family. He made one final gesture before you lefted.

He new you went on walks in the gardens each morning for some fresh air. He knew what you did at every point in the day. So he was waiting for you there. He had a necklace made just for you with a dragon on it, even a dark horse waiting by him. He was always over dramatic.

“I hope this is to your liking.”

And it was . You always wanted his attention and were attracted to him when you first laid eyes on him. But you knew how to play games on men, you always had them fight over you so you grew to study them. And of course gifts were always the way to your heart.

“She is a beauty.” You replied and walked up the horse ignoring him as you pet her. “Would you put it on me.” You asked moving your hair out of the way. He felt a wave of thrill at your words. He did and stood so close to you. The way you breathed, smelled like the freshest flowers and your soft skin. He needed you.

Turning to look at him to stare up at him with playful but innocent eyes. “Thank you.” And then you had the boys heart stop by placing a kiss on his cheek. Of course the boy has done more then this with whores but this was something knew. This was love. And it was you.

You walked away from the him and he just watched you. His smirk and heart raised because he knew one thing. Sooner of later you will be his. Because he knew that you were meant to be his by fate.

A few years of not seeing each other, only at name days and by letters. He sent them but you rarely replied but you read each and every one of them and even kept them all under your bed. Just by the way he spoke and wrote you could tell you had the boy fallen for you.

He sent jewelry and dresses. Anything he could find it was at your door in less then a week. You didn’t do much but when you did it was subtle. Like spraying perfume on the letters to make them smell like you, or praising him just a bit, or talking about things he enjoyed. 

He took you one dragon back as much as he could but you refused knowing it would give him to much pride. But you did love petting the dragon and spend time with them both. And on his 17 name day you shared your first kiss.

Of course as years passed and he begged his brother to marry you but to his wishes it wasn’t. After a few mouths of being married he received a letter from you telling him your sadness and regrets. Saying how you wished you had been asked. And that was the icing on the cake for daemon.

He killed his wife just at the thought of it pleasing you.

But when he came to visit late and night you both confessed you feeling and shared a loving night together. He was willing to give you everything. And he did. He couldn’t refuse you. He was willing to do anything you you asked. Anything. 

You two wedded a few mouths later and his brother even hosted the wedding. He was suspicious that daemon did something but at least he didn’t have to worry about him doing the same thing to you. And to Viserys you were important because he knew daemon would do anything you tell him to. And that’s useful but also a weakness.

years went on and he still treated you with the same love and obsession as it always did. But it came with other traits. You started to notice less time spent alone but that wasn’t a problem, but any man you spoke with would be found dead. Or how you saw daemon close by at any point, standing over you like some guard dog.

But know you were spoiled by not only your family but him. Any fight you to had he was sleeping on the floor and he had to beg you to forgive him and also gifts and lots of them. And you can make them anything you want…even physical if you wanted.

When you got pregnant the man literally never left your side. He never was really keen on being a father but now he was over joyed at the thought of your kids. And you being his his child. Man wouldn’t let you have a moment alone unless you wanted something far, like a fruit that grow across the seas and is only sold there. Don’t worry he will be back by the morning.

You need to use the bathroom? He will be staying as close as he can or out the door, need your feet and body rubbed? No problem he can help. He always had a hand on you to keep you safe. Once a servant got your food wrong and you cried about it…they are now dead.

You had one child before he was off to go off to war…And let’s just say you didn’t like that idea. You yelled at him and begged him not to leave you but he did say it was better so he could protect you. He had to think about your last words to him the entire time he was fighting.

“If you leave I might not let you back into mine, or our sons lives.”

He knew there would be hell to pay.

When daemon finally did come back he wasn’t aloud in your courtiers. In fact he had his own room with his stuff moved into it and everything was dusty. He noticed all the gifts he gave you from a long time ago, each letter that was sent and then the first necklace he had gotten you.

He would scream to be let in while you were with your son. But after a while the screams came to a end but that doesn’t mean he is done. He knew you wanted him to claw his way back and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

When night finally came after two days of not seeing him he killed the guards outside your room and entered. “My heart please.” You rolled your eyes and continued to read a book acting as though he was not there. “My love.” His voice begging you to look at him. Anything.

“Please. Yell or scream, do anything you wish but just look at me. I can not bare having you hate me so. Every day it is you who I think about constantly and it is you who I live for. Please just let me make my way back to you.” He was now in front of you on his knees with begging eyes.

And for the first time in years he saw your eyes. “And tell me how you plan on making your way back to me?” Shutting the book. “I have been alone raising our son and having to wonder if my husband is dead. At some point I quit caring and you know you deserve nothing from me.” He groaned when you took his face into your hands at a hard grip.

“Tell me why you deserve to be at my side?. And I hope you didn’t come empty handed or this is the last time you feel my touch.” The way your fingers crushes his cheeks was just so intoxicating to him. And he knew you were right.

Daemon was never one to submit to anyone but for you he was always soft. “I have come with a crown my brother let me keep it. Anything you want from here on at I will do. I have twenty ships full of jewels and dress, and fruits and more. I have found three dragons eggs for our son and maybe more to hatch. I will be your humble servant for the rest of my days, begging night and day just to be at your side.” His eyes never leaving yours as he stared up at you. So honest and truthful.

You missed your husband dearly but after leaving you, you just couldn’t let him come back so easily but his offer sounded good enough to you.

“That’s good because I like you begging. You’ll do it every morning and night just like you said.”

A lioness couldn’t help but play with her prey. And the prey loved every minute of it.

[powderblueblood]

How about Lacy finding Eddie's writing? 🤭

need you to imagine me listening to a fifth of beethoven from the saturday night fever soundtrack whilst writing this because i became insane and filled it with Clues.............

it's like trying to understand the fucking zodiac killer.

it's all codes and ciphers and scrawls and-- well, she thought she might have been reading that one upside down but it's actually indecipherable any way you twist it.

and it's not like any of it is even written on paper either. torn open cigarette packs, napkins, burger wrappers from the diner. one time a leaf.

because eddie's not like lacy in the way she keeps a journal but eddie's like lacy in that if he's roundhoused with a thought that he needs to remember, he's got to write it down now immediately pronto on any available surface.

which is pretty pointless, since he keeps losing all this garbage and she has to pick it up after him.

she bears over the spread of scraps like an fbi agent, palms braced to the table. there's a thread here, but she can't quite untangle it. she's staring at a pile of shit that says shit like

crabs incident-- bruised like a peach worth biting-- violet like violence??

red tights. tingly. carnelian little carnivore.

track two. treasure.

persephone's hall pass.

seventh grade & as many minutes in limbo. shoulda ripped off band aid.

mage in a mink coat.

well, that last one--

"you dumpster diving now? hard times."

fuck! fuck. told you, rat blood. appearing out of nowhere with no noise no notice to then become the loudest thing in the room. he's like thunderclap, this fucko, like a spontaneous combustion.

he also doesn't even recognize his own handwriting, seems like. she blushes, furious. doesn't know why.

"community service. they have me picking up the trailer trash's trailer trash."

"snitty!" he shoves the bag of chips he's holding at her--an offering, he can't do anything normal around her--and reaches for one of the scraps. lacy watches him like a scientist watching a guinea pig for brain activity-- and his eyes go all wide and panicky. "wait."

"eddie-- hey!" but he's scrambling now, going for all the little pieces of writing she'd been trying to arrange on the table like a pointless puzzle. "don't--"

"where'd you get all this shit, huh?! going through my pockets now, is that it? like a cop?"

"i-- hey, don't you fucking dare-- look, you shed!"

"i shed?"

"you shed. you've got shit falling out of that stupid, enormous nerd binder every goddamn day because you just shove shit in there and don't organize anything, and i wasn't gonna stand around and let you just litter everywhere and--" now it's her turn to be like. wait. crosses her arms, eyes narrow, she's mother superior serving nailed ya bitch. "--why are you all skittish?"

"huh?"

"it's just-- trash, right?" she snatches a burger wrapper out of his grasp. oh this is delish.

"yeah," he grabs, but she's holding it behind her back and god her face is like stupid smirky, "but it's my trash. my--giveit--private... trash."

eddie munson is blushing.

"who's the mage?"

"the fucking.... the what?"

little crinkle as she unfolds a piece torn off a brown paper bag. "mage in a mink coat. who's that?"

"nobody."

"i have a mink coat."

"oh. does that really say mage? 'coz it should say mange." he's such an asshole. she's grinning so wide.

everyone says revenge is a dish best served cold but she bets she could use eddie munson's cheeks as a hotplate and eat right off 'em. it'd taste so much better. lobster bisque. filet mignon. michelin star.

"have you been writing about me, munson?"

his face is all stone-set, mouth all i can't fucking believe this and eyes all i'd cut the brake lines in her van if she wasn't the one scamming rides off me all the time. "li'l miss my life is incomplete without eddie munson wants to talk?"

"called you a neanderthal in the next sentence. don't forget that."

"you're such a beastie."

"carnelian little carnivore, you wrote."

"what makes you so sure it's all about you, huh?"

"context clues."

he glances down. she is, in fact, wearing the aforementioned tingly-feeling-inspiring red tights again today. shit.

"what happened in seventh grade?" she's pointing to the scrap in his hand, one he's managed to keep out of her snatchy little fingers.

she doesn't remember anything significant about seventh grade. but he does, and a knot tightens in his chest and he's about to lie and say something crass about my fist, a stopwatch and a view of you from underneath the bleachers at cheerleading practice-- then final bell rings.

"that is for me to know--"

"--and for me to die ignorant?" she's an active listener.

"precisely, you wench. now get the fuck outta here, i got hellfire."

lacy leaves the scraps.

"i will find out, y'know."

he knows. "you're like a bitch with a bone that way."

"the bitchiest."

[hanayori89]

🌻 Hello all- I just wrote this little one (two it’s a two) shot. My mother recently passed away on 1/24. My existence feels hollow. Writing is the only thing keeping me grounded, the only thing that makes me feel like myself when I feel I don’t know who I am. When you read this little works you’re supporting not just a writer- but a grieving human. Thank you 🌻❤️

A Little Too Not Over You

“Hey, watch it!”

A rotund woman ran into you, causing you to ricochet backward and stumble off the curb. You watched as she stopped, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet. The sheer trace of her underwear beneath her shoddy dress told you she wasn't wearing much else beneath it. She continued forward, hurriedly crab-walking as she winced from her seismic thighs slapping together.

You grimaced, feeling the phantom sting of chafing between your own thighs.

"Hurry! Someone said he was down here!"

The racket of charging feet stomping against the pavement made you duck for cover.

"SQUEE!!!!"

You watched from behind an empty stall as a throng of rowdy, jubilant women of all ages, shapes, and colors came stampeding down the street.

"For Din's sake..." You muttered in disbelief.

Today was the biggest delivery day of the month, and your cargo now sat, ripped and dented from the abuse of hordes of running feet. After you discerned the coast was clear of all signs of estrogen besides your own, you ran toward your box and retrieved it. You squinted as you read the delivery address on the mottled label.

Bombchu Bowling Alley.

You hoisted the precious cargo on your shoulder, relieved that it would be your last delivery of the day. On an average workday, Castle Town never took you nearly as long as it did today. But whatever had the citizens in a tizzy also threw your schedule into the same energy of disarray.

You glanced upward, admiring the way the dark dusk clouds patted down what little light of the sun remained. The drawbridge that connected Castle Town to Hyrule Field would soon close, blocking any visitors from leaving or entering.

With that thought in mind, you scurried down to the Bombchu Bowling Alley, relieved that with the promise of night came the promise of the end of your shift.

🧚

"Well, I'll be. Are you actually awake during your shift?" You greeted your friend, Ally, the clerk who ran Bombchu Bowling.

She gave you a wistful sigh. "If I actually had customers, I wouldn't be over here falling asleep." She jumped over the counter; her magenta pinstriped crop top revealed her chiseled abs, which came as a surprise considering she seemed to sleep for a living.

"Got my goods?"

"Got my money?"

Ally fluttered her caked lashes at you in amusement. "Always right to the point." She reached into her pocket, fishing out the rupees she owed you. "You really saved my hide doing this freight business; your costs are much cheaper than those of Lon Lon."

"Well, I won't talk ill of Malon; we are friends after all. But she has her hands full these days and running a farm ain't cheap. Besides, I love to explore Hyrule. Especially since-" You stopped yourself from saying it.

The words seemed to be obnoxious and loud, despite not leaving your mouth. "He's never once come back to see you?"

"He's a hero now. Why would he?" Your voice rose as your wounded ego flared. "Besides, I have my business and my life now. I appreciate the time we spent as kids and what he's done for Hyrule, but I've moved on, and I'm sure he has too."

"Have you, though?"

Your mouth shot open in protest. "What's that supposed to mean?" You didn't need to prove to Ally or anyone that you were over Link.

So, what if you saw his stupid face every night for seven years since he left?

Or that you sometimes sat outside of the Kokiri woods by the tree you both met.

Or the fact that every date you've ever been on always left you empty because no one seemed to compare.

So, what?

"Y/N," Ally said your name as if she were a medic about to tell you that you had a terminal illness. The empathy in her voice was present, albeit earnest. "Did you see the crowds gathering today?"

You nodded. "How in Hylia could I not see them? It would be like not seeing King Jabu Jabu in Zora's Domain. I almost got run over! This one woman-"

"He's come home."

"He?"

"The Hero...er- Link, he's returned. He's here, in Castletown."

"Link? Link has come back?"

Her eyebrows rose in concern as you let out a bitter laugh.

"Y/N-"

"So, Link has come home? That's what those females were fussing over? How pathetic." The venom that coursed through your veins over Link's abandonment somehow didn't manage to overshadow your curiosity as to what he looked like after all this time. You stopped entertaining the thought. "They can have him and all the tears they'll cry when he leaves them too."

You left Ally standing there with her unopened order. You walked towards the door, your throat raw with the taste of acid. "Let me know if there's any issue with your order. Have a good night."

You didn't bother to look her way as you slammed the door shut behind you.

Link had returned.

So, what?

🧚🏿

"Why are you crying?"

A boy with eyes haunted by unwelcome duty ran past you. He turned toward you, surprised, as you revealed yourself from behind a tree.

"Why are you sad? Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

“I'm supposed to go meet Princess Zelda. But I won't make it. I'm going to die."

You tilted your head at the boy's assured declaration. "How are you so sure you're going to die?"

"Look at me! I am a Kokiri! If we leave the forest, I'll die! That's why Saria looked so sad. She must have known she'd never see me again. She must have known..."

You walked up to the sullen boy swathed in green. Drawing your arm back, you walloped him in the shoulder.

"HEY!" He growled.

You began to laugh hysterically. "Silly forest boy, if you were dead, that wouldn't have hurt. There is no pain after death."

He began to begrudgingly blink with recognition. "So then, it's true. I am not one of them after all. I am not a Kokiri." His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Apparently not because you're very much alive."

He looked at you. "I must go to the princess." He didn't ask you to escort him, but something in the way he spoke made you silently understand that you were to accompany him.

"Come on, I'll take you as far as I can."

"Thank you."

You both traversed Hyrule Field together with chatter that had such ease it caused time to pass with lamentable haste. As you approached the drawbridge that led to Castle Town, you could feel the boy's aquamarine eyes overtly examining you.

You gave him a playful side-eye. "Don't go falling in love over there."

Little did you know, you would eat those words for seven years straight.

🧚🏽

"Wait! Hey, Wait!"

Two guards stood; their gargantuan helmets eclipsed their vision but left their prickly and soured lips on display. They ignored your begging and continued to crank the bridge upward; the hinges were in desperate need of lube to ease the egregious grinding sound that filled the air.

"Wait! I need to leave! My cargo wagon is outside!"

One of the guards looked at you and scoffed. "Rules are rules, little miss. This bridge closes at 7 p.m., as it always has for years. You know better."

You stomped your foot. "It's 6:58! If you're not going to let me leave, then I fully expect to be compensated with a room at an inn since you cannot be so kind as to let me pass."

Both of the guards exchanged glances and began to laugh.

The guard that had ridiculed you earlier now walked up to you, dipping his head close to your ear. "I can make an exception if you do something for me." His gruff, come-hither voice made your ovaries revolt in disgust.

He crept his fingers along your shoulder, resting them on the thin cotton of your sleeve and slowly pulling it down.

"I would rather mate with a goron." You felt a collection of foamy saliva sit at the base of your throat. With an uncouth gurgle, you spat in the guard's face as a Deku shrub would shoot a nut.

"You little-"

An arm dressed in a gilded gauntlet slithered around the guard's neck, wrapping him in a chokehold. You couldn't see the face of the man who intervened, but you caught glimpses of green fabric behind the guard's body. The color reminiscent of a vast forest and the special boy who hails from its verdant haven.

"What's your ID number?" The voice's curt command wasn't enough to hide its feathery resonance or the way it made your core pool with warmth.

The guard fumbled beneath the unforgiving grasp of his captor, his voice escaping in hoarse spurts. "7..."

"7 what?" The man's muscles swelled as he wrapped his arm around the guard's neck tighter.

"7...5...2...7." Satisfied by this response, you watched as the guard was disregarded and thrown to the ground.

"I'll be sure to speak with the princess in the morning, 7527. It would behoove you to leave the premises at once. Now get out of my sight."

The other guard squealed from behind. "Ach! "It's him! Let's get out of here."

Your eyes slowly wandered to the man before you.

'Him.'

The shadows that hung beneath his eyes were the perfect accessory to the familiar glint of unwelcome responsibility that had remained in his eyes all these years. His lips tugged upward, and an insecure smile seeped cheek to cheek, transforming his aged face into that of the youth you had fallen in love with years ago.

"Hello, Y/N."

You stood there, as if you were staring at Dampe's ghost, which would be a lot more palatable than Link standing before you as a grown man.

A grown man.

You felt your flesh incinerate as you observed the chapped and gargantuan hands beneath the gauntlets. Your eyes stalled on the flashes of muscle that couldn't be hidden beneath his padded gambeson or his tunic.

You could hear a soft chuckle as he realized he had rendered you speechless. He reached upward, pulling off his signature green hat and setting free a wave of long, silky blond tresses. "Have I aged so terribly that you cannot possibly find the words?" For as much as your gaze seemed to procrastinate on certain areas of his body, it was incomparable to the way Link's eyes refused to move away from your own. His Adam's apple bulged, shimmying down his throat as he took a deep breath. "The passage of time is usually cruel, but it relieves me to see how incredibly kind it has been to you."

He took a few steps toward you, desperate for your acknowledgement. After another minute of silence, you reached your hand forward. Link mirrored you, lifting his hand upward in an attempt to gently place his fingertips against your own, as if you were his reflection. The romantic gesture was severed thanks to your hand plunging forth and latching onto one of the shiny gray hoops that swung from his ears.

"Farore! You pierced your ears?"

You could make out a little droplet of sweat trailing down his jaw as he released a nervous laugh. "That's it? It's been seven years, and that's what you noticed about me?"

You folded your arms. " It's not my fault; it's been seven years, Link. Oh, forgive me, do you still go by 'Link?"

He frowned. "You're right, Y/N. You're absolutely right. I cannot say anything that will mend the rift of time between us. But" He got down on his knee and held your hand, your delicate fingers resting in between his firm grasp, weakening your resolve.

"The bridge is closed for the night. Give me just tonight to try. Please."

"Fine." You surrendered. You were going to humor Link. But it was not to appease his own guilt over his absence.

No, it was to prove to yourself that you were over him.

But if you truly were, then why did you need to prove it?

🧚🏾

                                             

Edited: 2/1/24

[dearlyfictitious2]

Prompt #2

Physical description of Pallas

I was a little hesitant posting this, but seeing Rick Riordan announcing the newest PJO installment got me all excited.

Also, someone recently wrote really kind feedback and gave me the little push I needed to post this :)

Enjoy this non-beta'd drabble of mine.

"What was she like?"

Triton was wholly unprepared for that sentence to be uttered from Perseus' mouth. Even without mentioning who 'she' was, he knew exactly who he was talking about.

They were currently lounging in the recently repaired basking grounds and laying on velvety soft seagrass and moss covered slabs of stone. Their day had started off relatively slow, and they needed no other prompting in keeping it that way. Tranquil relaxation time wasn't something he normally indulged himself in, but with said company, he found himself bending to his whims more often than not.

Triton propped himself up on his elbow and grabbed a crab puff from a plate near them.

"Who Perseus?" It wouldn't hurt to confirm his suspicions.

His demigod brother looked surprised that he even responded in the first place, his shimmering tails twisted around each other in a display of nervousness before settling down again around him.

"Your daughter Pallas. She was a nymph right?"

Triton stared at the treat between his webbed fingers and let himself drift softly in a stream of bittersweet memories.

"Yes, she was."

...

Pallas was almost always depicted to have looked similar to Athena.

The very thought of that grated against his nerves, but he wasn't one to publicly lament his longstanding miseries so unfortunately for the records, that's all they had to go on.

His Pallas didn't resemble her at all.

She was quite the anomaly amongst her fellow nymphs. She was very loud and outspoken. Standing as tall as a cyclops and just as strong as one, with a ruddy face, and muscular limbs and torso; she looked more like a giant than a naiad. She had dark brown hair that was braided down her back, was dressed in furs and skins, and a spear was almost always in her hands.

Her very presence was an enigma.

But to him, she was perfect.

She was born to him and a dying nymph in his lake, he was passing through his forest when he heard a soft prayer spoken to him. He followed the source of the weak voice to the edge of the coast and he saw a grievously wounded naiad barely holding on to the remainder of her life. He had little care of what had caused such injury, but she was one of the most dutiful caretakers of his lands; the least he could do was hear out her final plea.

The naiad cried that she'd always wanted a child and begged her lord to sire one from her.

Even then it had been a strange request, but one he had no reason to turn down. He agreed and as she took her final breath, he gathered her fading remains and spilled his godly seed into the lake, he took great care mixing their essences until a rich foamy lather frothed vigorously upon the surface of the lake.

He remembered waiting patiently on the banks, he was curious to see what would spring forth from their unorthodox union. And when he saw a round dimpled face framed with chocolate brown hair finally emerge from his waters...

It was love at first sight.

...

Triton sighed softly and let the rest of the memory pass through him. He looked towards his demigod brother and saw that he was waiting for him to elaborate.

"She didn't look like your typical naiad, she was very large, so much so that I had to crane my neck to look her in the eyes."

"Really?"

"Yes. She was also very loud, much like our Father. She had my eyes too."

Perseus leaned in with rapt interest, his swaying duo dorsal fins betraying his eagerness.

"Were you and her mom close?"

Triton actually snorted, "Close? I don't even know her name. In fact, I barely even knew she existed until the day Pallas was conceived and born." at his brother's puzzled expression, he added "Does it bother you?"

Percy curved his tails around himself and leaned his head and arms on them, "Not really. I just wasn't expecting that from you."

Triton shrugged his shoulders, "As you might put it: it is what it is. Although, it seems you have something much more pressing you want to ask."

His brother scrunched his face, "Like, don't get me wrong here, and I want as little personal details as possible, but how was she conceived and born on the same day?"

"Oh, that. It's quite an interesting tale, with little to no 'personal details' at all." he added with a slight smile.

"Okay I'll bite. Will you tell me the story?"

"Yes of course. It all took place many eons ago on one of the islands residing in my lake....."

Both sea Princes spent the rest of the day enjoying each other's company while exchanging stories of the past.

I hope you guys like my take on Pallas and her conception. I feel like Triton would be the type of being to spawn his offspring just like salmon and frogs do. Lol, like, he barely knew her and she was already dying, so he doesn't really wanna touchy!

[tamlinsimp]

Summer Court Visit

Rhysand wrote a letter to the HL of Summer Court and got honored with an invitation as a response. Given the rebuilding, healing, and tension from UTM, you would think Rhysand would approach other HLs in a delicate manner. So, here he was pretending he wanted to form some civility w/Summer, only with the actual goal of Feyre stealing the book. Tarquin eventually asked Feyre what her position was in Rhysand’s Court. The conversation led to Cresseida stating that it was an ACTUAL LAW in Prythian to not steal a HL’s bride or wife,  “What a relief, then,” Cresseida said, sipping from her white wine before cracking a large crab claw, pink and white and orange. “To know we are not harboring a stolen bride--and that we need not bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep.” Amren had done utterly still.  “I left of my own free will,” I said. “And no one is my master.” Cresseida shrugged. “Think that all you want, lady, but the law is the law. You are--were his bride. Swearing fealty to another High Lord does not change that. So it is a very good thing that he respects your decisions. Otherwise, all it would take would be one letter from him to Tarquin, requesting your return, and we would have to obey. Or risk war ourselves.”  Here is incompetent Rhysand (yes, at this very moment, he’s made multiple idiotic decisions as a HL that makes him incompetent) bringing in another HL’s bride, without any sort of communication or confirmation from Tamlin that he understood Feyre decided to leave for good, to another court -- breaking a law that actually existed in Prythian. And Cassian warned him of this, “Feyre, though. It’s one thing to have her here--even when everyone knows it. It’s another to bring her to a different court, and introduce her as a member of our own.” Why? Why didn’t Rhysand listen to his general who seem to have thought about repurcussions of bringing Feyre to Summer? Oh, that’s right. It’s because 1.) he needed to use Feyre to earn Tarquin’s trust and get him to open up about the whereabouts of the book, and 2.) he needed to use her to find and steal the book. Like, why doesn’t he explain how dire the situation is, ask Tarquin for the book, and go from there to prevent as much conflict as possible without complicating foreign relations? You know, act like an actual HL/political figure w/diplomacy. Why doesn’t he give Tarquin a choice? Is it the possibility of him saying no that initiated a forceful and deceitful method then? Sounds just like how he supposedly gave the Mortal Queens a choice to work with them, only to have Azriel find a way to infiltrate them before they could even make a decision. 

And then, we have Rhysand threatening to kill anybody who informs Tamlin of him bringing Feyre to Summer Court,  “We all made sacrifices,” Rhysand said, the icy boredhom now shifting into something razor-sharp. “And you now sit at this table with your family because of the ones Feyre made. So you will forgive me, Tarquin, if I tell your princess that if she sends work to Tamlin, or if any of your people try to bring her to him, their lives will be forfeit.”

WUT. First, all of them are free because Tamlin killed Amarantha. Again, Feyre came with one intention and that was to free Tamlin. Not to save all of Prythian, just Tamlin and his court. I cannot stand how the IC continuously make it seem like Feyre wanted to save all of Prythian. They also use this to sway other HLs to favor their decisions. Next, now he’s telling them to break a law that HLs have gone to war for? I know he didn’t go there with the intention of actually building a good relationship with Tarquin, but if I were Tarquin, I would have kicked him and his d/amn posse out after this. How does he get away with these? If SJM followed the rule of her own story, Rhysand would face consequences. He broke several laws by now, running around doing whatever the f he wanted, but he doesn’t. And don’t even get me started with well he broke the mysoginistic laws of Prythian by making her High Lady when there has never been one, but what of the illyrian women and those who are born as dreamers in Hewn City?  I’ve had people argue that he cannot do anything about them because of some “law” well Rhysand is breaking every other law anyway, so start there. Break that ancient law for them. Break them when it actually matters to break them. Do something for the oppressed citizens in your court that you oversee.  The story not only ignores his reckless and foolish decisions, it uses them to vilify Tamlin later on when he aligns w/Hybern to ****save SC from bloodshed**** and get Feyre back. You mean to tell me, this whole time, he could have rallied all the other courts to go to war against the NC to get Feyre back? Imagine that. 

[hideyseek]

✅🧠 for the emoji asks please! (haiji and/or kakeru for the brain? :3c)

craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaab thank you!! MWAH i'll answer for both of them hehehehehe :3 omg this got so long i am putting it under a cut ahahah

from these fanfic writer emoji asks

✅ What’s something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don’t mean to?

phone calls omg its 100% phone calls. (this tone is bc i went: uhhh i don't know?? for like four sentences and then realized i'm obsessed with cell phones in fic and felt a great surge of relief.) i loooooooooove the intimacy of not being able to see the person you're talking to on the phone but having their voice even closer to you than their voice would be in-person. i love the confessional, time-delay nature of voicemails!

i don't know if this is really like ... a thing that appears over and over but i know it appears ... more than once? i do wish i had the kind of relationship to the content of my writing that meant i could identify these kinds of parallels but also i suspect i would drive myself up a wall going 'wait this fic is the same fic as the last fic you wrote hidey you gotta make it different somehow?' (which: no this is not actually required, but i personally would feel like it was) so maybe it's better that i'm not. i do wish i had a sense of like, my core aesthetics or writerly interests or whatever though!

🧠 Pick a character, and I’ll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

CRAB ILY. I ROTATE THESE GUYS IN MY HEAD SO MUCH EVERYDAY.

haiji - my favorite favorite headcanon about haiji is he is failing all of his university classes. to me he majored in literature bc he enjoys it or is compelled by the power of language or something. but like, he starts skipping a few lectures because he spent the morning putting together the training plan for the week or making breakfast and there's no point in going if he hasn't done the reading, and then he never manages to do the reading and it spirals from there. in my mind, he just ... stops going to classes at some point during the training season for the ekiden, and just never started up again until he blinks and it's the end of the winter holiday and he's completely screwed. my second favorite headcanon is that he has a super fucked up complicated relationship with sex and slept with a lot of his upperclassmen his first few years of college.

kakeru - hmm i don't know if i have a favorite one for kakeru but i really really like the idea that after canon, for all three of the other times he runs in the Hakone ekiden he always runs Section 10. and that after college when he's an established professional runner he volunteers with the organizers of the Hakone ekiden as a broadcaster or one of the guys that jogs along and hands out water or stands at the finish line and lets go of the ribbon at exactly the right time when the runner comes through.

ok also as a bonus i actually DO have so many headcanons about fujioka bc i keep making him be important in my fanfictions. and my favorite one i've made up (which is so consistent across the fics it's basically canon to me lol) is that he's raised by a single mom. this is because i need haiji's dad to have been a critical father figure to fujioka in high school, so that haiji and fujioka's friendship can be affected by that. ahahahahaha :3

[lennjamin-o7]

🌯🗡️ anon here! I just finished my 5th reread of the chap and let me tell you it was absolutely delicious. I do love me some dadza and techno interaction and this chap was so FULL of it! God I don't know where to start, dadza being all cunning while leading Tech into the realisation that like he knows about chat before giving him a hug. I love how he's like all calm and like being all devious while doing it but i can just imagine the absolute crab rave going on in his head about getting a hug from his new sonboy! Phil: hugging techno all sneaky while chat is rioting Tech: wraps an arm further around Phil so chat calms down more / subconsciously seeking comfort Phil mentally: !!!! SON!!!! YESS!!!!!! Phil outwards: Ah yes just as I planned Oh and also the talks about royalty they had with each other Techno: "Yea I don't really like the whole vibes of royalty" Phil: slowly sliding away a crown he had made for his new baby Phil: "That's nice m8" (Can you tell i love their dynamic yet lmao) Oh also that scene with Tommy and Techno bickering about braiding the hair was so good! I love that like this is all part of Phil's plan if you get what I mean, let Wil and Tommy continue to be a bit overbearing so that Techno is kinda forced to take refuge with him but you can also see how like there's very clearly gonna be a war eventually about who becomes Techno's favourite in the family! Purely gonna be Wil and Tommy going for each others throats meanwhile Phil has stolen Tech away in the scuffle and is now having some very nice bonding time talking about war strategies or something! Oh also! The carriage!! Techno is not gonna do well in such close proximity to his two goblin brothers for god knows how long I wouldn't blame him if he just starts trying to wreck shit. Like a family road trip with a bit of bonding time between Techno going absolutely feral and just being a complete demon for them the whole trip. Phil and Tommy at like a checkpoint talking to the guards for whatever reason while leaving Wil to watch Tech in the car Guard: "Uhh I'm sorry but is he gonna be ok?" Phil: looks at the carriage and see's Techno absolutely mauling Wil Phil: "Yea he probably did something to deserve it" Tommy: all jealous because Wil got to hang out with Tech or for whatever reason all the royals have to leave Tech unattended in the carriage for a bit Wil: "Dad how do you think Tech's doing in the carriage, you sure he's not gonna escape again" Phil: "M8 he's been watching us from the window this whole time" Techno: 👁️👁️ Tommy: "Why is he watching us instead of trying to escape, that's what he usually does" Phil: locked Tech in the carriage Phil: "He's probably finally settling in :)" or alternatively after a bit of family bonding time Tommy: "Why is he watching us instead of trying to escape, that's what he usually does" Techno: Talking to chat "Istg if these guys get hurt somehow while they're out there while I'm trapped in here I'm gonna kill them" Anyway that's enough of my brainrot for one update there's only so much one person can take, as always I'm sorry if I overstepped and I hope you have a nice day :-)

You scare me with the amount you reread these chapters (affectionate)

Like, I wrote them, I know its a lot of words. It's really nice to hear someone enjoyed them enough to reread like that.

I didn't get to write Philza for the first, like, 9 chapters. I'm making up for lost time, now. Needed some Em Duo, STAT!

Oh yeah, Philza is scheming. He's steepling his fingers, petting a cat in his lap as he turns around in his swivel chair. He's making STRATEGIES. He keeps telling his kids to be smart about their new brother, but they aren't listening. And, like, he's not exactly ENCOURAGING Tommy and Wil to continue to be little shits with no boundaries, but he's going to take that advantage while he can.

To be fair to Wil and Tommy, they don't really know how to NOT be clingy. Tommy just had to get used to Philza. And Wilbur's induction to the family was a little more...urgent so there wasn't the awkward dragging him back home. Also, both of them were just Clingy as humans. They might know the definition of Touch Averse, but they don't really get what that means.

I had a lot of fun with Techno making digs at the notion of royalty. It made me cackle, considering the irony of those statements.

I'm sure there will be no brotherly issues on this road trip. :)

Also, I lost my shit at Techno going 👁👁. That's so hilarious. The concept of them locking him in the carriage and him staring out the window like a dog left in a car in walmart.

Thank you for sharing your brainrot. It made my morning.

[wander-wren]

Wren’s Concept Box

i always have a thousand ideas for different fics in my head, so this is where i keep track of them! since these are just ideas i’m throwing around, you’re also welcome to take them for yourself, as long as you tell me so i can go see it and hype you up!!

my current wips generally take priority, but i’m always down to just chat about everything here. i’m also a rlly big pushover and easily convinced to write things, lol, so do with that what you will. obligatory disclaimer that there’s no guarantee i’ll write anything here, and if i stop being interested in a concept i’ll delete it.

Upcoming Fics

these fics are almost certainly going to be written eventually bc they’re connected to current wips/completed fics, i just haven’t gotten to start them yet.

three of swords- power of three rewrite following my other rewrite fics. main changes: three are born in windclan, sol actually has a purpose, and their powers have been…reimagined. also hollyleaf has a power.

sign of the four- omen of the stars rewrite. main changes: dovewing is the fourth cat, not firestar. other changes TBD.

hold my hand (i’ll lead you through)- working title, third installment in the emetophobic!adam verse, but WAY fluffier than the others. more montage/character study style of the gangsey helping adam.

Other Ideas

everything not 90% guaranteed. ordered alphabetically by fandom, and in no particular order after that. a few have titles, most don’t.

BNHA

there’s beauty in the bleeding (at least you feel something)- touch-starved!todoroki who doesn’t know how to get touch except via sparring. eventually some?? people?? figure it out and there is fluff

snowed in- huddling for warmth/mission gone wrong bkdk with todoroki third wheeling, and potential ot3?

only time we’ve held hands (i threw a punch and you caught it)- the title is the concept i just Like It. definitely bkdk, maybe…soulmark fic? idk.

dabihawks old guard au- i wrote in this universe for whumptober and had a lot of fun, so i’m definitely down to write a full longfic with it at some point. when i have fewer longfics in progress lol.

The Old Guard

joenicky character study- them through the ages. for the express purpose of writing their final death bc i have Thoughts and Opinions on it but i don’t just want to write it by itself, yknow?

The Raven Cycle

gansey and the ship of theseus- the world needs more gansey angst! i imagine my guy has weird feelings about being resurrected twice. sarchengsey roadtrip era

pynch & possession- just adam post That Scene at the end of the raven king hating himself/being terrified bc he hurt ronan

cambridge, take two- a different version of ronan going to harvard in cdth, with no murder crabs but still angst. honestly i don’t remember what i thought with this and my notes have like no details but i’m intrigued.

soulmarks- au where people get to choose soulmates, and they can be unrequited. once you choose someone, a mark appears on the first place they touched you, like a tattoo, that represents them. if they choose you back, same thing. ik that destroys the idea of soulmates but i like the idea of the gangsey choosing to be bound to each other.

pynch mind reading- after cabeswater possesses adam, either he can hear ronan’s thoughts or ronan can hear adam’s, or both. then they fall in love, or something.

genderbent pynch- no thoughts i just rlly like lesbians. girl!ronan owns my entire soul.

Six of Crows

character studies- thats all, just. getting in their heads. a little series. i have a nina one i wrote for a friend as a gift but that was like two years ago and i’m afraid to check if it holds up. but i like doing them.

Warriors

mosskit lives au- i had this idea ages ago where mosskit survives and somehow manages to reach bloodclan? and becomes it’s leader instead of scourge? idk about the logic there. but they (they’re nonbinary to me) are obsessed with revenge on bluestar and become the Actual big bad of tpb, pulling the strings on everything.

swiftgorse- i was introduced to swiftpaw/gorsepaw and idk what i’d do with it but i’m very interested

Welcome to Night Vale

ripping at the seams- cecil finally cracks under the pressure of being night vale’s voice. the “stuck in my booth, only able to narrate and not to help” quote inspired this.

carlos 113 aftermath- i have a note about carlos learning about the events of 113 and freaking out but i don’t fully remember that episode or my thought process. i’m still intrigued.

[boxofbonesfic]

here’s lookin’ at you, kid

Title: here’s lookin’ at you, kid

part 1

Pairing: Chef!Bucky x Aspiring Chef!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Kitchens are loud and hot, but you’ve never minded that. Never minded the burnt fingers, and cut hands. What you do mind is Chef Barnes, the cocky talent that put Black Adder Brewery on the map. You’re even less used to hating someone quite this much, but you’re sure, somehow, you’ll manage—if you don’t stab him first.

Warnings: No smut, but...heavy innuendos, kitchen typical misogyny, Bucky being way too full of himself, light hazing, enemies to lovers, fluff, a little angst, eventual smut (gimme like three chapters y’all, I beg)

A/N: inspired by this headcanon i wrote!! WHEW. Part two is here, three days behind schedule, but it’s here! The positive response has been so overwhelming 🥺 Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think in the comments and reblogs ❤️

This is a work of FICTION, and there will be ADULT themes and content included therein, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!

🔪The one where you kiss two guys.🔪

“You smell like cigarettes. I thought you said you quit smoking,” Kara complains over breakfast. You’re still in your clothes from last night, having fallen asleep on the couch before you could even make it to your room the night before. Your arms still pulse with the painful memory of last night’s work in the dish-pit, and though your socks are dry now, your feet still feel soggy. 

 “I did.” But it’s the only time I get to be away from him. You think silently. You’re tired, but you’re also tired of King Asshole—looming over you, telling you you missed a spot, making you lift compost bins twice your own weight with no help. He’s torturing you, and he’s doing it on purpose. One cigarette a night bummed from ever-happy-to-share Peter Parker isn’t going to kill you—at least not before Chef Barnes does. 

 “I thought you were excited to work at Black Adder. Come on, girl, when do I get my free meal?” She points a manicured finger accusingly at you. “I heard their crab cakes are to die for.” 

 You snort, rolling your eyes. “Kara, you’re the last person who needs a free meal.” You decline to tell her that you haven’t even tasted the food at Adder yet—you’re too afraid to wander over to Chef Barnes tasting sessions, and the angry gleam in his eye every time he looks at you tells you you’re not welcome to them anyway. 

 “I love free shit.” She shrugs. You can tell this is her way of trying to make you feel better, reminding you of the opportunity you were so excited to finally have in your grasp. Her way of telling you not to give up. “All your moping around is depressing me.” Not her fault she sucks at it I guess.

 “I’ll keep that in mind,” You say tiredly, wrapping your aching fingers around your mug as you bring your coffee to your lips. You take the blessed first sip, and close your eyes as you moan with pleasure. Oh, coffee. What would I be without you? You’re off today, only your second day off in the two weeks you’ve been at Adder, and it’s a welcome respite. The cash sitting comfortably in the drawer of your bedside table made you feel better at first, you can’t dismiss the sour feeling in the back of your throat every time Bucky snarls at you. You’ve felt unwelcome in kitchens before—they’e all boys clubs anyway, dick measuring contests to see who’s best at what. 

 You’re used to that, having to hold your own, having to work twice as hard for just an ounce of the same recognition. You’re no stranger to that, not in any aspect of your life. But the simmering hatred, the utter disdain for your entire existence—that was new. And all of Steve’s kindness couldn’t save you, not when he was almost never in the kitchen to curb Bucky’s behavior. 

 None of the other members of the kitchen bother speaking to you more than in passing, either. All polite, but zero interest. Like they just know you’re not going to last long, like he’s done this before, run people out of his kitchen with total abandon. You don’t even bother bringing your knives after the third day—it’s clear Bucky has no intention of letting you touch a single piece of produce that hasn’t come back to the kitchen half eaten or stuck to the plate. Instead, your hands crack and bleed from the rough chemicals in the water, your knuckles raw and aching. 

 Kara flounces off for another day of shopping after another bout of inadequate comforting, and though her curt, tone-deaf comments are irritating, they do make you feel just a little bit better—more motivated, at least. The kitchen chair creaks as you rise from it, stretching as you head for the bathroom. You take the longest, hottest shower of your life, letting the water rinse the smell of fryer grease and charcoal from the grill out of your thick mane. You pick the fluffiest towel from among Kara’s wide array, wrapping it around yourself, before sinking onto your comforter with a sigh. 

 Your whole room smells like lavender, and the scent is as comforting as your mother’s don’t give up! show those boys what you’re working with! text. To be fair, it’s not like you’ve been completely honest with her, she doesn’t know you’re smoking again because of the stress, doesn’t know your knuckles bleed if you look at them funny. Failure isn’t an option, not when you’re so close to making it. You don’t want to taste the bitterness of it again; the cloying, sickly sweet flavor of almost and not enough. You know it too well. 

 You clench your fists against the towel as you lay there. King Asshole may be a bully, but you’re not going to let him chase you off without a fight. You sit up with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose before you begin to work your fingers through your still-wet curls, dragging out the tangles. 

 I bet my asparagus is going bad. You think absently, your mind suddenly running through the ever changing list of produce you keep in your mental tally. Your hands twitch, and you almost want to laugh. You’re half sick of kitchens and food and eating—but you still find yourself itching to meander into your own kitchen, pull out ingredients and get to work. 

  Restless hands, that’s what your mother used to say. Restless hands make idle thoughts. 

 In the kitchen is where Kara finds you when she comes back in the late afternoon, laden with bags of clothes she’ll only wear once before donating them, and shoes that will slowly but steadily take over the apartment if you’re not careful enough about reprimanding her. Your hair is pulled back behind your trusty bandanna, your tongue stuck out between your lips as you measure heavy cream. You have another bowl with egg yolks, and another for whites, and flour stains both the skin of your cheek and your hands. 

 “Good day off?” Kara asks blithely, tilting her sunglasses down at you. 

 “That depends. Do you like grilled peaches on lemon sponge cake with fresh clotted cream?” You ask as you turn back to your measuring with a small smile. You already know the answer is an enthusiastic yes, and you’re already excited to be making it. That’s what you love about Kara—no matter what you make, no matter how weird, or eccentric or inspired, she always tries it; and with gusto. You’ve never seen someone that tiny put away half a cheesecake before, but you’ve never had anyone practically drooling over themselves to eat your food either. 

 “Oh fuck yes. What else are we having? I mean if we’re just eating cake, that’s fine too,” She amends quickly, and you laugh. “I’ll fuck up some cake.” 

 “I made gnocchi. And some kind of asparagus and garlic cream sauce with those wild mushrooms I bought at the farmer’s market. I could grill that salmon that’s been sitting in the fridge since wednesday, too…” You’re more talking to yourself than Kara at this point, but you know she doesn’t really care. This is your thing, and you know she’s happy to see you in better spirits, even if only because she gets to eat the results. 

 In the end, you manage a feast for a family of six by four thirty, and as you and Kara happily tuck into your meal, your phone rings. It’s a number you don’t recognize, and you shrug, ignoring it. “God, I think I’m actually gonna burst,” Kara groans, and you laugh.

 “Who told you to eat three slices?” Together, you’ve eaten at least a third of the cream and grilled peach layer cake, a bowl of gnocchi, half a side of salmon, and a delicious medley of grilled vegetables you threw on at the last minute after the fish was done—though most of it was Kara. You always felt better with a belly full of good food, and now was no different. She scowls at you. 

 “Who told you to cater enough food for a wedding?” She retorts, muttering into her wine. “You’re trying to sabotage my summer body, I just know it.” Your phone buzzes again, and you look at it irritatedly. It’s a city area code alright, and this is the second time they’ve called. 

 “Hello?” 

 “Ah, good, I finally got you.” 

 “Mr. Rogers?” You say, sitting up in surprise. Kara looks over interestedly, and you know she’s listening with all her might. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have your number saved…”

 “No problem! I just was wondering where you were.” Your eyebrows furrow. Why would he want to know that?

 “I’m… I mean I’m at home.” 

 “Oh. Didn’t anyone tell you? We go out once a month, the whole crew, all together. You should come! Don’t know why no one told you.” He sounds so genuine that you force yourself to swallow the biting retort. You know why. You know why no one includes you, why no one talks to you. Why no one gives you anything but dirty dishes to wash and surreptitious glances that tell you they’re all just wondering why you’re still there. 

 Because King Asshole hates me, Mr. Rogers.

 You don’t want to go. You don’t want to immerse yourself back into the cold, unfriendliness until it’s absolutely necessary, but you also know that this is Steve trying to extend the olive branch so Bucky doesn’t have to. He hates you, and you hate him. 

 But you want this, maybe more now than ever, especially because no one seems to want to give it to you willingly. And if socializing at a stupid bar with people who hate you makes Steve feel better about throwing you into the literal snake pit, then so be it.  

 “Where is it?” 

 🔪

 The bar is crowded and loud, and you aren’t sure if you’re hot because it’s summer, or because you’re nervous. You lean against the bartop, rubbing your temples. You almost talked yourself out of coming, and if not for Kara loudly complaining that your pussy was going to atrophy if you didn’t get some hot salami—her words—you probably would have stayed home, told Steve you actually weren’t feeling well, and that you would see him on Monday, thank you very much. 

 Instead, you were here in a pair of Kara’s jeans—that she’d practically had to grease your thick thighs to get you into—and a short, flouncy little top that showed off your side tattoo, ordering a drink for courage before you finally text Steve to let him know you’re here. The bartender brings you your whiskey, and you sip it, relishing the burn as it slides warmly down your throat. You turn to grab your phone, but your elbow smacks into someone’s arm. 

 “Oh, shit, sorry—”

 “Oh, no problem.” The man smiles at you, before his eyes widen in recognition. “Oh shit, hey.” It’s Bruce, the saussier—he only works about three days a week, but when you do see him, he’s usually polite, if quiet. He’s older than you by a good bit, but still handsome, and the salt streaking his black hair made him look distinguished. “Nice to see you.” 

 “Oh? I’m surprised to hear you say that,” You answer honestly. “I don’t think we’ve said ten words to each other.” 

 He grimaces. “Yeah… Didn’t think you’d still be here, to be honest. Chef’s been coming down pretty hard on you.” He doesn’t even try to deny it, and for some reason, that makes you feel a little better. It’s heartening to know that he sees it too. 

 “What can I say? I’m the thorn in his side he’ll never be rid of.” You say snarkily, taking another swallow of your drink. And the tomato stain on his shirt he’ll never get out. Bruce laughs. “So, um, where’s everyone else?” He looks over his shoulder and points to a large, circular booth. There are at least two smaller tables pulled up beside it, and about fifteen people are all milling around, talking and laughing. To your surprise—and immediate relief—you don’t see Bucky. 

 Thank God. I’m fresh out of produce to throw.

 “No one’s going to make me wash dishes if I go over there, right?” You ask, and Bruce snorts.

 “No. Well, not here, anyway.” He grabs his drink when the bartender drops it off, and jerks his head toward the booth, motioning for you to follow. You swallow thickly, suddenly wondering if it’s too late to take the other job offer sitting, stale in your inbox. Maybe being the general manager of Wendy’s won’t be so bad. Steve sees you first and grins, waving. 

 “I didn’t think you were going to make it! Pull up a chair.” There are lots of waitstaff here too, you notice; people you had only seen in passing. A redhead with shoulder length, wavy hair scoots over, allowing you to slide into the booth. You set your drink on the table, slowly peering at all the faces around you. Sam is there, and those honey-sweet brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at you.

 “Look what the cat dragged in,” He says, tipping his head at you. You’re not sure what to say—you don’t want to mention that no one bothered to tell you about the group hang-out, but you know that your late appearance is a nod to that anyway. You settle on a warm smile of your own, forgoing the obvious.

 “Yeah, I was playing with a few recipes at the house,” You laugh, offering that as your explanation. “I got caught up.” It’s half true anyway. His eyebrow quirks with interest. 

 “Oh? And you didn’t bring any to share with the class? Damn. Cold.” He laughs.

 “Next time I’ll make sure I bring you a doggie bag.” 

 “He is a dog,” The redhead interjects, grinning at you. It’s clear the animosity you’re experiencing in the kitchen hasn’t carried over to the front of house, which you’re glad for. “So that’s pretty fitting. Natasha.” She introduces herself, and you smile, nodding as you give her your name. 

 “Well, woof.” Sam says lowly, and the cheeky grin he gives you makes you squeeze your thighs together just a little tighter. “Well now I gotta know. What’d you make?” He leans over a little, like he’s genuinely interested, and it makes warmth spark in your chest. 

 “Fuck. Way too much food,” You lament with a cartoonishly dramatic sigh. “We have a little charcoal grill in the yard, so I kind of went hard.” You rub the back of your neck as you detail your meal, going over each recipe and describing them as lovingly as you would a member of your own family. But it’s as you’re recounting the process for your grilled peach-layered sponge cake that you realize all the conversation around you has dulled. Everyone is listening—listening to you, including Steve, including all of the back of house staff who have practically ignored your presence for the past two weeks. 

 Your mouth goes dry, and you falter a little. 

 “You make your clotted cream on the stove?” You lick your lips with a sandpaper tongue, and drain the rest of your glass, suddenly nervous. This voice belongs to Clint—the one and only pastry chef at Adder. He always has the most dishes, and though you know pastry often requires a million different containers and measuring implements, you can’t help but feel like it’s just a little personal when he dumps the dirty twenty five gallon mixing bowl into the slop sink. 

 “Y-yeah. I mean, it’s not traditional, but for the quick and dirty, it works.” 

 His eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise, and he shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. “Didn’t know you had pastry experience.” None of you fucking know anything about me, because King Asshole runs the goddamn show. You think bitterly, hoping it doesn’t show on your face. “You got any of that cake left?” He asks, and you nod. “Bring it in tomorrow, I’ve gotta try that.” You exhale the breath you didn’t know you were holding, and gulp down another sip of your drink. 

 “For sure.” You say, trying your best to sound friendly and casual. You hate the way your stomach tightens in excitement and anticipation. You can’t help but feel the exhilaration sparking in you at finally having broken through at least some of the ice wall that Bucky had tried to build around you for daring to set foot in his kitchen. Conversation comes easier after that, and suddenly everyone is talking at once.

 One of the servers—Scott?—returns to the booth with a tray of drinks, and your empty glass is replaced with a shot of mystery alcohol. You’re feeling good—laughing, talking. Better than you’ve felt in weeks. It’s when you’re in the middle of recounting the duck tongue story that everything takes a sudden hard left turn.

 “They have bones in them,” You say, a shudder running down your spine at the same time that Hope, one of the brewers, pulls a face. 

 “Bones?” Her voice is incredulous. You nod, an exaggeratedly grim expression on your face. 

 “Oh yeah. You gotta pull them out.” You make a yanking motion with your hand, and Sam barks out a laugh. 

 “And you ate that?” He asks, and you nod. You’re about to describe the texture in detail, when you hear him.

 “Hey, Buck. Thought you weren’t coming.” Steve’s jovial tone almost makes you miss the name.

 Great.

 You’re already squeezed into the booth tightly next to Natasha, and you dread looking up—but it’s like your body doesn’t get the memo, or it’s listening to something you can’t hear, but your head lifts despite the screaming protests of your brain, and you find yourself looking King Asshole right in his dreamy, gray-blue eyes. 

 No! Bad brain. No dreamy, only asshole.

 “Short-stack.” He greets, his lips pressed into a thin line. You don’t like the heat that rises in your cheeks as his eyes slide over every inch of your exposed skin. You give him a curt nod. 

 “Chef.” You down another shot of Scott’s mystery alcohol, relishing the burn as it makes its way down. King Asshole sits on the opposite side of the booth, next to Steve, and you watch as servers and back of house staff alike scramble to get out of his way. He takes one too, and you force your eyes not to follow the bob of his adams apple as he swallows. 

 “So?” Sam asks, directing your attention back to himself with a gentle clearing of his throat. “What do they taste like?” You’d forgotten you were even talking, suddenly going silent at the appearance of your boss. You wrap a strand of curly hair around your finger and release it. 

 “Honestly? They made me bread and fry them, like little chicken nuggets.” You say, laughing. “Pretty fucking good.” He shakes his head, laughing as he scrubs his hand over his head and down the back of his neck. 

 “No way.” 

 “No, seriously,” You say, and he bites his lip at you as his grin widens. It makes your chest go a little tight, and you wonder if they’re as soft as they look. Maybe slow down on the alcohol. 

 “Guess you’ll just have to make them for me so I can find out.” He says, and you immediately let out a nervous laugh and down another courage shot. So much for slowing down… “But if it’s bad, I reserve the right to a full re-do.” He waggles his finger at you in warning, and you roll your eyes as you laugh. 

 “Make what, now?” Bucky interjects gruffly, and Sam chuckles again.

 “Duck tongues,” He says, and Bucky quirks an eyebrow.

 “Shit, short-stack,” His tone is almost impressed. “Didn’t know they had duck tongue at Mcdonalds.” You bite back a scowl at his snipe. This is neutral territory—this isn’t Adder, and he can’t just send you to the back to wash dishes when you say something he doesn’t like. It’s obvious he doesn’t like people talking to you, doesn’t like seeing the way Clint tilts his phone towards you so that you can look at the strawberry crepe cake he’s trying to recreate this week, doesn’t like Bruce asking you how you would make a boysenberry and balsamic reduction. 

 You laugh with everyone else at his jibe, before shooting a sugary sweet smile in his direction. “Almost. I worked at Iron Bull, in Berlin for three months. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, haven’t you?” You make sure to school your expression into one of earnest curiosity as you cock your head. You’re not one to name drop, but if King Asshole is going to do his best to take pot-shots at you, you’re going to return fire. 

 It’s Scott that takes the bait. “Shit, the Iron Bull?” He asks, slapping a hand against the table as he leans forward. You nod innocently, keeping your eyes wide and your smile soft. “That’s… shit. We’re supposed to go on our honeymoon, but I heard you have to rob a bank to afford your bill.” Hope slaps his arm, and he laughs. 

 “It’s not that bad,” You say, taking another shot from his seemingly endless tray. “But I mean… don’t forget your wallet.” You chance a look at Bucky, and he looks pissed. You can’t help the cocky lift at the corners of your mouth, and his expression sours further, telling you he’s noticed. You revel in your victory, no matter how small. 

 “It’s getting late,” Hope says, and Scott nods. You scoot out of the booth, stretching as you stand to allow them to pass. He gives a salute to Steve, who grins. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” 

 “Of course.” 

 Scott turns to you, winking. “And make sure you bring some of that tongue to work—” he’s cut off as Hope grabs him by his collar, dragging him away as laughter echoes behind him. You shake your head. 

 “No tongues in the kitchen,” Bucky calls behind him. “I’d hate for short-stack to lose the only tongue she’s got in the house.” You know he’s just pushing at you, trying to get a rise out of you—it’d probably be easier to fire you if you throw a drink at his head with Steve in the vicinity. 

 “Oh you fucking wish you could try some of this tongue,” You retort boldly, and when Bucky turns his gaze on you, you meet his eyes with your own. “Hating from outside the club, and can’t even get in.” You’re next to Sam now that your buffers have left, and you don’t notice his arm going around the back of your seat. He’s laughing hard beside you, as Steve shoots a warning glare between you and Bucky. 

 It doesn’t work. 

 “Maybe I shouldn’t call you short-stack.” Bucky snorts, knocking back the remainder of his beer. “Frigid bitch might be a more fitting title.” No one is talking now, and knowing that everyone is watching this exchange lights a fire in your belly. 

 “Frigid?” You bark out a laugh. Maybe Kara’s rubbing off on you, maybe you’ve had too much to drink—three shots and a mixed drink isn’t too much, right?—or maybe you’re just fucking crazy. Either way, Sam doesn’t stop you as you swing a leg across his lap. Your other coworkers are drunkenly hooting and cheering behind you, and you silence the maybe this is a bad idea angel on your shoulder with a swift and deadly snap of its neck as you press your lips to his. 

 Sam’s hands are warm on your hips through your jeans, and they tighten just a little as you run your tongue across the seam of his lips. He opens promptly, letting you control the kiss as your tongue strokes along his. Sam tastes like whiskey; smokey and sweet. You drag your teeth across his bottom lip as you pull away. Sam remains still for a moment, his eyes lidded and his hands holding nothing but air as you settle back down into the booth, a few more inches of space between you than before. 

 “God fucking damn.” He mutters, and the entire table erupts into raucous applause. Your face begins to burn as the realization of what you’ve done filters through the confident haze of alcohol. “Gonna have to disagree, Buck.” He says lowly, and when you chance a look, King Asshole is gripping his beer bottle so tight you can see the veins popping out on his muscular arms. He looks like he wants to punch you—or maybe… something else. “You’re bringing that to dinner too, right?”

 You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip and give him your best imitation of his own smirk. “Guess I’m not frigid after all.” You bow with a little flourish, and Natasha holds up your hand by the wrist. 

 “The winner, everyone,” She gestures at you. “The heavyweight champ.” 

 One by one, everyone starts to filter out, until finally you stand too, stretching. It’s at least a thirty minute walk back to the apartment, and you don’t much feel like being mugged on your way back. You bid everyone a farewell, including Bucky, who glowers at you. You can feel his eyes boring holes through your back as you head for the bathroom, and you sigh with relief when the door shuts behind you. You leaned against it heavily for a moment before glancing at yourself in the mirror. Wow, Kara was right. This eyeliner really does stay on come hell or high water. 

 A knock comes as you’re washing your hands, flicking water onto your face and then patting it dry with a towel. “One sec,” You call, reaching for another towel. As you’re drying your hands, it sounds again, more insistent this time. “Jesus, there’s another bathroom, you know!” You yell, only for the knocking to become louder. You turn to yank open the door—and are crushed against the sink of the tiny bathroom as Bucky’s body fills the space. You barely register the door closing behind him before he’s tilting your chin up with rough fingers, his mouth smashing against yours. 

 It’s nothing like your kiss with Sam, which was soft, sweet and slow, like honey pooling on your tongue. Bucky’s mouth is devouring yours, his tongue thrusting between your lips as his teeth nip at any flesh he can reach. It’s hot and hungry and relentless, and when a little whine escapes your throat, he pulls back. You’re half sitting on the cool porcelain sink, with King Asshole slotted neatly between your thighs. He smirks at you as he pulls away, reaching for the door. 

 “You have a good night, short-stack.” 

 What the fuck just happened? 

Next Chapter

[leonaluv]

Channel - Future - Spouse reading

Try to choose one pile, because when each of the piles has different meanings and vibes to it overall. I will post the different options. Which will be three different options 💫.

I will post option two tomorrow 💌 and also grammar issues 🤡 I need a proofreader

Take the reading as if you are seeing the future with your spouse having a conversation.

Pile one -

Messages: strong Cologne, loves your cooking, talkative, jazz music, super romantic

The late 30s to 40 years old

I love you with all my heart and thank you for the seafood & my favorite is the crab legs. Your smile makes me blushed. I remember when I was working in the garage you came out of the house, casual In just your towel. ( he stutters remembering this part ). I was trying to be productive and use my free time for fixing the car and now it changes I have to put you on my " to-do list. " I’m in love with your smell - intoxicating to me. Make me want to drown in your scent. I love you with my soul, spirit, and good looks. I know you are worried about me looking at others, but don’t worry about me. I only think of you. I think of you for cutting up small -bites sandwiches. My son thanks only you sometimes, and I promise (I’m okay with him not thanking me ) I wish he would hang out with me more.  Sometimes the first time frustrates me. So we need you to be in the middle. People sometimes assume we aren’t a couple. Makes me angry!!!! Last but not least Happy Anniversary to 14 years and more many happy times.

Pile two ✌️

Hi, baby, you look good in the morning, don’t you? I think we should stay in bed and do “some fun stuff.” I don’t like how you to work, because I rather we just play around. I am kicking out my old habits, it just takes time. I pick on you and tease you. It you just because I saw - you - . I don’t want to mention it.  I hope we can fix things and meet soon.  I know I will see you after work.  I just want to be with you. Now! I had those plans that I took ( inaudible) so. I want to start a family with you. I know it is suddenly.  When we get old, who will take care of us? I mean look at us were both tall and athletic. ( Answering you ) Thank you. I do get you that you’re anxious that I won’t be here. I promise I keep to my word. I love you. Now you are late to work. So just call in sick okay!

Messages: playful but moody, clingy, emotional distance at times, July, pop music, the weekend songs - early 20s age

Babe!  You won’t believe it, I just got something big! This will be great for us and it will be great & life-changing. Get up!  We got to go now! Get in, get In and get in! ...Alright, sorry for yelling. It was something huge.  I landed a job. We got to be the first ones to take advantage of it. / A couple of days later after the big event that happens/  That trip, we went on was so relaxing and your one with nature. ( I love you ) We should go on more trips and do hiking (camping). Remember that star ✨? ( camping trip near water you guys went on ) Comet ☄️ (Has an L name. ) Wanted to give you something. / Future spouse hands you a certificate for star name it has your name on it. “ Because your my wish that came true.” ( laughs 😄 ) “ I don’t feel so good babe “ That food I ate - I know you told me not to eat it.  I’m going to go lay down. / Next year / Hey remember that trip we took, we should go again with the boys (your kids ) this time. I did get sick, but this time I will listen to you.  Our daughter will be home from collge soon, but she doesn’t do the outdoors. You know she is like you sensitive .. Wait why are you walking away I didn’t mean anything bad about that.

Messages: late twenties, loves the outdoors, many kids 😆, and person could be self employed.

Pile four

Hey, it has been a while since I wrote a letter. I am romantic after all that is why you marry me, remember that one time I got you a live band for your surprise party.  The food at the event was a little too spicy.  I love every minute of it. We should continue to do that type of stuff now.  Also, you are so sexy!  I-  get lost in words 💬 trying to think of what to say. I am a foreigner, but I have been working in different languages. Here is a song that speaks to me about you. Way v - loves talks. What I mean by that is, I love hearing you talk. You excite me. I think about you when I'm at work. I'm a little sad we can't talk for long. I miss you and love you.

Look up the lyrics to this song 💀

Messages: mature vibe, initials J, L, M, or E, pain, and long-distance , / headache

[bunchofstraydogs]

Dazai Osamu in a relationship

Just a lil warning before you proceed: dis a chonky one, kay?

○

Depending on why Dazai is in a relationship affects how he will act with his partner.

If Dazai is curious about them, enough to enter the relationship,

it will last at best a handful of months, at worst about 2 weeks. Enough to get to know them, test them out in terms of reaction, values, honesty and morality, and get bored of them. Thus leading to him braking up with the person or, if he predicts that the person would react badly and cause a scene, get them to break up with him. But even that is dubious because i doubt Dazai would make the relationship official. He would probably just act as if they're dating, leading the partner to believe they actually are without having to verbally confirm anything, and then as soon as he loses interest, pulls a now-you-see-me-now-you-don't and disappears with little to no notice. Hey, he never said they were dating, he calls everyone Belladona, the fault is that person's for being delusional. Yes, he is an asshole, what did you expect of Dazai?

But if Dazai is in love?? Unrecognizable.

I will make a separate headcanon(? whatever these are I'm writing) on what i think a person should be like to sweep Dazai of his feet, but now i want to concentrate on what he would be like in such a relationship.

Is it possible for Dazai to fall in love? Absolutely. He loved Odasaku and Ango, perhaps not romantically, but he's definitely capable of love. People like him- aware of the world's cruelty, dealing with demons and guilt, roaming the world for the sole reason that they haven't died yet, hoping to find something worthwhile they can feel the need to be selfish about and call theirs; don't fall in love, they crash desperately. It takes a lot for them to feel those emotions, but when they do, they can never really let them go.

He would try to act as he usually does in public and try approaching the subject of his trepidation and disarray in many different ways. Distancing himself and going as far to actively avoid them would just come back and bite him in his boney ass. To effectively avoid someone, you need to know their schedule, hobbies, interests, habits, etc. And having learned that would just constantly remind him of them, they'd never leave his mind. He'd look on the clock, see the time and know that they'll be in that specific class because he knows their whole curriculum and class schedule/ at the grocery because they're surly out of their favourite snack/ doing black laundry and yes, he knows unnecessary details about them as well. After that disastrous failure, he comes back running and commences new ways to handle that person. These beta testings are for him as much as they are for them. Just how much and what exactly does he feel for that person, what buttons can he push and which ones he doesn't want to.

When i say Dazai in love would be unrecognizable, i mean it. Not superficially, where everyone can see it, but where it matters.

After doing his best to rail in the unfamiliar feelings under control, going as far as using some of Mori's techniques, the realization of the situation he's found himself in hits him hard.

He comes back as if nothing happened.

The deadpan that person gives him and a "Are you done with your bullshit or do you need some more time to brood about issues you made with yourself?" He doesn't even blink, "Oh, my Belladona! Does that mean you've missed me? Were you worried about me as well??"

All of this was said in your typical, Dazai maniac style, the only difference is that he actually wants an answer. He wants to hear the confirmation, in whatever form it may come- he can read between the lines and body language, just give him something to work with. He's desperate.

While the public Dazai persona won't change, his inner musings and his approach to the love interest will.

Osamu will, sometimes sneakily, usually not so subtly, immerse himself into their daily life. Get them accustomed and used to his presence. What this will do is cause a sense of familiar coexistence, that of people living together; make the person unconsciously continue to include him in their activities; learn to depend on him (not in a unhealthy, yandere way, but if their car brakes down or they're feelinh unsafe, Dazai will be the first person they feel the urge to call) because Dazai can be reliable and he will be reliable for that special person. He will also be the first person they share good news with as well, because if someone is always there for and with you, it's only natural.

Make no mistakes, Dazai is transparent only when he wants to be.

The reasons he does this is because 1) he wants to gauge their reaction to his great interest in them, 2) mask his subtle advances which are the most important part of integrating himself into their life, 3) to get that person in the position where he needs them to be for him to move on to the next phase of his plan.

Now, i may have said plan, but that's a somewhat loose term since what he'll do next depends on their reaction. He definitely has a rough outline of the whole thing in his head, but he's also adaptable and ready to react accordingly to whatever they may throw his way.

[I will be using l/i or LI for "love interest" bc I'm tired of writing that person or whatever, okay? Good.]

Once his l/i made effort to go out of their way for him or commit any type of love language, basically:

act of service- pay for his bills, massage his shoulders, buy crab based food or alchohol he really likes for their own fridge so that he can have it when he's over (often) even if they don't like those things especially then

words of affirmation- thank you Dazai, how was your sleep?, please take better care of yourself i can't help you if you're not making an effort

physical touch- ruffle his hair, lean on him when tired, hold his hand or wrist because it's crowded and it would be a pain to search for you Dazai

gift giving- "I noticed you were running out of bandages", "I bought you food, figured your lost case would forget to eat", "saw this mackerel, reminded me of you^^" "BELLADONA, NO >:("

quality time- spending nights with him because he has insomnia, playing games at the arcade, drive around town run from the cops

He would be overwhelmed. In the best way possible. He'd feel overwhelmingly good and pleasant and warm and worried.

He didn't feel like this, ever.

Not even with Odasaku and Ango. They were probably his first friends, but that's the thing. They didn't make his heart race, they didn't throw him into panic attacks, they didn't overwhelm him, they didn't keep him up at night because he couldn't get them out of his head or completely monopolise his mind during the day.

He gets panic attacks.

A lot of them, actually. Usually he can fake being fine, but sometimes he hyperventilates and can't breathe and all that he can smell is the blood on his hands and his chest is as hollow as l/i's eyes. He knows what can happen. They can and will be used against him. Hell, it could even be an accident. He is vulnerable just because they exist and he can't do shit about it.

He could do his thing: pull some strings, have them move to another country and never speak to each other ever again. He has the power, but he lacks the strength. He could do it, but he doesn't want to. His thumb won't press the numbers, his voice died out, his mind went blank.

The wind blows and it carries their scent with it. The bells ring and it's their laughter that resonates within. His bandages ruffle and it's the warmth of their touch he feels. He's dying, but he's not just ready yet to leave. Hopefully, Odasaku will patiently keep a seat for him.

That was what gave him away, actually.

That's when Ranpo realised, with zero doubt, that Dazai Osamu is in love.

Dazai could be going on and on about suicide.

Enter l/i.

"I found an amazing tree yesterday with really sturdy branches. I wanted to test them out today, but i promised l/i I'd go to the new bakery with them today and who would they go with if i die?? Unacceptable!"

Ranpo: "A new bakery? I'll happily take your place."

"UNACCEPTABLE!!"

With every panic attack he feels stranded on an island in the sea of death.

He's exhausted. For the first time he finally wants to escape alive. Then they walk in and the storm in the sea moves to his heart. And into his stomach and his hands and his knees.

"I'm here for you, Osamu. Everything is going to be fine."

His insomnia goes by a different name now.

It still keeps him up at night and makes him restless.

But this time, when he fills his nth glass of whiskey for the night, when the TV is muted and the trafic quiet, when he can hear their breathing beside him in their shared bed, he raises the glass to hope for the halcyon days.

●

Fucking finally. You think you're exhausted, you waste of bandages?? I have a final today I'm going to fail and actually wrote about your musky ass. You try doing that with my brain.

Hope you guys like it and if you made it this far, here's a cup of ☕ or 🍵, whichever you prefer. I wrote him as i see and envision him. Hope it all makes sense. He's a complicated character, but he is still human and he is not immune to emotions.

Have a good one~☆

I will probably come up with more things for him, because i doubt i covered everything, but for now this shall do.

[ao3commentoftheday]

comment transcript: oh god this made me cry. the end of this made me CRYYYYYYYY ;-;

i’m not good at long comments, my head is very empty, i almost failed english at least once (we cant all be fugo), and i am filled with nothing but love for these characters. but i will say: i think this is one of my favorite things ive ever read. EASILY. i think ive felt the whole spectrum of emotion over the past 2 1/2 days as i read this series. i just. love the way you write. i love your voice, its comedic and poetic and beautiful and it just. flows. so nicely. i watched il postino for the first time the other day (ty buccellati) and maybe it just made me pensive, but i think that movie and this story make me feel similar ways. maybe its the beautiful metaphors. maybe its the ocean. ive never been good at putting things into words, and i keep typing things and deleting things because they don’t make sense, but i get it. when giorno and fugo talk about the whispers between the trees and the sound of the ocean... thats how this makes me feel. i understand it.

also, and sorry if this makes things turn towards the weird, but i think reading this has helped me a lot? like im not a kinnie i swear but i relate so heavily to what these characters are feeling and going through. and i know fiction has power so none of this should surprise me but a lot of the shit theyre realizing and a lot of the conclusions theyre coming to and the things that theyre learning are things that i think i needed to hear. like there’s a lot of stuff in here thats stuck with me and that i’m going to be thinking about forever but giorno’s realization of thinking about things means actually *thinking* about things genuinely made me set my phone down for half an hour and start to sort my shit out. i dont know i guess what im trying to say is this was beautiful and impactful and the way you wrote your characters is so real and genuine and incredible and reading parts of this was almost like cathartic to me and i think, like giorno finally ready to let himself love and be loved, i think this has helped me be ready to face the shit ive been too afraid to face.

there was definitely more i wanted to say and i might come back to edit this comment and add more but my stomach has won over and my mind has completely blanked and i think i need to go make myself lunch. but in a weird fucked up little summary: this was so beautiful and i love the way you write and the characters all feel like real, tangible people and god this was so good. i love the crab shack. im learning that its okay to be unremarkable and its okay to just have a stupid job and make a living and let myself be happy in my little life. i love fugo. slutty but good dad dio made me laugh way more than it probably should have. if this were to get published i would buy it in a heartbeat and read it and reread it until the spine fell apart. if i knew how to wax poetic and write even half as beautifully as so much of this made me feel i would do it right here but i feel like ive already written an essay in your comments section soooooooo instead im going to go eat my little lunch and think about this wonderful world you’ve created and probably reread my favorite little sections. i hope you are doing well and having a fantastic day/month/year/lifetime and thank you so so so much for writing this you have blown my mind and changed my world!!!!!!!!!

edit: ok i wrote an edit for this and then the safari app crashed and i lost it so this wont be eloquent in the least but oh my god i didnt realize how long this comment was until i hit publish. i am so sorry. i really said i wasnt good at long comments and then absolutely word vomited and now im adding more and i cannot believe it but i wanted to talk about and then didnt mention just how much i adore the way you characterized all of them? especially abbacchio and bruno, the way you wrote them was so beautiful and sweet and when i woke up this morning i spent a solid five minutes staring at my wall unable to think about anything except for abbacchio’s unlabeled jar of savings for a honeymoon and how fucking romantic that was. and then it becoming savings for narancia and how bruno would agree that thats the right thing to do and theyre family and they love each other so much and despite everything thats happened in his life abbacchio has so much love in his heart and he has so much kindness and he wants to live and be happy and shit this derailed but i just. ugh. its all so fucking beautiful i just dont have the words to describe. id love to say that i cant believe ive gotten this emotional and felt like my whole mindset has changed this much because of a jojo fanfiction but youre a phenomenal author and i believe it 100%. please never stop writing i would buy every book you were to ever put out

personal note: if the commenter finds this submission, i hope that you know that you changed MY life a little and made me love storytelling to touch the lives of amazing ppl like you <3 of all things it’s a fic about a jersey shore boardwalk au 😭

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070166/chapters/63406363

[bittermuire]

I wrote another gwynriel one-shot because I’m obsessed with them

This one is based off of @inejjg‘s GORGEOUS headcanon about gwyn and az stargazing in the training ring. I mixed the order around a bit but it’s generally the same? Also it’s long. I’m sorry

Was that… ?

Oh, Mother above. Yes. Yes, it was.

Gwyn couldn’t quite place that little flurry of emotion in her chest as she saw the shadowsinger’s silhouette approaching the training ring. Excitement? Nervousness? The last time they’d been alone here together, they’d both been distracted—the ribbon rippling between them had been a lifesaver.

But now? She swallowed, realizing there was nothing to stop their eyes from meeting, their hands from touching…

Don’t be ridiculous, that cold voice told her, the one she’d carved into her heart since the day she came to the House of Wind. You barely know him.

The necklace flashed in her head.

From a friend, Clotho had said.

Who? Gwyn asked.

Amusement brushed from the priestess. Her pen scratched quietly. The shadowsinger.

And here he was now.

Something was wrong, she noted, as she watched him. Usually he would have taken immediate attention to her presence, but he was somewhere else, though he moved with his typical, beautiful grace.

She sat up from her blanket. His head snapped to her, eyes wide as he took in her little nest on the ground.

“Hi,” she said.

A little smile curved his lips. “Hello.”

“I’m stargazing.”

His eyes went soft.

Ah, yes, Gwyn remembered. Nesta had told her about Azriel’s love for astronomy, the way he filled the sleepless nights with wonder and starlight.

“Would you like to keep me company?”

He gave a little laugh at that, maybe surprised at her bold offer. Somehow, she saw the different thoughts flitting across his face, sure he’d courteously refuse and go to his own bed. But, to her own surprise, he crossed the training ring in smooth strides and sat down next her, a respectful distance away.

Silence stretched between them. Languidly, he stretched out his legs and laid on his back.

In a way that Gwyn could only call adorable, he let out a little sigh of contentment, scarred hands lifting to rest behind his head. When he caught her staring down at him, he quirked a brow.

“You can’t very well stargaze like that,” he teased.

She smiled, trying to hide the redness in her cheeks, and laid down next to him. This was intimate, she thought. And he was... different, somehow.

They were closer now, she realized, laying beside each other. Her pinky was an inch from his.

•

All Azriel could think of at that moment was that Gwyn was very, very close.

He attempted to distract himself with the glorious cosmos stretched out above him, but the female next to him seemed to him just as glorious, and he struggled to pull his attention from her.

She seemed to have an easier time of it, pointing a finger up to the Gilt Maiden.

“There’s the Maiden,” she said cheerfully, then gasped and moved her finger to the left. “And the Mother’s Ladle! Oh, wonderful! I usually can never spot it!”

He shifted his head to see her, to see her glowing face, her eyes so full of light—that radiant collection of features.

But, strangely… not like Elain. Gwyn was full of light in a way he couldn’t understand. It warmed his chest.

His shadows thought the same.

Beautiful, they murmured, curling shyly to the warmth within the curves of her palms, the hook of her ears, the line where her shining copper hair met her freckled skin.

Indeed, Azriel thought to himself. Beautiful.

Even more so as he watched her watch his shadows sift into her hair, drift across her stomach, both girl and shadow studying each other so casually and fondly—not a hint of fear, not a needle of apprehension. Curiosity, instead. Happiness.

He cleared his throat, ready to draw the shadows back. Or at least try. They were infatuated with her. “Do you really like them?”

The words slipped out, more earnest, more eager, than he’d intended.

She turned to look at him as well, and he was shocked again by her closeness. That random throw of stars across the bridge of her nose, on her cheeks, sprinkled liberally across her forehead. The crashing waves in her ocean eyes. The stray bristles of her brows, mere shades darker than her silky hair.

“I love them,” she said, voice hushed. “They’re beautiful.”

Despite himself, Azriel wondered if he was beginning to glow, too.

•

Hours passed, and Gwyn thanked the Mother for the lack of ribbon rippling between them. It was odd, really. She’d never felt such a strange connection with someone. It was easy with him. Every word he said made her want to hear another. Silence had been her friend for so long; now, she’d gladly settle for nights like this.

All kinds of topics had come up. He’d told her about the little balcony he had off his room and the strange instrument he used to see the night sky. She’d told him about Merrill and her many theories, and they’d talked about that for a while—trading and throwing around ideas about the universe, if it was as small as they thought, or if it stretched beyond their maps; if it was the universe or a universe, and then all Gwyn could think was, I’m perfectly content in this one if you’re in it with me.

“Mother above, Gwyn,” she muttered to herself, and Azriel quickly turned to look at her. “Sorry,” she said, giggling a bit. “Just talking to myself.”

Then, in some magical act, the skies shifted again. Azriel pointed up. “There’s Jekob the Wanderer. And his staff.”

Gwyn squinted. “No, that’s Truwa the Fifth.”

“No, Truwa’s over there.”

“No, Jekob’s over there. Truwa’s next to the Crab. See?”

He shook his head and laughed—a blunt, dry sound. Gwyn was struck by the sweetness of it. “You’re so wrong,” he said, voice brimming with mirth.

She couldn’t help smiling. “Am not.”

“Gwyn! Do I need to go get my book?” He shifted to his side, a grin on his face.

Her breath caught.

Beautiful.

“No!” she exclaimed, laughing. “There’s no need, because I’m right!”

“Right,” he scoffed, still smiling that brilliant smile.

What do I do with you?

A shadow curled around her pinky. Another caressed her temple.

•

The shadowsinger didn’t remember when they fell asleep. But when his eyes cracked open, he was… warm. He never woke up warm, even when entangled with a lover.

With a start, he realized Gwyn was curled into his side, fingers of her right hand intertwined with his. Even in sleep she held his hand tight to her chest. He felt the soft beating of her heart, and he wondered, then, how he’d ever looked past her before.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching up a hand, careful not to jostle her, and brushed back a strand of her hair from her sleep-softened face. He gently squeezed her hand, peering at that freckled face, full of stars—for so long, his only friends.

When he was just a boy, locked in that house, he used to pray to the Mother to send him a star.

She’d sent him hundreds.

Gwyn.

[ibis-gt]

i made a fairytale au for cam and luther and then wrote nearly 5k words of fic for it?? which is wild bc i am not much of a writer. but. that’s under the cut. content warning for a pretty violent scene towards the end but there’s a happy ending i prommy

Once upon a time, there lived a prince. This prince, Luther by name, lived in a kingdom that was plagued by monsters. His father, the king, had gained his throne by feats of heroism, most notably by slaying a fearsome dragon that had ruled the land for years. The time came for Luther to prove he was worthy of the title of prince by slaying a monster of his own… 

Down in the countryside, farmers have been complaining for weeks of an ogre stealing their cattle and frightening their children. So Luther sets off in a splendid suit of armor, with a sword sheathed on one hip, a quiver of arrows on the other, and his bow slung on his back.

Luther rides his horse down to the village where the ogre was last spotted. He talks with the locals and gets a description of the creature. At least forty feet tall, they say, with greenish-grey skin and dark hair and teeth the length of a man’s forearm. Luther leaves his horse behind with the farmers because he doesn’t want her getting hurt and marches off, following a set of giant footprints left behind by the ogre, sword in hand. He would have to admit that he isn’t the best at sword fighting, and that really he’s never faced a monster on his own. But his father gave him a crucial tip: every monster has a weak point. Find the weak point, exploit it, and you’ll win every time. 

The footprints lead through the plains of grass, past the area where the farmers let their cattle out to graze, and into a dark forest. The sun is going down before he manages to find the ogre, so he sets up a little camp with a little fire and rests his tired bones. His armor isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it takes forever to get on and off even with someone helping him, let alone by himself. He sits with his back to a big boulder so nothing can sneak up behind him and eventually drifts off.

Luther awakens the next morning and groans at how stiff and sore he is. He sits up and pauses, brow furrowed, remembering that he’d gone to bed sitting upright. But just now, he’d been lying on his back. And he’s not the best tracker, but those giant footprints look… disconcertingly fresh. These things add up in his mind. He just about passes out. He crouches down and puts his head between his knees for a moment until he can breathe again and his heart stops pounding quite so hard. He was right next to it! He fell asleep leaning on it! If his father heard about this he’d give him such a beating. How could he not have noticed that the boulder was actually - 

His stomach rumbles, interrupting his panicked thoughts, and Luther remembers that the last time he ate was back in that farming village around two in the afternoon yesterday. He digs out a bit of beef jerky and morosely works at it. His father swears by the stuff, but it just makes his teeth hurt. Luther dreams of the kitchens back home and drools a little.

He gives up on the jerky and manages to take down a couple squirrels with his bow and arrows. He gets his fire blazing again and sets them cooking over it, and sits down to draw in the dirt and form a battle plan. He gets wrapped up in his drawing and loses track of time, but is startled violently back to reality as a deep booming voice from behind him says, “Your squirrel’s burning.”

Luther’s eyes snap up to the fire. He hastily pulls the stick with his squirrels off of it, waving it in the air to put out the bit of squirrel that had caught fire. He blows on it and inspects the damage. Not too bad, a little charred. Still definitely edible. Then realization dawns, and he slowly looks up and over his shoulder.

That’s the ogre. He’s unmistakable. Huge, greyish-green, with shaggy black hair and big tusks that jut out of his mouth. He’s down on one knee looming over Luther, modesty barely preserved by a loincloth stitched together out of the pelts of many different furry animals. Luther wills himself to not faint for the second time that day. 

“You gonna eat that?” The ogre booms. “’Cause I will if you won’t.”

“W-well, yes, I was planning to,” Luther quavers, “But there are two, so, um, you can have one if you want? We can share?”

He takes the non-burned squirrel off the stick and holds it up. His hand only shakes a little. The ogre takes it carefully between thumb and forefinger and tosses it in his mouth. With such a tiny morsel, he’d usually just swallow it whole, but an interesting flavor makes him stop and savor it for a moment. 

“What’d you do to it? Not like any squirrel I’ve eaten. And I’ve eaten a whole army of squirrels.” He slaps a hand on his formidable belly. The sound makes Luther jump. 

“I- I didn’t do much, j-just some seasoning, I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, please don’t eat me next." 

"You?” The ogre laughs. “Why would I eat you? You shared your food with me. That’s mighty polite. I’d say that makes us friends now, and I don’t eat friends.” He grunts as he shifts position, sitting down heavily and stretching out his legs. “Bad knees,” he grumbles. “Sat like that too long, but I wanted to see what you were drawing." 

Luther is now horrifically aware that he is directly between the ogre’s legs. He is also horrifically aware that he was drawing himself hitting an ogre with a sword. He hurriedly kicks some dirt over it. 

"Nothing. Nothing interesting. I’m a bad artist anyway.”

“Sure. What’s your name, little tin man? You didn’t seem too talkative when you snuggled up to me last night, but I thought maybe you were just tired. I’m Cam." 

"L-Luther.” Oh god. He was supposed to kill this thing, it - well, no, not ‘it’, he can’t think of Cam as an ‘it’ now he knows his name - he’s terrorizing folks, stealing their livelihoods, he’s supposed to drive him away, save the day, bring peace to the kingdom. Instead he’s sharing his meager breakfast and making friends with the monster. How did it all go so wrong!!

“So, Luther, you made of metal? I thought you were gonna take all that off, looks pretty uncomfortable, but you wore it all night. Unless it’s like… you?" 

"No, no, um, it’s just… it takes a long time to put it on and take it off? And I usually need help.”

 "Well shoot, friend, why didn’t you say so?“ Before Luther can object, a giant hand descends and plucks him up. He panics, struggles in Cam’s grasp, and Cam tsks at him. "I can’t get all that off you if you don’t hold still. Don’t make me squeeze." 

Luther goes still. If Cam squeezes the armor, it’ll stay squeezed. He wouldn’t want to still be in it if that happens. Cam clearly has no idea how to get someone out of armor though. He just pulls at clasps and buckles till they break, then shucks the metal off of Luther like an ear of corn. His helmet comes off first, freeing his dark brown curls.

“Aww,” Cam says, “lookit you. You’re kinda cute for a tin man.” He musses up Luther’s hair with a fingertip. "You’re like a little crab,” Cam chuckles. “Crack open the hard shell to get to the soft stuff underneath.” The food metaphor does not put Luther any more at ease as the rest of his armor is pulled off and tossed aside, piece by piece. Cam even strips the chainmail off of him and dumps it on the ground. This leaves Luther in his shirt and breeches, shaking like a leaf and terrified for his life. 

“Oh, you cold? Here, I gotcha.” Cam sandwiches him between his hands. Luther awaits the pressure and the horrible crunch that will no doubt be the end of his short life, but it never comes. Cam just holds him there, and truth be told his hands are very warm, and it had been a chilly morning. Luther relaxes very slightly.

After a few minutes, Cam lifts one hand a little and peeks at Luther. “Better?" 

"Much better, thank you. Even a little too warm, actually? Can I, um, come out now?" 

Cam laughs and opens his hands like a book, then tilts them so Luther tumbles into the palm of his left hand. "So what’s a fancy little shrimp like you doing all the way out here, with that tough shell and those sharp weapons? You huntin’ something?" 

Luther hesitates. It’s not… technically a lie, just an omission of truth, right? "Yeees…. Hunting.”

Cam laughs out loud, leaning back and slapping his knee with his free hand. “HA! You are just about the worst liar I ever met, Luther. Whew.” He actually wipes a tear from his eye. Luther feels his face heating up with anger and embarrassment.

“I am hunting! I’m hunting you!” As soon as he says it he regrets it. He slaps his hands over his mouth and cowers back as Cam sits up straight again and looks down at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“That so? Huh. Well, you found me, oh mighty hunter. And you fed me, and let me take your armor off you, and left all your sharp things on the ground while you sit in the palm of my hand. So, uh… how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“It… I… um… please don’t kill me?”

Cam grins. It’s not a nice grin anymore. It shows off too many teeth. “Lotsa folks have hunted me, you know. Not a one has succeeded. Most of ‘em can’t find me in the first place, not unless I want them to. Neat little trick we ogres have. We blend in well. The ones who did find me, they regretted it pretty quick. When I heard you clanking along with your silly armor and your little sword, I thought oh boy, here comes another one. But it turns out this one couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map, so he ain’t one of them legendary monster hunters lookin’ to claim some bounty. And he’s a little scrawny slip of a thing, too, and he keeps stopping to look at birds. I kinda liked you. And honestly, when you found me, it took me by surprise. Thought I had you pegged all wrong. Then you made your little fire, curled up next to me, and went to sleep, and it took everything I had not to bust my gut laughing right then and there. And now… well, I don’t rightly know what to make of you. Cute little thing, I know that. But cute won’t save you if you wanna tussle with me. So, little hunter… what’re you gonna do now?”

Luther’s nearly in tears. He manages to say, “Then… were you just… toying with me? This whole time? Waiting to see what I’d do?" 

Cam shrugs. "Pretty much.” That does it. The waterworks are in full swing. Luther’s chin trembles, his lower lip wobbles, and then tears are streaming down his face and he’s sobbing. 

“Y- you’re s-so-ho meeeaaaan,” Luther wails. “Y-you’re j-just making f-fun of me, I thought w-we were friends!” 

Cam has absolutely no idea how to respond to this. For some reason he actually feels guilty. “Aw - no - now look, there’s no call for - just… just stop crying, okay? Please?” Luther continues to sob, heedless of Cam’s pleading. “There, there,” Cam tries, patting Luther’s head. “I’m not going to kill you. Okay? How’s that? I’m sorry I called you - well. All those things. I’m sure you’re a great hunter. Look, you got those squirrels. And hey! That one I ate tasted great. You got some real skill there." 

Luther wipes his eyes and looks up, teetering dangerously on the edge of another sobbing fit. His eyes are all watery and a little red-rimmed. "R-really?" 

"Yes! Of course!” Cam clings to the compliment like a life preserver. “I bet you’re like, like the king’s cook or something, right? Cause you’re the best in the land?" 

Luther’s face crumples a little and he looks down, mutters something. 

"What?” Cam holds him up a little closer to his ear. 

“’m his son,” Luther mumbles again. 

“His son? You’re a prince? And you’re all - oh, hell.” Now he’s really put his foot in it. Luther bursts into tears again and curls up in a little ball.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - oh, ugh, you’re getting my hand all wet.” Cam picks him up between thumb and forefinger and shakes the little tear droplets off his palm. “Now look here,” he says, attempting a sterner approach. “You’re a prince, all right? You can’t be crying and going to pieces just ‘cause some big bad monster was mean to you. You gotta kill big bad monsters, right? So here’s what you’re gonna do.” Cam sets him down gently, picks up his sword and hands it to him. “There you go. You’re gonna take that sword, right, and you’re gonna really let me have it. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?“ 

Luther purses his lips and looks up at him. "But… all I can hit from here is your foot. That’s no good. I need a shot at something vital." 

"Oh fine, fine, Mr. Picky,” Cam grumbles. He shuffles his legs to the side and leans down til he’s practically laying on his belly. “Face shot. Free one for ya. Go on, hit something good.” Luther considers. Just as Cam realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is, he draws his sword back and plunges it into Cam’s eye.

- Almost plunges it into Cam’s eye. The ogre moves suddenly, turning his head to the side to avoid the blow. Luther makes a deep gash in Cam’s cheek, and Cam roars. “Oh, you sly little shit. Very good, very sneaky. You almost had me there. Fine. We do this the hard way.”

He gets to his feet, draws himself up to his full, impressive height, and looks down at the dirt where Luther was a moment ago. Cam blinks in surprise. “Where’d you… goddammit…” He looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of where Luther could’ve gotten to. 

Luther was not about to let the golden opportunity to run and hide during a big dramatic show of power go to waste. He slides into a patch of underbrush, catches his breath, and takes stock. He has no armor, no food, no bow or arrows. Those are all back at his camp, which is currently ogre territory. He has one sword that he’s okay at using. The ogre has the homefield advantage, and some kind of ability, possibly magical, to hide himself from those who want to find him. Luther shouldn’t let him out of his sight. But he should work on camouflaging himself. He takes a handful of dirt and smears it on his face and shirt. The sword he can’t do much about, he’ll just have to try and keep it from glinting. He glances to his left, away from where Cam still stands, turning in circles and peering around. Luther had only gone a little ways into the woods before he stopped for camp last night. He can almost see the forest’s edge from here. He could dart for the grasslands and try to make it back to the village, but he’d be in plain sight as soon as he’s out of the trees and there’s no guarantee Cam won’t just follow him all the way back. The further he goes into the trees the more firmly he is in Cam’s territory, but the more coverage he has. 

Possibilities begin swirling around in his head. His best bet is trickery rather than a face to face confrontation. He’s got a running list in his mind of Cam’s weak points now. Food, monologuing, emotional outbursts. Although that last one’s probably off the table now. Bursting into tears isn’t going to get him out of a second pinch. Bad knees - if he can trip Cam up, he can get a shot at his face again, maybe cut his throat or get at his soft belly and sides. Cam’s a talker and likes to gloat, maybe if he gets him distracted by looking pathetic he could get him to walk right into a trap of some kind. He likes food… but Luther doesn’t have the resources to make a big feast to distract him or sate him, just a pouchful of seasoning that he never leaves home without. His lip wobbles again as he thinks about how that’s back at his camp… he may never see his precious seasonings again.

Meanwhile, Cam is getting frustrated. “Well, the little shit can’t have gone far,” he grumbles. “Just gotta flush 'im out.” Luther watches, petrified, as Cam lumbers over to a nearby patch of underbrush and without warning stomps down on it hard, twisting his foot and smashing every inch of it. He steps back and leans down to inspect what’s left. Luther bites his lip hard to stifle a whimper. 

“Nope, not there,” Cam announces. “Eeney, meeney, miney…..” Another bunch of bushes are mercilessly ground into the dirt. “Moe. Hmmm. Where are you?”

Luther can’t stay in his hiding place for long. It’s only a matter of time before Cam gets to him. He needs an opening to make a break for it though, if he runs now Cam will spot him right away. As slowly as he dares, he picks up a large, flat rock, then skims it like a frisbee off to his right, where it hits a tree with a satisfying thock. Cam whirls around, and Luther bolts out of the brush. Cam hears the leaves rustling and turns back around, catching sight of him as he flees. 

“There you are! Hold on now, don’t go running off! I just wanna talk, I swear. The whole monster-slaying prince thing not working out for ya? I got a better job offer! You can be my dinner!” Luther keeps sprinting as fast as he can, not even bothering to glance behind him. The last thing he needs is to miss a fallen branch or a groundhog hole and trip.

On flat, open land, the ogre would outpace him easily. But if he can get deeper into the forest where the trees are closer together, that could slow him down enough for Luther to get some distance and hide again, have a moment to breathe and think so he can work on his plan. He’s starting to get an idea of what he’ll need. He needs the element of surprise for sure, and he needs more than just his sword. If he had some rope he could set up a tripwire, maybe. He curses himself for not taking his father’s advice about packing, for letting Cam strip him, for being too weak and scared to do anything when he had the chance, for being born in the first place. His eyes well up with tears and he scrubs at them furiously. He can’t afford to have his sight blurred right now, he needs to keep his head clear and keep moving. He can hear Cam’s thudding footsteps behind him, gaining quickly. He can cover so much more ground in a single step. It’s simply not fair. The little bit of distance he was able to gain with his rock trick is disappearing fast and it won’t be long before he’s in arm’s reach.

Almost as if he can read his thoughts, Cam lunges forward and takes a swipe at him, trying to knock him off his feet. Luther hits the deck and Cam overbalances, stumbling and crashing into a tree. The tree snaps when his weight collides with it, and Cam has to windmill his arms to keep from falling over. Luther scrambles to his feet and keeps running. He even manages to put on an extra burst of speed when he hears Cam roar with frustration behind him. He’s not as fast as he could be because he’s lugging the sword along with him, but he doesn’t dare drop it. It proves its usefulness in the next minute. Cam closes the distance and grabs for him. Luther sees the shadow fall over him and whirls around, lashing out at the reaching hand. He slices across Cam’s palm, and Cam howls with pain and pulls back. Luther dashes away, and Cam stomps his foot in frustration. 

"Hold still, dammit! You’re just making it worse for yourself!” He takes off after Luther again, but his stamina’s flagging. It’s harder for a creature his size to haul himself around and he’s used to running down his prey in the first minutes of the chase. This has dragged on long enough to tire him out, but he’s not willing to give up just yet. “When I get my hands on you, tin man, you’re paste,” he growls. “They’re gonna have to come up with new words for how dead you’re gonna be.”

The trees start getting close enough together that Luther has to dodge around them from time to time. He can hear Cam behind him crashing through them, spluttering as he gets a face full of branches and leaves. Luther smiles to himself. That’s nice, at least. At last he gathers up his nerve and dodges to the side behind a particularly large tree, hoping that Cam’s too busy navigating the foliage to notice. His gamble pays off. A few seconds later, the ogre goes lumbering past him without so much as a sideways glance. Luther waits just a moment more, then bolts in the opposite direction.

He’s got a plan now. He probably won’t be able to find Cam again, but Cam can find him. So he’ll set up an ambush. He circles back around to his camp and grabs his supplies as quickly as he can, his bow and arrow, his helmet, his tinderbox, and most importantly, his seasoning. He hunts for deer, takes down a decent-sized buck, and sets up a new campfire, deep in the woods, where the trees are close. He’s hoping that Cam will think that Luther thinks he’s safe in there, and that the smell of the meat cooking will lure Cam in. He takes off his shirt and fills it with twigs and leaves, sets his helmet up on a stick driven into the ground, and makes a decently convincing decoy Luther that he leans against a log. The helmet tilts at an angle that makes it look like he’s fallen asleep. With that set up, and night closing in, Luther climbs up a nearby tree and waits, sword in hand.

He doesn’t watch the fire. He wants to keep his night vision sharp. And sure enough, before too long here comes Cam, moving surprisingly quietly for his size. He squeezes through the trees with barely a rustling of leaves. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the fire and the silhouette that the decoy makes against it. Cam gets right behind the decoy and slams his foot down on it. He grinds it into the dirt with a relish that makes Luther shudder. Then Cam looks at the deer cooking with that lovely smell rising off it, and his eyes go big and shiny. As Cam bends down to pick it up, Luther chooses his moment. He drops like a stone and buries his sword lengthwise in the back of Cam’s neck. The impact sends a jolt up his arms and he hangs on as tight as he can. Cam lets out a garbled scream of pain and collapses face first on the ground. Luther gets to his feet, pulls his sword out with some difficulty, takes a deep breath, and begins to chop.

It’s messy, horrible work. By the third swing tears are rolling down Luther’s cheeks. By the seventh, he’s sobbing. After the twenty-third cut, Cam’s head is finally severed, and rolls to the side. Luther stumbles back. He’s trembling, covered in blood, panting and crying, but it’s finally done. 

And then Cam’s head says, “Wow, kid. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Luther watches, dumbfounded, as Cam’s body sits up, searches around with its hands, locates his head, and puts it back on his shoulders as the flesh knits together again. Luther drops his sword in disbelief. He falls to his knees. That was it. That was all he had. He can’t even imagine what he could do against a foe who can just reattach his own head. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Okay. Um. Make it quick, please?” Cam had been planning to crunch the little shit once he was back on his feet, but he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at how despondent Luther looks.

“Aw, no, no, don’t give up so quick! Really, you almost had me!” Cam scoops him up and pats him on the head. “Look, it was a good effort. I’m sure if you had known I can’t be killed, you wouldn’t have spent all that time and energy trying to kill me. Just do a little more research next time, yeah?" 

"Next time,” Luther repeats, and gives a hollow laugh. “There isn’t going to be a next time. I’m not welcome as part of the royal family if I can’t kill a monster. Even my sister’s done her first slaying already. A whole nest of vampires! And I can’t kill one measly ogre." 

"Hey, watch who you’re calling measly,” Cam warns, but his heart isn’t in it. “Jeez. You’ve got some issues, kid. Not much of a fighter, I take it?" 

Luther shakes his head and sighs. "I’m just not very good at it." 

"Well they chose one hell of a first mission for you, that’s for sure. Ogres are tricky ones. We’ve got a lot of defense mechanisms.” Cam thinks for a moment. “You know what you are good at, though? You’re a good talker. Very convincing. I mean, you really had me going, with the crying and all? It was a really good ruse." 

Luther bites his lip. "Um…" 

"Okay, so it was for real and not a ruse. But you made the best of a bad situation! That’s also a good skill for a ruler to have. You just gotta show your family that your skills are less conventional, but still effective! Like, okay, why do you have to kill me? What’d I do?" 

“You’re eating all the farmers’ cattle and scaring people." 

"I thought free range meant I had free reign. Eh? Eh?” Cam pokes Luther in the ribs. Luther frowns at him. “Oh, fine, whatever. No sense of humor. You know, that’s pretty important for a king too. Yeah, all right, I’ll leave the cows alone." 

"And the sheep,” Luther says sharply. “And the pigs, and chickens." 

"I haven’t eaten any pigs or chickens,” Cam protests. 

“Not yet. I’m being proactive." 

"There you go!” Cam says, beaming. “There’s that negotiator skill! But seriously, if I can’t eat the cows and sheep I’ve got to eat something. Can you make it worth my while? 'Cause I’m not going back to squirrels." 

"Well…” Luther says slowly. “What if… I hire you?" 

"You… hire me?" 

"Yeah. Like, as a bodyguard or something. Then I’d have to pay you, right? I could pay you in food?” 

Cam is quiet for a moment. He brings Luther up closer to his face and scrutinizes him. Luther’s heart is pounding out of his chest. For a moment he thinks he’s made some horrible mistake and offended Cam and it’s all over for him. "You’re serious? Not kidding me, here? That’s your offer?”

“Y-yes? Is that… is it bad?" 

"Bad? Bad? That’s the best offer I’ve ever heard! Pay me in food? HELL yes, kid! That’s what I like to hear!” The force of Cam’s enthusiasm knocks Luther over on his back. He stares at the sky for a moment. His life is so goddamn weird.

~~~~~~~~~

Luther’s father’s dragon slaying days are behind him. He’s an old man now. He has good days and bad days, but even on his best days he frequently needs help getting around. But when he sees that giant ogre enter his royal halls, he reaches for his spear. Luther eases it out of his hand. 

“No, see, it’s okay. I didn’t kill him, but I stopped him terrorizing the countryside, and I kind of… hired him. As my bodyguard. This was easier, and we both benefit, see? Also, um, were you going to tell me ogres are immortal?" 

"You were supposed to figure something out,” his father says. “Since you’re so damned smart." 

"Well, I did figure something out. Just… maybe not what you wanted me to." 

Cam waves lazily. "Hi, Yer Majesty." 

"Cam,” Luther hisses. “We talked about this." 

"Oh, fine, fine,” Cam grumbles, and takes a knee to bow low before the king. “I humbly pledge my service to your son,” he intones, hamming it up just a little. “Please allow me to protect him from all harms, and so on." 

The king glares. His stabbing hand is itching. But he doesn’t currently have a better plan, and this’ll keep the peasants quiet for a bit. "Fine,” he spits, “But you’re taking care of him. Feeding him, walking him, cleaning up after him, whatever. No getting the servants to do it for you. He’s your responsibility now." 

Cam grins at Luther. "So, speaking of feeding… when’s dinner?”

[alvsstudies]

WaniKani for Kanji Studies

WaniKani, for all your kanji learning needs~

WaniKani, the glorious, glorious site that’s been a permanent tab on my computer for years. Boy, where do I even begin to describe the wonder that is this kanji studying website and its community? Actually, other than the very basics I’ll probably stick to mentioning the things I personally love about it and let you explore the ins and outs of the page on your own, because the WK community site already has loads and loads of guides, support, and tips ‘n tricks for you if you want to give it a go and need someone to point you in the right direction. Oh, and then there’s also the official knowledge guide which includes FAQ, of course. Heaps of information on there. Totally recommend it. 🐊🦀✨

“Everything you need to know about waiting a really long time for your precious reviews”

“Okay, okay, we get it. But, what is WaniKani?” Ah. Right. Well, first things first, in Japanese ワニ (wani) means crocodile, or alligator, and カニ (kani) means crab. The mascot for the page is the almighty Crabigator that is more or less worshipped by the community. If you venture into the weird parts of it, that is. But if you’re not into that stuff you can just. Y’know. Forget everything I just wrote and pretend it doesn’t exist. 

Through WK you get to memorise both kanji and vocabulary containing the kanji you learn. 2,000 kanji may sound like intimidatingly many squiggles and lines to learn, but nope! WK’s got your back! Instead of memorising each and every line, you learn using radicals. Suddenly you’ll look at a kanji and see three radicals instead of 10+ strokes. Magic ✨ You’ll also learn the different pronunciations/readings of the kanji, and when you learn new vocabulary you’ll have a bunch of example sentences of varying difficulty help you see the word in its proper context.

Kanji readings made easy. And fun!

The learning process is separated into different levels (60 in total), each containing a certain amount of radicals, kanji, and vocabulary. There is a “Lessons” button for learning new stuff, and a “Reviews” button for reviewing the stuff you’ve previously learnt. Easy peasy, right? 🍋

Welp, that’s essentially the gist of it. I’ll now introduce some of the things I love about WK real quick:

First few levels for free - this way you’ll get a feel for how WK works while at the same time learn some basic kanji. Then you’re free to choose which type of membership you’d like to purchase (if any). (It’s so worth it though, if you ask me)

SRS: spaced repetition system - to optimise learning based on how human memory works. Greatly appreciated by my psychology major brain 

The design, art, layout - clean, colourful, pretty, simplistic, professional, and easy to use only begins to describe it! Besides, how could we possibly hope to learn anything at all if the page weren’t aesthetically pleasing, amirite 

Humour - good god there’s nothing worse than really dry textbook material. How about some really dry humour instead? Believe me, there are some GEMS in the example sentences

Game-like - the level up system makes you want to keep going back for more so you can level up. It’s sort of like that TED-talk about the Super Mario Effect: you’re so engrossed in the “I want to level up!” mindset that you forget that you’re actually learning heaps of useful kanji in the process

Community - whether you want someone to answer your questions about those pesky particles, want to laugh at extremely disproportionate manga drawings people have found while reading, want to practice chatting in Japanese with fellow learners, want a morale boost by checking out some wholesome doodles and gifs, lowkey want to join a Crabigator cult or want to join a Japanese book club - the WK community is the place to go. I just wanted to learn some kanji, man. Who would’ve thought I’d make actual, solid friendships? Aw. Wholesome  

And last but not least:

The Tofugu guys who run the show - accommodating, kind, funny, professional, and quick to reply if something’s up. You see them lurking around in the community posts sometimes. You should totally consider checking out their articles about Japan and Japanese learning over on their blog, Tofugu. Super helpful! Or their podcast about the same stuff. All good times over there. (One of my personal faves is probably the one about ようかい.) They’re also currently working on developing a Japanese-learning-online-textbook-type of thing (...nailed it) called EtoEto. Super excited for that!

And that’s that on that! 🎊 If you have any questions about WK just send me an ask or pop by the WK Community (my @ in case you want to say hi: Alolvovan). Happy kanji learning! 頑張って！