#he looks so good... the urge to keep it is gonna make me develop a twitch under my eye...

[mattodore]

playing with dionte's hair bc i'm procrastinating

[arvensimp]

YFSK Preview, pt. 4.1

I know i've been super duper quiet, but I promise there's a good reason. Please forgive me and accept this teaser for part 4.

“Hey! I dunno if you’ve been keeping track on your end, but Kiki is gonna be graduating from Blueberry, and I know it would mean the absolute world to him if you were able to attend the ceremony.” Carmine called, nearly out of the blue one day to inform you. Her brother had apparently been a part of a trial class that not only earned a high school diploma but also continued on for a few more years as part of a pilot Bachelor’s degree program in pokemon battling. From what you understood, it was basically like a feeder system to train new gym leaders and Elite Four hopefuls.

You look down at your ballooning tummy,

"Congratulations to him! When is it exactly though…?"

You wince and resist the urge to suck your teeth when Carmine gives you the date.

"Ahhh... I'm so sorry, I've got something at that time."

"For real? You can't just ask for time away from your league for even a weekend? This would REALLY mean the world to Kiki..."

"I'm sorry, but…I won't actually be allowed to fly by that point."

"Allowed? What kinda terrorism have you gotten into?"

You snort a laugh. "Pssh, nah. It's... It's medical actually. Here. Lemme, uh..." Without hanging up, you send over the most recent ultrasound photos. Your baby still kinda looks like a Munna in there, but she should get the point. Or, at least you assume she does when you hear the sound of crashing and fumbling on her end.

"You're having a BABY?????"

"Uh...haha, yeah. The due date is, like, a week after Kieran's graduation, so... I, y'know, can't fly. I'm really sorry. I'll be sure to send a gift though!"

"A BABY?"

"Yup. I can hardly believe it myself, most days."

"I didn't even know you were seeing anyone! Who is this guy? Why didn't you let your incredible Unovan friends suss him out for you?"

Another wince. "...About that. Yeah... He's not...um. In the picture."

"What? How? Why? Whomst would even dare? Do I need to kick some ass?"

"It's...." You still haven’t gotten used to talking about the subject. "It's a lot. Don't. ...Don't worry! Really! I have tons of support! It's fine. For real."

Carmine absolutely isn't buying it. "Mm. Fine. I guess I get why you can't make it to the graduation. Could we come visit afterwards though? Like I get you probably wouldn't want us there immediately after he graduates. But...maybe like a few months later? Give the thing a chance to develop an immune system?"

"I can't promise I'll be a great host, but... Well, it would be nice."

"Don't worry yourself none! I've changed diapers and stuff before if you end up needing a nap while we're around!"

-

So around the time Basil is 3 months old, the Kitakami pair head to Paldea.

Of course, Basil is having a rough time of it, screaming his little lungs out as they're knocking on the door, so you can only hope that you don’t look as frazzled as you feel when you welcome them in.

"Hey! Hello! Please, come in, come in. Make yourselves at home.” You give the pair a hug at the same time, barely able to register them beyond the fog of ‘TAKE CARE OF BASIL, TAKE CARE OF CRYING PROGENY, TAKE CARE OF BABY’ that alarms through your brain. “I'm really sorry, but I just need to feed Basil real fast. That should hopefully get him sleeping and happy again."

You usher them in and invite them to sit on the sofa, the TV is theirs, and you hide away in the bedroom to nurse. A few minutes later, Carmine gently knocks on the door and asks if she can be of any help. You joke through the wood that the dishes need doing when she presses past the feeble ‘it’s fine!’ that you offer.

"Kiki! Take care of the dishes, yeah?"

"On it!" You hear, softer.

"Okay, what else?" She continues.

"No! Just. Just relax, please."

"Nah, I'm gonna tidy up. Kay? You just keep feeding the chonklet there, and we can catch up when you're done."

You come back out to the room, and it's not Clean, but it's definitely more put together. You also hear the hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen.

"You guys...." You start tearing up, and both siblings immediately swoop in to hold you. Carmine strokes your hair, shushing you. Now that you’ve got your child content, you have a moment to comprehend your guests.

Kieran is. Bigger.

"I... I promise I'm not this pathetic! I can handle this. Plus, I... I have folks here who can help... It's just hard..." You snivel, sounding way more pathetic than you mean to sound.

"It's okay that it's hard..." Kieran finally pipes up and his voice is definitely deeper since you last heard him. Not a bass or something, but there's been a change there. "This is more or less the hardest thing in the world, right? And we all know you're the strongest person there is, so...ya know. It's okay. You...you can do this. And you can feel overwhelmed."

-

They end up staying for about a week or so, and on the night before they're due to fly back, Kieran pulls you aside while Carmine is grabbing takeaway for dinner. He's fidgeting with his hair a bit, tapping his foot, but he's doing his best to meet your eye.

"I'm staying." He declares.

"What? Like you're gonna look for a job here?"

"Yeah! I know I'm not as strong as you, but I'm certain I could get a job in your league or...or maybe even at your alma mater, maybe. I... I'd need to do a teaching cert in Paldea for that, probably, but..."

"Wow! So you liked it that much here? That's great, Kieran. I can help you learn the language if you want. I can also see if Nemona has any real estate connections. We'll try to find you a place when you're ready to get back, and hopefully by then you'll have a job, and you can get started wi--"

"No! I mean... I'm. I'm not going back to Kitakami." One of his hands grabs yours and the other rests gently on Basil, sleeping soundly in your arms. "He needs...a...a father figure, y'know? I..." Kieran swallows thickly. "I can do that. I'm... I'm a man now."

"Kieran..." You shift slightly, freeing a hand from your bundle while keeping him balanced in your arms. You trace a palm along the older boy--no, man's cheek, your callouses having grown softer in recent months. You can feel where he's begun to grow consistent stubble. Wow... He really did grow up.

"I... I'm not going to keep you from reaching your fullest potential out there. You're welcome, more than welcome, to come visit any time, but... You're not thinking clearly about this. About what you think you're signing up for."

"I AM though!" He raises his voice, showing some hints of the anger he holds onto. "I'm READY for this! God, why can't anyone TRUST me?!"

All the yelling wakes up Basil, who cries, startled. Kieran quickly scoops him up and out of your arms, attempting to soothe the baby.

"Aw, geez... I'm sorry, little guy... I didn't mean to make you upset... Shh, shh... It'll be okay..."

The momentary flare of anger you felt at having your son torn from your grip is placated as you watch Kieran hold him so tenderly. Your heart melts... You lose all affection you may have secretly held onto in your heart for Arven, that loser.

Kieran is here. Kieran is capable. Kieran... Kieran can do this.

"Okay..." You softly tell him once Basil has calmed, the single word hanging in the quiet between you for a moment.

"...Okay?" He parrots.

"You... You can stay. You... You'll be his father."

Then y'all DO IT.

THE END

april fools :)

[cannibalovers]

Hannibal song of the day : song no. 5

a bit about the song:

"Breezeblocks"(released in 2012) is song by alt-J, written by Thom Sonny Green, Gwilym Sainsbury, Gus Unger-Hamilton & Joe Newman(the whole group), most likely their most popular song. It starts off mellow and quiet guitar, interchanging between build ups and drops with synthesisers and a lot of deep bass, drums and other percussion instruments till the end of the song, which ends with an arrangement of overlapping vocals, like a choir. It fits genres like indie rock, indie pop, art rock and folktronica. The song itself tells a story of two lovers, where one of them wants to leave the relationship, feeling unsafe and unfulfilled but the other is obsessive and deranged and so in love that they don't let the other leave, the desire and love being so strong that they dare to hurt their lover and themselves just to make them stay. There can be another meaning to the song when taking the music video into the account(that the group themselves said is kind of different but managed to fit the vibe), which is filmed in reverse, presenting a narrative where a man kills a woman(maybe an ex or smth) who was most likely keeping his wife hostage. Since the chain of events is presented in reverse, it looks as if the man is the abusive lover trying to kill his wife, although by the end we find out he was actually defending his wife and killed the woman that kidnapped his wife, sending a message to not judge a book by its cover - don't assume and judge until you know the full story. It also references a book "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak, talking about a young boy who misbehaved badly at home and got scolded for it. His hostile and intense emotions sent him to an imaginary jungle with creatures called "The Wild Things". In this world, he feels appreciated and powerful as the wild things make him a king, but as soon as he realises the responsibilities a king has are hard, he wants to leave and go back home, to his loving mother who took care of him and coudl depend on, but the creatures don't want him to leave, threatening cannibalism (woah i wonder why I am writing this), saying "Oh, please don’t go! We’ll eat you whole! We love you so!". The band thought of it as a very powerful image and referenced these words in the song. In the end, the boy does manage to get away, unlike the lover of this song.

yeah sorry for the long intro to the song um. i've loved this song for years I swear I could listen to it forever so.

overall the song creates such a chilling mix between aggression and affection it's just so fucking insane and well. very hannigram. I think that was expected. Tbh i feel like it's prob known to fannibals, i made a post once asking ppl for song recommendations for hannibal and this song has shown up a few times and honestly? it fits them SO. WELL. especially when you think about the whole mizumono episode. The music video reminded me of mizumono a lot... so I'll be basing this on that episode a lot...

Pardon me for the pain i'm gonna provide today<3

------------------------------

Verse 1

"She may contain the urge to run away But hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks"

The girl doesn't want to be in the relationship with the man anymore, maybe recognizing that he is not in a good state of mind or she just believes they're not fit for each other anymore, whichever it is, she is contemplating getting out of the relationship, which she feels trapped in, or the man feels like he's scaring her away, hence her "running away"; He doesn't like this, being way too attached for her, he can't just let her run away after the comfort she brought him and the strong emotions he developed towards her, so he decided to weigh her down (literally) by drowning her with breezeblocks. Metaphorically, Breezeblocks are blocks used for building houses and are supposed to represent foundation here, so perhaps he has been making her stay by guilt tripping her about everything that they have built together and the fact that she can't just "leave behind" the trust, support, stability and safety that they have gained from each other - the foundation of their relationship. After she wasn't giving her idea of leaving up, he decided to actually weight her down with their foundation in forms of breezeblocks. In my eyes, the soggy clothes could also have a little bit of meaning, soggy clothes being quite uncomfortable and probably clinging to her(just like he does) - perhaps they're soggy from the times he was guilt tripping her, perhaps tears were shed and her clothes getting soggy just represent the manipulation and fakeness of them, or the severity of the situation and how long it has been going on and how this has affected her (made her feel heavy at heart and uncomfortable)

I think these lyrics summarise THE monologue in Mizumono and hannigram's plans quite perfectly. Will wanting to run away (from hannibal unfortunately...) and as Hannibal realised his plan of betrayal, reacted very aggressively by literally gutting him (sogging his clothes with blood ig) and breaking down the foundation they have built, more or so with words, but also the knife he uses. At this point I have no idea if its a linoleum knife (knife used for building, houses, rugs and FOUNDATIONS OF A BUILDING.) or a kerambit or smth else but I'll stick to the linoleum here(also check out this post about his choice for the knife, it drives me fucking insane) and say that this is how Hannibal tears down the foundation they have built together. Not only does he gut him, he talks to Will about how betrayed he feels that he was planning to leave him, after letting Will see him, after building this foundation of trust and support for each other. Hannibal was there, understanding Will and offering support and stability and he saw that Will could provide it for him back, which he chose to do only to get closer to him to betray him and take away his happiness (Will...) and stable, carefully crafted life he had. Will was something very important to Hannibal, a person that changed him and made him feel love for once, and then he lied about accepting him. He can't handle losing Will so he would make him stay and tear him down, hurt him, if that's what it would take.

"Cetirizine, your fever’s gripped me again Never kisses, all you ever send are fullstops (La la la la)"

Citrizine is a medicine used for fevers, suggesting the man is so obsessed with her that she makes him ill and stressed (overheated and overwhelmed and overthinking, hence the fever) and he needs medicine. She is constantly rejecting him, rejecting his affections and never giving any to him but instead stopping him, although it can also allude to texts, her not ending them with "xx" (kisses) but with full stops, being quite cold and distant with him.

well first, for the show it can allude to how Hannibal literally gave Will a fever and the amount of aspirin Will took cuz of that if we take this literally, but that mean the roles would have to switch so, instead in my eyes I think of how bothered and overwhelmed Will probably made Hannibal feel the more interested and obsessive he got over Will. I can't imagine how many times this man probably thought of him everyday and overthought stuff (jesus seriously hes obsessed) and how ill and diseased (although alive) Hannibal probably felt (maybe diseased and ill after he knew Will's plan...); the affections the girl is rejecting from her lover could represent how distant Will was with Hannibal at first.

"Do you know where the wild things go? They go along to take your honey (La la la la)"

This is a reference from the book "Where the Wild Things Are". The band suggested that the lyrics are about jealousy, the protagonist being jealous of other people who are catching his lovers attention instead of him, maybe this is a conversation between them about this concern, telling his lover that those people are bad and will use her and leave her(take away her honey); Maybe he's trying to convince her that he would never do that - although he technically is, eating away at whatever support and love(the honey) she has to offer for him.

I feel like this presents why Hannibal decided to isolate Will in the first place, taking away everything from him (or at least how he wants Will to see it, as we know that he was just trying to make his plan come true and return some of the things Will cared about so much). He saw everything that Will had interest in (Alana, Abigail, although he kept her for Will, Margot's child etc) as a threat to his plan of having Will all to himself and so he took them away - because he believed that they were both bad for Will but also because they were not in Hannibal's best interest. Also doesn't he like kill Will's wife in season 3 idk yet dont tell me

"Break down, now weep, build up breakfast Now let’s eat, my love, my love, love, love (La la la la)"

This probably references the many fights the couple had and protagonist's method of trying to make it up to her by trying to get back into a loving, normal routine, forgetting the fights, doing things such as letting her sleep it off and making a breakfast, starting the day over - The breakfast being his love for her. This is most likely to say that acts of service for her would be his love language and he would feel loved if she accepted his services, as well as offerings(his love) he makes for her.

for Hannibal:

do i like. have to explain this one

first of all lets be real cooking and making ppl commit accidental cannibalism is his love language (even better when they are aware of it and accept it knowingly so u dont have to make them commit accidental cannibalism to feel like u're normal for enjoying it and ure not a monster and God didn't punish u by making u eat ur own sister and enjoy it and that they accept and understand u for this and are def not doing it as a manipulation tactic to get u closer to them... that's not smth Will would do to Hannibal wdym)

------------------------------

Chorus

"Muscle to muscle and toe to toe The fear has gripped me, but here I go My heart sinks as I jump up Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut And I, ah-ah-ah-ah"

The chorus seems to depict the the physical fight going between the two lovers. The protagonist doesn't seem to be in his right mind as he says that even though the fear tried to stop him, he has lost control and is now hurting his loved one (or himself) - His fear of rejection making him not handle this situation well and taking the last leap of faith to "save" the relationship by physically forcing her into it. The harm can either be to himself or her, maybe threatenening suicide and her gripping his hand to stop him, or him hitting her and her trying to deflect his hand with her own.

For Hannibal, it's literally,,gutting Will. Or any physical fight or holding each other at gun point or any murder attempt they had. In mizumono, Hannibal is visibly heartbroken by Will's decisions, maybe regretting the choices hes about to take. Maybe for once he felt some fear hurting another person, the person being Will, but he pushes through it, knowing it had to be done, to show Will how he made him feel. The physical contact in this chorus could represent the hug that they shared (the most heartbreaking hug in tv history). His feelings seem to contrast with the violence in that scene so much it makes me so fucking depressed

------------------------------

Verse 2

"[...}She bruises, coughs, she splutters pistol shots Hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks"

The words have a violent imagery to them, maybe to show the lover fighting back and still not agreeing to stay, maybe even trying to hurt him, her words feeling like pistol shots to him, or it could represent her drowning, trying to catch a breath. If that's what is happening, then he tries to remind himself of his point and to not help her, because she will run away - it's better to hold her down and make her stay.

Will's most common weapons is a gun or his hands and words, so i guess it fits his image quite well(not to mention the amounts of time he held Hannibal at gun point lol). These clearly never seemed to have affected Hannibal (until the last supper) and he continues through with his plan of taking everything away from Will, showing what he has lost by not staying by Hannibal's side.

"She’s morphine, queen of my vaccine My love, my love, love, love (La la la la)"

The protagonist compares her to morphine, a drug used to help with pain - clearly he is very dependent on her and uses her for emotional stability and support, losing that would make him insecure and breakdown, he can't lose her after the vulnerability he shared with her. This also fits with the expression "Love is a drug", which to him, her love is clearly like a drug, he has become obsessed, needing her love all the time, addicted to her, suggesting the intensity of emotions she makes him feel and just how obsessed he is - that's why he can't let her go.

The contrast between the dark, violent and destructive comparisons he makes of her, ignoring those destructive feelings and calling her his "love" really deepens the juxtaposition between aggression and affection the song potrays and shows just how blind the protagonist is.

I feel like this fits Hannibal's feelings about Will quite well, considering how obsessed he is with him, to the point of destruction and isolating him to have him all to himself (and also the fact that my man was CRYING after putting Will in prison, missing their therapy sessions. LIKE BITCH). He really puts Will high up on a pedestal, suggesting just how important and addictive Will is to him and how dependent he has become on Will after opening up to him, maybe even feeling like Will numbs his pain and loneliness of never being accepted for who he actually was.

------------------------------

Verse 3

"[...]Germolene, disinfect the scene, my love, my love, love, love But please don't go, I love you so, my lovely"

This is the aftermath of the protagonist killing his lover. He realises that he killed her, getting an anticeptic(clearly unprepared for this and panicking, using some at-home antiseptic instead of something proper) to disinfect the scene off of his DNA. The realisation quickly hits him of what he has done, making him spiral into a breakdown as he realises that his actions didn't make her stay, they made her dead forever.

Hannibal clearly doesn't disinfect the scene in mizumono, he doesn't even wear his plastic suit or use the cloth that he always uses to not leave finger prints, there was no point in hiding anything anymore, Will helped FBI see through him, although we do see him "cleansing" himself off of the events by walking in the rain and trying to "comfort" Will, telling him to "wade into the quiet of the stream". I don't think these specific lyric apply to the situation much disinfection-wise, although it can represent Hannibal's state of mind, especially after realising everything he has done and the regret that came with it(does he feel guilty tho? i have no idea but the begging and love confessions in this line def represent his obsession and love for Will which left him very heartbroken after everything that was done)

also could represent Will........ him wanting to turn back, if he could only reverse time, undo the events so Abigail lives and everyone else lives..............ouch

------------------------------

Refrain

"Please don't go, please don't go I love you so, I love you so Please don't go, please don't go I love you so, I love you so Please break my heart (Hey!) Please don't go, please don't go I love you so, I love you so Please don't go, please don't go I love you so, I love you so Please break my heart[...]"

the most beautiful part of the song in my opinion tbh. The layers, the build up, the overlapping vocals, it's all just so overwhelming and emotional and vulnerable.

the protagonist spirals, realising what he has done but not wanting it to be true, he's not ready yet to let go of his lover, slowly, he's losing self control and giving into his violent desires, he threatens cannibalism if she goes away(she can't really do anything my dude...) as he frantically confessse to her that he loves her. He just loves her so much and needs her so much, the desire is so strong that he will consume her if it means that she stays right beside him(or inside him), craving that impossible closeness, it's a way to forever remain with a loved one. This whole refrain is just so incredibly contradicting and depressing and desparate its insane

now, it's no secret that Hannibal doesn't want to let Will go and even consume him. He wants him to live but at the same time he wants to taste him, devour him. To love is to consume, but to consume is to devour and transform in reusable energy. He wants him as close as possible and for Will to accept his desires and give himself up, let him be his - but clearly that's not what Will wanted (yet).

...This one is so straightfoward especially considering Hannibal that I don't even know what to say really. The song itself just says it all perfectly.

in conclusion they are fucking insane for this and breezeblocks is the ultimate hannigram (specifically mizumono) song. 11/10

------------------------------

additional notes:

was so excited for this one but i actually wrote less than i thought wow but maybe thats also cuz most of the song repeats. or im tired

idk if its cuz i literally dont know how to explain cannibalism as a metaphor of love or why but. at the same time the song just describes pretty well on its own

------------------------------

my playlist

hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading<3

[suzukiblu]

Guessing game: Farm

Context: a familial soulmates AU is happening to newly-decanted baby clone "Superman" and Ma and Pa "it's free alien baby" Kent.

The waitress comes back with the drinks and asks if they're ready to order, and then they have to actually read the menu. She leaves them to it. The Zesti does taste really good, but Superman has a hard time concentrating on the menu and barely resists the urge to glance up at Jonathan and Martha every five seconds.

"Oh, wait–can you read yet, kiddo, or do you need some help with that?" Jonathan asks with a faint frown as he glances up at him himself, and somehow the question doesn't sound judgmental at all.

Weird, Superman thinks again.

"Yeah," he says. "Um–Cadmus was educating me with information uploads. I didn't finish them, but I can read and write and do, like . . . well, some math, anyway. I got through trig and precalc, mostly. Uh, and some chemistry and biology. And, like, I can speak English and Spanish and a little Mandarin, and I know basic ASL. I don't think I'm actually as smart as they thought I was gonna be, though, some of it's kinda . . . confusing, to be honest? And they only ever showed me stuff once, I think they just thought I'd . . . you know, get it."

"You're two weeks old!" Martha says with an exasperated huff. "Those damn morons, you're gonna need a lot more than two weeks' worth of yellow sun before you're going to get the eidetic memory or the enhanced intelligence."

"The–what?" Superman blinks. Jonathan and Martha glance at each other, oddly, and then back to him.

"Superman had perfect recall," Jonathan says. "Hyperthymesia. A photographic memory, you might call it."

"Oh," Superman says, blinking again. "Uh–I didn't know that."

"I don't know how much most people ever thought about it, so far as his powers went," Jonathan says with a shrug. "Not quite as flashy as the heat vision or the flying. Actually it's a surprise you can fly this quick, come to think."

"I'm sort of . . . cheating," Superman mutters, ducking his head. "My Kryptonian physiology isn't developed enough to give me the real powers yet and they didn't know how long it might take for them to come in, so they sort of . . . there's like this . . . field, kind of, that the original Superman put off? Subconscious telekinesis, I guess. Skin-tight force field, basically. It's why bullets weren't ripping up his suit all the time and why he could, like, pick up a whole freaking bus or whatever one-handed and it wouldn't just break in half from the fucked-up–uh, the messed-up support. The field would just wrap around whatever he was touching and reflexively keep it together. So Cadmus just kinda . . . copied that and cranked it up to eleven, for me. So I'm telekinetic, kind of?"

"Huh," Martha says, looking a little puzzled. "You know, that never even occurred to me, but it certainly explains a few things."

"It only works when I'm touching something," Superman says, fidgeting uncomfortably and feeling kind of like . . . well, he guesses his powers not being the same as the original Superman's were yet isn't gonna disappoint the Kents, right? Like, why would they care? "It's tactile-based. But I can always use it on myself. So I can fly and pick up real heavy shit and hit like I've got super-strength and make it look like I'm invulnerable. No heat vision or ice breath or X-ray vision or, uh, eidetic memory, though. Or super-speed or super-senses."

And definitely, definitely no enhanced intelligence.

"So you mean you're going to be stronger than Superman was?" Martha asks with a little frown, and Superman . . . blinks.

"Uh . . . I don't think so?" he says uncertainly, not sure where she got that idea. "I don't know how the hybridization of my DNA will affect, like . . . any of the Kryptonian powers. They might turn out weaker than his were, since my genes are sort of already adapted for a yellow sun."

"I don't know, being primed to process yellow sunlight might make your powers end up stronger, on that logic," Jonathan points out reasonably. "Once you grow into them a bit, anyway. And either way you'll have the telekinesis enhancing your strength and invulnerability, and that might get stronger too. And, well, at least some hybrids have a tendency to turn out bigger and stronger than their parent species."

Superman tilts his head. Blinks a couple times.

"Huh," he says.

Well, there's a really freaking cool and absolutely fucking terrifying thought.

"How do you know all that?" he asks. "Are you a biologist or something?"

"I'm a farmer, son," Jonathan says wryly. "I'm talking about mules and wolfdogs."

"You're a farmer?" Superman repeats in absolute bemusement.

"We both are, dear," Martha says. "All our lives. We live out in Smallville, actually, we're just here visiting . . . well. Clark's fiancée. Her name is Lois."

"Where's Smallville?" Superman asks, still bemused.

"Kansas," Martha says. "We have a little farm out there. And . . . well, we'd very much like to take you in, obviously, though I don't know where you're staying right now."

"Just, like–wherever, right now," Superman says awkwardly, trying not to sound as pathetic as he's pretty sure he does even as he wonders how that's supposed to be "obvious". He's not, like, a little kid or anything. It's not like he can't take care of himself. "Like, it's not really . . . just wherever."

Jonathan and Martha glance at each other. Superman feels embarrassed. It's not like it matters where he's staying, and like, he'll find a place, eventually, just . . . he hasn't quite figured out how to do that yet. That's all.

Cadmus, unfortunately, did not prepare him to ever live . . . well. Outside of Cadmus.

"Would you like to visit, at least? Take a look around?" Jonathan offers. "It's not too far a flight from Metropolis."

"Um . . . maybe," Superman says, really not sure what he'd ever do on a farm of all places. Like, in what way is a farm a "Superman" kind of place to be?

Though he guesses it'd be politer than making Jonathan and Martha come to Metropolis. And if they actually . . . if they really want to see him . . .

He could swing by sometimes, that's all. He guesses he'd have to be careful about doing it because probably the Kents aren't gonna want anybody to know they're his soulmates, given the whole "being civilians" thing. Maybe he can just . . . just pretend to be . . . he doesn't know, exactly? Just–maybe some random distant relative or something. Maybe they have some cousins or whatever. Or just . . . something.

Superman actually has no idea how many people hang out with their extended family members like that, to be honest, but it's the best idea he's coming up with right now.

[ohwhataniight]

I'm never gonna dance again - Part 2

Thank you soooo much for your likes, replies and reblogs on Part 1. They absolutely made my day! Here's the second part, these boys are killing me.

Please excuse my descriptions of ballroom dancing, I have a very faint idea of any of it.

Part 1, Part 3

I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

The second, and the third, and the fourth time they dance, John makes sure the door is locked first. It sends a pang into Sherlock’s chest, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Don’t get involved. He brushes off Mycroft’s advice with a wave of his hand that causes John to shoot him a questioning glance.

Back, back, right, close.

Sherlock is, for once, distastefully conscious of his body. The lump that has taken residence on his throat, the fist clenching tightly around his ribcage, constricting his lungs and making his heart physically hurt.

He had it coming, really. He has no right to come forward with his feelings, not now, not after two years of disappearing and wrecking John’s life. Mary had fixed him, had kept him alive for Sherlock, and the world’s only consulting detective could only feel gratitude towards her person. Sherlock has no role in this love story. He’s merely the best man, an important, nonetheless, outsider. It was only right to feel excluded, after having excluded John from his own life so detrimentally for so long.

It was to save him.

Back, back, right, close.

All these days of John leading him on the creaky floor of the 221B Baker Street apartment, witnessing his self-consciousness turn into confidence which was such a good look on him, watching John as he swiftly picked up the steps and led Sherlock steadily around, making sure he wouldn’t bump into an armchair or trip over the sword peering from underneath it.

He has been accustomed to the warmth radiating from John’s body, the sweat developing between their interlocked fingers, the feeling of John’s shirt sticking to his body, under Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock can only think of closing the distance between them, dance like John would dance with Mary, pull him close and feel his strong heart beating with fervor against his own chest. He wants to lean down and kiss him, softly, with veneration, or smashing their lips together with hunger (usually depending on the song playing at the moment).

But Sherlock knows he’s lost his chance, he knows that he’s betrayed John’s trust. And yet, all he can dream of is the feeling of John held tightly in his embrace as each of them inhales the star dust the other man is made of.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend

And waste the chance that I'd been given

So I'm never gonna dance again

The way I danced with you, oh

John has ruined dancing for him. It’s a disaster, really. Sherlock doesn’t dance on his own anymore - the hollowness of his own embrace shocks him, violently makes him realize that, come tomorrow, nothing will ever be the same again. He will never dance with John. He will watch John holding the love of his life in his arms and swaying away with steps that Sherlock taught him, that belong to Sherlock.

Oh how he wishes he could disappear again, alter his identity, dissolve into thin air or be swallowed by the open earth. The Waltz of John and Mary hasn’t finished but Sherlock cannot dance anymore. He slumps into the sofa, pulls his knees to his chest, and bursts into ugly sobs that shake his body.

Time can never mend

The careless whispers of a good friend

To the heart and mindIgnorance is kind

There's no comfort in the truth

Pain is all you'll find

It’s John’s stag night and somehow they’ve landed themselves at a gay bar. Sherlock has lost count of the drinks they’ve had, and he’s stopped caring long ago. For the timebeing, what’s important is keeping himself upright, and dealing with the inebriated urge to lean over the numerous bar tables they’ve sat at and take John in completely, press him against his body and consume him.

“Come on, let’s practice my jive,” John shouts over the loud music, standing up and dragging a stumbling Sherlock to the dancefloor by his hand. Sherlock shakes his head, trying to get a grip, but complies. Their legs start moving swiftly to the saxophone notes that John appreciates so much. Sherlock can’t believe how good John’s jive - of all dances - is already. He’s a natural dancer. It’s a pity his rigid heterosexuality has not allowed him to explore that part of himself more in the past.

Sherlock adores staring at John dancing and, as it seems, so do the other patrons of the bar who pull back and give them space on the dancefloor.

Sherlock cannot understand the hype about orgasms when dancing exists. This is what it is about, the unusual instances when Sherlock loves feeling his own body, dizzy, blood pumping, hungry for life, as his feet move to the rhythm of a jazz-swing version of Careless Whisper, taking John’s hand as their eyes meet, and this is a high like none he’s experienced before. People are cheering and clapping to the rhythm of the song. John looks exhilarated, a wide smile transforming his face, his bright blue eyes sparkling against the flashing lights in the bar, indigo, black, indigo, black, his face appearing and disappearing before Sherlock but their hands staying interwined as they spin each other around and their bodies pump with excitement in the rhythm of indigo black indigo black -

John pulls him close after a spin and they’re holding each other in a strange complex of arms around chests and legs that move rhythmically in all different directions. Smoke is encircling them and they’re breathing in frenetic unison, chests going up, down, up down, hearts struggling to meet halfway behind ribs and shirts that make it all so inconvenient.

They stay like that for what feels like ages, up, down, up, down. “You’re beautiful,” John exhales eventually, staring into Sherlock’s eyes, and Sherlock swiftly confiscates the shared breath with a deep inhale.

“And you, my dear Watson, are drunk.”

To be continued...

Part 3

[allgoldenelite]

NOAH New Year show translations

Rather than reposting the screenshots from Twitter here, I'm gonna make my tls an original post here on Tumblr.

bummers ahead, please proceed with care

Ibushi: (tl link)

"I got scammed by a place called C5 Clinic* that I tweeted about before, which has branches in the whole country. Please be careful, everyone.

I think NOAH will release information about my surgery and bone fractures and dislocation and such. I'm sorry to everyone for the inexcusable match. Everything is my fault."

*this clinic specializes in adipose tissue stem cell treatment

Ibushi: (tl link)

"Sorry for the late message. I think there will be a detailed report from NOAH, but I'm letting you know that my left ankle is a mangled mess, and I'll have surgery for the right [ankle] ligament. I think there will be a release [by NOAH] soon.

I'm really, really sorry."

Ibushi: (tl link)

"I've come [this far] with the goal of getting 20 years [in ring career], so I think it might be time soon [to quit] being an active [wrestler]. I still have a lot of contracts and such left so I'll see those through!

I try not to think too much about the negative things or the future and stuff like that, but I have a lot of things [to do] like taking care of my mother, so when it's time I'll talk about it! Don't miss a single match😊 ‼️ "

Jake Lee: (tl link)

"It's not about whose fault it is or anything like that

Everyone awaits you standing in the ring again

That's what I believe."

more under the cut

Marufuji: (tl link)

"Good morning. [The] Ariake Arena [show] was a couple days ago.

I'm going to assume that you understand that as professionals, we have to share perfection with everyone.

I feel sorry to the fans who, spending good money and valuable time, came to watch what could not meet the expectations, if you listen to a lot of the opinions.

I write "a lot of opinions" because there are people who hold a different opinion than that.

I can't write in detail here about the two different sides, but...

I think among the staff there are probably people from either side.

So there are among the wrestlers.

"As professionals, we have to share perfection with everyone": In the end, I've certainly learned a lot from being unable to share that.

[When you're] going for sharing perfection, it's also important to take big risks.

I myself ascribe to both.

But when you gamble, sometimes you fail.

I think as people, we often want to walk the path that's safe for ourselves. I think there is an incredible amount of pressure on those who challenge themselves to taking big risks with shows that they have a responsibility for because many other people aside from themselves are involved.

I want to convey my thanks to those people. And at the same time, I want to urge [everyone] to work hard so that we, based on what happened, change the things we can change and head for a brighter future.

There have been a lot of developments on the part of the wrestlers as well, so I think it'll be exciting as long as everyone can keep their professionalism.

I wasn't able to watch New Japan's Tokyo Dome show yesterday, but the news were everywhere.

In the end it is frustrating.

And also I, you know [...]

I wasn't able to show what I'm made of at all.

I think personally, I have to try and search for something new. That goes for moves and for where I stand as well.

I feel like if I don't, then [my career] is just going to end like with me as a boring wrestler.

Because I'm a guy who does what he decides to do (I [shouldn't] say this myself]...

Look forward to it."

underneath that post was a reply by someone going:

"I agree with the risk taking thing. But what bothers me is, I think Ibushi is under contract with AEW for the time being, however through this failed gamble he got injured and I worry about how the other side [AEW] is going to react to that. Looking at it that way, I think I can't agree with a gamble that involves a wrestler from another promotion."

and then someone else replied to that:

"Ibushi came into this already injured so you don't have to write that Marufuji injured him or something, do your research before you post"

and to that Ibushi replied: (tl link)

"I was in the best condition I could've been in to walk 500 meters, not exactly [have a] match. But I gave in to [NOAH?] negotiating with me 3 or 4 times like 'can't you please make it work?' It's my fault."

NOAH: (tl link)

"An announcement about Ibushi Kôta's medical diagnosis

As a result of a thorough examination, Ibushi Kôta, who suffered injuries during the NOAH Ariake Arena show on January 2nd, has been diagnosed with a complex injury of the lateral ankle ligament of the right foot, along with a rupture of the tibiofibular ligament of his right leg.

Regarding the left foot, there will be a separate thorough examination and dedicated treatment.

As soon as we learn more we will let you know further.

We deeply apologize for any inconvenience and concerns we caused the fans and every single person involved, and ask for your understanding and cooperation."

[starlightsearches]

Mail's Here

Thought about this earlier and then I had to write it or I'd die. Let me know what you think 💖

Edward Nashton x Roommate! Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, masturbation (m), language, sexual references, this is rushed because i have an assignment due at midnight but i couldn't work on it until this was done.

"You got a package."

Edward hears you as soon as he walks in the door, ditching his messenger bag and rain-spattered coat. It's not new information—he got the delivery confirmation while he was still at work, which made focusing pretty close to impossible—but his heart still jumps in his chest as you gesture to the box on the table.

"Oh, thanks."

He grabs the box immediately, glad to see the company was honest when they'd promised discreet packaging. It's a little lighter than he expected, and he weighs it in his hands, drumming his fingers against the top of it and trying to decide if it would be less suspicious to go immediately to his room or linger here a few moments longer.

"Whatcha get?" you ask casually, flipping through the pages of a magazine as you recline on the couch. Maybe guilt has put him on high alert, but the question feels almost too casual; Eddie has to wonder . . . do you know?

He's being ridiculous, but still.

"Computer parts," he answers, watching you closely for any signs of suspicion. There's nothing in your expression, though. You're not even looking at him, showing only the barest amount of interest.

"Cool."

It's not cool, and he knows that. The only thing less cool than computer parts would be the box's actual contents.

"Yeah," Edward says, wishing he was still wearing his jacket so he could have somewhere to put his free hand, "well, I'm gonna go, uh, put it together."

"Sounds good, Eddie," you tell him, "when you're done we can think about dinner, if you want. I've been craving that Thai takeout we got a few weeks ago."

"Yeah, okay."

Eddie reaches his room and twists the lock on the door, triple-checking to make sure that it's actually locked, and then giving it a few extra tugs for good measure. You never came into his room without knocking anyways, but today's not a day to take risks.

Scissors in hand, he sits on the edge of his mattress, trying to shake the nerves before he slices a clean line through the tape.

Eddie never thought it would come to this, but the situation is dire. Being your roommate has ruined him in some of the best ways, and more of the worst.

He'd always been satisfied enough with a little lotion and a collection of tissues, tugging at his cock whenever the urge struck him. He'd been satisfied picturing whatever porn star he'd latched onto recently, thinking about the way they'd look with their knees buried in his carpet, or how their breasts would bounce in his hands while they impaled themselves on his cock.

He'd been satisfied, until you fucking ruined everything.

With your fucking low-cut sports bras and your morning yoga routines in the living room, your laundry basket full of lacy panties peeking out from under a pair of jeans. With your kind smiles and thoughtful questions and the hot press of your body when you curled up against him on the couch.

Fuck, he couldn't jerk off enough anymore—developing fucking callouses on his palm every time he snuck off to the bathroom during movie nights and morning coffee, practically sobbing into his palm if the bathroom smelled like your shampoo.

This was his last hope. The only way to stop himself from going fucking crazy.

The inside of the package is a little underwhelming—just the two items he bought and some bubble wrap to keep them from rattling too much in the box. He grabs the bottle of lube first, since that's the least foreign of the two, popping the top and rubbing a few drops between his thumb and forefinger.

Eddie slicks up his first two fingers, his breathing growing harder, cock stirring in his jeans.

He'd heard you once, late at night when you thought he'd be asleep. Walking back from the kitchen after grabbing a glass of water and passing by your door, Eddie had been stopped in his tracks by a sound on the other side, knees weak. Even as his stomach churned with guilt, he'd pressed his ear up against it, and had his suspicions confirmed—only there long enough to hear the wet friction of your fingers in your cunt, and another stifled moan.

Imagining it's your slick coating his fingers has him painfully hard, all his embarrassment swallowed by need. He slides the fleshlight from its box, dropping it beside him on the bed before kicking his pants down his legs and forcing the band of his boxers under his ass.

His cock flops against his stomach, dribbling a little on the bottom of his button-up, and he's already so sensitive, gritting his teeth just at the rough feeling of the fabric.

Eddie grabs the toy again, bringing it close to his face, skin hot as he studies the silicone model of a pussy. He's learned the basics from porn—knows that the clitoris is at the top and the folds around the opening are the lips—but there's a difference between seeing it and feeling it, even in plastic form.

He presses his thumb against the little nub at the top, rubbing slow circles around it, like he'd seen done before. What kind of noises would he hear if it was yours?

Eddie's thighs constrict, and he forces himself to take a few deep breaths until the feeling subsides. He's going to cum before he even gets inside the little plastic cunt, if he's not careful.

Eddie grabs the lube from his bedside table, smearing some over the entrance of his new toy—coating it until it shines—and then adding a few drops to his hand and stroking it over his cock for good measure.

He feels silly, lining up the swollen head of his dick with the little plastic entrance, feels silly enough that he can't look as he presses the toy down until it swallows the tip.

"Fuck."

He whispers the word through clenched teeth, and there's not much else to say, except that it feels so much better than his hand. Squeezing him from every angle, and there's blood in his mouth from the way his teeth dig against his chapped lips, hips bucking off the sheets.

With a little more lube, Eddie's able to fit the toy over the entirety of his length, lightheaded when he sees the opening stretched around the base of his cock, a little lube dripping from its surface, displaced by this first thrust.

"So, god, so tight," he speaks his thoughts out loud even though there's no one to hear it, no one to be praised for how good he feels. He can't stop himself, moving his hand with a few shallow strokes, eyes rolling back at the feeling. "Just- just like that."

Like this?

Eddie hears the words in your voice and he groans, slapping his free hand down over his mouth to quiet the noise.

Eddie, he imagines your fingers at his wrist, pulling his hand away as your hips bob up and down over his cock, don't do that, honey. I want to hear you.

"Mhhmh—" it's all he can manage, forcing his fist against the sheets, hot tears pooling against his lashes. Just the thought of you here with him has him fucking crying, body on the edge of collapse.

Good boy.

Eddie is your good boy, pumping vigorously now at his cock, letting the lewd, wet noises rush over him as sweat drips down his flushed temples. He's caught enough accidental glimpses of himself in the bathroom mirror to know his whole face is bright red, cheeks and forehead shining.

But he thinks you might like that, would want to see your good boy coming apart beneath you, your pretty fingers circling his neck as you rode him to oblivion.

"M'gonna cum," he mumbles, unable to stop his release once it's started. The website had a whole bunch of tips for increasing your stamina—stroking patterns and ways to stop an orgasm—but those are long gone, his whole body a tightly clenched fist.

Go ahead baby, since you've been so good for me.

He swears he feels your lips against his just as the shock of it hits him, spurts of cum leaking from the open cunt as he fucks himself through the electricity of it, your name in his lungs and his mouth and the curl of his toes until the feeling subsides.

Jesus. Even if he never used it again the toy would be well worth the money he'd spent.

He's still sensitive as he slides the toy from his spent cock, a few dribbles of cum landing against the sheets. Eddie grimaces. He'd have to put a towel down the next time.

"Hey, Eddie?"

Shit. There's no time to strip his sheets now, not when he hears your fingers rapping against his door frame.

"Just a second," he calls, throwing his covers over the leaking toy and running to his closet, "I'm changing."

He leaps into a pair of gray sweats, ripping the buttons of his shirt open with clumsy fingers before throwing the cum-stained garment into his hamper, pushing it deep into the basket.

He unlocks the door with shaking fingers, and you slide in as soon as there's a gap available.

"So," you glance at him before looking around the room, "did you get it put together?"

"What?"

A crease appears between your eyebrows. "Your computer?"

"Oh, yeah." He glances at his clearly untouched computer desk, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Were you watching something? I thought I heard voices."

You're being too generous with him; he knows that by something you really mean porn, which means you know he was getting off only a few moments ago.

"No, I was just—"

Talking to myself. That's what he was going to say, but those words are long gone when he watches you grip his comforter in one tight fist, throwing back the sheets.

He watches you take it all in: the fleshlight, the bottle of lube, his cum staining his sheets.

God, there can't be anything worse than this. Eddie would rather be killed on the spot than hear what you say next.

Which is why he's so surprised when he feels your hand against his cheek.

"Oh, honey," you coo at him, and he has to open his eyes to make sure you're really there this time, "there's no need to be embarrassed."

"What?"

God, you are there, looking up at him with glossy eyes and a patronizing little grin. He feels your fingers in his sweaty hair, teasing at his scalp.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but listen, and you were making such pretty sounds for me—they were for me, right?'

Eddie just nods. Of course you've known this whole time. He lets you guide his hand to your waist, a sliver of warm skin meeting his fingers, feeling far away from his own body.

Your lips are at his neck, tongue just pressing against his skin and Eddie can't breathe.

"Do you think you can make a few more?"

18+ Riddler Tag List: @midaribaby, @kpopgirlbtssvt, @redpaints, @littleevilme13, @greenxtea0, @ladytomioka, @ohturtlesmyturtles, @tayt101, @thottywizard, @bokksieu, @urevilshadowhasacupoftea, @kiraske, @antoinebascha, @virginhore, @eatmoretoasts, @phantomofthecathedral, @aro-loser, @sweetums0kitty, @trelaney, @theold-ultraviolence

Join my taglist here!

[offical-ouroboros]

Should or Shouldn't - 2

here's the second part :3 there's a bit of a cliff hanger... But I'm working on a third part!

CW: yandere hux idk, mentions of drugging (sleeping pills), hux + reader struggling with emotions, hurt/comfort???, hux is a bit of a jerk but he's also a sweetie, not proof read

~♡

It was more exhausting being with Hux than being in a trial.

That's how it felt most days.

There was nothing to do! Either he was away, or he was… just watching you.

Sometimes he got bold. He'd touch you, cut you up.

It was never anything bad.

Nothing like the trials.

Cuts like the light mark of a razor blade. Just enough to see red.

Sometimes you didn't even notice. And then, when you felt the wetness- Saw the blood, you'd freak out.

You'd cry and sob, and beg him for something to help.

These times, you never blamed him.

He never had to deal with your hurling insults. Screaming at him. Fighting him. Saying you hated him.

. . . Why did it make his mind struggle when you did that?

. . . Why did he care if you hated him?

. . . Was he . . .

Developing feelings?

No. Of course not. It wasn't possible. He was a machine. Sure, he was made to help humans, but they'd never coded anything like affection into his system.

This was just a side effect. Something left over. Part of his medical knowledge. Part of his programmed desire to aid humans.

. . . So why couldn't he purge it?

+

Everything felt so heavy as you woke up. You were moving- Well, being moved. Your full body weight pushing you down.

You let out a small sound as you stirred, feeling sick as you saw the ground quickly sliding away from you.

The familiar grasp of claws held your shirt.

You don't bother speaking. You've moved enough, made enough sound- He knows you're awake.

“Sleep, worm.” Hux's voice urges you.

“I- Mhn… I can- can't-” You whine, feeling nauseous with the movements.

“You will.” He speaks again. “Transport is in progress. I do not want your idle squirms.”

Shuddering, you bow your head as you try not to vomit.

“S-Slow down, I'm gonna- Mmnh…” Hearing your worsening cries, he suddenly comes to a stop and you crash to the ground. “Ow- Fuck!” You whimper. But you don't move.

You just lay there, whining as you try to take deep breaths to calm down.

“Little worm should not have woken up…” He seems upset. “Recalibrating.”

“ . . . Huxy, I don't feel good.”

That stupid nickname. If his tech wasn't so advanced, you'd hear that cheesy dial-up tone that older computers made when processing something.

“An accurate response. My dosage was correct. But you refused to drink more.”

Dosage…? What did he-

“D-Did you drug me?!” You cry out, doing your best to look up before gagging and looking back down.

“Affirmative. The worm was complaining of difficulty sleeping. Analysis shows one's conditions as the most likely issue.”

Yeah. Being kidnapped by a killing machine, bound by your legs, and made to sleep on the freezing cold floor could lead to insomnia.

You're tense- Partly from how sick you feel, and partly from general fear.

“Where… Where are you taking me?”

A moment of silence.

“A new location has been found suitable.” He speaks plainly. “Will the worm behave? Or be bound once more?”

You swallow.

“I… I can be good.” You mumble.

“Unexpected. Further testing required to validate your hypothesis.”

Trembling, you bow down a bit more.

“Is there… Any other way you can carry me?” You ask meekly.

“ . . . Requesting approval.”

You pause. He was… Asking for your permission?

“ . . . Will it hurt?”

“Negative.”

“Uh… Approved?”

In a swift motion, you're plucked from the ground and held… Surprisingly sweetly.

Your legs are raised over his forearm, keeping the blade of his hand pointed away from you. His clawed hand is under your back, encouraging you to sit up slightly.

It's… A princess carry.

“Mmh…” You'd felt so sick. And now…

Your head meets his chest.

“ . . . Good organic.”

If he could smile he would.

+

This ‘new location’ was… Nice.

Like the rest of it, everything reeked of death with a partial stench of chemicals.

But… Other than that?

There was a bed. Sort of.

A deconstructed sleeping pod, piled up with random scraps of blankets and fabrics.

A window-

Which was actually just a massive hole in the wall, but Hux had patched it up by melting the dome of the previously mentioned pod to it.

And… A table.

Which was just a chair from the dining hall with the back removed.

It really wasn't much. It was still a mess- And you could swear there were blood stains on some of the cloth in the bed.

But… it was definitely better than the floor.

Right now, you're nestled sweetly into the pod, buried in the fabric. Hux had been bringing you more- It seemed any time he found something that wasn't full of holes or tears, he'd deliver them to you.

You could try and ask him to stop, but he wouldn't.

“Your body temperature is not regulated. These will adjust your heat levels when recharging.”

The longer you spent with him… The nicer it actually felt.

It was tiring, yes. Boring, of course. All you could really do is sit there and sleep.

But God did you miss being able to rest. Having a bed. Being warm without a fire. Feeling… Safe.

When things first started, you were terrified of him. With good reason, of course.

You'd seen what he could do. Felt his blade. Been reduced to agonizing pain as he injected you with… Some kind of chemical.

But now… He was good to you. As good as an artificial intelligence hellbent on killing humans could be.

And things were especially different-

When you woke up to him cuddling you.

[meowmeowriley]

@27potatochips have a lil snackie. I'll post more when I'm not at work.

Small snippet of Outlaw Outta Time

***

"Ah'm gonna kill you. Nice and slow, ah'm gonna stab ye in the stomach and split ye open. Gut ye like an animal!" Is what he would've said if he hadn't been bound and gagged, then tossed on the back of a horse.

This was perhaps the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to Soap, and he'd been through resistance training. There was just something so intensely upsetting about being caught unawares by a man with a fucking lasso. Then to be hog tied of all fucking things. Soap was seeing red. Both because of his temper and the red cloth tied around his eyes. the gag had been introduced when Soap refused to stop hurling insults at the man. It didn't stop him, just made it even harder to understand than his accent normally did. Every bump or jump from the horse jostled him, further rising him up. He'd been backhanded three times already for his racket, and he aimed to have a concussion by the end of this. Maybe if he were lucky he'd forget it even happened.

"Charles? That you? The hell you got there?" A southern American drawled. He couldn't place where the other was from, but definitely also American.

"Arthur. Caught him snooping around. I'm bringing him back to Dutch." Charles, Arthur, Dutch. Soap mentally cataloged the names. These guys weren't professionals, if they were so happy to sling their own names around so easily. That made his capture all the more maddening.

"Hold on." The southerner spoke again. Soap could hear him urging his horse closer. "Native hairstyle? What're the chances he's Scottish?"

"Thought he was Irish. Belligerent. Like Sean." Soap was abso-fuckin-lutely fuming.

"Can you keep a secret?" There was no verbal response, Soap assumed Charles had nodded, Arthur continued. "Think he belongs to my friend. Toss him on my horse or follow me." These guys were in for a rude awakening the second Soap got away. He didn't belong to anybody. He was going to make sure that they were aware of that.

He did his best to count the turns in the road, the minutes as they passed by, the ways he could potentially murder these two for his humiliation. He listened intently to the conversation between the two men, trying to pick out more information.

He could hear a man laughing and speaking animatedly. His accent was... fucking weird. Soap had only heard someone speak like that in old timey black and white movies. Arthur whistled and then called out "This yours?" Soaps temper flared and he began thrashing about, spewing insults as he writhed. If they were gonna man handle him off this horse he was going to make it as difficult as humanly possible.

His blindfold was removed and he blinked. Thankfully they were in relatively dense forest and his eyes didn't have to readjust to see his cap- his husband? That was absolutely his husband. In his anger he'd forgotten he technically did belong to someone. Simon. He stopped yelling into his gag, stopped thrashing about as he took in the sight of the love of his life. Simon had gone native, it seemed, dressing like the man who'd captured Soap, though it being Simon, he was in all black. A skull print bandana covered his lower jaw, but his eyes sparkled with mirth as he smiled down at Soap from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

"How'd you do that? He stopped?" Charles was bewildered.

Simon removed the gag from Johnny's mouth and leaned in, planting a kiss on his lips. The angle was awkward, with Soap having to lean his head back as far as it would go, but damn he'd missed him. It was worth a crick in his neck. When Simon eventually leaned back to get some air, Soap's mouth caught up with him before his brain was really back online. "Those chaps assless?" He knew his smile was dopey, but he couldn't care less.

"All chaps are assless, Johnny." Right. He knew that. Totally. Shit Simon looked good. Who knew Soap was gonna develop a cowboy kink?

[t-tomuras]

here on my hands and knees begging for more details on your vocal boy gyutaaro 🎤🎤🎤

Kail I am sick and ill thinking about this man all the time because he’s just so!! This was so dumb and absolutely not what you asked but I’m so BAJSJFJ

Like gyuutaro was basically just a single dad to Ume growing up, his pride and joy and of course he just viewed himself as ugly and didn’t care about anything besides taking care of her. Developed his nasty little snarl and ever nastier attitude that makes him offputting to everyone but ME I am just so enthralled by him it’s embarrassing.

“What do you see in him” “he’s not a guy you’d bring home to your parents (I literally don’t fucking care)” “Him?” And it’s like yea, yeah him.

And he’s such a fucking Casanova he flirts so effortlessly whenever he realizes that I like being around him and I make any excuse I can to come around or just be where he’s at. And he likes that I’m shy, likes the little habit of me twirling my hair when I get nervous or how I chew my lip so he always makes it his personal goal to see how flustered he could get me.

So of course I ask him if he’ll take me for a ride on his bike in a lame attempt at asking him out (rip fucking me because of course I have to do it im impatient and I like him)

But he says yes! And everything is great like he’s super sweet he comes and picks me up and we go out to see a movie because I’m too nervous to eat but I get comfortable halfway through the night and we talk and joke and it ends with him dropping me off and bringing me home. Silly and cute and getting on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek as a thank you but I don’t go inside I’m just lingering on my porch with him in front of me and his hands in his pockets just glad he’s not like ready to leave yet either.

But it’s a little tense like what do we do now yeah? and the only idea this man ever has to lighten the mood is teasing me

So gyuutaro doesn’t miss the opportunity to give me his lopsided grin and offer me his helmet while he asks, “are ya gonna pay the bike tax?”

And he’s like the first guy I’ve approached and one that has a BIKE at that and I don’t read those romance novels so I’m oblivious to it which he thinks is cute. Just swaying back and forth and waiting for him to tell me what it is

“Ride the bike, ride the biker. Are ya up for that pretty thing?” And he’s JOKING he’s not really thinking about coming in and having sex on the first date

But without even missing a beat I giggle and “oh well I’d hate to not play by the rules right?” And it’s like??? Do you have ANY idea what you’ve gotten yourself into actually and he looks so stunned but he recovers quickly enough to another big grin when I tell him “I can pay for the second and first one at once if you want.” Because I am the SAME GIRL that basically stuttered out that I liked him and was too nervous for dinner like be forreal.

The very same girl that finally unlocks her fucking door and urges him to follow by pulling playfully on the pocket of his stupid too big hoodie (that I’m gonna steal after it ends up thrown onto my living room floor)

Getting this man topless and his bottoms around his knees before straddling him on the couch so he can realize just how eager to please I am. And it only goads me more when he groans? Hisses and curses the second I sink down onto him? And the praise of “oh fuck you feel so good” making it worse because I wanna hear it even more.

Just leaving him absolutely helpless to the pleasure and only able to just keep a bruising grip on my hips not even really helping with the bounce while he gasps and tenses and arches.

Giving him absolutely fucking hearts in his eyes when I bite at his shoulder when he warns that he’s close like “fuck baby vixen shit I’m close don’t stop” can’t even pretend to tell me to slow down because it’s the best he’s felt in his entire life.

Whispering for him to cum inside because I’m insane and will give him whatever he wants and he’s gonna do as he’s told AAAAA

[shreddedparchment]

Perennial Pt.16

Don’t You Want Me

05/21/2022

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 3,032

Warnings: language, angst, pining, jealousy, heartbreak, grief, death, stupid guys being creepy as fuck

Featured Flower: Cornflower, Hydrangea, Ranunculus

A/N: Enjoy! That’s all I’ll say for this one. xoxo

Please DO NOT repost, copy, or translate my work onto any other sites or blogs! Don’t be a dick.

It’s no secret for you that things with Bucky have been changing gradually over the last few weeks.

He’s been different and a part of you is hoping that things are about to change. Change for good. Although you don’t let yourself think it for more than just a fleeting moment, you wonder if Bucky might actually, maybe has developed feelings for you too.

Your own heart is bursting at the seams with affection for him and he’s been so nice and sweet lately that you can’t help but hope.

You wake up and quickly sleepily slip into the kitchen to start your coffee before you wander over to the bathroom. You wash your face, brush your teeth, then do your hair before moving into your closet to pick something comfortable for the late summer.

It’s slowly starting to cool off outside as fall approaches so you choose a long simple dress. It stops just past your ankles, is stretchy, with pockets and a beautiful wine red color. The capped sleeves will keep you cool but the length will shield from any breeze you might come in contact with.

You wander back into the bathroom, consider doing your makeup and decide to wait until after you’ve had breakfast.

The smell of your coffee brewing fills the tiny space of your apartment and a gentle tap on your window pulls your attention before you can make it out of your bedroom.

You move to stand by it, staring out at Paul as he leans against the glass looking forlorn and ashamed.

“I came back last night?” he asks, knowing the answer.

“What do you want, Paul?”

“Your boyfriend got pissed at me,” Paul explains.

“My…?” your brain short circuits as you remember waking up to Bucky in your bed and you can’t believe you forgot he was here last night.

You’ve been so busy the past few weeks and the day had been exhausting, after crying into his chest for a few minutes you’d passed out. He must have slipped out some time in the early hours.

Your mind floods with the scent of him, the feel of his body next to yours, and finally the bruising and closing cuts on his face.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just…I don’t know, I’ve always liked you.” Paul’s words bring you back to the present and you frown at him.

“And I’ve already told you, I’m not interested. Why does it take my boyfriend telling you to leave me alone for you to take me seriously?” you demand, feeling more anger with Paul’s harassment than pleasure at calling Bucky your boyfriend even though he’s not.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Paul shrugs. “And an Avenger?”

You growl, turning away from the window and moving back towards the living room and kitchen.

“Fuck off, Paul.” You’re done being nice.

And actually, once the sale completely clears for the new building, you’re gonna move into that top apartment that’s been vacant for three years. Remodel the hell out of it, and make it your safe space away from the Pauls of the world.

You can hear him saying things through your window but you ignore him in favor of making your morning cup of joe. You pour ice into a tall glass and froth up your milk a little before pouring your coffee and adding all the fixings to make your favorite cup of iced goodness.

From your pocket you pull your phone and quickly find Bucky’s texts. Nothing new. Did he have meetings this morning?

You: Hey

You put the phone down and try to ignore the urge to stare at it until he responds in favor of making yourself a simple breakfast of oatmeal and fruit.

The phone buzzes.

Bucky: I’m a little busy. Meet me at that one café on 6th.

You put your spoon down and stare at the message before taking the phone up to respond.

You: I’m eating breakfast already.

Bucky: Just meet me, kid. Be a good girl.

You scoff, smirking at the gentle order.

You: You should know better than most that I am not a good girl. And I don’t take orders, dummy.

Bucky: Just get your ass down here. I’m already here.

You: Bucky! I’m literally having breakfast. I’m hungry.

Bucky: If you’re not here in the next half hour, I’m leaving.

You: Bucky!

Bucky: 29 minutes left…

“Shit,” you spit, then jump off your seat to go look for your boots. “So typical!”

You sit on the floor and pull them on, lacing them loosely and then sprint out the door. You hail a cab and hope that he can drive as fast as he looks like he can.

Whatever Bucky has planned, he better make it worth leaving your breakfast half eaten on the counter and your coffee slowly cooling.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive disheveled. You’re seriously a mess. Your hair isn’t done, your makeup? None. Not a stitch. You can feel the look of exhaustion on your face from the past few weeks of craziness.

You’re braced against the swinging glass door’s handle, sighing with frustration as the cool air of the shop hits you. While you definitely hadn’t run the entire way, you’re out of breath because of the small run from the cab to the shop and the utter panic you were in from being five minutes late.

Had he not waited?

You scan the small shop and don’t spot the familiar leather jacket or jeans and boots anywhere.

“He left,” you gasp, straightening up and placing your hand at the top of your stomach as you start to rifle through your purse for your phone.

Five minutes. He can’t have gone far, right?

You turn around to look out of the glass door and hope you might see him walking away or waiting somewhere, hiding, waiting to laugh at the look on your face because you actually thought he’d left.

“Looking for me?”

You whip around nearly dropping your phone as you find yourself face to face with the man you just can’t seem to get over.

“Uh…” your eyes do an involuntary sweep of him and Bucky is dressed to the nines. He’s got no leather jacket and no t-shirt underneath. Instead he’s wearing a blue button up. Not one of those stuffy and starched business shirts, but more of a casual button up, with a collar and button sleeves. He’s got the sleeves rolled up along his forearm.

His pants, instead of dark jeans, are dark gray heather that sit on his hips and waist perfectly clinging to his massive thighs but loosen as they reach his knees and calves.

He’s got his shirt tucked in and his shoes are plain black and white chucks. Despite the casual look of the outfit, it’s clear that he’s dressed to impress and you gape at him from head to toe until you meet his eyes again and notice his hair is more neatly combed and styled than it has been since you’ve known him.

“...h-hi.” Your voice is weak in surprise and because you’re still slightly out of breath. He’s still a little bruised up but it’s much less pronounced than it was yesterday. Almost healed.

He smirks at you, his steel blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I got us some coffee and muffins. Come on.” He reaches over and takes your purse from you which you struggle to unwind from your arm and shoulder but he pulls it away and leads you to a small table by the large windows that open to the street.

The café is somewhat busy with coffee orders to go but sitting patrons are few and it gives you two a little bit of privacy.

“You look nice,” Bucky tells you, hanging your purse on your chair as he angles himself a little more to face you.

You scoff and laugh both from nerves and because you feel like he’s teasing you.

“Yeah, right. I told you I was having breakfast. This is one of my house dresses and I didn’t get to fix my hair or put on makeup or anything,” you frown.

Bucky huffs one laugh at you, then gets up from his seat again as his name is called for his order. “You look beautiful. In anything.”

He leaves you with that, mouth open as you stare ahead at the faceless people walking by.

Did he just call you beautiful?

You reach up and try to do what you can with your hair but stop as soon as he’s setting two cups of coffee and the muffins he ordered down.

“Here, I hope I got it right. I couldn’t remember what you liked from here.” He turns your cup towards you and pushes it closer before serving you your muffin.

“Thanks,” you quickly pull your cup up and take a sip, relishing in the delicious drink–ordered just as you like–and lament the one at home waiting to be thrown out.

Bucky is already halfway done with his muffin by the time you decide to take a bite of yours.

“So, what’s up? Why did you want me to come so freaking early?” you munch as he stops to take a sip of his coffee and then he laces his fingers together, muffin abandoned, and he meets your eyes.

“I have a problem.” He says and your heart begins to race.

“O-oh?” Your heartbeat thumping in your brain drowns out all the other noises in the world.

“Yeah,” he continues, then he licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “See, I-I kinda met this girl, and I really wanted to get her one of your bouquets. You make the best flower bouquets, but you’re closed so I-I was kinda hoping that you’d come with me to the flower market and maybe we can make something up there? I know you’re not working and your cousin and all that just happened but I have a date and I could really use your help.”

“I-” you shut your eyes, urging the burning to go away. “I-I didn’t know you met someone.”

“You were gone for a while,” Bucky explains. “A lot can happen in a few weeks’ time.”

“I know. Yeah, I mean, I’m a billionaire now, right?” You laugh without humor, and can’t believe the stupid way you let your hopes go up thinking that there was any possibility that Bucky could feel the same way about you as you do about him. “So who’s the lucky girl?”

You avert your eyes, staring either out at the street and seeing nothing or down at your coffee cup, getting colder and colder as your appetite also disappears and your stomach begins to turn over.

“No one you know.” Bucky says. “Just some random girl I bumped into. One of those things you aren’t expecting to happen and then it happens.”

“Right,” you finally turn to him and give him as authentic a smile as you can while your chest caves in.

You hope he can’t see the utter pain and heartbreak on your face.

“So? How about we go get those flowers?”

“But you haven’t finished eating.” Bucky points at your nibbled muffin and your half drunk coffee.

“I’m not hungry,” you sigh and rise, taking your purse and slinging it over your shoulder. “Let’s hurry, or all the good flowers will be gone.”

“Hey,” Bucky calls but you don’t wait.

You can’t.

You have to move on. You hear him follow, but don’t turn to look at him. Looking at him is torture.

~~~~~~~~~~

The flower market is as busy as ever. Lots of people browsing, fellow shop owners stocking up, and just the general buzz of the city filling your ears. It’s easier to ignore the agonizing knife going through your heart over and over again in a crowd and amongst flowers, you lose yourself.

“So what’s she like? What flowers were you thinking?” You ask Bucky who has been walking beside you and wringing fidgeting the entire way here.

He’s probably picking up on your mood shift and is confused by it but you won’t clear it up for him. You have to get over this.

You can’t sit through loving him another moment and watch him be with someone else again.

It hurts too much.

The yearning. The wish that it were you. You can’t do it. You won’t.

You make a mental note to disappear for a few days to let all of this pent up emotion out and then when you come back into his life–because who are you kidding? You can’t actually cut him out of your life completely–you can be the friend he deserves.

You’ll listen to all his girlfriend troubles and eventually one day his wife troubles then kid troubles. By then, it won’t hurt to.

“Um,” Bucky begins, finally distracted by your question and moving to look around at the options. “I was thinking these? Buttercups, right?”

You wander over to see what he’s picked and look at the bulbous flower with admiration.

“Yeah. Persian Buttercups. Nice choice. What color?”

“Soft pink,” Bucky says immediately.

“Okay.”

You order a bushel and then continue to walk. Bucky quickly takes the flowers from you and you let him. Holding them just makes you feel…sad.

“What else?”

“Cornflowers.” Bucky again says it without hesitation. “And white hydrangeas.”

Does it seriously have to be cornflowers?

“O-okay.” You move between the sellers, bartering with them for the blooms and find some for a reasonable price. Bucky quickly takes the two small bushels from you again and you don’t fight him on it.

You lead him to a stall selling supplies to finish the bouquet. You pay for the paper and the ribbon and you even grab some Bells of Ireland to fill the bouquet. Since there’s already so much color from the white, blue, and pink flowers, the green will sit nicely against the splashes of color.

You work in silence, trying not to draw attention to yourself as you style the arrangement. The more you shift the stems however, feeling the fuzzy and smooth stems of Bucky’s choices and trying not to look too hard at the bouquet and how much you love the choices he’s made, you begin to lose your footing and you can’t keep your face as straight as you want to.

You can feel the corners of your mouth beginning to droop.

The people passing by are stopping to watch you make your arrangement and Bucky’s just behind you, watching you over your shoulder.

“That looks great,” he tells you and some of the women watching nod in agreement, voicing their appreciation for the colors mixed together.

“What ribbon?” you ask him, looking at the soft blue satin ribbon and the white lace ribbon you’d picked.

You can hear your voice barely above a whisper, already slipping towards complete collapse.

Your chest is so tight that you don’t know if you can even draw a full breath.

“Which one do you like?” Bucky asks, his voice right by your ear, soft and deep.

“Bucky…” you sigh, so close to falling to pieces.

He hears the hitch in your voice probably, that little crack that you almost hid well enough for him to overlook.

He peeks more closely at your face and you turn your head away from him as your audience seems to realize that something’s wrong and their whispers intensify.

“Hey,” he calls, your name slips past his lips and before you can crumble he turns you towards him.

You can’t exactly resist his pull. He’s strong and he could literally throw you from here to the street if he wanted to.

The bouquet held between you, you keep your eyes trained on it, unwilling to show him your eyes.

His hands trace the length of your arms from shoulders to wrists then back up and he pulls you a half step closer.

“The bouquet’s for you,” he tells you, and like the numbing sensation that comes when your headache medication finally kicks in, your chest is given full relief as your brain desperately tries to understand what he’s saying.

Your eyes water, spilling slow rolling tears as you finally look up to meet his gaze.

You’re given the briefest glance of his steel blue eyes before his lips are pressed to yours and his arm is snaking around your waist to pull you closer, crushing the bouquet between you.

Your body and brain are separate entities in this moment, one responding willingingly as the other makes desperate leaps to catch up.

Bucky is kissing you! Bucky’s bouquet is for you!

He tilts his head and deepens his kiss, extracting the bouquet from between your bodies until they can touch. His wide chest presses to yours and you can feel his metal hand, gloved as it is, wrap around the back of your neck to hold you in place as he dips you slightly.

It’s all too much all at once and your poor brain is still trying to understand.

You push against him and gasp as he brings his gloved hand to your cheek instead and steps back a little.

His face is full of yearning and his eyes are desperate and so fucking blue.

“Bucky…” you gasp, clinging to the collar of his shirt.

“God, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks,” he admits and you laugh, too flabbergasted to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth.

You just accept them for now and lean your forehead against his shoulder as you try to calm your racing heart.

“I can start calling you my girlfriend now, right?” He asks, sighing heavily as he presses his lips to your head.

“Bucky…” you try again, feeling a little more stable on your feet. You pull back enough to look up at him, to meet his eyes again.

“I love you,” he whispers, just for you. “I didn’t know. And then I did. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

And then you’re crying again and Bucky pulls you in, hugging you close as you take his apology to heart.

[feastfic]

Back to the yandere majin arc we go i guess...

Ok, what if his obsession kept growing more by the time, to the point he starts to get jealous from his own clones.

I headcanon that the Mazins share the same ideals and feelings for you as Majin so maybe they start to get a little too touchy for his liking or something.

Have a good day/night

☕

OH MY GOD WAIT SAME THOUGH??? I love thinking they all have the same values that Majin does it's so !1!1!!!!

But also man........this one's gonna be a doozy >:) (tw for mimicries of violence btw! Nothing too bad, but just in case :) )

His Mazins were always there to comfort you. To bring you solace, and company when he was away. Their soft gloved hands were never far from your body, as if touching you made them more real, more like the original Majin. More of an individual, rather than one of many copies that could be just as easily discarded as they could be created. That they carried the same feelings, the same wants and desires too; it did not help them.

They loved you. Yet they could not have you do themselves, like Majin could. It made them jealous, so terribly jealous. And the state of their being — similar enough yet different — lead to several...occasions. They would play games with Majin at his return, hide you away and mask your presence within his realm. They were just like him, after all. They could do anything.

For you though, it was hard to tell what was going on. Was it just something Majin was doing to make things more interesting? Did he have total control over his clones? (Yet the way he'd look at the Mazins right before he left. That dim glimmer in his face that was masked so casually with a farewell to you and wishing you well.) It left you confused, and wanting answers. But the Mazins couldn't speak to you like Majin could. It reminded you of him in a way; how he too keeps quiet in his world of darkness and solitude. So as confusing as it was, you thought the recent developments with his clones was...nice. They made the space more lively, if only for a little while.

And how they adored it, and escalated their antics. At the same time though, it became increasingly obvious at how quickly the Mazins would flock to you virtually upon the moment of their creation. Leaving you more time to look at Majin when he was still present. Find that his face was unfortunately unreadable. That spark in his eyes grew brighter every time, it seemed.

So you were once again left alone with the half-physical copied forms of Majin. Two this time (you found it a little worrying that less and less clones were created) were on either side of you. It'd plagued your mind long enough. So you finally decided to get some answers, answers of any kind. Or something. At least figure some things out, hopefully.

"Before you found me, was it just you in here?" Your gaze falls upon the Mazin to your left. It was time for another bout of charades. Hopefully you'd gotten better at reading the blue hedgehog's gestures. That was another thing. You always considered the Mazins to just be Majin.

How terribly lonely it had been! And you would never know the scope of it. The Mazin on your left quickly nodded to answer you, its arms held around your arm as if mimicking the act of losing you. They did not want to lose you. They just wanted you forever. To your right the other Mazin nodded as well. (They would never fight each other. Because they were different; they weren't like Majin; they didn't steal you away from each other like he took you from them.)

"For how long? Months, years?" You urged to continue, reaching your hand up as best you could to pat the cheek of the left clone.

The silence around you felt more pressing suddenly. And suddenly you realized it was a lot longer than just a few years.

"How long has it been...?" Your voice dropped low, and the Mazins looked at each other. They were mere infants compared to the age of Him. Their creator, of which they were mere extensions of.

Together they sat beside one another in front of you, looking at each other as if they were formulating how exactly to break this information to you.

One gestured to the ground, and the other nodded before writing something. You looked down to watch, as the surface beneath your feet crumbled like dirt to the pressing of the Mazin's finger.

Hundreds of thousands.

Your heart did something between skip a beat and drop. That was so long, a span of time incomprehensible to you.

"And not once has anyone else been in here?"

Now there was a similar peculiar glint in both their eyes. One of them pantomimed performing acts of violence on the other. Stabbing, ripping, tearing. Majin was far from innocent, and they wanted you to know this. That he was far more rotten than he would ever make himself appear to you.

So now you had two roads to go down; assume that you're being kept alive until Majin grows tired of you, or accept that he was more similar to those other demons in the outer world than he'd show you. Honestly, you weren't sure which one you wanted to go down. The former would mean you're scared of him, and you didn't want to be. He wouldn't let you leave either, so you'd be trapped essentially thinking he was just biding his time.

So the second option it was. Your brow furrowed slightly, and the Mazins ceased their acts of mimicry in favor of getting close to your face. Either one taking one of your hands, their thumbs almost tangible as they traced circles into the backs of your palms. They were different from that vile liar, couldn't you see? How differently they would treat you; they would never ever tire of you. You could truly be theirs for all of infinity. If only they could drive a wedge far enough into your perception of Majin until it broke entirely. Until he lost control of himself for the first time in eons.

It kept growing inside you just how long hundreds of thousands of years was. All it did was leave you with more questions that you felt would make you feel bad for the hedgehog. The least you could do was return what affections were given to you; if what the Mazins said were true, Majin had probably never felt a touch similar to the ones he'd always give you. (And the Mazins were just like him, right? It was just like hugging him.)

You brought your arms around the two manifestations of Majin and pulled them in close. In that moment they felt just a touch more real, and you could almost feel a heat along your sides and chest from them pressed against you.

You'd never done this with Majin before — it must mean something! You did see them as different, and worthy only of them!

Outside, beyond Majin's realm, the sharp blue demon paused on his little...hunt, noting the feeling in his chest. Overwhelming, it was. Oh, had those Mazins forgotten again that he felt everything they did? How they so often seemed to forget that. Well, it seemed his time in the real world was cut short this time around. A broken TV nearby provided him his access to his world, where that feeling hit him like a freight train the second he appeared in the darkness.

Insurmountable love for you, mixed with jealousy, and anger, and the kind of adoration only he could feel for you. Just what were they doing...? That jealousy soured the rest of that feeling that coursed through his body.

The Mazins' forms flickered, and they held on tighter to you. Majin had decided that time was almost done, apparently. Before they were gone, they had to, needed to do something. It'd surely get under Majin's skin. And hopefully he would become unstable once more.

He was close, their time was growing shorter and their nerves thinner in anticipation. They needed to time it. One second. Two. Majin drew nearer, just out of sight in the trees. In a few more seconds he'd be able to see you, and thus make them disappear.

Your face was met with something not all there, not quite warm. Lips meshed almost awkwardly, truly like you were kissing a mask. The action took you so much by surprise that you froze up, your own face going red in the shock of what was happening. Very slowly, almost carefully, you returned the gesture, the other Mazin trailing its hands along your body, before ultimately cupping your cheeks.

Oh, how they wished they could've seen Majin's face at that! How did it feel, that they got to kiss you before him? That they were getting the upper hand?

The feeling of rot and black hatred instantly consumed them, before they disappeared entirely. Leaving you to blunder and flounder over yourself until you regained control of your face. By the time you'd gotten over what happened, Majin was knelt in front of you, his face just as jubilant-looking as always.

You didn't know why you said what you did immediately after you saw him. What a simple thing to just say suddenly.

"Do you still kill people?" Will he kill you? You didnt ask that second question though.

For the first time there was the ghost of a gasp from Majin, the closest thing to a breath you'd ever heard him take. "I— Well— Let me explain, darling." He fumbled over himself, and you pushed yourself away an inch, pulling your legs to your chest.

"Then please, do. I'm...just curious, is all." And scared. But you needed to figure out even if you just gleaned it, if he had other plans for you other than keep you held in his world.

"I...used to. Ages ago, before some important things happened. I haven't in...oh, some few thousand years?" Other hedgehogs didn't count. They were nothing like those accidents from ages past. "I had never meant to either, my dear. I could never intentionally do that." It was just fun, it was just to show others his ideal world, his ideal universe of fun.

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't.

"And since they were accidents, I had to get better at mishaps like that happening. I promise you I always let them go after, if I could."

"So...when exactly am I going to leave?"

His eyes suddenly got dark, or maybe it was the growing shadows over his face. Thin white pupils looked at you from the abyssal, infinite void of his eyes

"Not until it's safe out there. You know what happened the last time. Others will hunt you down, darling." Even his voice was dark, and foreboding. Menacing, even.

"Do you know when it will be safe?"

"Perhaps it never will be again. There's too many of those...monsters out there now." The word "monsters" dripped like it were some kind of poison.

You weren't going anywhere, dearie. The violence was endless. Have you already forgotten the safety he gave you?

He loved you too much to let you free.

[inoankin]

Old Style, New Hands (scrapped)

finally. here it is. this dinosaur of a WIP, finally out in the world. 

fair warning, i started writing this in DECEMBER and stopped a few chapters into DCSH, and i was still figuring out what worked and didn’t when writing. so it’s not the best writing, but i also had a lot more time to develop this thing, so it kind of balances out into pretty ok.

i changed nothing from the original, even the shitty title (sorry), despite every bone in my body telling me to fix the dozens of mistakes.

and yeah i’m about as pissed as you are that i stopped writing RIGHT when it was getting good. but i’ve lost all my steam for this, so there’s nothing i can do. sorry. anyways enjoy.

_____________________

There’s a ringing in Vincent’s ears, for just a moment. It’s quickly drowned out by the faint drone of the engine and a quiet commentary from the radio.

He feels his forehead against the glass of the car door window he’s found himself slumped against. He goes to remove it, but is stopped by a sharp pain in his neck, letting out a small groan. He hates sleeping in cars.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Vince,” Someone says off to his left, and it takes him a few seconds to register that it’s Leo saying it. Despite his body’s many protests, he shifts and sits up, a hand coming up to rub at the crick in his neck.

His eyes slowly blink open to a curtain of brown, and he brushes aside his bangs with his other hand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“God, how long was I out?” He mutters, voice hoarse from sleep. He squints at the watch on his wrist. The tired blur of his still adjusting eyes combined with the low light make it impossible to read.

It’s night, he realizes. Glancing out the windshield, Vincent sees the yellow of the deadbeat headlights flicker every now and then, the only source of light for miles. The moon is shaded by clouds, though there’s still a faint spotlight on the grey sky that reveals it.

They’ve lost track of how long they’ve been on the road. At least, Vincent has. He gave up the driver’s seat after he momentarily fell asleep at the wheel, and Leo screamed so loud that they almost crashed. 

“Three or four hours, I think. I was gonna stop to get some gas soon,” 

His hair falls into his eyes when he finally peers to the driver’s seat. Leo’s focus is on the road, but he catches Vincent’s gaze for a moment and smiles softly.

There’s something unconditionally trusting, caring in his smile. Something so unguarded and vulnerable, that two weeks ago would never be there. He doesn’t know what he does to deserve it, but he allows himself to marvel.

He brings his hand up to sweep his hair away again, or maybe just to hide his face. He isn’t sure he’s lucid enough to school his expression to something more professional.

Vincent scratches absentmindedly at his, frankly, rather itchy goatee. He had it done professionally the day before he got shipped off to prison, and he hadn’t been able to replicate the immaculate work of the barber. He’s starting to wish he had just stuck with the moustache.

Leo, on the other hand, had no problem keeping his hair pristine, despite the harsh conditions of the penitentiary. Where he got the product, he’ll never know. His hair is also getting longer, though. Only an inch or so from his collar.

He sort of likes Leo with longer hair. There’s no gel on the road, and his signature pompadour has started to curl the longer it gets. He, for not the first time today, battles the urge to run his hands through it. To drag him down and kiss him, kiss him until he’s a breathless, desperate mess, kiss him until he’s forgotten his own name.

“You alright over there, mister dark and brooding?” The warmth in Leo’s voice cracks through Vincent’s thoughts, and Leo’s looking at him with that damn smile again. He keeps his eyes on the road, hoping that alone is enough to keep the younger man from seeing the heat on his face.

“Yeah, sorry. Just, uh, thinking,” He says, not even really believing himself when he says it.

“Uh-huh, right,” Leo says, perking up at something in the near distance. Following his gaze, he sees a small town, probably not much bigger than a few acres. How they found one in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, he’ll never know. 

“Care to share?”

He shrugs, trying not to linger on every lazy syllable that slips past Leo’s lips, “I just think I need a haircut,”

Leo glances at him, seemingly surprised, “Oh, yeah? Shit, man, you shoulda said somethin’. I mean, I’m not as good as Linda, but I can fix it up in, maybe forty, fifty minutes,” He says, preparing to roll into a gas station without flicking on his turn signal.

Vincent blinks. He didn’t know Leo could cut hair. He didn’t know Linda could cut hair, either. 

“Uh, no, that’s fine. Just complaining. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept,”

That earns him a light punch to the arm and a chuckle, “No, I’m serious. Go get some scissors and clippers from the pharmacy over there,” Leo leans over and points past the fuel pumps to a CVS sitting about 100 feet away, “We’ll find a motel, and I’ll make you look good for a change,”

Ignoring the tease, he shakes his head. “Really, I’m good, Leo,”

He huffs, “Fine. At least go in and get me some food or somethin’, then. I’m starving,”

Vincent walks into the pharmacy with only one goal in mind. Food. Because, if he’s being honest, he’s also starving.

He’s got $2.23 in his pocket, and as he skims the limited food selection, he regrets not asking Leo for some money. The most he’ll be able to get is some water and a small tin of peanuts.

He grabs them, and he’s about to go check out, until he catches sight of a pair of hairdressing shears. And clippers. An image of Leo standing over him, buzzing off his hard-earned goatee flashes in his mind. Hard pass.

He walks back to the car with a tin of peanuts and some shears.

“It’s just getting a little annoying, alright?” Is the only answer he gives when Leo fixes him with a smug grin.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,”

They manage to find a cheap motel a few blocks away, and disgust with the room quality can’t outweigh the relief of having a hard, lumpy, uncomfortable bed if it tries.

Leo drags their only chair to the bed, facing it to the door. “Take a seat, amigo,” He says, perching himself on the edge of the mattress. 

He sits down, once again ignoring the way exhaustion eases the edges of Leo’s voice, the way it naturally slurs on the softer sounds. He ignores the way it bounces off the walls of his chest and settles warmly under his heart, like smoldering embers awaiting ignition.

Leo snips at the air behind his head a few times to test the shears’ resistance. Vincent feels practiced fingers run through his hair, inspecting what has effectively become a dirty mop on his head. 

“Jesus, Vince. You’re a walking split end, you know that?” He says, scratching Vincent’s scalp pleasantly. It almost sends him back to sleep. “So, what are you looking for here? Just what you had before?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” He says, trying not to move too much.

They’re silent as Leo carefully combs through his hair with his hands, divvying it into sections and clipping them ever shorter. Every scrape of the cold steel against the back of his neck sends a shiver down his spine, more from the shock than anything. Leo doesn’t seem to catch the memo, though.

“There a draft in here or somethin’?”

“No,” 

There’s a pause so short that Vincent almost misses it. 

“You afraid of me with these scissors, then?”

Something in his voice makes him hesitate. Concern. 

“No, of course not,” He straightens his legs out and crosses his ankles over one another, relaxing a little, “They’re just cold, is all”

Roughly ten minutes pass in silence, interrupted only by the sounds of the shears slicing through his overgrown hair.

“So, stranger,” Leo says eventually, mimicking the friendliness of a barber, “What special occasion brought you to my chair?”

Vincent rolls his eyes, “What are you doing, Leo?”

“I’m making conversation, dipshit,”

“You aren’t very good at it,”

There’s a swat on his shoulder, “Just answer the fuckin’ question, Vince,”

He chuckles, letting his head be turned to the right and sneaking a peek at the man behind him, “Well, no special occasion this time,” He rumbles, “Going on the road with a friend, thought I’d pretty myself up for him,”

“Really?” Tilting Vincent’s head the other way, Leo starts working on his left side, “Must be one lucky guy, huh? You don’t look like you get ‘prettied up’ very often,”

Pointedly ignoring the jab, he smiles, “Yeah, he’s alright. We’ve been through a lot together, and I bug him to high heaven, but he just keeps stickin’ around,”

“I know a guy like you. Cleans up a lot better, though, I have to say,” He can hear the smirk on Leo’s lips, and Vincent doesn’t fight the heat that blooms in his chest, “Got quite the stick up his ass. I can’t take him anywhere,”

“Well, who knows? Maybe there’s some fun, deep down in the depths of his straight-laced soul. All you have to do is find it,”

“Nah, I think I like him the way he is. I’d be in much worse shape if it wasn’t for him. Despite what I say to his face,” He runs his fingernails over Vincent’s scalp, scooching off the bed and making his way around Vincent, squatting in front of him. Gently, he grabs his chin and tilts it from side to side to see that both sides are even, before his gaze settles on Vincent’s and lingers. “He ain’t so bad,”

There’s that look again. His lips part, a small breath escaping before he can stop it. It tickles some of his goatee’s longer hairs, though it’s hardly the focus of his attention.

He swallows. It doesn’t go unnoticed how Leo’s eyes track his Adam's apple. Or how they lift to his lips. 

“Maybe our guys should meet,”

Leo blinks, surprised by something. He shakes his head minutely, “Maybe you should learn how to fuckin’ shave right,”

His goatee.

He was looking at my Goatee.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He deflects, shifting in his seat and looking away to recompose himself.

“Oh, come on, Vince. You’ve been slacking, it’s all sad and shitty now. Just let me do it. If I don’t, it’ll drive me fuckin’ crazy,”

As if summoned by God himself, an itch rears its head just above his lip. He grimaces, trying to make his scratch at it as inconspicuous as possible, “Yeah, fine. You might as well,”

After a few more minutes of cutting Vincent’s hair, Leo stands, walks into the bathroom, and walks back out with a knife, a razor, and a wet cloth in hand.

“Where the hell did you get those?” He asks, because he’s very sure they don’t put any of those things in $8 motel bathrooms.

“What? Not the weirdest thing I’ve pulled outta my ass,” Leo says, sitting back down on the bed, “Turn around,”

Vincent does as he’s told, standing to sit backwards in the chair. His arms cross easily on the back, though it takes a bit of maneuvering to get his legs under the arms. He tilts his head up to get a good view of his partner. The height difference is more noticeable this way, but he doesn’t mind at all. He likes looking up at Leo.

Leo goes to start working, but stops short, frowning. He looks down at the space between them and grabs the armchair, pulling it flush with the bed with a small grunt.

His elbows bump against the younger man’s knees and it sends a bout of heat to his face. Leo brushes some of the stray hairs off his shoulders before resting his hands there, just staring at him. 

There’s something in his chest, curling around his lungs, eating up his lies before he can breathe them out, coiling in the pit of his stomach and making a home. The trust he’s placed at Leo’s feet leaves him dizzy, gasping for breath with every new little intimate gesture Leo manages to throw his way, turning everything he thinks he knows on its head.

He begins shaving the stubble on his jaw and neck. Vincent realizes that he really shouldn’t trust Leo as wholly as he does, and he shouldn’t be trusted as wholly as he knows he is. They’re criminals, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t have to keep reminding himself that this could fall apart at any moment. There’s a blade to his throat and he can’t find it in himself to pull away. 

Instead, he’s content with Leo’s steady hands gripping his chin, trimming his facial hair with a focus so intense it makes his heart skip a beat.

Leo sits back, inspecting his work. A moment later, he smirks wide and leans in, blowing hard on Vincent’s face. He squints, half in confusion and half to keep stray hairs from flying into his eyes. 

Before he can get a word in, Leo’s swiping the remaining hair away with his hand. His grin has morphed back into a small, pleased smile. He’d like to think he isn’t imagining when calloused fingers brush over his bottom lip for a second too long. 

“Now, where were we?”

“Excuse me?”

Leo rolls his eyes and leans over Vincent, draping his arms loosely over his shoulders. Lean muscle makes a home in his periphery, and oh how he wants to turn his head, admire every curve and contour he finds there; but there’s no time before their faces stand inches apart. He can smell the smokey cologne on his neck. When did he have time to apply cologne?

“Sorry for cutting our little moment short, earlier,” He says, low and husky, looking down at him from under the cover of dark eyelashes. 

He finds his breath and lets it go, captured by the shimmer of want in Leo’s eyes. Want. Vincent had never thought someone could want him after Carol. Not Leo. Not in the way he wants him.

Leo slides a little closer, hands intertwining against the back of Vincent’s neck.

“I meant to ask why you did that,” He uncrosses his arms, placing an experimental hand at Leo’s nape, brushing through his curling hair. Their mouths are hovering closer by the second. 

“Well,” Leo drawls, “I wasn’t just gonna kiss you with that itchy mess in the way, was I?”

“I guess not,” His eyes flit to Leo’s mouth, open ever so slightly, impossibly magnetic, “Now what’s stopping you?”

“Just your yakkin’,” 

He breathes a small laugh as Leo leans down, sealing their lips. 

In all of Vincent’s imaginings, he never expected him to be so… chaste. It feels confident, tender. A careful welcome to a guilty soul. Everything that’s been weighing him down since he arrived in that prison is suddenly the least of his worries, because all he can think about is Leo’s mouth on his, dragging him deeper into his own vices.

He feels a tongue swipe over his lips, and he parts them unthinkingly, cotton sprouting in his head as Leo sighs into his mouth. He tastes like bitter chocolate and bourbon, dark and inviting. One of Leo’s hands tangles itself in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to expose his heart and soul to the mercy of a convict. And he so desperately wants to. 

Eventually and all too soon, Leo pulls away. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide, and he’s looking at him with something he can only hope to describe as desire.

“You gotta get out of this stupid fuckin’ chair,” He breathes.

Vincent just nods, gripping the wooden arms and pulling his legs out from under them. Leo stands, grabs him by the lapels, and yanks him back to his lips, reeling him in all over again. He starts pulling them back towards the bed, and Vincent props a hand on the edge, reaching the other up to tangle in his hair. He remembers every time he’s held himself back, denied himself this, and he thinks he’s the most blaringly stupid man on the face of the planet.

“What about Linda?” Vincent says between breaths.

He feels Leo nod against him, “We talked—” Another kiss, “We’re good,”

“You—” Vincent breaks them apart this time, confused, “You talked to Linda about this?”

“Well, yeah—” He drags him back again, “–-Wasn’t just gonna-–” Again, “-–Cheat on my wife,” Again, and if Leo keeps kissing him like this he may have an aneurysm. 

Vincent shifts his weight onto his heels, keeping one hand buried in Leo’s dark curls while the other finds the back of Leo’s jacket. For a moment, he keeps it there, hesitant, reserving himself for some kind of unspoken line he doesn’t want to cross. But Leo, perceptive still under his carefully obtuse facade, makes the decision for him.

He unbuttons his jacket, far too slowly, and his eyes burn into Vincent as he looks on, need tugging at his stomach. A thought forms, as he hopelessly watches the scene before him, that Leo’s doing it on purpose—he’s putting on a show. And, oh, fuck, that sends a thrill straight through him.

Shouldering it off and letting it fall lazy onto the stained carpet, Leo’s hands fly up to the collar of Vincent’s leather bomber, and he finds the fact that it’s still on is a grave oversight. His jacket joins the pile on the floor, along with his reservations, as he gently slips his hand under the hem of Leo’s shirt.

He feels the muscles of his back go taut under his hand, and he gives himself a moment to explore. His fingers linger over every divot, every imperfection, every faded scar, committing it to memory. Maybe he doesn’t deserve this, knowing what he knows. But the world is giving it to him, however unworthy he may be of it, and he’ll be damned if he turns it down.

One of Leo’s hands snakes under his waistband, bringing Vincent’s thoughts back to the present. He doesn’t realize his shirt’s been untucked until the other hand skims up and down his bare side. He can’t help the shiver that comes in its wake.

Leo’s chest rumbles and he hums, chuckling against his mouth, “Someone’s sensitive,”

“Shut up,” He gives his hair a gentle tug, and hopes he sounds more confident than he feels. Past his assertive front—which is, admittedly, crumbling—he’s about ready to fall apart in Leo’s arms. He’s honestly glad the bed is there, because his knees might just give out if this progresses any further.

“You know you love to hear me talk,” 

“I think that’s just you,”

Leo huffs, and the hands on Vincent’s side and in his hair disappear, finding the top of his paisley button-up and working it open, button by button. Breathlessly, Vincent goes to help him, starting with his cuffs. Within seconds, it’s off his shoulders, balled up in his hands as he throws it to the floor. He’s about to go for Leo’s when he feels a pair of hands on his chest, traveling down to his stomach and back up again, tracing the contours of fat and muscle beneath his fingers. Vincent suppresses what would be an embarrassing noise, but a low hum still manages to sound in his throat.

One of Leo’s hands settles on his chest and pushes him back, and Vincent frowns, opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong. But the other goes down between them, and it keeps going. He grazes the hand over his trousers, palming him gently—the beginning of a word morphs into a groan as his knees go weak and he grips Leo’s shoulders for dear life. 

Vincent is fucked. Vincent is so, completely, abysmally fucked. 

Before he can recover, Leo grabs his shoulders and flips them around, pinning Vincent between himself and the mattress. His hands continue to roam Vincent’s body like he’s the Goddamn statue of David, leaving him dazed every time they trail down his v-line, only to wander back to his chest. 

Leo kisses him and kisses him, fervent and determined, and Vincent throws an arm around his neck, pulling him closer and breathing a feverish plea against his mouth. Leo, bless him, understands. He feels the tug at his belt, hears the promising clink of a buckle coming undone. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

It’s on the floor in seconds flat. Leo’s lips leave his, kissing down his jaw and mouthing at his neck as he pops open his trouser buttons. Vincent lifts his head to make room, teeth clenched as staying silent becomes increasingly difficult.

Leo lays a heavy hand against his hardening dick through his boxers, and a quiet whine slips past his lips.

[ end. ]

[artinandwritin]

So ever since I handed in my portfolio for the first part of this semester, I have been playing the Sims with one goal in mind. Wait, no, two;

The first is to procrastinate the work I have to do for my grading in one and a half weeks.

The second is to create the perfect Niv from GusSiri's combined DNA (which sounds weird lmao)

So far;

I tried to start building a house for them but got distracted by the gallery. So I just picked a cute gallery house and redecorated it

Created GusSiri!! They look absolutely adorable together but for some reason they keep forgetting each other's name

Siri has developed bad vision??? So she wears glasses, which is funny cuz in her canon story she's an archer and has really good eyesight

Gustav became an introvert somehow. Um. Idk how that happened?? But he is a freelance writer which is funny. He's really following in his hero Snotlout's footsteps

On that. I keep having him write books on his adoration for Snotlout. It's very funny to me lmao

Siri is a babysitter and had a promotion after the first day!! And it means she has more time to do romance things >:)

GusSiri are going very slow but they are vibing so hard. The bed bugged and now one keeps sleeping on the couch

GusSiri eloped lmao. They're married AND IT'S NIV TIME!!!

I just realised the house may be a bit small for a family lmao but i am too lazy to fix it rn

SIRI IS PREGNANT AND SHE'S LOOKING SO ADORABLE

Also her with her lil glasses is so cute

Gustav keeps being a little shit and doesn't do anything in the house while his heavily pregnant wife is taking care of everything herself. HELP HER YOU LIL SHIT

OH HE'S FINALLY DOING SHIT GOOD JOB SON

Yeah maybe because you keEP SPENDING MONEY

IT'S BABY TIME

THEY HAD TWINS I REPEAT THEY HAD TWINS. I SWEAR FIRST THEY HAD A BABY BOI AND I WAS SO HAPPY CUZ BABY BOI MEANS NIV. AND THEN THE GAME SAID THEY HAD A BABY GIRL TOO

So in this game Niv has a twin sister and her name is Elisabeth (curtesy of @beebooca who I kinda have been livestreaming this game to lmao) I love them sm

Oh no I gotta upgrade the house now. I hope GusSiri have made enough money.

So far it's going great and the twins are great babies. Niv and Siri just became besties!!! I hope the new infant stage is gonna be just as easy

OKAY I KID YOU NOT BUT THE GAME MADE A NIV. BLACK HAIR GREEN EYES THE WHOLE LOOK AND I DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO CHANGE ANYTHING

LOOK AT HIM HE'S SO CUTE. ALL I HAD TO DO WAS GIVE HIM CUTE OUTFITS AND BOOM WE HAD A NIV

SWEET BABY ELISABETH LOOK AT HER!!!

Oh I love the twins sm. I must resist the urge to make Elisabeth canon in some way.

Someone left baby Niv outside??? Bro this is so sad SOMEONE COME PICK HIM UP

Why are infants so hard. Gustav just has permanent bags underneath his eyes and Siri has to sleep so much

Siri and Niv are bonding. This is what we are doing this for.

I cant wait until the kids are toddlers smh. Also

Same

Anyways um. This was it for now? If anything interesting happens I will keep you updated lmao

@rosiethedragongeek for the tags!

[djcarnationsblog]

🤡✍🎢❌🏆📈🤗

that's alot but- y'know

Yeah Ik bitch <3

1.What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

uuuh, there are quite a few, I will say, one in particular though?

It'd probably have to be the interactions between Dazai and Mael, I'm not gonna lie. My boi fuels the urge to diss the hell out of Dazai in the most creative ways, it's wonderful. This one in particular is between Chuuya and Mael talking about Dazai.

' “Oh my God, he never does that.” Chuuya hummed, more astonished than he thought he’d ever feel. “He doesn’t?” Mael asked. “Nah, he usually stays the night.”

“Hmm…” Chuuya placed a hand over Mael’s head, who took to placing his chin against his shoulder, comfortably caging the brunette’s head. “Good riddance, then.”

“You know he’ll come back, right Mael?”

“...”

“I literally can’t get rid of that man, no matter how much I try.”

“...He better get utterly fucked by an Ostrich before then-”

“Oh my God??? Language, you vile piece of shit.”

“Heh.” '

2.Do you have a beta reader?

Yup! My sis @djbeatz

That, and we tend to beta read my oneshots simultaneously and side by side, and that only causes either a lot of chaos, or a lot of thoughtful conversations between each other. Either or tbh.

3.Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Literally any crack related fics, but if we're going BSD specifically? Liquor Store Blues, that one is just chaos incarnate-

4.What’s a trope you will never write?

Yandere x anything

I just don't vibe with the yandere concept, tbh. No hate, I'm just real unsettled, and even if I did, I wouldn't write any characters who would even fit such a role, so that's just a no-go for me XD

5.What’s your most popular fic?

Good question, if we're talking about comparing all the fandoms I've written for, three so far, it'd be one of my Undertale fics, which I now wish I did better, called Songs of Grief.

I kinda hate it now, tho. The writing was terrible, pacing wasn't good at all, fuck it all XD.

6.How many fics do you have?

Uh-apparently 43....Jesus-

7.What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Ooooh, that's a bit tough. For me personally though??

Learn from experienced authors I guess. I like to go on YT and look up many aspects about writing as a whole to keep in mind for the future, especially from authors and writers who have been doing it for years. Things such as pacing, good and bad tropes, how to write certain scenes, how to appeal to the audience.

That, and I emphasize on the pacing part. Pacing in a story is really damn important to me, both as a fic writer and reader. I want to see a story that flows smoothly with the genre it works with. Like if you want slow burn, depending on how slow, make it take LONG, make your readers really wait for that one sweet, satisfying moment they've all been waiting for, then keep that grip on them and make them wonder, what's going to happen next? But again, don't take too long, your readers might become uninterested half-way through if it's too slow and just leave.

Or if you want a fast-paced story, quick and enjoyable all the same. Don't be so fast that it feels like your skipping major developments to get to the next scene, that's just choppy and completely turns off the reader's desire to keep reading, because then it feels inexperienced, amateur, not worth their time. You want it fast, not too fast, but still.

That's pretty much what I think at least XD. My advice ain't obsolete, so don't take it as universal! Just one option of the many out there!

[odetoavillan]

 Voyage of the Damned 2

Making a plan

One more installment will finish this story line... I've been enjoying this story thanks to @corruptedbee for the idea!

        "You know seeing you be jumpy... scares me more than this thing does." She whispered to Maul as she leaned her back against his back.

          "I sense no threat through the force... but my physical instincts are telling me otherwise..." Maul shook his head.

          "The force connects all living things... and this thing isn't alive." She sighed. 

          "I have always relied on the force... and it is of no use right now... I'm..." He trailed off, his breath shuddering.

          "I know... me too." She whispered, taking his hand. He squeezed her hand tightly.

          "I will keep you safe." He swore to her. She smiled.

          "I know... you always do." She answered. "Ferral is calling someone who might know about what we're dealing with... hopefully we'll get some help." She shuddered, hearing shuffling near them.

          "He's not alone correct." Maul queried.

          "He has several of the boys watching his back." She assured.

          "You know... I found out that you aren't actually a jedi padawan..." Ahsoka spoke as soon as she answered his transmission. Her arms were crossed and she had a scowl.

         "Then why did you answer my call, my lady." Ferral tried to smile. Her arms fell to her sides as she studied him.

          "You seam off... whats wrong?" She asked.

          "I will not lie to you Ahsoka... my clan and I are in grave danger... we boarded an abandoned ship, in hopes of finding supplies and fule that we needed." Ferral began.

         "Looting? So you're actually force wielding pirates?" She scowled.

          "Please, Ahsoka. I will explain myself when my clan is safe... I see apparitions... I saw one on the ship. The most terrifying one I have ever seen... when we left the ship and were flying away the ship disappeared before our eyes..." He jumped and looked around at his surroundings. "...now that entity is on our ship, it has already killed the first two troops that saw the ship..." He finished then winced and rubbed the back of his neck blood was on his fingers. Ahsoka gasped.

          "Sir! We're sorry we don't know how it got by..." Biv exclaimed 

         "It's getting stronger... it's developed teleconetic abilities..." Ferral growled.

          "You better be pranking me!" She snapped.

         "I would never prank about this, my lady... spirits are nothing to make jokes about." He stated earnestly, his brows creased together as he studied her vibrant blue eyes.

          "How can I help?" She asked.

          "Have you ever heard of something like this?" Ferral questioned earnestly.

           "My master actually told me me some ghost stories he heard as a kid... it's called the mariners curse... or something like that... ships have reported in that they're going to investigate an abandonded ship never heard from again..." Ahsoka stated with a wince.

          "That's not good news." Ferral groaned.

     A whistle sounded, a blue and white astromech appeared in the hologram. The little Droid kept whistling, squeaking and squawking. Ferral looked from the Droid to Ahsokas wide eyes.

          "I don't understand droid..." He admitted.

          "R2 here says he's lived through an attack like you've described!" Ahsoka exclaimed excitedly. A scuttling was heard and Ferral sushed her, bedore shouting in his native tongue. There was an inhuman screech.

         "Quickly tell me!" He urged.

         "He said he turned the Electromagnetic frequency on the ship and it forced the ghost out long enough for him to fly the ship away." Ahsoka rambled as fast as possible. Ferral nodded. "May the force be with you."

          "And with you my lady." He bared his teeth in a devilish smile before ending the transmission.

         "That's not gonna be easy to do..." Biv exclaimed.

          "It's our only hope." Ferral stated, "we must report to Maul."