#i honestly wish i had his bone structure

[luveline]

Hi I’ve never actually sent a request before so I hope I’m doing this right lol. I was so excited when I saw you wanted to more writing for the Steve zombie au before the established relationship. I die for grumpy pining. I was thinking maybe more reluctant comforting like maybe a thunderstorm or something or honestly just whatever you see fit. I love your writing and your Steve is unmatched. Either way request taken or not I’m sending all the love and good vibes.

hi! thank you for your request my love! steve zombie au —you and steve are surviving together when a freak storm begins, and he can’t stop himself from trying to make you feel better. fem!reader

"In," Steve ushers quickly, "in, in!" 

You force yourself through a gap that's too small for you into the warehouse you've found and out of the rain, an instant bruise forming on your shoulder. You understand his hurry, but it really does hurt. He has similar trouble forcing himself inside. 

Thunder cracks behind him. You jump hard at the sound. "It sounds like it's right on top of us," you say. 

"It might be. Come on," he says, taking your arm into his icy hand, "this way." 

Worried that the storm might be winds from a hurricane at the East Coast, you and Steve had immediately abandoned your plan to start walking up highway I-69 and backtracked to the last building you'd seen on the way, a packing house for toiletries. You hadn't bothered coming inside beforehand, neither of you in want of any necessities that aren't canned goods (or, imagine, fresh food).

You wish you had. Not only would the storm have started while you were already sheltered, but you might have been able to navigate the absolute shitshow of a floor plan without nearly breaking your neck. 

You slip on a greasy patch of floor and Steve yanks you up. He doesn't do it to be cruel; if he hadn't pulled hard you would've fell flat on your face. 

"Shit," he hisses.

"Sorry–" 

"No, just– come on, this way," he says. 

His hair is plastered to his face, soaked despite the hood of his coat and the beanie he'd been wearing, The rain is torrential and freezing cold, carrying a chill that permeates down to the bone. You're less wet than he was, as he'd taken the tarp you sleep under from his backpack and made you wear it like a poncho. 

You don't know if he hates you, when he does stuff like that. He certainly doesn't like you. You figure he resents you for saving his life and not having the grace to insist you part ways. How could you? Everybody was running away, fleeing from the geek cul-de-sac Indiana had become, and nobody who wanted anything to do with you had survived the initial wave. You'd been completely alone, terrified, and you'd risked your life to save him anyways. So when he asked if you were alone, you were honest. When he said, You better come with me, then, you didn't think about it for a minute. 

He probably regrets it in moments like this. And it's worse because you like him. Hero worship, maybe, Steve keeps keeping you alive and you want him to like you more and more every day. 

It's why you hate fucking up. You just want him to see you properly, and not as a girl he has to protect. You want him to know you can protect him back. 

You take the initiative and lead him toward the back of the huge room. He doesn't protest. You figure a corner of the structure would be safer than the middle where the ceiling could sag, and away from the centre of the walls where big windows lined with metal shutters sit. 

Together, you knock coffee pots and plastic cups off of a long table and drag it toward the corner to use as a make shift shield. It's the most protection you can get. 

You sit down, relieved. It can't be ten seconds until your body remembers how cold it is, soaked as you are. 

You already know what to do, and despite the shyness that comes with stripping in front of a boy, and especially a boy that you like, you undress anyways. Shoes first, then your coat. Steve starts to do the same, and you try not to look at one another. 

There are lots of things you worry about, but the stupidest one is body hair. You can't help it —when hair removal is engrained in the feminine experience from birth, it becomes a habit. It's not even that you think it's bad, but you worry that Steve thinks it's gross. Then you remember how many times you've heard one another pee and shake your head at yourself. 

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, shirtless as he pulls his second (and last) pair of jeans over tacky legs. 

You're shirtless too. "Nothing." 

"Your bra is wet." 

You look down at your bra and blink. It's cold, and everyone knows what happens when it's cold and you're braless. "It's the only one I have, I don't wanna flash you." 

"You…" He cracks a very rare smile. It's a twitch of the corner of his lips and nothing more, but it helps you to relax. "I'm not trying anything, but you should take it off. You can wear my hoodie if you're uncomfortable." 

"I guess it's dumb to care." 

"I don't think it's dumb," he says, his head craned as another crack of thunder bellows outside. "You deserve to feel comfortable. I won't look, I swear, I just don't want you to be cold." He looks away from you. "You'll get sick. Then we'd be really fucked."  

You nod. You slip out of your bra and put on your second (and last) t-shirt, which is thinner than the first. You shove your arms in his hoodie but don't zip it closed. 

Steve takes the blanket from his pack and, now wearing his shirt and fresh socks, slots himself next to you and pulls the blanket over your laps. It's an odd juxtaposition: he worries about your privacy but not your personal space. 

"I think it's getting worse," you mumble, head tilted to the side as you listen to the wind roar. 

"We'll be okay." 

You put your hand on your thigh. He puts his hand on his. You slouch against the wall and know you won't be getting any sleep tonight, not while the wind rails.

Time passes like a dragging weight. You wince at every loud whoosh of air, and can't help leaning into Steve's side when somewhere in the warehouse a machine begins to creak. The cold bites your nose, and your toes are stiff despite your new socks. 

You and Steve don't talk much, but eventually he speaks up. 

"Do you need another pair of socks?" he asks. 

"No, it's okay." 

"I won't mind," he says. 

"What if you need them?" 

He gets them out of his pack and tosses them into your lap. You take them, but the wind has seized you up, afraid that any minute now you'll get a storm surge. 

"Hurricanes can't get this far in, can they?" you ask quietly. 

"No. I don't think so." 

You nod your head. "It's loud." 

"I know." 

You put his socks on and try to be level-headed. You think it might be the constant heavy stress that surviving in the wild and against the threat of flesh-eating creatures has put you under that's made you so fragile. A storm wouldn't have scared you this severely before. But your brain is under fire basically every second of the day, even in your sleep, and it weakens your resolve. You've never understood how Steve can be strong in the face of all this awful. 

"It'll be okay," he says again. 

"No, I know…" you say. You don't know, but you don't want to bother him. "I'm fine." 

Thunder cracks at exactly the wrong moment, simultaneous with a sound like a window rattling in its frame. You flinch at his side, your hand jumping on his thigh. 

You go to pull it away and he flattens it to his leg. 

"It's okay," he says, his sternness melting into a softer reassurance. His hair lays in damp curls below his ears, and his face is pale from a lack of sun. "It's just wind. We don't get hurricanes, and if we did, the walls are concrete. You think wind and rain can get through three feet of stone?" 

He lets your hand go. You take it as a queue to remove it.

"Sorry, I don't know why I…" 

Steve clears his throat. "You're not–" He couldn't know what you were going to say about yourself, and you have no idea what he might've said himself. "You don't have to be sorry. For this, anyways. You should be super sorry about other stuff, like losing your pen knife, and trying to convince me to eat that frog," —he pauses as you laugh, the hint of a smile playing on his lips— "but don't bother being sorry about this." 

"People eat frogs," you say quietly, leaning your head against the wall and looking at him through one eye. 

He follows your example and sits the same. After a moment, he pulls the slipped blanket up to your stomach again. "I don't care what people eat. I'm not eating frogs." 

"I didn't want to eat one either," you say. You hadn't. "They do eat them, though." 

"I'm sure they do. Cooked, and with spices. Not raw and covered in dirt. And dead." 

You'd only been joking about eating the frog, but you were both hungry enough to stare at it for a half-second too long. 

Rain drums the ceiling like a far away thrumming. You know you must look awful, wet and dirty. You'd managed to brush your teeth this morning at the very least, but you can't imagine you're the kind of girl Steve would ever want, then or now. 

His gaze dips to your neck. It rests there. 

"I'm not just saying it to make you feel better," he says, stilted once again. "Things… things will be okay. They'll get better. We have to make it out of here." 

Steve has people he needs to find. You'll follow him anywhere at this point, not for love, but he's a good guy, even if he glares more than he talks. He knows how to protect you both. He does stuff he doesn't have to do, like this. His vaguely awkward comfort. His extra socks.

"I know," you say. "We'll be fine."

He nods. You tell yourself that you're imagining the tenderness he puts into such a simple gesture. “Exactly. You worry too much.”

[tigergirltail]

TIGER HRT CHAPTER 1 - MONTH MINUS 6 - THE CONSULTATION

The specialest of special thanks to @ayviedoesthings for creating the original Dragon HRT story, and a big shoutout as well to @kaylasartwork, @welldrawnfish, @nyxisart, and @deadeyedfae for their takes on the concept! Every one of you is inspirational, and your work gives me so much second-hand gender euphoria!

Next

---

"Miss Alexis, please come in."

I look around as I walk inside. Between the doctor being a balding middle-aged man and the office looking like any generic doctor's office, I'm honestly a little disappointed. I was hoping the infamous source of therian HRT would be a little more… I don't know. Exotic? Unique? I was half expecting the walls to have before and after photographs of clients, but I suppose when it comes down to it, this is a serious medical facility, not a beauty salon. I walk up to the desk and sit down in the chair.

"Now I understand you wish to be a… a tiger?"

I'm unable to suppress my euphoria at the idea, and I start grinning and nodding. "A white tiger! I haven't changed my fursona since I got one, it's about time I start embodying it!"

"Indeed… And I see on your medical history that you are transgender." He mutters under his breath, "Just like all the others…"

I give a little smirk. 'All the others' are the reason I'm here. If this guy is handing out meds that can turn people into dragons or fish or bats, then a tiger should be easy, right? It's a mammal, and not much bigger than a human, relatively speaking. I had even given some thought to the rumoured "Fifteen Minute Shortcut", but when it comes down to it, even if I did have the ungodly pain tolerance to withstand such a rapid transformation of my bone structure and musculature, I… don't really want to do it quickly. Mundane HRT has already been such an absolute gift in terms of euphoria from noticing the slow and gradual changes, I want to keep that up. I want to notice the little things.

"Now I'm afraid there are some requirements to be settled first…"

Oh boy. Here comes the bureaucratic bullshit. Everything that's been put in place to make sure Our Children don't Make A Terrible Mistake. When it comes down to it, bodily autonomy only counts when you're not one of the weirdos. The instant you decide to be capital-d Different, people start falling over themselves trying to talk you out of it.

"First of all, I see that you have been taking human hormone therapy for a little over six months. We do require a full year of human treatment before beginning therian treatments, and I'm afraid that is fully non-negotiable. There are matters of biology that require the body to be a certain degree of… receptive."

I was afraid of this, but at least it's not a deal-killer. Another half-year is bearable, even if I am going to be shaking with anticipation the entire time.

"I also see you have letters from a practicing physician and a social worker, but we do require a second psychologist to be involved in the process."

Okay. Absolute horseshit, but not impossible. All I've got to do is find another social worker or psychologist. And pay them for several months of sessions. And hope they don't decide I'm crazy for wanting to throw away my humanity. I can feel my expression souring…

"It's also required to live as your desired species for at least a year before beginning the process."

"What." I'm leaning forward and glaring at the doctor before I fully realize it. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that, without the… the requisite biology, or the inborn instincts, or the… the habitat!" I let out a frustrated growl. "Am I supposed to fly off to India or Bangladesh or somewhere, and start camping out in the wilderness??"

"Miss Alexis, please, I'm afraid these are… are the requirements set forth by the guidelines of -"

"Guidelines!" I slam a palm down on the desk between us, before letting out a frustrated breath. "Just that… Guidelines. You know, and I know, that a lot of people have come to you already, with a lot more… exotic requests. Flying animals? Aquatic animals? A fucking DRAGON??"

The doctor seems taken aback, maybe he didn't expect this level of resistance.

"What is even the natural habitat of a dragon anyway? Or the diet? Or the behaviours in the wild?? It's a mythical creature for gods' sakes, there's no firm evidence they even existed!!" I stare at him, unblinkingly, with what I dearly hope is a predatory glare. "But I do get it, though. You have to be absolutely sure I won't regret it. Liability, or whatever. …Maybe we just need to know how hard I can BITE."

Something changes in his expression. ...Malice? No, not quite. A sort of… satisfaction, maybe.

It was a test. He wanted to know whether I'd just roll over and accept the impossibility of my quest, or whether I was prepared to fight for it.

Joke's on him, just getting human HRT was such a godsdamned hassle, I already know how to fight.

He adjusts his glasses. "Perhaps there is something I can do for you… Let me get you some forms."

[angeart]

vampire scar ch1 story wip-

The area around them is dangerous; the night is quickly drawing in and the darkness is beginning to wield claws and teeth, bloodlust seeping into the air in sharp howls and snarls. Yet even then, entering unknown structures could be as dooming as staying inside. Four walls could as easily trap as protect. It’s always a gamble.

With that in mind, Grian still leads Mumbo towards the mansion that looms eerie and quiet and foreboding in front of them. With a little bit of luck, it will be abandoned, covered in dust and silence and bones. 

He should’ve known better. They haven’t had luck in a long time.

The hinges creak when they ram into the huge, ornate front door to convince it to open. That’s promising. The grating sound is a song of disuse, and Grian considers it a good sign as they tumble inside and quickly shut the door behind them.

For a little bit, they just breathe and try to get their bearings. The entrance hall is huge, sprawling, running off in all kinds of directions. It’s hard to make out the detail of the interior; the only light is the swiftly dimming light coming in through the windows.

Grian fails to notice that the windows aren’t covered in grime. He fails to notice that the place is not in disarray, covered in spiderwebs. He fails to notice that the air isn’t stale and dusty. 

“I—I think this looks good?” Mumbo looks around cautiously, keeping close to Grian in this unfamiliar space.

Grian breathes out a huff of relief, even though the sound is still coated with tension; his body refuses to relax, too many unknown variables still spinning through his mind. Anything could lurk in the dark corners and dozens of rooms, and they’re aware only of one singular escape route—and even that is slow and uncertain, hanging on rusty, unwilling hinges. 

If he would be easily swayed with any shreds of things that faintly resemble comfort, they wouldn’t have survived this long.

So he doesn’t give in. He looks around, and he wishes it would be as simple as it seems. There’s a desperate yearning in him for something uncomplicated, for one night not filled with threats and dread and fear for their lives. How he wishes to be able to close his eyes and maybe, maybe sink into a soft bed and just sleep without being terrified of the possibility of not waking up in the morning—

This place is bound to have some soft beds.

Grian’s stomach twists at the thought. No, he tells himself. He can’t be stupid here. He can’t give in. They need to remain alert; they know nothing about this place.

“We should look around,” he suggests, voice taut. 

“Yes. Definitely,” Mumbo agrees immediately, his eyes roaming the area. “Do you want to split up?”

Grian swivels on his heels to face him, an indignant scoff on his lips. “Split—Split up?! Mumbo!” he chastises. “You know that—“

Mumbo lifts his hands up defensively. “Alright, alright! I’m just saying, it’s a big place. Lots of ground to cover.”

Grian’s gaze is drawn off to the side, to the doors that line only one side of the room. So many options. So many possible traps. So many places for danger to hide in. “Okay,” he says slowly, trying to swallow the trepidation that grows thick in his throat. “We could—Maybe we could check adjacent rooms, stay near but check multiple places at once?” he suggests, even though everything in him prickles, unease nauseatingly settling over him.

“Yeah, okay,” Mumbo doesn’t sound convinced, but it was his idea in the first place, so he relents. “That sounds reasonable.”

Grian glares at him. It doesn’t sound very reasonable to him. But they’re both tired and searching this place inch by inch is going to take ages as-is. They have to make compromises, Grian knows this, but it doesn’t make it any easier. “Fine,” he sighs. “Which side do you want to start with?” 

“It honestly makes no difference,” Mumbo remarks.

“Fine,” Grian repeats, a tad more irritably now. He’s tired, he’s tense, his danger-senses are tingling. He is high-strung, even though he tries to convince himself that they just found something safe, that they’re not out there without shelter, that this is good. “Here, then.” He walks to his left, towards the first set of rooms, and Mumbo immediately follows without a word.

They both fall into something familiar, something orchestrated and practiced. They move quietly, their steps soft, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand always hovering over a weapon in anticipation of a threat. 

As soon as they reach the two sets of doors, they give each other a look and a small nod. Grian can see Mumbo bracing himself. He knows he’s doing the same thing. 

And then he pushes the door open and steps over the threshold of a dark room.

At first, a feeling that he’s alone now sinks into him, even if Mumbo’s just a shout away. He thinks about how he’s going in blindly—they don’t even have torches or anything. Every shadow will make him jumpy, he fully expects this—

Except the room is not as dark as it should be.

And it certainly isn’t as empty as he’d hoped.

It’s the far end of the room that’s flickering with dim, warm light. There’s a candle burning up, its flame a weak, dying thing. Grian’s eyes snag at it at first, drawn by the light like a moth to a flame. There’s something reassuring in the gentle, hot glow of a fire, just for a split second, until he pushes that instinct down and reminds himself that a fire he himself didn’t set is bound to burn him— 

That’s when his gaze swerves to the side.

There’s a person there.

There’s a person.

Grian’s mind short-circuits for three precious seconds, before he reboots. Immediately, he hunches up more. His fingertips find his daggers, a tool as ready for stabbing as for throwing. The other person didn’t notice him yet—clearly, because they start humming some silly, jaunty, way-too-content melody as they look over what seems to be an old leather journal. The hum is interrupted only by huffs of laughter.

This gives Grian enough time to take the stranger in.

He doesn’t like what he finds.

Even in the candlelight, their skin is pale, and there’s an old, dried spot of blood near the corner of their mouth. They’re dressed up a bit too well for the reality they’re living in. 

The candlelight glimmers, catches on something shiny and sharp.

A canine tooth.

Grian takes in a sharp breath. He straightens up, grabs a proper hold of one of the daggers, and he thinks in alarm of Mumbo in the other room—and sure, Mumbo didn’t call out yet, but if there’s one of these guys, there might be more, and—

And Grian needs to warn him right now, even at the cost of blowing his own stealth.

“Mumbo!” he calls out, and he belatedly wonders if this will just call more trouble to them than they can handle. “There’s a monster here!”

There’s a frightened gasp then, a jump and a thud of a journal that was sent flying and hit the floor.

“What?! Where?” An alarmed yelp that sounds across the space isn’t Mumbo’s voice. It’s the stranger’s voice—startled, deep, but oddly soft. 

For a second, Grian thinks maybe he made a mistake. Maybe this person isn’t a monster, if this is their reaction?

The stranger spins around and his eyes land on Grian’s, their gaze locking. He holds a hand to his chest and he heaves a big breath, before he chuckles quietly, a tense and unsteady sound. “Gosh, you scared me.”

“I—what?” Grian stares uncomprehendingly at the reaction.

The man’s lips curl into a cherubic smile, then—innocent and bright and—

Definitely not harmless, given by the two sharp canines and the dried blood at the corner of his mouth.

This drives it in for Grian, erasing all doubts: this person is a vampire.

“Well hello there,” the man says, seamlessly slipping more confidence and charm into his voice, even if the edges of it still echo startled unease. “I didn’t realise I have guests!” His gaze jumps to somewhere past Grian’s shoulder. “How rude of me. Welcome!”

Something touches Grian’s back and he almost jumps out of his skin, shrieking at the touch.

“No! It’s just me!” Mumbo immediately tries to fix his mistake.

“God,” Grian breathes out deeply, everything in him ready to snap as he turns back towards the enigma of a vampire they’re now facing. At least he’s no longer alone in this. “He’s a vampire,” he murmurs to Mumbo, even though he’s fully aware his voice carries all the way across the room.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Mumbo notes, signs of distress colouring his voice.

“Now, now,” the man in front of them—the monster, the vampire—lifts his hands amicably. “There’s no need for alarm. I’m a vegetarian!” he offers cheerily. 

Even though he says that, his gaze lingers on Grian in a way that makes a chill run down his spine.

“A vegetarian,” Grian repeats flatly. He isn’t sure why he’s even entertaining the idea; it’s completely absurd.

“Yes!” the man nods fervently, his smile spreading, all toothy and sharp. “I don’t eat anything with a face!”

The blood stain at the corner of his mouth says otherwise.

“I didn’t know that’s possible,” Mumbo exclaims from behind Grian, a little bit too naively for Grian’s comfort.

“Mumbo, there’s no way he’s telling the truth,” he grumbles at him, annoyed.

“No! No, I am!” the man insists. “I usually tear the face off first.”

He says it so simply, chuckling a little, it completely flabbergasts Grian.

“A—You what?” the words fall past his lips before he can think better of it.

“I tear the face off,” the man repeats with an unbothered shrug of his shoulder. It seems to take him another moment to register the apprehension of the other two people in the room, because he only belatedly hastily adds: “There’s nothing to worry about, really! I haven’t had guests in ages, I’m so happy to have you over!”

“We’re—“ Grian’s mind spins as he tries to process this. “Guests? Over? What? No!”

“Oh.” The man’s shoulders slump in immense sadness—it reeks of solitude, of disappointment, of such sheer unhappiness that it stabs at Grian’s heart.

He knows this is wrong. He knows vampires are charming and manipulative. He knows they have their ways of pulling in their prey, before they inevitably sink their teeth into flesh and bleed them dry. And yet—

And yet.

Something in his heart can’t bear the look of this stranger looking so small and abandoned. Maybe because he himself knows what it feels like, first-hand. Maybe because he knows that if it wasn’t for Mumbo, he’d be completely lost. He can’t begin to imagine staying in a big, empty, dark place all alone for—how long?

His feelings keep snagging on something hot, like that flickering flame of a candle. Something that burns through his veins, singes his heart. Something unsteady and dangerous.

He didn’t know vampires could look lonely.

He hates himself for that swell of empathy. He hates the momentary loss of control. He knows they’re being played now. 

“Look, pal,” he starts, and it’s cautious. He takes a step back, meets Mumbo’s chest and hopes the man realises this is their cue to retreat. “I appreciate the offer, but we’re not staying. Sorry to intrude, we’ll—uh, we’ll leave you to it.” Whatever the it was.

The man is still looking directly at him. There’s something yearning in his eyes. Something heartbroken. He seems to shrink further as he tears his gaze away. “Okay,” he says in a small voice.

Mumbo makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. He’s still blocking Grian’s retreat.

“Mumbo,” Grian hisses at him.

“Yeah, right, I just—“ Mumbo stammers, indecision wild in his veins. He takes a tentative half-step away, feeling Grian immediately crowd his space again, pressing against him to retreat further.

The man—no, not man, the vampire—looks towards the window contemplatively, before his gaze flicks back to them. “You want to leave?”

“Yes,” Grian confirms immediately. “We’re just gonna go—“

“Where?” the vampire asks, an odd, unreadable inflection in his voice as he takes a singular step forward.

Grian twitches. “Out,” he replies, his voice strained. He presses further against Mumbo, and thankfully Mumbo moves, takes three steps, enough to get them out of the room, but not too many to still be able to catch and steady Grian at the unexpected loss of security. 

The vampire’s eyebrows pull to a concerned scowl. “But it’s dangerous.”

He says it so simply. So staggeringly simply. 

The worst thing about it is, he’s not wrong.

Grian pauses and contemplates this for a moment, then. The outside poses a million potential unknown threats. Here, they’re facing a vampire, but they know how to handle vampires. They could handle one of them. They could— This could still be their best option. 

“Are you alone?” he ventures tentatively.

The vampire gives him a look that says it all. “Yes,” he admits, and it’s not charming, it’s not confident. It’s shaky and it’s open and it’s wounded. Maybe a little bit afraid. “I—Is it so bad I don’t want to be, for a little bit? I promise I’m not dangerous,” he slides straight to bargaining. “You can sleep here! I could, I probably have some food you could eat. I won’t do anything to you, I just—I—“

He looks so, so lost.

“Grian?” Mumbo says quietly, and it comes out a bit wobbly and emotional.

That’s the thing that breaks Grian’s own dangerous tilt of judgement. He looks over his shoulder sharply, frowning. “You can’t be serious.”

“W—well, I mean—“ Mumbo fumbles for words, trying to get some rationality out of his heart. “It’s better than the outside?”

Grian side-eyes the vampire. “We should just kill him.”

“Kill?” the vampire repeats in alarm; the word is laced with false laughter, as if he tried to spin it into a joke. It rings hollow, anxious, untrue. “Noooo, no, there’s no need for that! I like living thank-you-very-much!”

“Living,” Grian repeats flatly, challengingly. “You’re not alive.”

“I am!” the vampire protests vehemently. “I breathe and I bleed and I can die.” He pauses, ponders briefly if making that one point in particular was smart. “I—Well. I can starve and all that and, and, I have feelings!”

Grian stares at him blankly. Something in him is unconvinced, but his heart bashes itself against his ribcage in attempted empathy anyway. “This can't be happening,” he mutters dismally.

“Look, I can, I can show you around! You can decide then! It’s just me here, all alone, there’s plenty of space for you even if you want me to stay away! I can go to a different wing or—or something. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement?” he proposes, his voice hasty and desperate. “I just. You don’t have to leave.”

Something about the way he says it chips away at Grian’s resolve, strips his caution, leaves him feeling incredibly human in arguably the worst way possible when confronted with a charming monster. Still, he hears himself say, “Okay.”

The vampire perks up immediately. “Okay!” he echoes.

“Okay?” Mumbo repeats with more alarm and unsteadiness.

Grian shoots him a look. “I thought you wanted to do this?”

“W—Well, yes, I just. I didn’t expect you to agree?” he admits sheepishly.

“Mumbo.” Grian is looking at him with a deep frown. “Do you want to stay or do you want to leave?”

“I—I don’t know!” Mumbo cries, indecisiveness rushing wildly through his veins. More than anything, he doesn’t want to be culpable for this decision and its repercussions. 

Grian sighs and lets his gaze slide away. If Mumbo can’t bear the weight of this decision, it now falls back on Grian. It’s a familiar weight. It’s something he needs to shoulder, their fate, their pitfalls. The inevitable guilt of it all. The feeling that whatever he decides might just guide Mumbo to his demise.

He meets the gaze of the vampire, as steadily as he can manage. “Give us the tour.”

Without hesitation, the vampire moves forward, towards the door, towards the room’s exit, towards the rest of the mansion—

Grian flinches at the sudden approach and stumbles a couple of steps back, pulling Mumbo with him, keeping the taller man protectively behind him. 

It makes the vampire pause. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I think we need to lay some ground rules. First of all, introductions. That always helps! I’m Scar!”

Grian blinks, his throat dry with the abruptness of his panic reaction. With the preposterousness of this situation.

“And you are?” the vampire—Scar—prompts.

“I—I’m Mumbo, and this is Grian,” Mumbo stammers for both of them. 

Scar’s eyes spark up and he gives a big smile. “Wonderful! I’m happy to meet you!” The words are silky, charming in a way that lets them easily burrow underneath skin without notice. They’re honest, too, and maybe that’s where they draw their power from—because Scar truly is lonely, in such a deep, raw way, and there’s nothing if not pure relief that his new guests decided to not immediately leave.

He’s tired of feeling like a monster. He’s tired of being alone, unloved, unwanted.

He’s tired of feeling like these old, cracked, dusty walls—empty and abandoned.

His heart beats in his chest in a wild waltz as he approaches the strangers-no-more again, this time careful about where he steps and how close he gets. He maintains a safe distance, giving a tight smile as he passes them, before taking big steps into the open space.

He spins there, buzzing with theatrics and more than a smidge of showmanship, spreading his arms wide. “This is my mansion.”

It’s very easy, Grian finds, to give in. To let Scar reel him in and pull him along. His body follows unquestioningly, taking in room after room after room, dizzyingly trying to slot the information and not get lost amidst it all—his survival instincts scream at him, but the rest of him is just plain tired and, honestly, a little bit lulled after he watches Scar for a while.

Because Scar isn’t lithe and agile, strong and immovable. He isn’t as charming as one would expect of a vampire, either, even if he’s rambly and his tongue is undeniably tinged with silver. He’s cheerful and he’s giggly and he’s, for the lack of a better word, endearing. But more than that, he’s clumsy and forgetful and edging just on the side of nervous.

It puts Grian ill-at-ease, because this isn't what a vampire should be, and that means Grian can't predict him, doesn't know what to expect. 

And yet he keeps following him, watching him, listening to him. 

He should try to pay more attention to the mansion tour and less to the man, maybe. The layout is important. He needs to know exit routes, and the possible sources of danger.

But isn’t Scar a source of danger? Living—or so he claims—and moving and very much capable of harm?

So what if Grian’s gaze lingers on him a little bit too much? What if he focuses on his body language and his tone more than the walls that surround them? 

He tells himself it’s only because he’s being wary.

“You can sleep here,” Scar finally says in a room that has two huge beds, at the very end of the mansion. The hallway that leads to the room ends with a backdoor exit, an easy way out if they feel trapped or—Scar very much wants to not think about it, even if it’s an option he offers freely—if they decide to sneak out.

Scar walks towards the fireplace and he fiddles for a while, struggling to get it lit.

“Here, I can help,” Mumbo offers, moving forward. He produces flint and steel, reaching for the fireplace.

Grian watches Scar flinch away.

His lips purse, taking in the scene. The beds are a comfort they weren’t able to indulge in for a long time. So is the fire, deep at night. A source of light and warmth. There’s a clear exit. Nobody else is in the building. Nothing about this screams it’s a trap. 

And they know how to kill vampires, if push comes to shove.

But they can’t do it if they’re asleep.

He stares at Scar, his gaze prickling the vampire until he turns around and their gazes meet.

Scar offers a tentative, shy smile.

“If there’s anything else you guys need, just let me know,” Scar says then, the words easy on his tongue, unhesitatingly willing to provide for them.

Grian frowns. “What do you need?” he questions instead. “What do you want from us?”

“Nothing!” Scar says immediately.

Grian dismally thinks that’s the first lie he’s heard from him. It’s so easy to identify, it makes everything else startlingly slot in as truth. The awareness of it makes him feel destabilised at his core. He sways a little in his spot, reaches out for the bed frame for support. “That’s—No,” he says weakly, too aware of the green eyes boring into him. “You definitely want something.”

There it is. That heartbreak.

He didn’t know vampires could project heartbreak so well.

Project? Or feel?

Grian finds with increasing panic that he can no longer tell the difference. None of this makes sense. None of this should be happening.

The fire crackles, strong and alive, lapping at the air and throwing a warm, flickering glow over the room as Mumbo takes a step away from it. 

“Oh, you did it!” Scar perks up, his eyes squinting in a smile he throws Mumbo’s way. “That’s wonderful, thank you for your help!”

“Well, I mean, it’s for us, right?” Mumbo sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “And it was easy enough.”

“It always gives me trouble,” Scar admits freely, “dealing with fire. A bit scary, if you ask me.”

“You’re a vampire,” Grian notes flatly. It comes out blank and rough, his suspicions warring with his emotions. “Fire harms you.”

“Yes, well,” Scar meets his gaze. “I like how it glows. I like the warmth.”

Grian continues to stare at him, because he isn’t sure how to actually process all of that. Instead, he takes a breath and presses: “You didn’t answer the question.”

Scar blinks. “What question?”

Grian frowns, but doesn’t relent. “What do you want from us?” 

Scar’s gaze shifts to the fireplace. “The fire harms you, too,” he says, and it’s soft and contemplative, but makes everything in Grian prickle with a warning. “You also get hungry,” Scar continues. “And you need rest, and you need—“ he falls quiet.

“We need?” Mumbo prompts, and he sounds so gentle, so careful.

It makes Scar lift his gaze to him, meet his eyes. There’s hesitation in him, some unknown emotions swirling up, raw and threatening. He swallows hard, before prying his gaze away. “You need safety,” Scar continues, even though his voice is clearly strained, “and I can give you that.”

“What for,” Grian insists. “What do you want for it.”

Green eyes shift to him, and somehow Grian’s heart picks up speed, feeling irrationally guilty at having asked.

“I don’t want anything,” Scar repeats, his voice wavering and quiet.

“Surely you must want something out of this,” Grian insists, even though there’s a lump in his throat and he feels terrible.

Scar looks away, then. He severs their connection, making Grian reel at the sudden lack of it.

“I just,” Scar says, and it’s a half-sigh, it’s a half-whisper, it’s a quiet, tentative, cracked confession. “I thought it might be nice to have some company for a little bit.”

It’s so soft, so vulnerable that it makes Grian feel like the ground was pulled from underneath him. Emotions sway him at the sight of the man—the vampire, he reminds himself futilely—so hunched over and sad. 

He knows how feeling alone in a world that no longer wants you feels like.

He just didn’t count on monsters having actual feelings.

He didn’t count on monsters looking so human.

His heart clogs his throat and he finds himself speechless.

“Were you—“ Mumbo tries to say something, but his voice falters as soon as Scar’s gaze lands on him. There’s a moment of silence, before Mumbo regathers his courage and finishes: “Were you alone for long?”

Scar’s shoulders sag at that. He seems to be crushed underneath some invisible weight. “Yeah,” he says, and the word barely manages to make it past his lips, daunted and small. 

Grian feels his heart slam sharply against his ribs at the confession.

“W—well,” Mumbo looks over at Grian, catching his gaze. He’s hesitant and unsure, but clearly willing and wanting to offer something.

Grian’s eyebrows pull into a frown. His emotions scream one thing at him, but every remaining shred of rationality screams something else. It’s an overwhelming cacophony and he knows he’s the one who’s expected to make the decisions—and then bear the weight of them going wrong—yet he finds himself feeling lost and adrift at this.

Mumbo holds his gaze for a moment longer, before he lets it swivel back to Scar. “We’ve actually never really talked to a vampire before.”

“No,” Scar shakes his head in immediate sympathy. “I wouldn’t imagine you would. They’re not a friendly bunch.”

Something about that statement stabs at Grian’s heart, his eyes still locked on Scar. “Then… Why are you talking to us?”

Scar’s gaze meets his and, again, it makes Grian's heart trip over itself. 

“Because I want friends?” he says, and it’s so open and vulnerable and his voice is thick with emotions, cracking and failing him at the end of his miserable sentence.

Grian takes a sharp breath, fumblingly attempting to remind himself that vampires are dangerous and they’re charmers and they’re manipulators and—

“You can’t mean that,” he says in the end, the words a little bit hoarse.

Scar blinks, confused. “What?”

Grian shakes his head vehemently. “You’re a vampire. We’re just food for you.”

Scar’s eyebrows twitch into a frown, before they smooth out and his face stretches into a smirk. “You do have faces, don’t you? I told you I don’t eat anything with a face.”

“But you could, you know,” Mumbo steps in, “rip the face off or something, as you said.”

Scar’s gaze anchors into his, a displeased curl to his mouth. “I don’t eat my friends.”

“But we’re not friends,” Grian chimes in.

“We could be,” Scar suggests easily, unaware of how threatening that sounds.

(... tbc?)

------- as the title states, this is a wip of a potential story that was put on the backburner because my hands are full. if you want to know more about what kind of things are meant to happen in this au (atm it's just a collection of ideas, rather than any specific outline), or are curious about anything else, feel free to ask! and let me know what you think about it so far <3

if you're curious where this au came from, i recommend you to watch random encounter's "resident enis" videos (there are two). i'm sure you'll see my vision. (the line about not eating anything with a face is there kjxnbkj.)

this was written on a whim and for the longest time, i kept calling it "silly vampire scar au" (in the spirits of resident enis), even though i know the au devolves—as per usual—into heavier topics and angst. it's set in a world riddled with monsters, it's a survival story, pretty much.

fun fact: the working title of this au is called "Silly Vampire Mr GoodTimes"

i need a better name for it though, "vampire scar au" is so generic, and sure it does have a vampire scar in it, but it's not exclusively about him... but i have no idea what else to call it/how to title it (rip) (pls help-)

[ot3]

STRAW HAT POST TIMESKIP DESIGNS RANKED WORST TO BEST

IN 9TH PLACE, THE WORST: ROBIN!

WHY ARE YOU WHITE!!! On top of that WHAT is this outfit. The structured seemingly leather or something navy blue crop top paired with a low-rise fringed sarong? And the low heels? What are you TALKING about. Ultimate downgrade from pre-timeskips coordinated cowboy hat ensembles. Unforgivable. Death Penalty.

In 8th place, Franky.

I love the huge round shoulders but I'm really not big on anything else. The color and shape of the forearms is a bit distracting in the overall design and the leg prosthetics are meh in terms of caracter design. I wish they hadn't peeled him, I feel like his goofy hair was really critical.

in 7th place, usopp

Congrats on king for getting ripped. Love the longer hair on him. The hat is NOT doing it for me nor is the fur trim on the pants. the shape of the paints is fun im just not sure whats happening with the detailing here

in 6th place, nami

Honestly really not that bad. The jeans with the berry belt buckle are cute, i just wish they werent low rise to show off the pussy bones I really hate low rise pants. I do think that wearing jeans and a bikini top Is an outfit nami would actually wear and if oda had a better track record with women and if her proportions werent so heinous i would be fine with it. the long hair is ok but it doesnt have nearly as much charm as her bob

in 5th, luffy

Unsure what's going on with the flare and ruffles on the top but. Yeah. Thats luffy alright.

in 4th place, sanji

as previously mentioned the shitty goatee is very him and as for everything else, if it aint broke dont fix it!

in 3rd place, chopper

i like this big goofy hat better than i liked his other hat and the colors here are fun. im glad he gets to wear a shirt now hes earned it.

in 2nd place, brook

well he's just thriving isnt he!!!!

and IN FIRST PLACE, WINNER OF THE STRAW HAT DRIP-OFF, GIVE IT UP FOR RORONOA ZORO !

everythign about this is working. impeccable fit. you know this motherfucekr doesnt have the slightest concerns about fashion and he still stunted on everyone else so easily. King.

[ellewritesalright]

Second Best - Part 1

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Masterlist --- Part 2

A/N: Look, am I starting a new series when I haven't finished nly? Yes, I am. And I would proudly do it again because this story has been in my drafts for so long and I want yall to see it. Hope it's coherent enough :) also, I gave the mc reader a last name :)

Synopsis: When you were a child, the Lantsov king and queen arranged for their second son to marry you, a rich Ravkan noble family's only daughter. After many years, after all the destruction of the war, and after Nikolai was crowned king, Nikolai breaks off the engagement. But the complications of your past and your strict parents make it a nightmare to find a new fiance, so Nikolai promises to help you, yet he slowly realizes the mistake he's made.

Warnings: strict and mean parents, very slight self-image issues because of said parents, kinda confusing and purposefully ambiguous details that will be important later in the story (bear with me please)

Word Count: 1700

..........

It was going to be a very important day, your mother had said. She sat in the corner of the room as a gaggle of maids did you up. Everything needed to be perfect for your meeting with the new king of Ravka. After all, he was your fiance, but there were rumours that he did not wish to marry you.

The engagement was made when you were both children and he was only supposed to be a prince, but now circumstances had changed and he was king of a fractured nation. He would need to marry for the good of Ravka, so a political match would be much more beneficial. You wouldn't blame him if he chose to marry a foreign princess or noblewoman, but your parents insisted that you would be the future queen of Ravka.

"Stop fidgeting," your mother commanded. You straightened out, averting your stare as you mumbled an apology.

It was cold outside the front door of your parents' home in Os Alta. Goosebumps had broken out on your skin and you struggled to not rub some warmth into them. All you could do was wait for the king to arrive. He was more than ten minutes late, but your father had insisted that you all remain standing at the entrance until Nikolai arrived. 

As you heard carriage wheels in the street you swore you could leap with joy that you would soon be allowed inside again, but you stayed perfectly poised. The royal carriage swung around the corner and you felt your heartbeat pick up, kicking into double-time. You pitied any nearby heartrenders, for the thumping must have been utterly annoying; but you came about it honestly.

There was always a fear in the back of your mind that you would be found out. Someone would discover your family secret and you would be exiled from respectable society before you could marry your Lantsov fiance. But you couldn't worry about that now, not when the carriage had stopped and the king was getting out.

If you had been worried about the cold earlier, it was now the farthest thing from your mind. King Nikolai's stare was enough to make your face heat up, and you thought you might burst into flames without a moment's notice as you curtsied to him. He still looked a little like the boy in your faded memory of him, the boy that you met when you were twelve and he was fourteen. He had a boyish countenance, a light-hearted look to him as he stepped out of his carriage.

You were prepared for a bit more resemblance to his older brother, but he was comparatively more handsome than Vasily ever was. His smile was charming and warm, not greasy or snide as his brother's had been; he had a stronger chin than his brother, and really just a better bone structure in general. But perhaps the lack of similarity between him and his brother gave credence to the rumours of his lineage. You often wondered if people thought that way about the differences between you and your parents.

Whatever the case, you were too conscious of the way he didn't offer you his arm as the four of you entered the house to care about any of that. In Ravka it was common for engaged couples to do that sort of thing, even when they were practically strangers, so it seemed the whispers of his detachment from you had some truth.

You settled in the drawing room where tea was presented to the four of you. Mere minutes of small talk passed before your father broached the topic of the engagement. He set down his cup and saucer, leaning back in his seat as he stared at the king. Nikolai had just told an anecdote about the tiring details from his coronation several months ago and your father was ready to pounce.

"I suppose the wedding will be as much of a headache to plan, but this time you'll have my daughter to shoulder some of the weight," he said, a cheerful air to his voice despite the trap he just laid.

"Lord Antonov," Nikolai smiled politely, "I don't suppose you've heard any news from my father or mother."

Your father shook his head, a confused twitch in his brow.

"They were the ones to arrange this marriage, but, as it is, they are not around to see it through. They approved the match back when I was a boy and my father was still king." Here it was. The rumours were about to be verified. Nikolai kept on, "Things have changed since then; I am no longer a boy, and my father is no longer king, so you will forgive me if I would like to drop the agreement that my parents made you many years ago."

"Promises and plans were made, your highness, and they cannot be easily undone--"

"And yet they must be undone." Nikolai levelled your father with a heavy stare. "Ravka needs strong diplomatic ties, and I believe that one of the best options to achieve this is through marriage. I cannot sacrifice the good of this country for an old arrangement made by a party that is no longer in power."

"But what will my daughter do?" Your mother piped up. "She'll have to find a new suitor, but who would want her now that she gets older?"

As much as you would have liked to say that her words did not affect you, you couldn't deny their sting. To your parents, all that their daughter–their only child–had ever been was a bartering chip for well-born men to marry and continue their noble lines, and it showed in your mother's primary concern. If you weren't young, you weren't beautiful, and if you weren't beautiful, who would dare marry you? 

Nikolai nearly laughed. "She is twenty, that is not old. And if you're so concerned that she needs to be married, I will see to it that she finds someone suitable. I know enough barons and marquises who would be glad to marry her."

"For centuries we Antonovs have dedicated our lives--our entire estate--to this country and the Lantsovs, and this is how we are to be repaid?" Your father narrowed his stare. "Have you no honour? That you would go back on your word--some king you are."

If your mother's superficial worries weren't enough to make Nikolai rethink the marriage, insults from your father definitely wouldn't change his mind.

"Father," you gasped as a sorry attempt at admonishment. When you felt eyes on you, you couldn't help but speak, even if your parents wouldn't like what you were going to say. "You should consider the importance of his highness' role in Ravka. If our country needs a political marriage to strengthen diplomatic ties, then perhaps it is for the best that we sever the arrangement you made with the former king."

"My daughter doesn't know what she's saying, your highness," your mother tried to backtrack, but you weren't having it. You'd be in deep shit with them for that first comment, and you figured you should continue since they were already angry.

"If you two are as patriotic as you often say then you would understand that the good of your country comes first. If the king asks you to forgo an old agreement, you should forgo it."

"There you have it," Nikolai said. "The two most important voices in this conversation have spoken." He stood and looked at you. "I must be going now, but perhaps could you walk me out, my lady?"

You stood and set aside your tea, eager to be out of the room. In the hall, you caught Nikolai staring at you. He smiled, looking forward.

"You handled that well," he said.

"I should hope so." You glanced at him. "Like you, I was educated at Ketterdam University where most of my classmates were hog-headed boys who went on and on about the most insignificant topics. I found the best way to assert my voice in the classroom was through a light shaming of those who couldn't figure out when to shut up."

"Very effective," Nikolai remarked, his eyes alight. "What did you study at school?"

"Economics for the most part, but there was also advanced physics as well as debate classes."

"You must have made quite the student." There was approval in his voice.

You held back a proud grin. Men are frightened by smart women, your mother often said. She maintained that you must hold back your brains until after you had a ring on your finger, but because you weren't marrying him, you didn't see the need to hide your intellect. You straightened out and replied, "I was always top of my class."

When you reached the front door Nikolai fastened his jacket and turned to you with a conciliatory smile. "I hope I haven't bent your parents too out of shape."

"They'll get over themselves." But you weren't too certain of your words. You amended, "They'll have to."

"I meant what I told your mother," he said. "I can help you find a fiance. Though I'm sure you wouldn't have difficulty finding one on your own."

You chuckled. "Yes, undoubtedly my mother is already scheming to entrap the next richest bachelor in Ravka into a marriage."

"That's not what I meant." At your quizzical brow, he smiled and fixed the cuffs of his coat. "I only meant to say that you're highly intelligent and quite beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to marry you."

You dared to look away from his hazel eyes, tracing the gold frame of a portrait as you quickly dispelled the heat from your face. When you looked back he was trying to hide a smug smile that told you he knew exactly what game he was playing at. 

"You've scrapped our engagement, and yet now you're flirting with me," you observed with a tsk. "Are you always this contradictory?"

"When the mood strikes me," he said. "Now, it has been a pleasure but I must be getting back to the palace."

You parted ways with a handshake, Nikolai returning home and leaving you to face two very upset nobles.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Part 2

Nikolai Taglist: @notoakay

[reallyromealone]

Title: kingslayer

Fandom: black clover

Pairing: Nozel x male reader

Chapter: one

Warnings: male reader

Notes: slow burn slow burn

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

"god, I forgot how comfortable beds are" Long journeys didn't make for the most comfortable sleeping arrangements, the bed much more comfortable than the trees he's slept in. He didn't know much about the clover kingdom, they had a king and a giant skull that (name) was happy he got to paint. The room was warm, with light beige walls with wood beams that matched the old floorboards and bed frame and furniture, small paintings on the walls to give it some light along with candles for later. A small fireplace in the corner a chair to the side and a desk.

It was more than what he was used to.

Knock knock.

(Name) sat up curiously before walking to the door, opening it to see a young woman "Hi! My dad owns the inn... I noticed you didn't have shoes and we had a nicer pair in the lost and found that weren't gross so I thought you would want them... I hope they fit" (name) smiled softly at her "that's very kind of you, here... I would like to pay you back" the wanderer stepped aside and let her walk into his room, a few of his paintings out "I'll make you a portrait..." He said softly and the young woman looked confused "You don't have to!"

"An act of genuine kindness sparks another besides with the cost of portraits these days, wouldn't it be nice?"

The girl had no reply as she looked at his tiny paintings, no bigger than her hand "Whoa..."

"That one is of the heart kingdom, it's very wild there," he said as they looked at the painting of a rare power "I paint things to remember them, one day I may forget these little things and I always want to remember them... Now! Sit with the sunlight facing you! We don't have much time!"

The woman, whom (name) fondly called 'sparrow' posed shyly as (name) painted her "you have excellent bone structure, you would have made a brilliant sculpture in another world" he commented as she looked confused and a bit flustered "you think?" She said barely above a whisper "I do, my former flame had a beautiful facial structure as well..." (Name) had a sad smile on his face as he thought about his former beloved, though he knows she used him... He still wishes he could have been there for his daughter.

"So what brings you to the clover kingdom?" Sparrow asked and (name) smiled "I'm just sight seeing, I haven't seen much of the clover kingdom so why not right?"

Well, he hadn't seen it... recently.

"You have anything here to recommend?" He asked as he painted and the girl thought "there's a restaurant around the corner that sells the best pasta!" She beamed and (name) chuckled at her dreamy expression at the thought of the dish "I'll have to check it out"

"So what kind of magic do you do? My magic is not strong but I can grow plants" the girl said happily, (name) listening before speaking "If you honed in you could probably grow rare roots... Would help make.potions and such"

"I could do that!"

(Name) helped her with making her magic feel more useful as he kept the topic of his magic out of her head but that didn't seem to work "So what's your magic?" She repeated and (name) knew she wouldn't stop so he answered honestly "It's complicated but to try and simplify it... It- it's strong" he couldn't put it into words without exposing himself "If it's powerful, you should join the magic knights!" (Name) looked confused and the other gasped "the magic knights protect and help the kingdom! They're super strong!"

"... there I think we're done" (name) presented the painting to her "It needs time to dry but I think I didn't do half bad" he just wanted this conversation to end, she was a sweet girl but overwhelming, to say the least, and her look of amazement at tge painting mad regime smile "I can keep this?" She whispered and looked at him in awe "Just keep being kind, yeah? And keep your wits about you"

After she left (name) walked to the window and looked at the clover kingdom curiously, perhaps after a nap he could check it out.

"How do we know he's real?" Charlotte asked and Vanessa sighed "Trust me if anyone can fix this mess... It's him" She remembered him fondly, the man from her childhood before she was locked away in the cage, the man who would teach her things about the outside world he was from, her mother spoke highly of him "he was more powerful than she has ever seen", Vanessa said distantly as the others looked curious at her "someone of his description entered the city today," William said looking over the description that was given to the guards "are you sure he still looks like that?"

"I'm sure"

Nozel and Fuegoleon were tasked to look for this man, and the two ended up at an inn, small and unassuming in the lower ends "Pardon me" Fuegeleon asked the innkeeper who gazed from his book, an older man he was with a slight bald spot and beer belly but friendly none the less "oh that guy? He gave my daughter a painting, why did he do something?"

"No, we just need his help"

"He's out right now but he'll probably be back tonight" the innkeeper was relieved the kind young man hadn't done anything, curious on why the two Royals needed him though but decided not to press "may I offer you two a drink while you wait?"

"Ah, no thank you" Fuegeleon always the gentleman said softly and the innkeeper looked slightly saddened as the redhead continued "would it be possible to see his room? To wait?" The innkeeper not wanting to be in the way of knight business let them have the key to the room and even lead the way, the two thanking him as Nozel looked disgruntled in the shabby room but did notice the drying paintings of the capital on the small desk "these are incredibly detailed" he noted to his cousin who hummed "from what Vanessa says this must be him, he was a painter"

The paintings almost looked real if it wasn't for the water color aspect, it was incredible really "How can we be sure he can help us?"

"Frankly I just want to know why two strange men are in my room" a voice broke them from their thoughts as (name) held a paper container of pasta, eating it slowly "Quite rude frankly, just barging into a room someone paid for"

"Are you (name)?" Nozel glares at the man in the ratty cloak with painted designs on it and the inside, little embroidery designs of flowers and what looks to be a family on it all in the style of a child's drawing.

"Ah, that would be me," he said casually as he plopped down in his chair, not even phased "who are you two?" He had a bored expression as he ate more pasta, the girl was not lying this shit was the bomb! "You don't know who we are?" Nozel seethed and (name) raised an eyebrow "Haven't been in the clover kingdom in years, I ain't gotta clue"

"We are the captains of the Silver Eagles and Crimson Lions respectively"

"That a sports team or something?"

"Spo-- we are magic knights!" Noel was about to tear this man's head off but thankfully Fuegeleon stepped in "We were told you could help us"

"And who said that?"

"Someone you may know... Are you aware of anyone named Vanessa?"

(Name) didn't even need to hear the rest as he packed his belongings, his cloak swishing as he put the paintings away "Well what are you doing? Lead the way!" (Name) urged them, a stark difference compared to how he was earlier as he slung his bag over his shoulder "let's go!"

(Name) didn't give a fuck about the palace, eyes looking around curious for one person and one person alone.

Then it felt like time stood still as he stared at him from across the room with people wearing matching caplets.

"'Nessa..." He said as he had finally found happiness, the knights were confused as the pink-haired woman felt tears well up in her eyes.

"Papa..."

[elysiumnotes]

My 9-1-1 s8 Disaster Ideas/Wishlist

So I am going to spend the hiatus for 911 moving onto some of my brushed to the wayside hyperfixations now that the season’s over. Honestly after almost 15 years in fandom, I do not want to wade into the water of angsty ship wars and have already filtered out my tags and blocked certain blogs to ensure my peace.

However, I still will be thinking about my gay little wee woo show and I wanted to post my ideas, wishes, speculations, and predictions. Not necessarily in that order…..

Anyways! First things first, for this little post I wanted to speculate about what s8’s big disaster is going to be and my idea on how it could be done. (ABC if you’re lurking, please feel free to take the idea. You too, Tim. I give this idea away for free) What I think the s8 disaster is:

TORNADO / TWISTER

Now hear me out….as a Canadian, I have no clue if Tornadoes are common or even occur in places like LA. But with a dramatic ass show like 911 that has dealt with titanic-like cruise ship disaster, tsunami, earthquake, mudslides, wildfires, etc. it’s not out of the realm of possibility for them to completely the elemental set.

But moving onto how they would work it in…

I propose that it is used in the season premiere. (stick with me and imagine) LA is on Tornado watch and is hunkering down but the 118 get called to an emergency like they always do. (since it seems like their sector seems to be the entirety of LA, but I digress)

Unfortunately Captain Gerard is still the temp Captain while Bobby is out fighting the decision with the Chief. Obviously the crew does not gel with his leadership style which affects their ability to complete this rescue that’s in the path of the tornado.

Now this is where I get a little insane….Please stick with me on this….

This will be an Eddie centric 2 part premiere as he’s still reeling from Chris’s decision to go to Texas for the summer. (I refuse to have him leave completely) He’s kinda going stir crazy in an empty house now that his son’s not there. Instead of Buck being the normally reckless one, Eddie dives into the rescue against Gerard’s orders as the wind picks up. The tornado gets too close and the winds too strong that they can’t go after him safely and that cause the structure he’s in to collapse on him and knock him out.

Here’s the crazy part…

As he’s knocked out, we go into Eddie’s dreamscape consciousness that is just pretty much a 911 version retelling of the Wizard of Oz….

(I promise this will be a compelling arc)

…..which we will eventually learn is the movie he ended up watching the night before as had been having some cases of Insomnia now that Chris was gone.

Now you’re thinking, Elysium, that absolutely bonkers and how would they ever pull it off? Truthfully I don’t know how they would write but I can give the bare bones of what I imagine for it.

Eddie wakes up in weird not-version of LA after the Tornado passes to find a firetruck crushing the ‘Wicked Witch of the West’ Gerard.

He’ll take the Saint Christopher medal from the body (why? I don’t know… it’s his weird dream sequence about coming to terms with his grief)

No memories/vague recollection of what he’s doing. All he knows is that he has to get back home to his soul. His family.

Eventually he is found by ‘Glinda the Good Witch’ Evan ‘’Buck’ Buckley, who gives him a goal to work towards and solid advice to find the great wizard (Bobby) who should be able to grant his wish.

Obviously he will be joined by Hen & Chim as companions, each searching for their own thing. (not to be one-to-one with the Tin Man & Lion, but Hen’s thing would be about courage to fight the councilwoman and get Mara back. Chim looking for the heart could be maybe thinking about having more kids once Mara is back with Henren. You stuff like like that, idk)

Dealing with the Witch Gerard and the flying monkeys (which would be all the obstacles that the 118 face, grief about Shannon, unresolved catholic guilt, his parents taking his kid, etc)

Finally Eddie will make it to the Wizard (Bobby), the man he conflated and put on pedestal because the Good Witch Buck, who sees Bobby as his his father figure (which is a good thing don’t get me wrong), also did. Only to realize Bobby is also just a man like him, his true foil (narratively this would be made clear to the audience using flashbacks) who like him, only became grand because his pushed himself to work for it even through his grief and bad moments.

What Eddie realizes is that he was looking for his way back home to his perfect life and family, to a Chris who won’t currently be there. And that destroying himself to wait for him to come back won’t fix the issue. Glinda will also help him with this.

He realizes that the way to make amends is to do like Bobby and put the effort into that change. He going to make his home a comfortable space for Chris again, so when he does come back, he knows that things will be different. He’ll take time for himself to properly grieve Shannon (and get more therapy, god!) and take the space to delve into some self-discovery whole were at it.

Then he’ll wake up from being knocked out by his team, not including Gerard, once the Tornado is gone. Maybe they go back to the station after a checkup at the hospital and Bobby comes back saying he’s reinstated and Gerard is gone. (I’m not really planning for this stuff)

Now, I’m obviously missing some characters in this dream sequence but I don’t know where they would fit. And I’m avoiding some big sexuality and romantic notions in regards to Eddie.

Trust that I know and I want it too, but I also want to avoid the ship wars this summer. So I’ll leave it vague, even though to me the idea of Eddie being Dorothy is very explicit in what arc I want for him.

Let me know what you would cast the other 911 character as in this version of Oz. Also thank you for indulging my crazy idea. I’ll be back with more.

Also #RaviMainS8!

[so-much-for-stardust6]

Best Friends or Lovers?- John Frusciante

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summary: you’ve had feelings for your best friend for a while, but attending one of his shows deepened them. what happens when you finally confess backstage?

lowercase intended

warnings: smut

a/n: i wrote this at like 2am and reread it for mistakes around 3:30am so pls bare with me if there’s spelling mistake ��

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i watched my best friend on stage, looking like he’s cumming as he plays his guitar. least to say, i was mesmerized. his beauty was captured in the perfect way by many things. his sweat slicked hair stuck to his face, the straps to his overalls slightly falling off his toned shoulders and the bright stage lights complemented him perfectly. the way he parted his mouth and furrowed his brows had me feeling some way. well, it powered the way i was feeling towards him even more. i felt like every other fan girl of his, thirsting over the way he expresses himself while playing, but i honestly couldn’t blame them.

i knew the band was reaching towards the end of their show, all of them covered in sweat. i mentally cursed myself at the feeling deep down in my stomach, guilty of how i feel about my best friend. i wished to go to the bathroom and freshen up but being right up front prevented me from doing so. after two more songs they finally ended their show, thanking everyone for attending. i stood in the same spot for a bit, waiting for the place to empty out before heading backstage.

i reach in my pocket for some pass i was given to flash to security so no hassle would happen over me trying to “trespass”. the blank white walls was all i saw as i made my way to his dressing room, carefully reading the signs so i wouldn’t walk in on anyone else. i scan the handwritten sign taped to the white door in front of my eyes.

‘john frusciante’

i quietly knock on the door, stomach doing flips as i picture his sweaty self opening the door. and that’s exactly what i saw. he grinned brightly at my presence, his strong chest slicked with sweat.

“i thought you’d get lost.” he joked, walking back towards the couch in his room.

“i honestly thought i was for a sec.” i laugh back, walking in and closing the door behind me.

“how’d you enjoy it?” he wiped the sweat off his neck with a hand towel.

“eh, it was okay.” i lie.

“staring at anthony too long kinda ruined it, huh?” he joked.

the joke caught me off guard as i let out a laugh.

“you read my mind, they should have you in the front.” i suggest, sitting down next to him.

“nah, seeing my beauty is a privilege.”

i nod in agreement, so lucky to be close with him.

“i saw you kinda spaced out towards the end, anything to share?”

“huh? oh, nah nothing to report. just thought some…thoughts.”

“oooo, who’s the lucky guy?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“what? what makes you think it was like that?” my nerves began slowly rising.

“that pause you did indicates it was about a guy. since i’m your best friend i’m obligated to know who’s on your mind.”

“no way, i’m not saying.” i awkwardly chuckle, hoping he’d leave it alone.

but knowing john, he won’t. and that’s exactly what he did.

“oh come onnnn, pleaseeee.” he began leaning on me.

i try to shove him off but he put his dead weight on me, head sliding down to eventually rest in my lap.

“please?” he pouts and attempts puppy dog eyes.

“no.”

“why not? i tell you stuff like that.”

“against my will.” i lightly laugh, trying to distract him.

“is it one of my band mates? please don’t tell me it’s anthony.” he quickly sits up at the thought of me thinking about anthony like that.

“what? no, it’s not your band mates.” i immediately shake my head.

“describe him then.”

“i literally hate you.”

“i think you absolutely love me.” he cheekily smiles.

he gives me a pressuring puppy dog eye look that works this time. i sigh in defeat, guessing that it’s better to tell him now rather than having me awkwardly bring it up later on.

“he has this gorgeous facial bone structure. his hair is an absolutely beautiful color, complimenting him wonderfully. his body is sculpted in a way you’d never think would be possible. i hate when his eyes look at me, they’re breathtaking and they make me feel like i’m on fire. his touch is so delicate when he doesn’t mean to be. his fingers are a blessing, crafted to move in an articulate way to match the way he does what he does for a living. the way his mind works is crazy to me, his words like addicting honey that stick me to him forever. i hate thinking of him like this but it’s hard not to.” i spit out.

the entire time i stared at the floor, fingers playing with one another. i’m self conscious of his eyes on me, no emotion on his face as he dissects my words in his brain. as each silent second goes by, i panic even more. i immediately start cursing myself out mentally, why did i say that shit? i open my mouth to apologize but he cut me off.

“what a lucky man..” his eyes dug into mine.

“d-do you not know who i’m talking about?”

i’m well aware i never mentioned him directly but i thought he’d somehow get it.

“no? should i know?” he furrows his eyebrows.

i mutter a soft ‘fuck’ and i put my face into my hands.

“but what i know is that i’m a very lucky man.”

“you suck.” i roll my eyes at his stupidity.

“is that how you really feel about me? please be honest.”

“everything i said was as honest as i can be, johnny. i’ve been feeling like this for a while but i didn’t want to ruin our friendship. i love you so much and i don’t want to lose you.” i lift my head up to look at him.

more silence filled the room as i wait for his answer. before i could even react, he practically lunges towards me. his big hands grabbing my face to hold it as his lips met mine. my eyes widen in complete shock, is he really kissing me?

it took me a bit to realize what was happening for me start kissing back. my eyes slowly close as made out. my hands slowly snaked their way to his head, one pressing against the back of his neck and the other on his cheek. he slowly started to guide me to lay down, holding himself up with his arm. i imagined how it would feel to kiss john but i never knew it’d feel so blissful. my entire body buzzed with adrenaline, heart rate probably being a crazy number. his lips were so soft and plump, moving perfectly with mine. i go to run my fingers through his brown hair, tugging at it slightly.

“fuck.” he muttered against my lips.

before anymore kissing could happen, he pulled away. his lips even more plump and red from kissing, quick pants escaping from them.

“do you want to do this? i-i didn’t want to force you to do this, i’m sorry.” a worried look prominent on his face.

“of course i do. i want this. i want you.”

he quietly groaned out at my words, not wasting any time to kiss me again. i go to touch his torso, my fingers dance against his hot skin. feeling him like this, so intimately, just provoked that feeling in my stomach even more. my brain couldn’t form any words for me to say so i just whine into our kiss.

“you trying to ask for something? use your words.” he breathes out.

“please…now..” i hate how i’m already wrapped around his finger but let’s be honest, i’ve always been.

“you want me now? can’t wait even a few minutes. so needy..” he trails his kisses down my neck.

he stays there, marking me to show every guy that i’m taken. i think? i was too caught up in my thoughts that i didn’t notice he began taking off my shirt. the fabric trailing over my face snapped me back into reality. my odd choice of a raunchy bra for today paid off, his eyes focused mainly on my chest. the feeling of his hands groping my boobs caused my heart to beat faster, which i don’t think is even possible at the rate it’s at.

he messaged my boobs as he went back to biting, sucking and kissing my neck. i moaned out, back arching which made me feel his boner poking my thigh. i subconsciously began rubbing against his overall jeans, attempting to pleasure him. he lets out a throaty moan, his grip on my boobs hardening. he pulled away from my chest and stood up. i watched as he unclipped his overalls, letting them fall to his ankles to reveal his white boxers. a very visible white spot was the first thing i noticed on the boxers.

“are you able to take off your clothes? or is the adrenaline stopping you?” it was like he knew exactly how i was feeling.

i shook my head before reaching back to unclip my bra. i sat up and let it fall to my lap, grabbing it to throw it on top my previously discarded shirt. john’s hand tried to sneakily grope himself through his boxers at the sight of my bare chest but i notice quickly. i bit my lip knowing that he’s hard because of me. i go to unbutton my jeans, shimmying them down my legs.

“god, like i said, i’m such a lucky man.” he eyes me.

at the same time, we both pulled the last pieces of clothing off and threw them on the floor. john climbed back on top of me, his lips back on mine. completely naked, bare skin touching as we made out was definitely not how i imagined this night to end. my fingers ended up in his hair again, tugging harder than before. he very obviously loved when i did since he’d moan every time.

“you ready?” he rested his forehead on mine.

“have been.”

he grabbed his dick, aligning it perfectly with me. one last kiss to my lips is what he did before slowly sliding inside me. a long, low moan escapes his mouth as he felt me. i moan out at the stretching he was doing, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“faster, please john..” i beg.

he needed no more words from me as he started to thrust. at first he carefully thrusted, watching me to see if i’d get hurt but after noticing that i’m fine he went faster. the couch creaked and moved with every thrust, probably scratching the floor.

i gripped his body, hands roaming all over place not knowing where to stay. at one point i pushed his head back to me and connected our lips. our tongues fought for dominance, exploring one another’s mouth. one of his arms held him up as he thrusted harder, the other playing with my boob. everything felt so right, like this was meant to be. i wished i confessed to him earlier, imagining how it would’ve felt to be so close to him like this sooner.

we’re both well aware how loud we’re being, not a single care in the world crossed our minds. john wanted everyone to hear us, to know that no one else is making me feel as good as he his. for everyone to know that he’s so hooked to me and only me. little to my knowledge, john’s always loved me. also not wanting to ruin our relationship, he kept quiet about his feelings and desires. but today he got quite lucky at my sudden confession. he grabbed onto the cushion tightly as the feeling in his abdomen began tightening.

“fuck i’m close, baby.” he moaned.

i whine out at the pet name. he abandoned my boob and moved his hand down to my clit, rubbing it to fasten my orgasm. i gasp out in pleasure, damn near pornographic moans spewing out my mouth.

his “trick” worked as i felt the coil in my stomach tighten. i only hum out to signal him that i was close. he understood and went harder and deeper. i tighten around him, which caused him to cum quickly. he spat out ‘fuck’s as he came, hips stuttering as he tried to keep going to get me to cum. his eyes squeezed shut at his sore dick still thrusting inside me, pushing his cum deeper inside. that definitely was not intentional. seeing john in such a state made me reach my peak, moaning out his name over and over as i came all over his cock. the feeling of me cumming all over him caused him to cum once more. he slowed down his thrusts before coming to a stop, collapsing onto my chest from exhaustion.

i lay there to catch my breath, his hot breath fanning over my collarbone. i reach to kiss the top of his head, even going to stroke his hair.

“you did so good.” i whisper in his ear, kissing it afterwards.

“i love you.” he hugged me tightly.

“i love you too, johnny.” a huge smile forming on my face.

“can we go home? i’m tired.” he mumbled.

“alright, get up and i’ll help you get dressed.”

he sluggishly pulled himself out of me and sit up on the couch.

“you should be doing this.” i joke at the fact that i’m taking care of him after.

he starts to get up but i was quick to push him back down.

“i’m kidding.”

i wobbly stand up and grab the hand towel he used earlier. the ticklish feeling of his cum slowly dripping out of me made me grimace, and also reminded me to get a plan b. i clean myself off first then moved over to him. he hissed at the contact but got over it quick. i put my undergarments on before i grabbed his boxers, lifting them up his legs.

“you need to work with me here, john. sit up please.”

he lifted his hips up and sat back down once the boxers were on. i pull him up and off the couch so i could put the overalls back on, even going far to clip them back on.

“can i help you? it’s the least i could do.” he grabbed my shirt.

“go ahead.”

after helping me with my clothes, we both made ourselves look decent.

“so, what are we?” i heard him ask.

“best friends?” i nervously say.

i wasn’t too sure on how he felt about me, even though we just fucked. and he also said he loves me but i need more confirmation.

“what about lovers? i like that better.”

“are you asking what i think you’re asking?”

“yes ma’am. y/n, would you wanna be my girlfriend? i love you more than anything in the world and i’d be the happiest man on earth.”

“even more than guitars?”

“what?”

“you love me more than guitars?” i smirk, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“hmm, you should know better than to ask that.” he jokes.

“oh fuck you.” i laugh and push him away.

“i’m kidding, obviously more than guitars.”

“i believe you. but let’s get going cause now i’m getting tired.” he laughs at my words.

he grabs his guitar case and other belongings before walking up to the door. i held it open for him, following behind him. he snaked his arm around my waist as we walk back to my car.

[youngpettyqueen]

finished The Price of the Phoenix! review under the cut-

tldr: this book is gay as FUCK and on top of that its quite good

im gonna get it out of the way right now: Kirk and Spock are gay as hell in this book and its actually insane to read. every interaction between them- whether it be the original Jim or the clone James- was dripping with tension and longing and actual textual love. this was Amok Time levels of "how the fuck did this (insanely gay shit) air" and I applaud Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath for it. Spock's unwavering loyalty to Kirk, both Kirks, and it being his driving force throughout the novel, the mind link between him and James, the raw emotional state he's in... and both Kirks and how they rely on Spock, know him, love him... LORD

ahem. anyways. this is a GREAT Spock novel. the character exploration for Spock here is just so good and so compelling. this is Spock at some of his lowest, barely holding himself together, fighting his emotions down and just trying to keep going. Spock wants Omne DEAD and he wants to be the one to break his neck. he's so viciously furious and grief-stricken, its honestly beautiful to read him in such a volatile state. this isnt a side of Spock we often get to see, and what else could bring him to this point besides the faked death of his captain, the abduction, the cloning... great to see just what will drive Spock to literal murder and vengeance. his POV chapters were my favourite throughout, especially in the rare tender moments he shared with James. so many facets of his character are on display here, and all so wonderful to read

my second favourite part of this novel was the Commander's presence. what a POWERHOUSE she is. I thoroughly enjoyed how she effortlessly manhandles both Kirks whenever she needs to, and how bad this throws him off. she's a wicked fighter, every fight she has with Omne is fantastic to visualize. shes also ruthless and cold, with a lot of great Romulan logic on display. I love love love that she was one of the main characters in this novel, I love how we got to see more of this genuinely fascinating character, makes me wish we got more of her and the Romulans in TOS. her romance with James was predictable, but I found I quite enjoyed it, especially since they made it very clear that she wouldnt be bowing to him, nor him to her. they'll definitely make for an interesting couple

the issue of the two Kirks was a fascinating thread throughout. its quite the moral conundrum- the rights of the original, what to do with James, what rights does he have as a copy, what can they ask of him, etc. I dont think theres honestly a true right answer, and thats the conclusion they all seem to reach, as the best they can do is send to him to Romulus with the Commander as her princeling. its not an entirely satisfying conclusion, but I think thats deliberate, because I dont think there is a satisfying conclusion in this scenario. they cant keep James on the Enterprise, they cant just let him loose, the best they can do is keep him under lock and key and secrets on Romulus as the Commander's boytoy. a fate I wouldnt mind, tbh, but hey thats just me

Bones gets a couple of chapters, and I loved his. his relationship with Spock is what shines most for me from his chapters- his care for Spock is made very obvious, and the two of them are shown to be able to talk with just their eyes, much like Kirk and Spock do. I wish we could've had more with Bones, but that would've thrown off the structure and flow of the story, so I understand why his chapters were limited

Omne himself was an interesting villain. I wasn't super invested in him, but I did find the idea of him interesting. I think he's the weakest part of this novel, in that his whole thing relies on the idea of the alpha male, and a lot of him felt like... how do I describe this. you know when youre a kid, playing some sort of battle with your friends, and you make some shit up like 'oh you cant get through my shield' and 'I have a SHIELD BREAKING HAMMER'? thats what Omne's repeated one-upping felt like, after a point. the fight scenes with him were good, I could very much buy that he was physically stronger than our protagonists, but when it came to his tech and especially his last appearance on the Enterprise... yeah. im not saying I disliked it, but it did feel weak

overall I quite enjoyed this book. it was a slower read, I tended to read a chapter or two before going to bed every night, and I liked it that way. not one I picked up and tore through, but that isnt a criticism. sometimes books just want to be enjoyed slowly, and this was one I felt I wanted to take my time on. for my first TOS book, I thought it was really good, and ill definitely have to look into some more TOS books to read once im through my current to-read stack

[journalsouppe]

My spread of one of my top 3 favorite written works made -- Congruent (and Isometry) by @sincosma! This is the only fanfic I have journaled and wow this fic is truly incredible. It's always amazing finding a piece of fiction that just connects with you completely, and I'm so glad I found it by chance (or was it fate?) from a beautiful piece of artwork by Art Nevoa.

Thank you to sincosma for writing such a beautiful story and it just makes me much more excited to be in the Sheik zine! And spoilers for anyone who hasn't read Congruent!!

Writing typed below! (plus an extra blurb on the review and some other fanart links)

This review is structured more for myself detailing what made me love the fic throughout the story, which is different than a review I'd post on AO3 as this is for me to recall what I was thinking at the time of reading the fic. It was only around this time that I considered posting my spreads online so this was mostly a personal review! If I spent more time on it I would have worded some things differently but alas, it is in permanent ink.

Here's two other pieces of art that I absolutely love here and here (although this one is a spoiler).

By: Sincosma 9.7/10 - Febr. 2023

What a beautiful and devastating story. This fanfic perfectly captured my thoughts and feelings about post canon OOT Link and Sheik. Congruent perfectly depicts both Link and Sheik suffering from PTSD while also trying to understand their feelings for each other. It was definitely odd at first to have Sheik be a separate character from Zelda, but the author handled him with such tender care that I completely understand her disappointment when they were revealed to be the same person. Sheikah lore is expanded on so well and in a way that perfectly fits the OOT depiction of Sheikah. Not to mention keeping and emphasizing Sheik's darker skin tone. I would honestly love to learn more about the Sheikah from the OOT era especially because they are completely different in BOTW. There were also some details (minor) that were different but were only mentioned once and didn't bug me much. For example the small comment about Link being tall, when in fact he is a short king. This fic also stressed me the hell out. The author really put Link and Sheik through it but also perfectly encapsulated the anxiety these events would give them. The Nether added a whole new level of horror I was not expecting. The void walker scenes especially were so bone chilling and anxiety inducing. I would actually be surprised if Link DIDN'T change from his experiences there. After the Nether was the development of a delicious slow burn consisting of Link constantly trying to suppress his very gay thoughts of his best friend. One of my favorite moments is when Link thinks "I don't understand why Sheik wouldn't want to be with Malon." Like huh Link I could ask you the same exact question LMAO. Not to mention the desert scenes where Link and Sheik started opening up to each other more and more omfg. My absolute favorite scenes all happened in the lost Sheikah city. Incredible mental environmental imagery, amazing plot points, and the beginning of congruence and healing. Man I wish we had more about the Sheikah than just Kakariko UGH this fic is so good with Sheikah lore. The revival of Kalyh was perfect not only to add tension to Link's budding feelings, but to also add tension to the plot and rising threat. The threat of Fourskys was really interesting. I like how Termina was always in Link's fate. I also like how Fourskys community is just filled with refugees from Hyrule, it emphasizes how corrupt Hyrule is while also showing even your own community can fall into corruption. Ugh this fic just felt so true to oCarina of Time I really have to tell myself it isn't canon. Even when Link and Sheik got together it was still tragic as they didn't know if they were going to die, or worse, during the fight. I love that the end concluded with Sheik losing his arm and magic as it shows just how cruel fate and prophecies can be, but also his willingness to give up anything just to be with Link. And that leads into Isometry, the perfect bittersweet conclusion. Link and Sheik still struggle with PTSD, but they have each other and were able to leave Hyrule. Nothing is perfect but they get to live humble and secluded lives, married. UGH I could go on forever but this is such an all time favorite piece of writing. I am so happy to have stumbled across it and hopefully I van do more with it in the future.

[yujeong]

Tagged by @justanothervariant in this writers' ask game - thank you so, so much🥺

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first and last fics you published there, a fic for a fandom/ship you've only written for once, your favourite fic in the fandom/ship with the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonised over the most, the fic that sprang fully-formed from your mind with minimal effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason❤️

First fic published on Ao3: My VP retelling fic called Little House on the Hill. I had the immense desire to write their story from my POV and I decided to start posting it last December. I haven't touched it in months unfortunately, due to other projects I'm working on rn but I will get back on it soon.

Last fic published: Shoot me, a fic that was part of the game "Guess The Author" on the kindergarten mafia discord server, in which Vegas has to choose who to kill between Pete and Macau. A fun angsty little concept that has a happy ending :3

Fandom/ship I only wrote once: just a kiss, a PorschePete fic which was a way to scratch the itch of seeing them almost kiss during ep 4. I don't have any other ideas for them, so it'll probably be a one-time thing.

Favorite fic in most popular fandom/ship: VegasPete are my babies and the ship with the most fics on Ao3, which makes me super happy. My favourite fic for them is Dead End, a gift fic that I wrote for the amazing @xxhappy-chickenxx. Post canon Vegas angst, the way I adore it.

Fic I wish more people read: Honestly, all of them, because I'm an insecure bitch who gets an adrenaline rush from hits/kudos and especially comments, but if I had to choose, I'd say (Not) Family, a 500 word fic about Vegas and his relationship with Kinn and Tankhun, because I advocate for more fics in second person POV (it's so much fun writing it and it's so rewarding to read if it's done well enough, more people should try it) and Guilt Trip, another 500 word fic that explores the relationship between Macau and Pete during the hospital era, because MACAU AND PETE ARE PRECIOUS AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP GIVES ME LIFE, OK? (Stay tuned for the extended version of that btw. I know I said it's coming soon like months ago but I mean it this time, hopefully it'll be here by the start of November🤞)

Fic I agonised over: Dead End. That's it, that's the post. No, for real though, VegasPete post canon angst is something I wanted to try for a while but I was always afraid of fucking it up. The feedback I received for the fic made me believe that I did a good job with it though, so I guess it was all worth it in the end.

Fic that popped out fully-formed: This doesn't happen to me haha I don't have fics fully formed besides some basic plot elements and some vibes but I guess the closest it's come to that was Broken Vows - a fic in which Kinn takes revenge against Vegas for Tawan in the pettiest way possible. Idk, I had written the basic structure of it one random day and then polished it a bit and submitted it for the server's GTA. It was very fun to write in general, I'll admit.

Fic I'm proud of: I'll just say all of them because I feel it in my bones. Even Bitter Hearts, Clouded Minds, the second installment of my Heroes and Villains series which I am very mixed about, is a story that came from my heart and slipped through my fingers onto the doc document and then on Ao3 so, I can't say I'm not proud of releasing it into the wild. KinnPorsche The Series gave me my passion for writing back and made me start writing fanfic, something I had never done before so I'll forever be grateful for it. English isn't even my first language so I'm glad I pushed my insecurities aside and gave fanfic writing a try 🥰

I'll tag @wisteria-daydreamer, @therealblessedaffliction and @fleet-off, as well as any other writers who want to join in ✨

[secretobsessionstuff]

yo idk if you already got one of these fics but like, ik that whenever i do sumn stressful as hell, i usually get sick from it. but not DURING that said situation, but after that when im able to finally just sit and chill. so like, sumn like that would be really cool with one of your oc's. and honestly, throw the curse on whoever you feel it'll fit best. just thought i'd throw my idea out there yk?

Hey, man! Thanks for the great request! I'm so mean to my boys in this. Sorry it took a while for me to answer it. Hope you're doing good :)

Content Warning: This fic contains a very vague flashback to the actual stressful part. To give a proper warning, Mateo is an ambulance paramedic (edited from dispatcher because that was a mistake) so the stressful situation is a bad call in which a minor is injured. I do not actually write out the emergency, but Mateo does remember details such as blood and parental grieving. There is NO explicit death.

More CW: Vague descriptions of a major bodily injury, mention of blood and other bodily structures injured in an accident. Graphic descriptions of vomiting! Emotional turmoil that leads to vomiting for Mateo, and fear of blood that leads to vomiting for Shawn.

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

Blood pulsed in Mateo’s head. The waves beat against his ear drums, threatening to pierce that delicate membrane. A small part of him wished that would happen so that the red-tinted memories would leak out. A rush of vertigo forced him to reach a shaky hand towards Shawn. Luckily Shawn was solid and sturdy. Much sturdier than him. 

The ambulance bay was deserted, save for Mateo, Shawn, and the paramedic supervisor. Mateo knew that his mentor was around as well, probably waiting for his own support person to arrive; they weren’t allowed to leave on their own, not with shock clouding their eyes and judgment. 

Mateo bunched up the fabric of Shawn’s shirt in his grasp. His support person. The two of them stood in front of Mateo’s supervisor, listening to the proper protocols following a traumatic call. Mateo was instructed to take two mandatory sick days to recover from the stress. Then he had to be present for the debriefing. It was like a meeting to ensure everyone’s emotional wellbeing which lessened the effects of PTSD. That was the hope anyway. 

Mateo was not listening. He was drowning in stimulation. Voices. Sirens. Echoes of screams, all bouncing around in his skull like a ball in a pinball machine. He knew that the memories of this call would stick to the part of his brain that fabricated nightmares. But there would be no fabrication necessary. All he had to do was reach into the past—not but an hour ago—to fuel the bad dreams. 

The mother’s wails. The father’s incessant string of curses and self-deprecation. The boy’s…his…his legs. The ropes of mangled tissue and bones. All of it came back when he closed his eyes. By the time he and Joel had gotten to the address, the roar of the lawn mower had died, but the son was quickly being pulled to that quiet place as well. 

“Mateo.” 

Joel kept calling his name, telling him to fetch this, put pressure here. 

“Mateo” 

It all happened so fast. The boy’s blood soaked the end of his sleeves. The red spread up his arms like flames eating through a newspaper.

“Mateo?” 

The father had been punching himself in the head and pacing while they worked on boy. The mother tore up her vocal cords. Mateo had never understood the term “blood curdling” before, but he learned the meaning when his own blood cells seemed to clump together in his chest. The ache he felt was like pushing a clot through his aorta. 

“Mateo!” 

“Yes? What?” Mateo’s eyes shot up to meet his supervisor’s gaze. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Obviously, he had not.  “We’ll be getting you a new uniform, so don’t worry about washing the blood out.” The supervisor looked Mateo up and down. “I see you’ve changed already. Where is your uniform?” 

Mateo answered only after Shawn gave him a nudge. The nudge was enough to cause Mateo to sway on his feet. “Joel has it…my—my partner…he said he’d clean it for me.” 

The supervisor nodded. “I’ll be talking to Joel next. You’re free to leave, Mateo. Take care of yourself.” 

Mateo’s ears continue to ring as Shawn helped him to the car. Rain pelted the windshield, making it hard to hear what Shawn was saying. Where was this rain an hour ago? Surely nobody would have mowed their lawn if it had been raining this hard. Surely a little boy would not have been outside if the skies were this gray. But an hour ago, the sky had been blue and clear. 

“…is that alright, babe?” Shawn said, turning onto the busy street. When he got no answer, he lightly touched his boyfriend’s arm. “Hey, Teo?” 

“What?” 

Shawn’s shoulders dropped as he watched Mateo’s face remain emotionless even when he spoke. The boy was numb. He was somewhere else. “I said I’ll help you shower when we get home. Does that sound like a good plan?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Mateo looked down at his lap with dead-drooping eyelids. The windshield wipers were making him dizzy, so he dared not look up again. Still, he could see them swishing back and forth in his peripheral vision. Back and forth and back and forth. Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh. Like the blood in his ears. 

Like his blood, the food in his stomach was curdled as well. Lumpy and soggy with acid. The adrenaline had kept him from losing his lunch at the scene, but now there was nothing to keep his mind distracted from the sick feeling in his gut. 

His heart was pounding as if its beat alone could play music on his fragile ear drums. All this pulsing and throbbing was shaking up his insides. He imagined his belly frothing, bubbling higher and higher until it reached his esophagus. He closed his eyes in attempt to make the world stop. Just stop. Stop moving. Stop shaking. Stop screaming.  

Mateo’s battle with the world was internal. From Shawn’s perspective it appeared as if Mateo were sleeping—albeit restlessly. Only the sound of thunder kept Shawn company during the drive home. If he closed his eyes he could have convinced himself that he was alone. 

Shawn wished he could understand what was going through Mateo’s mind. Not that he could ever handle the details. Some nights Mateo came home with a story from the road. They were the calls that weren’t disturbing enough to upset Mateo, but they were certainly disturbing enough for Shawn. Usually, Mateo got half-way through the story before Shawn told him to stop. 

Mateo didn’t share these moments anymore. He technically wasn’t supposed to in the first place, but everybody needs an outlet sometimes. Mateo’s outlet just couldn’t be his boyfriend, and that was fine. 

Most of the time. 

“Alright, hon,” Shawn sighed as he stopped the car. “We’re home.” 

Mateo didn’t move. He kept his head down. Shawn could see that his eyes were open just a sliver. The colour of his face matched the storm clouds. 

“Mateo?” Shawn touched his arm again, hoping for a response. He watched Mateo’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Honey, are you okay?” 

A small drop of saliva dripped from his lips as Mateo shook his head to say no. Then all at once, he vomited up his lunch onto his thighs. There was hardly any sound or movement from the boy. Just a small gurgle in his throat before a sludge of sick coated his pants. Mateo’s shoulders didn’t even move when he retched. 

“Oh my God!” Shawn exclaimed, startled by the amount of vomit that came out of Mateo’s mouth. He quickly shrugged off his surprise and rubbed his boyfriend’s back. “Aw, Teo. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Mateo whimpered and gagged emptily over the layer of sick that soaked his pants. He awkwardly held his hands by his chest to keep them clean. Vomit dripped down his thighs, onto the seat and the floor. 

He gagged again, and tears leaked onto his cheeks. That’s when he started to cry for real. It was everywhere. On his shoes, on his knees, on his sleeves. It was sticky and thick. 

Except he wasn’t wearing a shirt with sleeves just then. 

Still, it was on his sleeves, spreading through the cotton fibers like a wildfire. It was on his knees from where he knelt on the grass with that little boy. It was red and everywhere. The woman was screaming. The man was screaming. He was screaming, but nobody could hear it unless they looked inside his mind. 

Mateo was breathing heavily in the now quiet car. He stopped vomiting, but his back was shaking. Shawn still had his hand between Mateo’s shoulder blades and could feel heat coming through his clothes as if he had a fever. But this was not caused by a fever or a bug. The heat was from that wildfire that burned through his thoughts. 

“You’re okay,” Shawn said. “Just let it all out. Cry, do whatever you need. I’ll help you get inside in a moment.” 

Mateo clutched his chest and cried. Tears and spit dripped onto his lap. Outside, the rain still hammered on the windshield, almost muffling the choked sobs that escaped from his mouth. 

“I know. I know,” Shawn said, his voice shaking with emotion. “It’s scary. You feel like you have no control. But it will pass.” 

“I can’t…” Mateo tried to talk around the lump in his throat. “I can’t stop seeing it, Shawn. There was so much blood.”  

Shawn swallowed thickly. This was the type of story that neither of them could stomach. He wanted to listen so bad. He wanted to let Mateo get it all out. The story. The tears. The sick. All of the bad gunk that clotted in his systems. But his own body and mind could not carry the load without snapping. 

Shawn let out a long exhale through his nose. You got this, he told himself. Mateo needs a shower. You can help with that. First, get him out of the car. He waited until Mateo’s breathing slowed down, which it finally did at the same time that the rain stopped. 

“Okay,” Shawn mumbled before opening the driver side door. He ran around to the passenger side and opened Mateo’s door. A small bit of puke dripped out. He cupped Mateo’s damp cheek. “Let’s get you inside.” 

They went straight to the bathroom. More specifically, straight to the bathroom floor. Shawn waited to see if Mateo was going to throw up again before doing anything 

He didn’t; he just stared at the floor in a trance. 

So, Shawn started to undress him. The boy was a dead-weight, completely uninterested in keeping his head up. But that was fine. Shawn could work with this. He started by taking Mateo’s shirt off. He took one of Mateo’s hands to get his arm out of the sleeve—

And immediately dropped his boyfriend’s hand. 

There was dried blood all along Mateo’s nails. The lines and creases on his palms were also traced in red. Every bend in his fingers hid the same secret. Clearly, scrubbing his hands after the call had not been enough. The blood was as resilient as the bad memories. 

Shawn looked away and covered his mouth, gagging into his hand. 

“What is it?” Mateo slurred, almost drunkenly. He curled in fingers towards himself, seeing the circles of blood around his nails. “…Oh.” His gaze travelled slowly back to his boyfriend. “You okay?” 

“I need a second.” Shawn mumbled into his hand. 

“It’s not mine.”

“I know.” Shawn said without opening his mouth more than necessary.

“It’s the kid’s.” 

“Please stop.” 

Mateo got a faraway look in his eyes. He seemed to look past Shawn. “It’s the kid’s,” he repeated. His bloody hand started to shake again. In his mind, there was nobody else with him in that moment—certainly not somebody who might be opposed to hearing about the scene. “It just kept coming. The blood. I used so many cloths, but it kept soaking through.” 

Shawn’s stomach rose in his throat. He retched into his hand and stood up on wobbly legs. The sick poured from his mouth as he lunged for the bathroom sink. 

His throat burned from the vomit that was now staining the white porcelain. He turned on the tap to wash away the mess. His knuckles went white as he held onto the edge of the counter. That grip got even tighter when his stomach lurched a second time. 

“Shawn?” Mateo looked at his boyfriend with huge eyes. Fear filled those eyes. It was fear for the things he had seen and fear for his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” Shawn choked out. He gagged over the sink again. “Ugh I’m sorry, I can’t. I want to help you, but…” 

“Don’t leave,” Mateo pleaded with fresh tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

Shawn was crying too. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help you.” 

Though they were together, they were alone. Alone in their suffering that the other couldn’t understand. Shawn felt like they were falling at different speeds. He was dizzy and disoriented, unable to offer the kind of help that Mateo needed. 

Then a thought popped into his head. He looked up slowly, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His skin was ashen like Mateo’s. The Shawn that stared back was fuzzy around the edges. Yeah, he wasn’t going to do much good like this. But maybe there was someone else who could help. 

…

A knock came at the door not but ten minutes later. Shawn had been pacing the hallway in front of the bathroom when the knocking came. He sighed gratefully and shook out his hands to get the nervous energy out. He wiped the sweat off his palm on his pants, before opening the door. 

Madix stood on the other side. Behind Madix was Dakota. They both wore identical looks of concern. Shawn had not been expecting Dakota, but he was more than happy to let his friends in. 

“Hey, man,” Madix said, clapping Shawn on the shoulder as he entered the apartment. “I was with Dakota when you called. I hope you don’t mind that he came too.” 

“Uh…um yeah that’s—that’s fine.”

Madix just nodded patiently as Shawn stuttered, taking in his friend’s appearance. “Alright, first things first, you need to sit down before you pass out.” He guided Shawn over to the couch. “There. Can I get you anything? Water? A blanket?” 

“Uh, no, no. Mateo—he’s in the bathroom. I couldn’t go back in. Go see him. Not me. Please.” 

“Okay, easy,” Madix said, hearing the growing panic in Shawn’s voice. He looked back at Dakota. “Kota, you stay with Shawn. I’ll check on Mateo.” 

“Thank you,” Shawn mumbled and put his head in his hands. He felt the couch cushions spring back up when Madix left. 

For a moment, he let the darkness of his hands envelop him. Then he felt a new weight join him on the couch. He opened his eyes to see Dakota’s sympathy written across his face. Something about the soft crease in his brow made Shawn want to break down. “I tried to help him. I was getting him in the shower, but...but—God, I’m so glad you’re both here.” 

“He’s going to be okay,” Dakota said softly. 

“I know. Madix will understand. He’ll help Teo more than I ever could.” 

“You did your best. Be proud of that," Dakota assured him. “Now, how are you holding up?” 

“Bad?” Shawn looked up and blinked away fresh tears. “When I left Mateo, he was so out of it. Just staring at his hands. He was—” 

“—Shawn,” Dakota cut in, placing his hand on his friend’s knee. “Slow down. I asked about you.” 

Shawn sniffled and let out a manic laugh. “What?” 

“You.” 

“Me?” 

Dakota nodded. “Yeah. This isn’t easy on you either.” He spoke slowly. “I insisted on coming for reason. You both need someone right now. So, tell me what I can do. We can talk about it if you want. Or we can talk about literally anything else if you need a distraction. I also I give the best hugs by the way."

In the end, Shawn wanted to be distracted. He had to get his mind off his boyfriend. Off the blood on his hands. Off the noise in his head. Off, off, off. Because turning off was the only way he’d get calm. 

[itstheantiheroesforme]

my controversial shadow & bone (show) opinions

Please dont hate me, I just have lots of thoughts on season 2 okay

Im sorry no shade to the actor but Patrick Gibson is not my Nikolai and he never will be. He delivers the lines from the books well enough but he looks like somebody's dad. He looks like he's forty. And his eyes dont glitter. He does not look like a puppy. He's not pretty enough. Idk it just didn't work for me.

Speaking of! I will die mad that Nikolai and Sturmhond look literally exactly the same. Like what. No. Why. Come on.

I dont like Ben Barnes. I liked him when he was prince Caspian but I dont like him as the Darkling. Some of his moments in season two were really well-acted, but again, he's too old and he just doesn't do it for me.

Book alina = loml. Show alina = annoying.

Basically I think the casting director fell flat for pretty much every character in the shadow & bone portion of the show. They went off with the crows though. Freddy carter and jack Wolfe and Danielle Galligan? Chefs kiss.

Pekka Rollins is hot.

I saw someone say that season 2 was like they took the second two grisha books and both the crows books and put them in a blender and I could not agree more. Im hoping there was some clever purpose behind the way they structured season 2 but honestly? It was a m e s s . Not that I didn't enjoy it. But still. Wtf.

THE DARKLINGS DEATH WAS SO BAD. okay so they mostly stuck to the book BUT it was over too fast and they skipped some of the best lines and honestly it didn't hit the way the book did. Don't let me be alone????

ALSO why do we not call him the Darkling? Like why not? He is the Darkling. Wtf is Kirigan? Sorry that's the Darkling. Calling him Aleksander from the beginning kinda screwed one of the most emotional points of his story.

I dont like Tamar. I love book Tamar but I dont like show Tamar. No I will not elaborate.

The little "shadow & bone" graphics at the start of every episode were tacky as fuck.

They showed too much of Kaz's backstory too soon.

Mal leaving alina in the end? Yes please give this couple some depth.

Mal becoming sturmhond? No thank you.

Also I didn't like how they skipped over so much of Mal's character in the show. What about his asshole arc? We had to read hundreds of pages of him being a massive jerk to Alina about her powers, her bond with the Darkling, her desire to save ravka, etc etc. Mal is a jerk but the show said no no he's nice he's sweet.

Totally random but I wish they weren't all British.

GIVE ME DARKLINA YOU COWARDS. Okay so y'all darklina bitches know what I'm talking about - why did they change that scene??? Darklina should've been endgame imo.

And one noncontroversial opinion: tolya is the best part of the books and the best part of the show can I get a amen

[sunsetstarving]

hi!!!!! long time no.. encounter :)

next quarter may be fucking myself over by doing an eight am but its for global horror (texts) so liiike

also puh-leeaaasse rant to me. i’ll use it as motivation to do my reading

HI!! as we know the entire response to this got deleted and i am. deeply disappointed i should have just left it open fuck tumblr. i also am doing an 8am but it is for CALC II because i didn't have TIME ANYWHERE ELSE 😔😔😔 and semester style instead of quarters so it's the entirety of fall semester rip. i am wishing you the best of luck with yours though that honestly sounds so fun??

and UHHH MAN HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO RECALL WHAT I WAS SAYING. i'm gonna paraphrase but you also didn't know what i was going to say so it Works. i shall not be talking about the ocs i originally was thinking about bc i am now organizing the lore and if i have to talk about it before it's ready i will lost it BUT! i have magical girls lore i have been meaning to tell u about!!

currently i am deliberating over whether or not to make dani and nefise a romantic thing or just queerplatonic because on the one hand romance is just simpler (pinterest refs abound) but on the OTHER hand they're sooo fucked up at one point and it would be so much fun for them to be platonic specifically for that part + i'm losing my touch w writing full romantic chemistry and am scared to fuck it up so in a sense a qpr would be the easier one.... we'll see lmao

also dani is now bigender (queer projection time but also! this fits i think) and kora and nefise are close friends due to the irony of kora having had the worst friends before them and nefise being the best friend ever to everyone all the time (side note: surely this will not end in disaster)--kora knowing nefise inside and out because ze WAS that friend once, the one who would do anything for anyone if they showed even an ounce of care about her, and nefise being honest with kora about where they are in their friendship and how bad zir friends sucked! they are the designated Cool Friends of the group with a level of care they maintain in spite of everything they were ever given

anyway kora the everything that she is.. don't you ever go from being the least important person in your friend group to the glue that sticks everyone together in approximately a week and suddenly u are showered with love and affection and understanding....

ALSO re: fucked up parts, dani and nefise go through this point during/after the masque arc where they become deeply and horrifically codependent due to the cult-like structure of the masque's leadership and domain which nefise was like, JUST ripped away from, and now they have to Act Normal and Be Herself again?? there is something in you that breaks in that kind of environment and it's like a bone, right, if you set it correctly and you let yourself rest it'll heal, but if you don't set it right u set yourself up for more pain in the future. dani and nefise at this time are the incorrectly set bone 👍 i have been thinking about this for the past week 👍

nefise also gets a haircut after this as part of her recovery! like they already had one but this one is cooler obviously. don't tell tater i am blasting them with the mullet beam

but yeah this is the lore update many months later! my kids be upon ye i hope you enjoy the brainrot

[cup-and-chaucer]

My Month in Books: October 2022

Disfigured: On Fairytales, Disability, and Making Space by Amanda Leduc: This started out strong but really and truly fizzled the more it went on. I loved the concept of interweaving personal narrative and literary criticism but the further she moved away from the traditional fairytales (like those collected by Grimm or Anderson) and into less easily defined medias like Game of Thrones or the Marvel Universe, her arguments became a vaguer series of reactions, rather than a structured thesis. While meandering at the best of times, the end was a bit of a mess. The early sections of the book are definitely worth reading—I just wish this project had a better editor.

Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown: This was a very charming book about an out and proud lesbian in 1960s New York City. I can totally see why this would have meant a lot to a lot of people at critical points in the development of their sexual identity. I think, honestly, at the ripe old age of 25, I’m too old for this? I feel like I’ve been out for awhile; have worked to develop a pretty nuanced understanding of my own bisexuality and gender expression at this point. The book takes a hysterical and campy left turn at the end. It’s worth reading as an artifact of its time and to appreciate a really distinct (if Mary Sue—did you know she could be a model) protagonist voice.

Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage by Alfred Lansing: I so enjoyed this!! Lansing is a really good writer and kept the story engaging and well-paced.

White Nights by Fyodor Dostoyevsky: This was a recommendation from a close friend as a descriptor of our relationship. I was very moved by this novella, to be quite honest. I recognized in it—as I did in Notes from the Underground—the intensity of loneliness, the way that loneliness manifests, and how being a “dreamer” can feed and perpetuate loneliness while also being its own magic. I did see a lot of this particular relationship, in eerie ways, in the intensity and immediacy of the connection, the relief in discovering each other, and some events of the actual plot. I saw her in the narration of the dreamer and also in the actions of Nastenka. I read this, at a necessary point in my life, I think, and it made me reflect seriously on the type of alloyed love that can develop between two people. The love in this story is as intermediate as the nature of a dreamer. I don’t know if I will grow with this book (only time will tell), the way she has, but I think I will be able to use this book to describe the foundation of this relationship. It feels like an artifact of this year. Reading it made me tired, it made me hopeful, it made me sad, it made me grateful.

The Sleeper and the Spindle by Neil Gaiman: I found this story had good bones but felt disappointingly unfinished in the way his graphic short Snow, Glass, Apple felt sort incomplete. The brief insight into the world he created was marvelous but there wasn’t much a twist on…anything? Like the motivations of the villain remained the same, even if her position was different. Increasingly, I feel like for me to enjoy retelling of popular fairytales, they need a more pointed perspective and I didn’t get that here.

[whirlybirbs]

"Your mind games don't work on me." is such a Loki and fake wife prompt

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE  |  pester pester

summary: spending time with him is... painful.

pairing: loki / f!reader

a/n: today's episode really cemented my lifelong headcanon that loki really is just desperate for some sort of self validation but preens when he gets it outwardly. anyways, here's him being the fucking worst. gif by @samsbarnes from this beautiful set!

[   MASTERPOST   ]

He is...

For fuck's sake, he's exhausting.

Spending the entire day essentially tied to his hip during a series of TVA trainings really only furthers the point — and, honestly, you're beginning to wonder how someone in the thousand years this God has been alive hasn't killed him just to shut him up.

But it's, what, going on hour three? That's when you begin to realize he's doing this on purpose.

It clicks when you're sitting there, chewing on that greyish meat-slab Mobius had marketed as meatloaf when showing you both the cafeteria, as he goes on and on and on about that one time he came to Earth in 909 AD and was worshipped for a month straight. This is about the fifth story of this genre — complete with some rather questionable embellishments that make you want to try and cut your own head off via paper cut.

Mobius' jet-ski magazine is looking like a great way out right now.

But of course Loki noticed your annoyance. Clearly. Despite it all, he isn't stupid. Now he's capitalizing on it.

You sit back, deadpanned and expressionless, and chew.

Y'know, he'd be pretty handsome if he wasn't the fucking worst. Truly. He's tall, dark, great bone structure, nice voice. 'Nice voice' is a subjective compliment, though.

Really subjective.

Loki — yes, he knows you're irritated and have been irritated — believes this little game is a bit of necessary evil; spending all this time with you has given him a finer appreciation for your intelligence, patience, and genuine curiosity. And he hates it. He hates it to the Bifrost and back a thousand times because — well... It would mean Mobius is right. That the TVA is right. That he isn't the Arbiter of his own future.

He cannot and will not follow that decree they've set. You and him are nothing alike. You're hardly compatible. You're...

Well, you. And he's Loki. God of Mischief, Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard.

...Piece of shit.

Earning the cross look he's being given now is all part of the plan.

(He's surpised how far he was able to take it. I mean, really? Palm fans and rose water soaks by viking wives? They didn't even have palms. They were woven fans — but that's beside the point.)

You swallow and then reach for your cup of water.

Mobius had made himself rather scarce — something about meeting with the Judge from before about 'field trip permission slips'.

It's at a time like this that you wish you had someone else to drown out the chattering madness of the chaotic tangle of raven hair across from you.

"And then — well, you know how Midgardian women are..."

If he wanted to get a rise out of you, he does.

"I feel sorry for your friends."

His mouth snaps shut.

He blinks.

Loki's brows knot tight and he watches you take a long sip from your cup. There's a look there of genuine confusion — because this is not the sort of reaction he was looking to coax out of you. No. No, no, no. Are you...? Is this...?

"I just..." you begin slowly with a lack of any sort of bite, "Do you? Have any friends, I mean?"

"I have friends," he says immediately. It's rushed, "I do. Plenty. What makes you think I don't have friends?"

You wish you could allow yourself to smirk. But, this little reaction is too good.

"I mean, it's so sad when people don't have friends."

"I have friends."

"Yeah."

"Stop that," he says, sitting up and eyeing you up and down, "Stop insinuating that I don't have... Oh."

You let the smirk slip in. It gives you away.

You stand up and snatch your lunch-tray as you do. Loki follows your figure as you drop your cup onto your tray and tip your head to the side. He sees now. You were toying with him. And now, he feels like the fool. He...

Eugh.

"Well played, bug."

"Your little mind games," you toss over your shoulder as you stalk away, heels clicking neatly on the tile floors, "They won't work on me forever, Loki."

"It was fun while it lasted."

"Safe for you to say."