#i just need to write fanfic and sleep

[frownyalfred]

I cannot emphasize this enough: sometimes the draft sucks because you keep looking at it. It doesn’t actually suck. You just need to post it and stop beating yourself up.

[unrelatedsideblog]

I randomly remembered about admiral born in Germany who ditched Germany and come to Poland and it's navy. When he got cought by Germans during WWII, they tried to win him over to their side. Józef (I think that was his name...), however, declared that "1 September he forgot how to speak German". He remembered the language, of course, but during his imprisonment he spoke only in French (I think), and would insist on having a translator present if he was spoken to in German. Call it trolling

Basically I think that Sanji should do it with Vinsmokes. Just to be a petty little shit

like

Sanji on Sunny: *speaking to himself fluently and cursing flowery in French/whatever language we decide Germa 66 commonly speaks* *Time skip to Germa 66*: Ichiji: Bon retour parmi nous, mon frère. Sanji: *In East Blue common language* The fuck you're sayin'? Ichiji: De quoi parlez-vous ? Parlez-moi dans votre langue maternelle. Sanji: No idea what you're sayin'. I'm afraid I don't remember language anymore, too bad. Ichiji: ...

[fearandhatred]

to rome: a play by fearandhatred

(5k words, 1/1 chapters)

While trying to tempt Caligula, Crowley makes a discovery that renders all his efforts for naught. But then it turns out that Aziraphale is here too, so maybe his trip to Rome isn't wasted after all.

***highly recommended to read on a phone because of the Multiplicity Of Line Breaks that just look very weird on a laptop unless your font size is huge

-----

i've always loved the idea of crowley falling in love with aziraphale in rome. in some ways it really is my roman empire so i figured i might as well make it happen! featuring many shenanigans and an annoying emperor :)

any and all support is greatly appreciated <3

anyway it all started with a dream:

so this is for @eybefioro @captainblou @crowleys-bentley-and-plants who challenged me to write a fic with no angst and also, coincidentally, for that one commenter who asked me on the same day if i would consider writing something happy for once. against all odds and with much difficulty, i have done it. love u guys sm <333

[dxckgrxsonx]

I will take what ever you will give me of dick pick jay please

how about this?? how about feelings and emotions and both of them saying they love each other without actually saying they love each other??

**

Some nights are better than others.

It’s almost grief leaking into your chest when you find him. Sat down in the shower. Silent. Alone. He’s got his back pressed against frigid tile, knees tucked up close to his chest. He looks young. He looks small. There’s almost pain flaring awake in your gut, like being stabbed in a dream and waking up half linked into adrenaline, convinced you’re torn open and bleeding.

You look at Jason, still dressed in his gear, still armed, and wonder if he’s waiting for a fight. There’s some nights you look at him and watch him bring conflict home, watch him tap the grips of his guns to make sure they’re still there, watch him manoeuvre around your apartment like there’s a threat hidden somewhere.

Sometimes, it’s like the violence won’t leave and even worse, sometimes you watch Jason not know what to do with himself once the fight is over.

There’s water beating against his back and his hair sticks to his forehead but he doesn’t move. Not even when you smooth yourself into his peripheral. Not even when you slide open the frosted glass door and step inside.

The shower cubicle is wide enough for you to sit next to him, so you fold yourself up small, tuck your edges into place around him. Your knee knocks against his own and you press your arms together, shoulder to elbow to wrist. And still, he doesn’t move.

His name settles on your tongue but you swallow it back. Instead, you link your pinky fingers together and wait.

Jason says your name so softly, almost like a whisper, maybe a prayer, and presses his knee into yours. The pressure is barely there, feels like nothing at all, but the relief is sweet on your tongue, the awful banging on the inside of your chest finally stops.

“Yeah, I’m here.” You whisper, tugging his hand closer so you can smooth your thumb over his knuckles. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Dropping his head onto your shoulder Jason sighs, almost as if you’ve spread balm over an old, aching wound, almost like you’ve found exactly where he’s hurting and taken it away. His body leans into you, legs unfolding to lay straight, feet touching the opposite wall.

You follow his lead, stretch out so you can keep his hand in your lap. Turning his hand over you smooth your fingers over his palm, walk over the lines and play gently with his fingers. Measuring the size of your hand to his, you huff quietly in amusement and Jason, without saying a single word, slots his fingers between your own and holds your hand.

“You’ll stay?” He asks.

Bringing his hand to your mouth you kiss his knuckles, the barest brush of your lips, “Always. I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me. I won’t go unless you want me to.”

“Never.” Jason murmurs, and you know he’s watching your intertwined fingers. “I’ll never not want you. For the rest of my life, you are all I’ll ever want.”

**

[happyk44]

Obsessing over the concept of Percy having so many dreams about Nico dying in front of him in different ways at camp or on quests and he has no idea what to do about them so he starts trying to get Nico to hang out with him and tries asking him in subtle ways about what's going on, trying to figure out if Nico is in dangerous without possibly freaking him out about Percy's dreams (who would feel safe if someone kept having dreams about them being murdered by faceless entities in orange shirts or killed by monsters)i

It goes nowhere. Nico is apparently fine, flitting between camp and the underworld and New Rome as he wishes. With more underworld kids coming into CHB for the summer, he's started spending more and more time there though, and all Percy can think of orange shirts and Nico's blood drenched in them

Eventually he caves and drives to camp, hunting down and cornering Clovis, who's passed out in a sunbeam like a cat. Percy steps into the grass and kicks him gently. Clovis wakes slow and tilts his face towards Percy. He stretches long, yawns loud. Percy stifles a responding yawn and squats.

"What's up, Percy?" Clovis hums.

Percy tugs at his fingers as he finds the right words. "I keep having shitry dreams," he decides on. Clovis arches a brow. Percy sits back and pinches the bridge of his nose. "What does it mean when you keep having dreams about someone dying?"

Baby blue blanket creasing, Clovis cocks his head. "Who's dying?"

Percy grits his teeth. "Does it matter?"

"Well, some dreams are just subconscious processing and some are my siblings being weird." Clovis blinks slow. People compare him to cows a lot, that baby softness on his cheeks and easy going demeanour. But Percy sees a cat more than anything. Domesticated and pampered. "And some are prophetic."

The grit of his teeth begins to hurt his jaw. "How do you know which one is which?"

Clovis hums and sits up slowly. He reaches down to his toes and flexes with a long groaning grunt. He gives a little sigh as he pulls away. "Well, I'd have to ask them if they're doing things. As for subconscious processing, that's just what's going on in your brain. And prophecies..." He hums thoughtfully. "I guess you wouldn't know until it happens." With half-closed eyes, he faces Percy. His head lags to the side. "So is there anything going on your brain to worry about this person dying?"

"Well, there is now," Percy says through gritted teeth. Clovis laughs, a trilling dreamy sound. Percy glares at him. "Clovis."

He shrugs. "I can ask around tonight." He picks at a blade of grass. "Who is it?"

Behind them, Nico is calling out to someone. It makes Percy's skin crawl. Kids laugh and Nico laughs and Percy wants to grab him and hide him. Clovis's bright orange camp shirt makes him feel like a bull, caged up with some idiot waving a red flag in front of him. He needs to rush forward and break the things bothering him. Skewer them and feel their blood drip down his skin.

He's starting to lose his mind.

"It doesn't matter." He too aware that the gap between question and answer was too long.

Clovis isn't looking at him but he feels watched anyway. "It could," Clovis says. "But at least I know it's not Annabeth. Or Grover." Percy startles and Clovis's grin is soft. "If it was, you would have said it before you even sat down." He gives another big stretch then flops back on his blanket, rolling over into a warmer brighter patch of sun. "Actually, you'd say if it was anyone." He tucks his legs up into his chest. "You'd keep quiet because you don't want to worry them. Which means there's probably some real concern there."

His eyes slide fully shut and he doesn't speak again. Heart pounding, Percy watches his serene face. He doesn't like that Clovis picked him apart like that. But not much he can complain or deny in it.

Knees whining, he stands slow. Part of him misses the Achilles' Curse for that reason alone. He liked it more when his body didn't hurt because of constant strenuous activity and the passage of time. He runs a hand through his hair.

What is he supposed to do? Wait for Clovis to tell him that his siblings were being assholes for no reason? To sit down and meditate about the reason his mind was focused in on Nico dying in various ways? Or worry unendingly that the universe was giving him a sneak peek at the future and soon he'd be standing at Nico's memorial, trying to figure out which person around him was the killer?

"Percy!"

He startles and turns. His skin crawls as Nico jogs up to him. There's a little boy practically pinned to his side. The closet they grow, the more Percy wants to shove Nico down deep where no one can find him. Ocean depths. He'd like the darkness, Percy thinks. Then he slaps the thought away as his arms begin to rise, his gut yanking towards the beach.

"Hey." It comes out breathless and wispy. "What's up?"

Nico's smile is gentle. It makes Percy's stomach cramp, the idea of it gone forever, bled out on forest grass. "Joel and I were seeing if he could summon ghosts." He gazes down at the little boy still tucked into his side. The kid is looking at Clovis. "Might be a bit of a trial for him though."

When the kid doesn't stop looking at Clovis, Nico pinches his ear and he tucks his face into Nico's side instead. He gives a ragged breath but Nico's easygoing look doesn't change.

It flits to the top of his tongue, but Nico answers before Percy has a chance to open his mouth.

"Ker," he says, "is his mom."

There is little Percy has forgotten from any of his underworld adventures, including being chased by those spirits while trying to stop Ethan from escaping with the sword. Violent death and disease. Feasted on human flesh. They couldn't kill, but they could harm and give death a jumpstart.

Percy's shoulder gives a phantom throb at the reminder.

"Didn't know she'd be interested in having kids," he says.

Nico's lip twitches and his arm curved around Joel's shoulders tightens him closer. "He's technically adopted." Joel's face tilts further away from Percy. "She thought he was cute."

There's definitely more to that story that Percy doesn't know how to ask about, so he just agrees passively that Joel is cute and they move on. Joel doesn't speak to anyone but Nico or make eye contact. He's a barnacle on Nico's side.

All Percy can focus on is his bright orange shirt and the violent death that thrums in his veins and how close he is to Nico. It would be accidental, Percy thinks, if Joel killed him. It's clear he likes Nico. It would be accidental if Nico was torn to shreds.

Percy wonders how easy it would be to get water into his lungs from the bottle he drinks from, how suspicious it would be if he drowned on dry land. Quickly he leaves with rushed goodbye. His hands are already plunging into pockets for his keys. He doesn't hear Nico's goodbye.

That night he dreads his dreams more than ever.

Joel is there this time. His face is wet, half hidden in shadows. Nico is front of him, sword out, protective. Then things slip and it's not Nico and Joel anymore, but one older girl and two younger kids behind her. The kids look terrified but the girl is enraged. Her obsidian sword slashes at someone rushing forward.

The world is too bright, Percy thinks. There are no shadows. It's like the sun is standing in front of them.

The girl shouts and beats off a pair of people who charge at her. With snapped necks, they fall to the ground in front of her. She yells and shoves her sword into the ground.

It splits so easily. The grass trembles. The earth rumbles. Skeletal hands claw out of the ground. Hazy spectres join them. The girl turns and grabs the kids while people fight the entities she summoned. The world is so bright, but there's shadows at the edge of the sunlight. She won't stop running. One of the kids runs alongside her. The other is held in her arms.

The shadows twist and flex towards them. It's unable to spread into the light. They're closing in. The first kid is closer, free of the weight of another person. The shadows greet her but she stumbles to a sudden stop, spinning around and staring pleadingly at the girl Percy realizes is one of Nico's half-sisters from long before.

Are the kids' Joel's half-siblings? he wonders.

"Go!" the girl shouts. The kid hesitates but the girl shouts again, "GO!"

The shadows swallow the kid with a wispy black maw. The girl is almost there when the ground creaks and groans. It rumbles violently, separating and splitting at the very seams. The earth opens before her.

Percy can see the decision she makes before she makes it, jumping over a gap in the earth before it splits too wide. She doesn't stop running even as she tosses the other kid into the air. He screams, a bloodcurdling thing that chills Percy down to his bones.

The shadows catch him. And he's gone.

The girl pants, gripping her knees as she bends over. The earth stops quaking. There's a few seconds where the only sound is panting. But as the people they were fleeing from close in, the girl laughs breathlessly and turns around.

"Isn't it fun when we chase each other?" she says. "I think we should do that more."

The leader of the little group is some tall boy who looks like he's never smiled in his life. He's bulky. Each muscle bulges and he glares. The girl is unphased.

"How dare you?" he seethes.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, my dad protects their parents." She grins, eyes dark like the void. Her hands flex at her side. "Why shouldn't I protect them? Especially since you refuse to listen to reason." She gestures widely. "Just because Chthonic is in the title doesn't mean it's bad. Chthonic means dirt, earth." She just her chin towards one of the kids. "You are technically Chthonic." She shrugs. "Besides, you fucking morons, they're kids. What kind of dipshit is scared of little kids just because their dad picks up dead people for a living?"

Her arms haven't lowered from where she's spread them. Her hands flex again, each finger tapping in the air, one after the other. Percy can't hear anything else that's said. It all goes muffled. It's obvious arguing. Judging from the pulled weapons, there are threats abound.

Then the earth breaks.

It's not the same as the earthquake before. This is a complete cave-in, the ground falling out from under their feet. She's the only person who doesn't look terrified to be falling. They all disappear into darkness. Like teeth chomping, the earth slams back together and seals itself over.

Then there's his ceiling. His fan is going in fast circles, a soft whrrrrr.

Sweat is sticky against his neck. Oh, he thinks.

Violent death and disease being present at every meal, every training, every campfire song. Someone was probably unnerved by it. Unnerved by him. Nico's protective hold was a wall in front of the bomb. It needed to be broken down so the danger could be disposed of, bomb defused.

He doesn't know when he grabbed his phone. Only aware of it pressed to his ear by the ringing. It goes for a while. His stomach churns.

A tired "H'lo?" passes through.

His stomach doesn't settle. "Hey, Nico. Sorry." He glances at his clock and winces. "Did I wake up?"

Nico snorts. "No," he grumbles. "I'm a vampire." Quiet breathing, tense silence. "Percy? Why are we on the phone right now?"

"I..." Percy pauses. Glances up to his ceiling fan, still spinning in fast circles. "I just. Had a weird dream." Nico makes a "go on" noise. Percy bites his lip and leans against the wall, drawing his knees up to his bare chest. "Have any of your siblings had to..."

Fight against other campers? Run with a pair of kids people wanted to kill because they thought they were dangerous? Commit suicide to stop those from going after the kids once they were safely away somewhere else?

There's nothing good in those questions.

He closes his eyes. "What was camp like for your siblings? Before?"

"Uh." There's some rustling. "Not good. Most campers didn't trust us because of the whole Underworld children thing. Lucky for them, my dad doesn't really go around spawning kids on a monthly basis."

Percy snorted. His fingers wove themselves into his sheets so tight they started to go numb.

"But we didn't have a lot of friends. People avoided us."

Blood on dark grass flickers through Percy's mind. "Or killed you," he blurts out.

His mind shuts down at the words. He can't process what he's said, barely hearing the whrrr of his ceiling fan or the sound of his own breath. His skin floats away from him. Then pulls back solid when Nico says, "How did you know that?"

He swallows thickly. "Like I said. Weird dream."

"About my siblings being killed at camp?"

Nico viciously protecting Joel comes to mind and sticks in place. "No," he says after a beat. "Technically I think she committed murder-suicide."

"Which one?"

Percy hates that question. Sourness floods his tongue and he answers with a gritted, "I didn't get a name. She was fighting off other campers, trying to protect a couple other kids from getting hurt."

A sarcastic little laugh echoes through the receiver. "Yeah, that's happen more than once."

The sheets unwind from his numb fingertips. "Fuck."

"It's been over five thousand years, Percy," Nico says. "Things tend to repeat themselves a few times." Percy doesn't know what to say to that. "Why were you dreaming about one of my sisters anyway?"

"I don't know," he says. It's the truth. He has no idea. But he has theories. And he has fears. "She was just there."

Nico is quiet. The sound of his breathing is steady, and Percy hones in on it. He matches each inhale and exhale with his own breaths.

When Nico does speak again, he almost sounds far away. "That's odd." There's a creak and a thump, like feet hitting the tile. "Is that why you were talking to Clovis?"

No. "Yeah."

"Interesting." His voice is faint, before suddenly loud and fast. "Hey, I have to go."

Percy's stomach churns violently. "But-"

His words speed fast together as he says, "I have to go do something, I'll call you back later."

There's no dial tone, just a loud clattering that makes Percy's heart drop directly into his stomach. Clovis's sleepy voice eclipses to max volume in his head. And prophecies... I guess you wouldn't know until it happens.

A dozen thoughts blur through his mind as he hikes up the window to the fire escape outside his bedroom. He should tell his mom he's leaving, he should call Grover, he should call Annabeth, he should make someone check on Nico.

He gropes around the top of his dresser for a spare dog whistle then blows through it hard and sharp as he clambours out through the window, shirtless, shoeless, and panicking.

Mrs. O'Leary barks up at him from the dark alleyway. Shadows still cling to her dark fur. He doesn't even bother racing down the stairs. Just throws himself over the railing. Nico's name echoes in his head like a broken record as he falls. Soft fur grips tight in his hands. He doesn't feel the pain of landing, shadows swallowing them both before he can even recognize that he did.

It's strange to appear just a few feet away from a gaggle of kids threatening your cousin and the kid he's chosen to protect. Behind the group yelling words Percy can't hear under the roar of blood in his ears, there's a couple other kids - twins of Erebus - sneaking towards them.

They get close.

But they get caught.

Nico snaps forward and Percy's hitting the ground before he understands what's happening. It goes by so fast, he can barely remember his own actions. Everyone's still breathing. But banged up heavily, or unconscious. Joel is crying wheezy little tears while his aunts try to comfort him, and Nico...

Nico is gripped so tight in Percy's arms that Percy worries he might've broken something. He relaxes slow. Nico detaches. Mrs. O'Leary's hot breath huffs against the top of his head. Nico gives her a pat on the nose, not looking at Percy as he turns to Joel and checks in on him.

Percy's watching the slump of bruised campers before him. His blood feels too hot. Sweat drips down his back but his skin is too dry. He takes a step forward. A hand shoves against his chest and he gazes down at void eyes.

The world slams back into place.

He breathes.

"You are ocean water," Nico says very quietly. "Not blood and human viscera."

His mouth is dry. There's something inside him that wants. "Water is water."

"Not like that," Nico says. Percy swallows and steps back. Nico lowers his hand. Then turns to face Joel and the twins. His voice brightens up, feigned cheeriness, as he marches towards them. "Joel, do you want to go live with my brother's cult?"

Distantly Percy feels like he remembers Nico saying something about that once, but he can't remember what, so his mind draws question marks he doesn't ask as he twists on his heel. Nico crouches, speaking in a steady soft tone. The girls are holding each other's hands. They spare looks for the people who were scared of their nephew, and spare looks towards Percy. It's the same look.

They look away when Nico says something to them, vanishing hand-in-hand into shadows. Nico whistles and Mrs. O'Leary approaches with heavy steps. Joel hugs her leg. His ragged breaths are wheezed tired and weary into her fur. Nico keeps a steady hand on his back.

There is no murder-suicide this time. Instead the shadows swell and deposits the twins, with Mr. D and Chiron beside them. Nico cuts them off when Chiron tries to question him. He takes long way out with the girls on either side of him towards the Apollo cabin.

He doesn't follow the girls back into the woods with healers on their tail. Instead he opens the door to the Hades cabin and sits on a wooden chair. There's a buzz of white noise from a nearby noise machine. Otherwise everything is quiet. Nico's phone sits where it had been dropped to the ground minutes before.

His blood still feels too hot.

It feels like hours later when Nico walks in. However, the clock on the wall says it's only been twenty minutes. Joel is tucked up into his side. He goes down without a fight into Nico's bed. Lets himself be tucked in and drift off. Then Nico pulls another chair around and settles down in front of Percy, straddling the chair backwards. His arms cross over the top. His chin rests on folded wrists.

They watch each other. Then Nico moves to rest his cheek on his wrists instead. "You've been having those dreams for a while?"

Percy makes an affirmative noise.

"They haven't really been about my siblings, have they?"

He doesn't answer that. Instead, he says, "If people kept doing things like this, why didn't you guys make your own place?"

"We did," Nico says. "A few times actually. But no one liked that they didn't know what we were doing. So they made us come back to be hated and suffer." He snorts. "The old adage - keeps your friends close and enemies closer."

Percy doesn't laugh. "Why did she adopt him?"

Nico lifts his head. "Some things had happened when she found him. She took an interest and gave him her blessing."

"What things?"

Nico looks to the ceiling. "Things that help her fill her fridge with food to eat." His eyes flicker back down to Percy. "Only Chiron and Mr. D know the specifics. But Joel is fine." He glances over his shoulder. "He's a good kid. No one needs to be scared of him." He turns back to Percy. "Now answer my question."

Blood still too hot, Percy stares at a spot just above Nico's head. Then grits his teeth. "I don't like watching you die."

"I'm not scared of dying," Nico says. "None of us are. It's why it's always been so easy to take care of them. Take the dislike, take the insults, take the threats."

Percy stares at him. Then repeats, "I don't like watching you die."

Nico stares back. "You're not going to."

It's hard to believe that. So he leans forward, reaching out to grab the top of Nico's chair and pull it down until he can feel Nico's cool breath against his skin. "If I keep having those dreams, I'm gonna take a page from your dad's book and kidnap you."

Nico's lips twitch, but his voice stays even. "Then I guess you should keep in mind to make room in your dungeon because I'll be bringing a few people along." He lifts a hand and strokes a thumb down the side of Percy's face. "I heard your siblings were pretty protective too." His fingers slip away. Percy's skin yearns. "Something about how the ocean drowns what it loves and drowns what it hates."

That's not protection, Percy thinks. It's possession.

But he doesn't say that outloud.

Not yet.

He slowly lets the chair fall backwards until it lands stable on all four legs. He wants to deny Nico's statement about drowning. But he has - at least what he hates. Ahkyls, the mountain lion that tried to attack Grover, those kids. Only one success. But the want, the need...

"I should head home," he says slowly. It takes him a minute to process his words and stand up, heading for the door.

Nico makes a low noise and stands too. "Sweet dreams," he says once Percy has walked out into the night, still barefoot and shirtless.

Percy climbs onto Mrs. O'Leary's back. "I hope so."

[cryingatships]

Thinking about Kenta slowly settling into the X-Hunter family over the course of weeks and months, partly cause it's a foster home Tony's adopted kids, and partly because he's Kim's boyfriend.

Kenta visits Kim after a group practise just a few weeks after the events of canon and stands stiff next to the doors of the garage, not daring to step inside.

No one notices him (cause we all know how lax X-Hunter's security is lmfao) till the practise is finished and Kim is coming into the garage with the rest of the team to look at their performance reviews, and he notices Kenta standing all awkward and small and tiny.

He waves at Kenta, and it catches Alan's attention and of course he has to invite Kenta in (the man has a knack for picking up 'kids' at a moment's notice).

North tries to protest a little because hello this man literally tried to kill a few of us and sabotage our team in the worst possible way??? But Alan (and Kim's) glare shuts him up, and Kenta is invited inside graciously by Alan.

Kim perks up in his presence, but the rest of the people are still a little tense, especially Babe, Sonic, and Way (he's alive cause I said so. And he and Kenta has history, and not the good or the spice kind so!). They are not the most pleased, remembering the past, taking Kenta's actions as fatally dangerous but nothing personal, remembering how the circumstances made by Tony, and how Kenta went through weeks of therapy, and will be going to years more of it, all narrated by Kim during practise-breaks and team-meetings after he officially joined the team.

Jeff greets him with a smile, and Charlie nods in acknowledgement, having heard of Kenta from Jeff for years, though without any face to put the name onto before.

But they resume talking numbers and times with Alan and the technical team, and soon no one is paying any attention to Kenta as he shuffles himself into one of the couches in the corner, stooping down and trying to make himself look as small as he feels.

He hears words, but does not register anything, thinking about the warm smile of Alan, the man who's entire team he tried to destroy, the same team he has poured his life and savings into, according to Kim. He thinks about Way, who has faced Tony for years too, just like Kenta himself, but has betrayed Tony in the end and sided with people who care for him, who loves him, who surrounds him now and would surround him forever. And he thinks about the eyes of Babe, who, like him, has gone through it all with Tony, who pulled himself out, even if it's right at the end. Babe never bent himself back to Tony's will, never put a gun on anyone's head and killed them just because Tony asked him to, never did all the terrible things Kenta has done, even when everything went against him, even when Kenta tried to destroy his career and imprison him in Tony's mansion again. Even when he was at his lowest, he was still strong enough to stand in front of Tony and spit in his name. He thinks of Jeff, who smiled at him, who had run away too, and about Charlie, who almost died thanks to Kenta playing villain for Tony and yet stood up and challenged Tony anyway.

They have suffered so much over the years, as much as Kenta has gone through in Tony's hand, yet they have run away, made their lives in the world outside without fear, have stood in front of Tony and looked at his face and not flinched.

And now they have looked at Kenta, and have let him in, let him stay, even though Kenta does not deserve it in the least bit. Even though he has pulled dirty tricks, tried to kill them again and again. Yet they nod at him, and smile at him, and let Alan and Kim invite him in, even when he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve forgiveness, doesn't deserve love, doesn't deserve Kim's love and Jeff's smile and Alan's kindness, even when he's a traitor, even when he's dirtier and lower than anything else, even when-

"Hey, you ok?"

A hand rests on his back, warm against the fabric of his shirt. The familiar scent of coffee, lemon, mixed with engine exhaust and gasoline tickle his nose. It's a strange combination, potent and slightly stinging, but it feels like warmth, cuddles, and home, even when Kenta does not know what a home is.

Kim sits down next to him and pulls Kenta's face on his shoulder.

"You ok? Are the smells here too much? Wanna leave?"

Kim's voice is an anchor against the rough waves of guilt, shame, anger, regret. He's warm and real by Kenta's side, and his hand is soft and forgiving as it moves through Kenta's hair—now longer and falling on his shoulders after Kim telling him how hot it looks for days. He, at least, doesn't seem to hate Kenta in the garage, since he invited Kenta and all.

"Don't you have more to talk about cars?"

"Not really. Alan let me go today. Saw you shaking alone in a corner and all... thought I should ease you in your first visit here."

"Will that be ok? I'm being a bother here, aren't I? I'll leave-"

But Kim doesn't let him go. A wraps an arm tight around Kenta and holds him to his side. The hands on Kenta's hair become gentler, and Kim's calming pheromones slowly spread between them.

"Nah, it's all good. We weren't talking anything that imp. Plus, Alan's worried about you, y'know?"

Kenta can't fathom why Alan would ever be worried about him. Being concerned for Kim is understandable, Kim's a racer and a good one at that, he's an important new addition to the team. Forgiving Kenta and letting him come in the garage for the sake of keeping Kim satisfied was also understandable, even downright kind, but...

"Why?" Kenta has to ask. "I... did them a lot of wrong."

"You can ask Alan later, if you want." Kim shrugs. "He's like that, I guess. He picked me up too, in case you didn't notice." There's a smile in his voice. He seems comfortable, far more than Kenta had thought was possible in a team that used to be his competitors till a few weeks ago. He seems... at home.

Kenta's glad he has found his home.

"..."

He doesn't say something for a while. Talking to Alan personally, asking him something like that? Kenta can't even imagine it. Tony would never allow someone to walk away without a punishment after trying to harm him in the littlest bit. And Kenta has done so, so much more to Alan and his team.

"Is this making you uncomfortable?" Kim asks after a minute of silence. "I swear Alan likes you, and the guys have all forgiven you too. Mostly, anyway. North's always a bit impulsive, but he's coming around too, so don't feel bad."

Kenta feels bad. He feels so bad. Worse now that he knows he's received so much forgiveness, and all of it undeserved too. Why would someone even do that, forgive people who brought them harm?

Kim notices his silence. And perhaps he takes it for discomfort, for he asks if Kenta is tired, if he wants to go home.

Home. Is that what he and Kim are making together?

He does want to leave, get away from the inquiring, sometimes concerned eyes. Get away from the forgiveness that burns shame and guilt into his skin.

He wants to go home, bury himself in the piles of blankets on his and Kim's bed, breathe in lungfuls of his scent and drown in his kisses. But...

"Didn't you say you had to go for a team dinner after practise?"

"Right! About that... Alan's actually asked me to tell you to join us, if you'd like to. But if you want to go home now, then we can leave, let me just tell them goodbye."

And Kenta really, really does to go home. But he also wants to stay. He doesn't want Kim to miss a dinner with his still-new team, not when he wants to stay with the X-Hunters for many seasons still.

And... he wants to stay, too. Check if Alan's really ok with him going, if the rest of the team will still be civil in closer proximity.

He wants to see how far kindness and forgiveness can go.

It will be uncomfortable. Enduring prying gazes for a few more hours, and maybe even awkward small talks as they try to shift around and bend the established pack dynamics to let Kenta, coward, traitor Kenta, come into their circle even if it's only for one dinner.

And then again, Kenta may just fuck it all up with ill timed words, or perhaps someone from the team, maybe North, or Way or Babe or Charlie or Sonic, or perhaps even Alan, kind as he is, realizes they've had enough of tolerating a weak, pathetic excuse of a person in their table.

But he wants to be brave, even if it's years late.

Kim deserves a pack. Kim loves him, and Kenta loves him just as much. He's not going to take it all away form Kim just because he's afraid, just because of 'what ifs'.

"No, I'll go for dinner with you. Tell Alan that, please, if they'll still have me."

Kim presses a kiss on his forehead, takes a long inhale of Kenta's scent, and gets up.

"Be right back, then!"

Kenta watches him walk towards the small circle of people gathered around the screens with blinking numbers of red.

He doesn't know what will happen, but he wants to try. He wants to brave. He wants a home. For Kim. And for himself.

[lupiinist]

i was almost falling asleep, it's 2 am and i need to wake up at 7, but this like, just took my brain's place and i wouldn't have known peace if i didn't write it

[spirk-trek]

so it happened again... another fic idea possessed me and i can't write it yet because i STILL don't have a laptop, but does anyone want to freak out about it with me anyway??? here's what the bio might be if i ever actually get to write it:

A young survivor of the Tarsus IV Massacre finds the katra of a Vulcan boy who failed his kahs-wahn. Together, will they survive being put back together?

i have everything in a convenient google doc so you can make comments if you wanted to! i would even love to collab with someone on it if it spoke to the right person :') idk :')

[augacity]

lots of good posts on this here webbed site about rotating your blorbos as you fall asleep, spinning out the next chapter of your fic and so on.

well!! i am here to rep those of us who absolutely, posiTIVELY should not be allowed within microwaving radius of blorbos after bedtime, lest the Visions and general impulse towards Solving The Plot impinge on any and all manner of Sleep.

signed, most sincerely, a tormented fic writer

[v0idspeak]

(Hey, this thought came to me at 4am when I woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat. The nightmares were unrelated, but it would've been very funny if they weren't.)

(The thought in question is... idk, an idea for a TMA fanfic I guess. It's not really polished or anything, and it's a bit longer than I was anticipating (it's around 1.5k words I think), but here goes. Spoilers for TMA up to... end of s4 I think.)

(CW for blood/gore, unlawful imprisonment, eye trauma, horror, possession, mention of pica, and probably other stuff I forgor)

Jon, strangely, was not all that surprised when he heard the screaming start. It was common, in a place such as this. He had not expected the man in the neighbouring cell to be the one screaming - usually, he was fairly quiet, his silver eyes watching as the other half-people in the... laboratory, or containment unit, or whatever this was slowly succumbed to forces most could not wrap their heads around.

He had explained his own understanding of the situation with cold detachment: not a single one of the people in cells were actually people. Most had never been; some had recently Changed. The ones roaming the halls were a... more complex bunch.

Most were human, strictly speaking, he said. A few were not in any sense of the word, save a thin mask worn over something else. Jon was slowly beginning to understand how his neighbour recognized the latter. It was something in their eyes, he thought, when the subjects-prisoners-whatever were afraid of what they were becoming.

It was a sort of glee. It was a glee the silver-eyed man shared, at that.

Jon wasn't sure why the man was in the cell next to him. He knew why he was, of course. Most did not speak through old tape recorders. Most did not pull mangled thoughts and push them into speakers. Most did not have quite so many eyes as he had, though those had only appeared a few months ago, not long after his previous neighbour had to leave. (It was a shame, too; that man had been the quiet sort, which was peaceful, if thoroughly uninformative.)

His new neighbour, though? He sounded human. He looked human, apart from his eyes. He acted human, if a little cold and detached and analytical. He sounded like a right prick, but a brilliant one, in a thoroughly uncomfortable way. Jon rather thought he belonged on the other side of the glass - or, in the case of that cell, of the bars.

(Jon could not break the glass, and, it seemed, his abilities did not affect people who did not breathe the same air as he did, or perhaps did not see him directly, with nothing reflecting or refracting him. The ones beyond the glass likely knew better than even he did, which only served to make him even more curious.)

So when the screaming began, he first looked across his unit. It took him far too long to realize that he recognized the voice, that it did not come from the distended wolf-thing, or the sentient-and-sapient door, or the man whose tattoos blinked at him as though they were real eyes, but rather from the prim and proper gentleman, the one who never yelled, even as his comments reduced and ridiculed everyone who dared to try and do the same to him, often in ways that left others oddly uncomfortable, so specific they seemed.

When he did, though, he tried to see what was happening through the lightly textured glass. The image wasn't overly distorted, the glass barely frosted at all, but he still wasn't sure what was happening to cause so much crimson to flow from the man's head.

Jon quickly moved to the back of his unit. There was a small button there, to be pressed for emergencies only. It didn't do anything, but perhaps it would make someone look through the facility's dozens of cameras.

Luckily, it worked, but not before the man had crumpled to the ground, blood oozing across the floor. The screaming, which had been agitating everyone, Jon including, had eventually stopped.

Two people - human, Jon thought, people he recognized as some of the interviewers he'd seen before - rushed into the wing with a stretcher. The first walked into the cell, which had likely been remotely unlocked, and assessed the situation, relaying instructions to the second.

The other one tried to lower the stretcher, Jon thought, but something went wrong. It was, evidently, malfunctioning. The faint chill in the air suggested that the malfunction was likely a specific brand of supernatural, though he couldn't be quite certain which; he had so very little information to go off of in the first place.

The first made an odd sound as the second complained, obviously annoyed. Jon approached the glass, but the side panels' frosting was stronger than the outwards-facing one, and, as such, he couldn't do much at all.

"I think something's wrong," he said through whatever he could access: his tape recorder-player, which did not have very good speakers; the speaker that sat right under the door-facing camera, which was very close to his own cell, as he was nestled in the corner; and what he hoped was the earpieces of both workers.

It was exhausting, reaching beyond the glass, but he really did think something was wrong, and the way the wolf-thing was growling and biting at the thick bars of its cage told him he was likely right.

The first worker didn't seem to react; the second hissed a short string of expletives and pulled the earpiece out. He made a quick series of signs to the camera - channel two dead, if Jon's interpretation of their not-so-secret codes was right - and put it back in. When Jon tried to tell him "I think your colleague is in trouble," he could no longer reach the speaker nor the earpiece, and the tape recorder, its sound muffled through the glass, was easy enough to ignore.

Finally, the first stirred. Maybe he was alright after all, Jon thought, at least until he noticed that he was frantically wiping at something red on his face.

It wasn't that Jon liked being in here. In actuality, he thought his incarceration unfair - he was inhuman, yes, but he wasn't in the business of hurting people. He wasn't a monster. That also meant he felt some sympathy for others, and it was that sympathy (and perhaps some baseless optimism, which had always been very uncharacteristic for him, but fear did odd things to him, sometimes) that hoped that maybe, just maybe, the ones in charge of this facility would see how he was helping and consider treating him like a person, which he probably was. Maybe.

The fact that he hadn't eaten much at all since he'd arrived, nearly two years ago, was an argument against that, but, as his neighbour would say with what Jon interpreted as a smile, did humanity really entail eating steak and salad and nuts? Perhaps the fact that his neighbour did, in fact, receive and eat normal food on a regular basis had lessened his arguments to some extent, though. Feeling human without so much as being allowed tea and chips and anything edible, really, and it was made even worse when Jon suddenly remembered that the last thing he had eaten - out of distraction, mind you - was five or six pages from a book of all things. It did not taste particularly good.

Regardless, Jon did not think the red was normal. The worker did not scream, but the streaks were too reminiscent of those on the now-probably-corpse for him to think otherwise. Thus, Jon screamed for him.

Well, he couldn't exactly scream, per se, as his throat hadn't allowed such things in a long, long time, but he pulled from every memory of every screech he'd heard, every sound that haunted his very, very vivid nightmares, and pushed them outwards as hard as he could. He was fairly certain the first worker's earpiece received the noise, as its owner flinched violently.

The second only jumped a little and looked disapprovingly at Jon. "Subject, please remain quiet as we deal with the situation," Jon barely heard him say.

"Something is wrong," Jon yelled through the recorder and anything else that would let him speak. He banged his fist on the glass, which seemed to cause a wave of activity from the other sort-of-people around him, and pointed to the first, whose face looked drastically less bloody, now.

Another string of expletives, and the second was checking on the first. Jon had rather thought there would have been protocols for something like this: don't interact with someone who's been in a cell, so on, but, clearly, this employee was either too new or too complacent (or both), as he helped his colleague to his feet.

A few minutes later, the corpse - Jon knew it was a corpse, now, as it had been wrapped in a black, zip-up bag - had been wheeled out, but not before the first employee winked at Jon, which was, he thought, very unusual and should warrant... something, surely.

He only realized what the wink had meant when he saw what had been left on the floor, in that puddle of now-coagulating blood.

Those were eyeballs, optic nerve still attached. It took a lot of staring, and some dry heaving, which Jon could really have done without, before he noticed why his mind had thought they were more wrong than they appeared, if that was even possible.

The discarded eyes were a deep, rich brown.

The employee's, a cold, crisp silver.

[kindlythevoid]

For anyone following me for Rewind updates, especially those who are worried about the lack of a chapter today:

You are correct, I am late. Complications arose (I forgot I was supposed to post it today and now I’m too tired to do another read-through to post) but fret not, as I will post it as soon as I am able (tomorrow, after I sleep and edit and write up my notoriously long author’s notes :) <3).

I thank you for your patience and will be posting with the update as soon as it is made available. :)

[meownotgood]

Can I ask what your ✨Aki journey✨ was like? I’m a Aki girlie but you clearly love Aki more than any blog I’ve ever seen (purrr) When did you start becoming interested in him? Was it an aHA moment or did it develop over time? I’m really curious!!! What inspired you to start this blog? I live, laugh, love backstories 🫶🏾❤️‍🔥

YES I would be so happy to answer this!!!!!!!

so before I read chainsaw man, I knew next to nothing about it, I wasn't really a manga reader in general to be honest but I started getting into it because I wanted to get caught up with jujutsu kaisen after finishing the anime. when I did, I really enjoyed jjk, I wanted to read more manga and a friend suggested I read chainsaw man because it's similar. I was like okay... a lot of people are into it... it looks cool... why not.

and when I started reading and I got to that third chapter and I saw aki... I literally said to myself: yeah, he is going to be my favorite. because he's exactly my type — the suit, the hair tied up so it's long and pretty when he takes it down, the SMOKING??? THE PIERCINGS????? I thought his hair was silly but adorable, his personality was stern but quirky and likable, his kon power was so cool. he was just so cute and hot and definitely my type of character.

but really, even though aki was always my favorite character from the start, my obsession truly began when I finished the manga. aki's arc is just so good... I fell in love with him the whole way through but especially after the manga was over... I loved watching him grow as a character, he just feels so real and relatable personality wise and story wise. he's immensely flawed but kindhearted to his core. he's so human. I love how he's emotional and soft and the conclusion to his arc is genuinely my favorite thing in any piece of media ever, it's so bittersweet and compelling. (and I'm a mess for that bittersweet shit okay)

anyway after I read chainsaw man for the first time I was feeling a mix of emotions between "wow that was the greatest thing ever" and "what the fuck did I just read" but more than anything I yearned for more aki, and so I read it a second time almost immediately after, and then the aki brain infection just grew worse and worse.... was screenshotting every panel of him... I read it a third time... a fourth time in the colored version to collect more panels......... I started my blog over a year ago to post fanfic and rant about aki and the rest is history

[fearandhatred]

C by fearandhatred (6k words, 1/1 chapters)

Crowley's time with Jesus dredges up an old wooden box of memories 3000 years past—a flood, a reckoning, and lives lost. And in the box are two other things, one of which is a braided lock of her own hair, straw-like from dried-up rainwater, and hacked off violently and unevenly at the edges.

*don cheadle voice* boom, you looking for this?

it is finally here... the mesopotamia–golgotha fic! this is intended as a sequel to my golgotha fic, via dolorosa. also if you see the very tiny stitches of colour on his clothes and on the C in this drawing... they're surprise tools that will help us later :)

please go check out the wonderful art my beloved @knifeforkspooncup made for me!! i have probably racked up five hours of screen time just looking at it if we're being honest here. thank you loml <3

also this idea came my way because of this post and the lovely (life ruining) additions by @idliketobeatree and @eybefioro. this fic is for u two <3 (i also eventually realised that my original post was factually incorrect but hey it birthed this fic so! happy accidents!)

[fareehaandspaniards]

Me and Jara came to a conclusion, that unlike yall are describing, Micolash is absolutely clean, tidy, neat and is not disgusting (Edgar, we all know you just are tsundere, stop pretending you don't like Micolash)

I mean look at the Mensis trio. They all have perfectly shaved faces. I am sure Edgar wake up in a fcking Nighmare and checks his hairstyle and etc, but Micolash is clearly washed and shaved by Damian.

(If developers would want us to see a scholar who is too busy with Awooo to do bother with hygiene shit, Micolash would have at least stubble or maybe even long beard)

Yes, this is now my strong headcanon xD

[blizzardfluffykpop]

you will never believe how much tbz has taken over my world- I am actively finishing a new Hyungwon X Reader work- and my brain keeps going 'hehe younghoon' ... like babe- are we not working rn?...

[frogsmulder]

Soft

about 250 words; rated m; tagging @today-in-fic​

His cheek is pressed against the cushion of her breast, soft and relaxed, tempered and home. His breath brushes against her nipple peaking roughly through the lace of her lingerie. It’s still vaguely wet from where he had sucked it into his mouth earlier, playing her with the dexterity of a maestro; the familiar ache remains but now, rather than arousing, it is comforting. His breath is steady and calm: a peace rarely found in their professional lives. Yet behind closed doors, they have drawn closer and content in their companionship. She gazes down at his head: the soft flops of his hair laying over his forehead blocks his eyes from her view, but she knows they are closed, teetering in between the sleeping and the waking in the weaves of bliss. He is only ever this calm with her this close. She doesn’t mind; he is a soothing balm for her troubled spirit too. But behind closed doors, their disquiet blurs at the edges; they feast themselves on each other's love; their souls entwine in playful laughter and gentle affection. So now, he lies with his cheek against her breast, vulnerable and curled protectively into her side. Gazing up at the ceiling, she feels the weight of his body rise and fall against hers with every breath. Her body follows his rhythm, always in sync. She breathes deeply; it’s the sweet aroma of home.