#none of it was the projects i prefer to do so i kind of decided to pretend i didn’t see it

[fingertipsmp3]

Going for a run when I don’t want to makes me feel like the most productive person alive idk

[lisafrnkenstein]

Steve’s favorite color is yellow.

He’s given a lot of thought to his favorite color. It’s one of those things people always ask, from your very first interactions on the playground. When he was a child, it was easy; blue, because that was the normal color for boys.

When he got a little older, “normal” was no longer good enough. Tommy H told him that “normal” was boring, and didn’t stand out. If he wanted to become a Popular kid, he needed to stand out as much as he could.

Steve wanted to stand out. He wanted people to look at him, so that his parents might see how popular he was, and realize he was someone worth paying attention to.

“You need a strong favorite color.” Tommy had told him.

In middle school, Steve decided his favorite color was red. Red caught people’s eyes, red felt powerful, red got Tommy’s approval.

But his favorite color being red did not make his parents look at him, even as he graduated and moved on to high school with a buzzing reputation and all the popularity he could have dreamed of.

In high school, Steve’s parents stopped coming around. Their vacations and business trips took longer and longer, and eventually, they stopped coming home altogether. 

And the thing was, he didn’t really care all that much about the color red. When he lost the title of King, when he stopped caring about being popular, when he hated who he had been and couldn’t figure out who he wanted to be, and gave up any hope of his parents ever giving him any kind of positive attention, Steve‘s favorite color stopped being red.

He never did learn how to stop masking, though. Favorite colors, favorite movies, music preferences, they all tie into those masks, into the person you present to the world. A little adrift, Steve lost sight of any person he wanted to be, and all those things he maintained for the sake of a mask started to slip away.

“I’m worried I might not be a real person in here underneath it all,” He had told Robin once in the middle of a drive, spiraling about the void he encountered when he tried to dredge up any of his own opinions. “I feel like if no one is telling me what to do or like, or I’m not trying to meet their expectations, then I don’t know anything about myself.”

And she had calmed him down in her own awkward way, patting his shoulder like she was afraid the touch would tip him over the edge, smile a bit manic because she had no idea what to do when the driver of the car was currently bawling like a baby (her words, and a little exaggerated at that, he was tearing up at best.)

He had eventually pulled over, and she had stared him down, and rattled off a bunch of personal questions. He could find answers for none of them.

“So find them.” She’d said. “Find the things you like, what makes you happy. Don’t listen to anyone else about it, don’t think about what they want. Maybe start simple? Like your favorite color.”

So he’d tried. He’d thought, maybe it was red after all? The color of Max’s hair. Or maybe blue, because it made him think of Dustin’s ridiculous hat. Maybe green, because it was the color of spring and new things, or maybe pink, because it was pretty.

He felt lost in a sea of choices, all surrounding the one, simple, basic, childhood question most children have an answer to by the time they go to school.

Then in walked Eddie Munson.

Eddie changed a lot about his life. He hadn’t expected him to, had sort of expected him to be a blip in his radar; but Eddie is incapable of existing in the peripherals. He sauntered in with the electrifying energy of a leading man on stage, even as he cowered in a boat shed scared out of his mind, and Steve had been unable to look away.

If Robin had asked him about things he liked in the months that followed, he would have been able to confidently say Eddie Munson was among them, and wasn't that a kicker?

It was just that, Eddie was capable of walking into a room and immediately projecting every single thing about himself and what he liked into the space. You couldn’t get away from the impression of exactly who Eddie was just by the very nature of his existence.

Steve wished he were like that.

Wished he could be so self confident that he could decide what he liked without a care for what others think or how they judge him, wished he could wear it as proudly as Eddie did the patches on his vest.

(The same vest Steve still hadn’t returned.)

But he hadn’t just stolen the vest; it had been somewhat of a trade off. He had thrown his sweater at Eddie’s head shortly before diving to the depths of Lover’s Lake, only for it to never be seen again. Part of him had assumed it had just gotten swallowed up when the gate had ruptured through Hawkins.

Then Eddie had walked through the doors of the Family Video, big, dark eyes all wide and his hair piled up on his head, wearing the bright yellow of Steve’s sweater.

Steve had short circuited. Upon reboot, his first thought was, for some reason, It’s yellow. My favorite color is yellow. Yellow yellow yeLLOW YELLOW!

The second was, I like him wearing my things.

The third was, Oh. I like Eddie.

So at age twenty, Steve Harrington knows two whole things about himself: he likes Eddie Munson, and his favorite color is yellow.

[seonghwaddict]

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 003 ] rock paper scissors.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au. chapter warnings. none, it's a cute chapter. word count. 2.3k

　　　　　　　　chapter ii // chapter iii // chapter iv

Surprisingly, you and Wooyoung agreed on most things when it came to compiling plausible ideas for the project. You worked together for an hour before he told you he had to go somewhere with Seonghwa and one of the guys you hadn’t met yet—Yunho?—in half an hour, to which you nodded as you continued writing down some notes.

Seonghwa joined the two of you at some point, coming down the stairs with his laptop so he could work alongside you, muttering something along the lines of “Hongjoong is working on something and I can’t concentrate” as he sighed. Though it didn’t take very long for him to retreat back to his room with a yawn having finished whatever paper her had to write.

Over the hour that you and Wooyoung worked together, he had scooted himself closer and closer to you until your knees were brushing against each other (but you didn’t mind, all this talking had made you reasonably more comfortable around him). At times he got up to demonstrate some poses he thought would look nice as you drew rough, blocky sketches of said poses. You showed him some of your own sketches, letting him choose what kind of style would fit.

At this proximity, it was very hard for Wooyoung to concentrate for longer periods of time. The perfume you wore had a divine smell that he couldn’t quite place, but if he had to he’d describe it as vanilla, a hint of something sweeter folded between. Every time he got a whiff of it, he had to stop himself from chasing the sweet smell. He also didn’t miss the way the beating of your heart sped up very slightly as he leaned over you to grab the pencil by your side, a fact that brought a smug smile to his face.

Since the final event for this project would be an exhibition in the gym, you both thought it would make sense to either do one big artwork or multiple smaller artworks to fill out the space dedicated to you. This was one of the things you couldn’t agree on.

“But wouldn’t it be so cool if you could do, like, a few sculptures and a few paintings of me?” He pouted.

“Wooyoung,” you pinched your nose bridge, “did you forget that I would have to be the one to actually make everything?”

“Well, no. But since we have like, 3 months to work on this I thought that would be more than enough time.”

“I have more—and better—things to do than paint and sculpt you.” You reasoned. “As the person that will be working endlessly on the actual artwork, I’d much prefer to do one big, impressive painting.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes before staring you dead in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

There was a change in his voice so subtle you wouldn’t be able to place it. Even his voice seemed sharper and it sent a chill down your spine. He squinted at you as you hesitated to answer and suddenly seemed so much closer than he actually was.

You blinked and looked away from him, and he was pleased to see the tips of your ears dusted a rosy shade. “Yes, I’m completely sure I’d rather do one larger painting.”

And that is how you and Wooyoung found yourselves in what may be the most intense game of Rock Paper Scissors. He decided the first to three points would get to choose, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to reach two points. After that, you kept tying and at some point, you both stood up, dramatically turning around every time you had to show your weapon. But you continued choosing the same things and each time he’d throw himself on the couch, yelling before standing back up.

After a few more rounds, you finally got a winner.

Up in the bedroom he shared with Wooyoung, Yeosang could not fall asleep. Out of all eight of the men that lived in this house, he had the most sensitive hearing. So when his best friend’s car pulled up to his house and he first heard that familiar voice accusing them of being part of the mafia, one could only imagine the surprise he felt. The two of you had run into each other a few times and eventually, he noticed he was looking for you when he went to certain places.

The first was at a café he worked at five days a week. Of course, he didn’t really need the money, but he enjoyed the atmosphere. Dim lighting, music playing softly so as to not disturb the customers, potted plants anywhere you looked. On one of the days he was working, you came in with who he assumed was your friend, talking animatedly to the girl next to you.

He didn’t notice you until you came up to the counter to order, immediately endeared by your polite smile. Your friend was seated on one of the tables by the window that looked out onto the street. He took your order: One americano, one iced latte with triple sugar, and two eclairs. 

“Name?”

You gave him your name and a small smile made its way to his face as he scribbled your name on the cups. You paid and with a nod, he asked you to wait by the pick-up counter. You watched him idly, rocking on your heels as you waited. The song caught your attention and you tried to memorise at least one phrase so you could find it later.

It didn’t take too long for both of the drinks to be made and he quickly fsíshed two eclairs out and carefully placed them into a white paper bag before handing everything to you, catching you as you took a sip of the iced latte and added in one more sugar packet. Before you left, you stopped him from turning around, a gentle ‘Excuse me?’ leaving your plump limps

“Yeah?”

“This song is nice, what’s it called?”

“Oh! Uh,” he pretended to think for a bit, but really this was his playlist and he knew every single song from the top of his head. “it’s Reflections by The Neighbourhood”

“Thank you,” your eyes flickered to the small name tag clipped to his apron. “Yeosang.”

The second time he saw you was in a quaint little bookshop. It was pretty much across the street from his café, so Jongho texted him to see if he could go a get a book for him when his shift was over. Of course, Yeosang wouldn’t decline his request so, true to his word, as soon as his shift was over at 7:30 in the afternoon, he made his way to the bookshop.

As the door opened, the kindle of a small bell signalled the arrival of a new customer. You were seated at the cashier, leaning your head on one of your hands while the other held your favourite mechanical pencil, drawing small sketches in your worn sketchbook, nodding your head to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. He recognised you immediately but decided to focus on finding the book Jongho needed.

With his phone in his hand, he looked between the title Jongho had sent him and the books on each and every bookshelf. Yet, he couldn’t find it. Deciding he should just ask you, he mustered up the courage and made his way to the front of the store, hesitating before calling out to you.

“Excuse me, um… Y/N?”

You were startled, but looked up at him and as recognition flashed through your eyes, smiled and took off your headphones. Unlike the last time you saw him, his hair was longer and he dyed it blond, but you still recognised him. You tried not to get distracted by how well this new look suited him. “Ah, Yeosang, right? How can I help you?”

He explained his situation and gave you the name of the book when you asked. You hummed and told him to follow you, walking to a section he swore he already looked in, missing the way he looked positively delighted by the fact you remembered his name. After you told him you wouldn’t be able to reach it, you told him exactly where the book should be and, lo and behold, there it was.

The next times he saw you (yes, multiple times), was somewhere he frequented almost as often as his workplace; the skatepark. You usually showed up with three of your friends and watched them skate around as you sat at a picnic bench. One time, in particular, he remembered you showing up in an outfit that nearly drove him insane. 

It was different from what he usually saw you wearing, oversized and cosy, covering up nearly all your skin. But this time, while you wore an oversized knitted white sweater, you also decided to wear and black miniskirt. Thigh-high black socks hugged your legs and fitted especially snugly around your thick thighs. If he denied the fact that he thought of about a hundred different inappropriate things in the span of a second, he’d be the biggest liar to have walked the earth.

You sat at your usual spot, watching with a fond smile as your friends bickered and skated around, that usual sketchbook opened in front of you as you drew. After twenty long minutes of skating to get his mind off you (and failing), Yeosang decided to take a seat next to you.

“You draw a lot.” He nearly smacked himself for not coming up with something better to say. But luckily, you seemed amused, letting out a small chuckle.

“I’m an art major, I kinda have to.”

And from there you conversed for another hour about whatever came to mind until your friends called you over so you could go grab dinner together. You offered Yeosang to join you, but the biology major needed to get home since he had early classes the next day.

He sighed once more, throwing the blanket off him as he got up and pulled a random sweater over his head.

“No!” You practically cried out and fell to the ground in defeat, Wooyoung cheered and jumped around the living room in utter glee. “I want a rematch!”

“In your dreams!”

“What’s going on?” A deep voice interrupted Wooyoung’s cheering (and your mourning). His eyes found yours very quickly, offering you a smile. “Oh, hey.”

“Hello!” You got up from the floor and gave him a small bow, brushing the fabric of your sweatpants despite them not being dirty.

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed as he looked between you and the blond in confusion. “You know each other?”

After explaining how you two knew each other, you had to leave. Wooyoung had to go wherever it was he need to go soon and you were getting pretty tired. After wishing them a good night and exchanging numbers with Wooyoung, you stepped out of the house, bag hanging from your shoulder as you made your way to the front gate.

That’s when you realised you didn’t have a way of getting home and didn’t know where the nearest bus stop was either. Shortly after you stepped out, both Wooyoung and Yeosang came to the same conclusion. So, while Wooyoung had to go wake up Seonghwa and get Yunho, Yeosang rushed out of the house and took his car.

“Need a ride?” He pulled up next to you, his usual smile making the apples of his cheeks look extra squishy.

You let out a sigh of relief, nodding and getting in the passenger’s seat.

The drive to the apartment complex you lived at took nearly half an hour. For the first ten minutes of the ride, you and Yeosang caught up and whatever had happened between the last time you’d seen each other and now. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it was quite obvious you already developed a small liking for the man next to you.

After those first ten minutes, you fell asleep with your head leaning against the window on your side. Yeosang could tell how tired you were and didn’t blame you at all. Spending so much time with Wooyoung can either be energising or exhausting, there was no in-between. So, he let you rest, head turning to make sure you were alright every now and then.

The steady beating of your heart grounded him, calming his senses and he was sure that as soon as he got back home, he’d be able to sleep without any difficulty.

As soon as you stepped through your front door, your housemate greeted you from the couch. “Hey, where were you?”

“I had to work on a new art project with a partner,” You yawned, making your way to the kitchen and grabbing a cup of water.

“Oh, how exciting,” Sangmi laughed, knowing you preferred working on your own. “Who’s your partner?”

Swallowing the big gulp of water you took, you answered, “Jung Wooyoung.”

Her deep brown eyes practically bulged from her eye sockets. She immediately demanded every detail. Sangmi always had a sort of admiration for Wooyoung, but an admiration that was less like a crush and more akin to respect.

She was also a dance major and often told you about how hard he worked during dance practice, describing the way he moved like art in and of itself. You had yet to see what she meant, but her words still set a high standard.

After telling her everything, you excused yourself and got ready for bed, changing into comfortable shorts and a white tank top. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light with no hope of waking up any time soon.

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] and so you have found out who she likes :> sorry this update was a bit late, i kinda forgot to finish writing. but here it is! i love blond yeosang so much it's actually insane.

　　ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ taglist ... @atinytinaa @marievllr-abg @legohwas @moonsangie @kiss-hwa @cqndiedcherries @ateezourstars @kitty4hwa @hyukssunflower @aestheticsluut @neohyxn @mrowwww  @darkdayelixer @itsokaytobedumb00 @hwa-sans @purplelady85 @meginthebuilding27 @stopeatread @mothworked @foliea @euphoric-emily16 @teezers99 @mulletjoonsupremacy @imalildelulu @sunukissed @blehhhidk @ad0rechuu @d1am0ndw0lfxd @strawberry-moonpies @bluehwale-main @lightinythedark @stupefystudies @yandere-stories @skz-enthusiasttt @seongwin @huachengsbestie01 @galaxypox @seongwin @yuyunhoo @kyukyustar @seongfury

　　NEVER SAY NEVER　©　seonghwaddict, 2023

[hello-gloomy]

'What was your nen again?'

____________________

Phantom troupe x Gen!reader

Description: The troupe finally had some free time so you decided to meet up with them again, you happen to bring up something none of them mentioned to you which brings up a question.

Warnings: Crack taken seriously. I don't think there's any use of Y/N aside from that pretty tame some of them might be OOC it's my first time writing for so many characters.

A/N: Just something short (Maybe) to tide us all over till the first two polls are done or till I finish my other WIPs. (I should be doing work rn but I'm not.) :^

_____________________

"You need to work on your sleeping habits."

"...What..?"

"You didn't go to sleep till 2 yesterday." Shalnark looked mildly unnerved at your claims, which made you feel slightly bad for the unconscious snooping you do through everyone's memories. But you couldn't help but bring it up, how is he supposed to commit crimes on three hours of sleep all the time. Bound to make mistakes like that.

"I never told you that..." This gains the attention of Pakunoda who happens to be close by she gets up from where she was sitting in the large dining hall you and the group were staying at for their temporary break.

"Told them what?"

"What time he went to sleep." Her brows furrowed for a second while she glanced at a shocked Shalnark.

"Lucky guess?" She pondered out loud, He grimaced at that while you giggled at his facial expression.

"I peeked at his memories."

"Brother eugh." You full-on belly laughed at that attracting some more of the others to get closer.

"What's going on now?"

"Shal didn't go to sleep till two."

"Explains eyebag."

"I DO NOT HAVE EYEBAGS."

Feitan moved closer to your left side while Shalnark opened up the camera on his phone to look at his eyes to prove his point.

"How see memory?"

"With my Nen." Everyone stopped and looked at you.

"You have Nen?"

"Mmm...Yeah..?"

"So your Nen is similar to mine then?"

"Kind of, just without the gun. I could project other people's memories too."

"Show Shalnark memory."

"Do not."

With that, you summon your nen and a small eyeglass appears you scope out an open wall and find one large enough by Uvo and Nobunaga. You motion for the others to follow behind you while Shalnark whines for you not to embarrass him. Walking past the other pair they take notice and ask Paku what's happening she gives a brief explanation. You engage Gyo and through your eye, you show the memory of Shalnark on his computer and after a bit of fast forwarding through the memory, you show him passed out at the desk. The projection comes to an end and you turn around to find Machi and Korotopi have joined you as well. Pakunoda turns to Shalnark to scold him first.

"they're right you do need to work on your sleeping habits." She held her hand on the side of her face. Shalnark turned a bit pink at her remark while Uvo and Nobunaga started laughing at him.

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were the two of you considering how reckless you were being last week." They stopped immediately, and Machi's eyes were practically excited, begging you to show their embarrassing moments. You let out a quiet huff and turned around to project another moment. Showing the two men almost getting blown up on the task Chrollo had previously sent them on.

"Nice job."

"Shut up Machi!"

"Why don't you show one of her embarrassing moments!!"

"And get strung up hard pass. I like living unlike you two obviously." That had everyone laughing again. Chrollo had magically materialized and joined the theatrics of the group you had all made now.

"How far back can you go with individual memories?"

"From the instant their brain forms." "But I usually don't snoop back that far without explicit permission."

"If you'd prefer I can show memories from when you were younger?" You hold eye contact with Chrollo while the rest watch on. You get a bit nervous and start to doubt the previous forwardness you had getting ready to retract your question, Chrollo interrupts yours and everyone's thoughts.

"Just don't go back too far."

Carefully you picked a memory that you found lovely, one between The boss and Pakunoda. Everyone hushed when the light from your eye displayed upon the wall, you all heard the tune before you saw anyone, piles upon piles of trash a few giggles in between notes of the crackling song and soon enough two small figures came into view a young Chrollo and Paku holding hands arms enveloped around the waist of the other. They were beaming at one another you let it play a bit longer before it cut out. Turning around everyone was looking between Paku and Dancho. Pakunoda wiped her eyes before she looked over to a smiling Chrollo.

"That was a good choice."

[keikeu]

stuck by the glue :: hirota riki

pairing :: nonidol! hirota riki x gn! reader

genre :: childhood friends to lovers, fluff

warnings :: none

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ever since you and maki were born, the two of you had been inseparable. your parents were best friends, so undeniably the two of you were best friends too. you grew up in the same town, in the same neighborhood, lived close to each other, and were even playmates.

then, the two of you started school together. you were always in the same class and got to spend every day with each other. there was never a dull moment between the two of you. you helped each other study, went to school activities together, and always cheered for one another. and although you had other friends, at the end of the day, you two always went to each other.

some people questioned how the two of you had met. you were quite the opposites at first glance, maki was a bright and enthusiastic boy who made friends with almost everyone and had little to no trouble talking with others, meanwhile, you were more quiet and awkward, preferring to stay with a smaller group of friends or in your bubble. your opposite characteristics completed each other well though, which ultimately brought you two together and made you close.

another thing people questioned was whether the two were dating. it seemed like a normal question and you heard it often. you couldn't really blame them, sometimes you might have done things that made others perceive you as a couple. and you two always denied it, explaining that you were just close friends, but sometimes you wished you didn't have to answer like that.

not liking maki was impossible. he was kind and friendly, always took care of you, made you laugh, and made you happy. he was affectionate and cute, hardworking and talented. he gave you his attention and always reminded you how much he appreciated you, so what wasn't there to love about him? and so eventually, your platonic feelings turned romantic.

you never really told him, just like it always happens between two people who are friends and one likes the other, you didn't want to ruin what the two of you had. you didn't know if he liked you back, and you couldn't put all your hopes on a maybe. even when you tried to hint it, or asked your friends to do so, he'd always give short answers or dismiss the topic in general.

now here you were, thinking about the whole situation while skimming through a book in the library. your project partner was writing in their notebook. you had little care about the content of the book, the blurred lines didn't really matter because the book had no information you were looking for. you opened another book that was stacked in the pile you had picked before, let out a sigh and decided to focus a bit more on the text. you were quickly interrupted when a familiar voice rang in your ears, startling you.

"hey yn! i have to stay a little later for basketball today, can you wait for me?" maki's hair was slightly messy, his jacket was missing and his tie was undone. he was probably getting changed before he came to the library. his face was close to yours and you admired his delicate features. his pretty brown eyes, cute nose, pinkish lips and moles. he always looked so pretty, you couldn't help but blush.

"yeah i can wait. i'll come to the gym after i finish here." you said, giving him an awkward smile while your heart was beating fast. his presence alone could make butterflies erupt in your stomach. maki gave you a small smile before thanking you and leaving. you turned your gaze to the girl in front of you, she had a small grin on her face as she watched maki leave.

"you two make such a nice couple! i wish i could have something like that..." she said resting her head on her palms with a pout on her face. you scratched the back of your head awkwardly before speaking up.

"we're not really a couple, we're just friends." you wished you didn't have to say that. it broke your heart but there was no time to think too much about it because the girl had to make you feel worst with her next sentence.

"well, you two would make a very cute pair! anyway, we should finish this." she pointed at the books before continuing to write notes again. you wanted to pull your hair out of frustration. you would make a cute couple if you had the courage to even confess.

time passed by slowly, and you let out a sigh of relief when you were finished. you said goodbye to the girl before swinging your bag on your shoulder and speed-walking to the gym. soon your ears were filled with the sound of basketballs hitting the floor and boys chatting. you peeked in the room, your eyes falling on maki who looked gorgeous, even though he was sweaty and out of breath. when he saw you, he grinned brightly and walked your way.

"yn come sit at the bleachers! i promise you we won't stay for long." he reassured you as you sat down. you didn't mind waiting as long as you got to see maki play. he always looked so good, and he was an amazing player too. time seemed to fly by fast when you were enjoying it, and before you knew it you were walking hand in hand with maki outside the school grounds.

you looked at your intertwined fingers, lost in thought. maki was talking about his project, how his work was going and all that. then he stopped, making you look at him.

"hey, you want to ask me something?" he could read right through you. you let out a little huff before raising the hand that was holding his.

"does it bother you when people ask if we're a couple or not?" maybe you shouldn't be doing this. maybe you should. it was too late to turn back now. maki stood in silence for a little, thinking. he didn't know what to say. he didn't want to say something wrong that would upset you.

"i mean... should it? they can assume whatever they want, as long as we know what we are then it doesn't matter to me!" he brightly said, giving your hand a squeeze as you walk. you weren't satisfied with his typical vague answers, so you decided to push him.

"so then what are we, to you?" you asked, making him stop in his tracks. he looked into your eyes, a faint shade of red-coated his cheeks but you could see it. did you have to ask that question, he thought. he had pushed talking about his feelings to you by avoiding a situation like this all in general, but it seemed that today he couldn't do something like that.

he wanted to move closer, tell you how he felt about you. how you made him happy, how you kept him grounded, how your mere presence was enough to make his day better. he wanted to tell you what an amazing person you were, how considerate and smart and pretty and special you were that he had fallen for you. and yet, he was too scared to risk it. every day he thought of telling you how he really felt, but he didn't want to ruin what you had. he hated the thought of not being able to be close to you anymore.

"well, i guess we're best friends, if that's what you want us to be." his voice was a mumble, like it hurt him to say those words because it did. he noticed a frown on your face. you ran your free hand through your hair.

"no actually, i don't want us to be just friends. you know, i've been hiding this for a while now but i'm tired! i like you maki! i like you more than just friends. i don't know if you feel the same but i really need to get this off my chest as it's been driving me crazy! this might change things between us, and it probably will but-" before you could finish your declaration of love for the boy, you felt maki's lips on top of yours.

he squeezed your hand while his free hand was now resting on your waist. his eyes were closed and it didn't take long for you to melt in the kiss and close your eyes too. everything felt soft and warm. his lips, his hands, his skin. you placed a hand on his cheek, feeling your heart beat fast and your ears turn red. at this point, you were sure he could hear your heartbeat too. you wished the kiss lasted longer, after he pulled away you were left shocked. you did not expect him to do that.

"i like you too. a lot, but i'm glad you made the first move by telling me." he gave you another one of his sweet smiles, meanwhile you just stared at him in shock.

"i made the first move? you just kissed me! maki are you serious?!" you ran your fingers through your hair again, freaking out that this was happening between the two of you. of course, you had imagined and even dreamed about it as embarrassing as it sounded but now that it happened, well, you were left speechless. maki was laughing at how cute you looked, he couldn't help it he was very happy to have something happening between the two of you.

"hey i'm sorry if that wasn't really what you wanted but i didn't know what else to do." he said, pulling you closer to him and swinging your arm back and forth. a small chuckle escaped your lips.

"that's not it... so, are we a couple now?" you asked with sparkling eyes which made him even happier. you looked so pretty he could kiss your face everywhere but he resisted the urge to do that.

"yes we are! you know you're stuck with me right?" he said, playfully raising a brow and nudging your shoulder. you let out a light chuckle before responding.

"i don't mind being stuck with you forever." you two walked home that day happier than ever. hands swinging back and forth, the sound of sweet laughter filling the air. you two were tangled in love, stuck with each other from the glue.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

a/n :: friends to lover with maki😍😍 this is kinda self-indulgent and it's been in my drafts for a while now so i'm posting it🙈 this also inspired by beabadoobee's 'glue song'!!

©keikeu

[drchenquill]

Writer Questionnaire~

Thank you @the-golden-comet , @kaylinalexanderbooks and @the-letterbox-archives for the tag!

how long have you had your writing tumblr/writeblr? a fast and loose estimate is fine!

I think a couple of months.

what led you to create it?

I wanted to find a place to share and talk about my stories and OCs and meet other creative minds.

what’s your favourite thing about the writeblr community?

The support. The overflowing creativity that inspires me to keep writing and the lovely people I've met so far.

what’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

That I appreciate every type of interaction, really. Even if you want to reach out to ramble about your stories, I always welcome it. ( Although I won't do the first step because I'm socially anxious and awkward)

is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

I like my dash how it is, but I would love more positivity, any kind of positivity. People need to know that they are loved and appreciated, because everyone is.

which wips or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

I'm currently writing on a WIP called "Daisy." It's a werewolf romance story with some drama sprinkled in.

how long have you been working on them?

God, I don't know. Long? I often forget because I work on others in between so I lose track on when I started what.

do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

It was born in my "Wattpad-werewolf-story" era. (I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I basically inhaled those type of stories)

how much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

A lot.

when someone asks the dreaded, “what do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

I usually say I write fantasy-romance, which is just the tip of the iceberg. I don't usually talk about what I write outside of Tumblr, other than my family, and they know exactly what I write about. (I basically force it down their throat)

name any characters you created. side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Oof, my OC list is way too long for this. I'm just going to mention the ones I mentioned here more often:

Leon Martens - Kilian - Margaret Robins - Kiki - Azul - Sophie

who’s the most unhinged?

Okay, I think it would be Atlas. I never, ever, mentioned him, but he is bat shit crazy. One of the first scenes of his story, he jumps from one moving car to another, laughing like a maniac. But right after him comes Azul.

who comes the most naturally for you to write?

I think Azul.

do you ever cringe at them?

Yeah, sometimes I write some cheesy sentences and cringe a bit, but I love it~

how much control do you feel you have over your characters? do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? to what degree? are some less cooperative than others?

NONE. These bastards don't care what I have planned for them, they just do what they please.

do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? and do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? for example, as asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on ao3, etc.

I love, love, love, love getting questions about my babies. In any shape or form.

what makes you want to follow another writeblr account? do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? do you follow based on wips, or vibes?

I follow based on vibes, I think. But mostly because I'm very much interested in the stories.

what makes you decide against following?

Easy, if I feel like they are a bad person or if our morals don't align.

do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Not that often.

do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

YES! A LOT! Some honorable mentions: Dr. Tievis, brought to life by the lovely @finickyfelix (he is a little meow meow. I know he wants to fuck monsters, but nobody is perfect.) Vesperine by another lovely person @theink-stainedfolk (she is beauty, she is grace) Marsh by yet another lovely person @paeliae-occasionally (I know he kills a lot, but I don't judge a man by his hobbies) and recently I've wanted to adopt Tenshi by the lovely @the-golden-comet (but I was told someone was faster)

This is just the top, there are so many more because you lovely people have such a beautiful and creative minds that you always amaze me with your creations.

~~~`

Thank you for reading this far. I love you~ (very platonically but very affectionately)

Tagging for this with no pressure @theink-stainedfolk , @finickyfelix , @thecomfywriter , @paeliae-occasionally , @davycoquette , @oliolioxenfreewrites open tag~

[jessicascharacterbananza]

Yandere Polyghostface- Basement

They were perfect. Everything you had ever wanted. Everything you had ever needed. That’s what they told you, drumming it into you. You would never leave them, you could never leave them. Of course you knew what they did, the blood underneath their fingernails that they could never seem to get rid of gave you a pretty good idea. None the less you loved them, and they loved you. Sort of.

They had been out all evening, not telling you when they’d return you decided to make some pasta in case they were hungry when they got home. They’d usually still be high on adrenaline, Stu bouncing around the walls whilst Billy laughed at his antics. Whilst it seemed cruel the way they would talk about pulling the guts out of their latest victim, it made you smile at the way the were so relaxed and vulnerable enough to allow you to see the aftermath of their tribulations.

It was around ten when they walked through the door heads hung low and clothes covered in the sticky red you had become accustomed to. Instead of running towards you and spinning you in his arms as usual, Stu headed straight to the fridge and grabbed our two beers. He made no move to acknowledge you and neither did Billy who walked straight into the lounge and slumped down onto the couch, Stu close behind. You followed.

“I made pasta if either of you are hungry, or we can order something in if you’d prefer. Tatum was going on about this new pizza place down the street we could-“

“SHUT UP!” Billy shouted taking you back. They never raised their voices at you, trying to protect you from any of their outbursts. Not today. Your eyes filled with tears as you shuffled backwards slightly.

“I just-“

“I swear y/n do you ever fucking listen?” Stu interrupted, standing from his seat on the sofa. He came towards you Billy hot on his tail and you stepped back further trying to retreat to the kitchen.

“When we tell you to shut up, you shut up.” Billy said sternly, behind Stu whose backing you into the kitchen wall. Tears began streaming down your cheeks as you looked at the floor, not daring to make any kind of eye contact with the pair.

“And now she’s crying, always playing the victim. When are you going to learn y/n?” Stu mocks. He lifts your chin with his fingers, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad. Please-you say trying to reason with them but yet again are stopped when Stu’s arms wrap around your waist and lifts you over his shoulder. You scream and kick knowing what’s about to happen.

When you first started dating the boys had asked you what your biggest fears were. Unknowing of their intentions you told them that you were scared or the dark. A fear you had ever since you were a child, so when you moved in with the boys they bought you the welcome gift or a night light that projected stars onto the ceiling helping you to sleep. However, so much as they tried to help aid your fear they would also use it against you. Whenever, like now, they were mad at you their ultimately favourite punishment was the basement. Billy had thought of the idea after they had once seen you in the movie store having an in depth conversation with Randy, someone you were banned from taking to. Since then they had used it as their go to punishment in times like these.

“No Billy, Stu please don’t lock me in there. Please I’ll do anything!” you shout banging your fists into Stu’s back as he keeps walking towards the basement door. But it’s no use.

The door creaks open and Billy flicks the light on so Stu can see as he walks down the stairs. Once at the bottom he lowers you to the concrete floor and begins to walk away towards the stairs.

“Stu baby please, please don’t leave me down here. Please Stu,” you cry as tears drop onto the cold floor. It was no use, he doesn’t even glance your way as he climbs the stairs and the lights go out.

You curl up on the floor, wrapping your arms around your legs. It was always cold in the basement but luckily they allowed a singular blanket to be placed in the room after you’d gotten sick once before. It was no use, you would have to stay the night in your own company, the demons of the dark taking over your mind.

But after all of this you had to keep reminding yourself. They were perfect. Everything you had ever wanted. Everything you had ever needed. You would never leave them, you could never leave them. You loved them, and they loved you. Sort of.

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Maverick's back for a debrief about Darkstar and still projecting out his misplaced Dad vibe.

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Chapter 2

Heart

Jake and you are brushing your teeth when you remember what's on your schedule for tomorrow. You tell Jake,

"Hey, Maverick is coming in for a debrief at work tomorrow. Anything you want to pass along to him?"

Jake laughs as much as he can with his mouth full of toothbrush and toothpaste foam. It reminds you how you thought his smile was from a 1950s toothpaste commercial when you first met him. He spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth, as he wipes his face with the hand towel as he says, drolly,

"Oh goody, Maverick having another opportunity to express his opinion that I am totally unworthy of you."

"Well, he's not the one who gets to decide, I do and I have definitely deemed you worthy of your love and other feminine wiles," you respond as you squeeze in between him and the counter and wrap your arms around his bare torso.

He laughs and says,

"And what delightful wiles they are," as he embraces you.

"What did Maverick say to you when he gave you the whole 'treat her right' speech? you ask.

He chuckles darkly,

"It was an extensive list Let's see, one, he doesn't consider me a decent human being," you roll your eyes and snort slightly at that one, he starts to count on his fingers, "Two, he's only convinced I have a heart because the Navy medically verified it, three, that I remind him of himself at his age and he doesn't consider that a good thing, all of which I don't agree with. I do agree with his advice that you are a once in a lifetime kind of woman, and as he so eloquently phrased it, 'Don't fuck it up'".

"I kind have to admit the one about the heart thing is a teensy bit funny" you say holding up your fingers pinched together. He looks down at me in a mock glare.

"Little does he know just how big your heart and your capacity to love is," you pat his cheek lightly, "Don't worry I'll set him straight."

"Thanks, I know you have a bit of a reputation to live down, but it's really none of his business," Jake says with a little pout.

You go on your tiptoes to kiss his adorable pout and can just barely reach his lips. You are still standing hugging each other next to the bathroom countertop, you sandwiched between him and the granite. He grabs your waist and lifts you up to the counter where you will be a perfect height to reach his lips. You squeal a little from the shock of the cold granite to where your skin isn't covered by your underwear. He looks at you moderately confused until you say,

"The granite is cold on my butt." He laughs a little and leans in to kiss you.

"I might be able to help you warm up," Jake says, wagging his eyebrows. Instead of saying something he reaches for the back of your head and pulls it to his for a searing kiss. His free hand moves along the smooth skin of your back under the t-shirt you're wearing. He is pouring all of himself into this kiss. Your mouths part slightly and his tongue slips past your teeth and yours follows into his mouth. He has let go of your head now and is sliding his hand down along your side to the bottom of your t-shirt.

He breaks the kiss and says,

"As much as I like seeing you in my clothes, I definitely prefer you out of them."

His Naval Academy Class of 2010 shirt is dropped unceremoniously on the floor of the bathroom.

You laugh and respond,

"I thought you were supposed to be making me warmer, not colder."

"Give me a second,"

he huffs in reply and leans down to take your nipple in his mouth, using the barest amount of teeth to graze it. He earns a deep moan from you, as he moves to the other nipple you look down and he is smiling looking pleased with himself. The other nipple gets the same treatment.

Jake then kneels down and kisses his way from your knees up your inner thigh. He kisses you through your underwear, in an undignified manner you roll your hips forward trying to get more contact.

"Lift up your hips," he commands. you push against the counter to lift yourself and he is pulling your underwear off and adding it to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Jake's tongue is around your clit before you can register what his next move is. He pushes a finger into you and proceeds at a leisurely pace. You lean back against the mirror, all coherent thoughts gone from your brain as you run your hands through Jake's hair.

You reach down and pull at his shoulder for him to stand, and practically breathe out,

"I need you inside me."

Jake wastes no time in pulling down his boxers. He gives his cock a few strokes and lines it up to slowly enter you. He starts thrusting at a fast pace and grabs your hand to circle your clit while he uses one hand on your back to support you and plants one on the counter for stability.

You lean over as far as you can in your position and whisper,

"I'm yours, Jake and I'll always be yours."

He ducks his head into your neck and keeps thrusting away. Any other words of encouragement are wiped from your brain as your only focus is to get off as you frantically rub your clit.

The visual of Jake thrusting into you and your own rapid pace on your clit send your orgasm hurtling towards you. You finally snap and come hard around Jake. Jake stutters in his rhythm but thrusts a few more times before finishing inside you.

You are both breathing hard as you release each other. You hop down from the counter with slightly shaky legs. Jake looks around lost for a minute before you offer him some tissues to clean up.

You pick up your discarded clothes and put them back on and say to Jake.

"Come to bed, you've definitely kept me up past my bedtime."

He fixes his boxers and follows you to the bedroom where we fall asleep quickly.

–

You're at your desk the next morning reviewing the agenda for Maverick's debrief before he gets in at 10 am. You see all the areas we want to cover flight characteristics, maneuverability, pilot comfort, control design, and a lot of other things that only a pilot can give feedback on, the best sensors in the world can't tell you what it's like to actually fly the plane.

You head down to the lobby to meet Maverick and get him signed in and badged up. The security at your office is understandably strict. You swipe him and yourself into the elevator and as you're going up to the floor you work on, he finally says something,

"I'm not sure your coworkers are going to like what I have to say about some of the parts of Darkstar."

He gives you that Maverick smile, the one he knows he's going to cause some trouble.

"We don't have to like the feedback to find it useful," you remind him.

"I want your honest opinion, if my coworkers can't handle constructive criticism that's on them. Plus it gives my boss something to put in the 'Needs Improvement' category on their annual performance evaluation."

He smiles and nods as the elevator opens. You have to walk past your cube to get to the conference room, and you casually point it out to Maverick.

"Here's where all the magic happens,"

you say with a little hand flourish. He takes a step in and looks around at your collection of photos, desk items, and other trappings of corporate life. He scans the photos and he seems to stop on the selfie Jake and you took at a concert last week. It's one of the few photos you've printed out of you two.

Maverick takes a step back and says,

"Let's get to it."

The debrief goes as planned, more of how Maverick planned rather. He has less than stellar comments about the user interface inside the aircraft.

"It's not intuitive, buttons aren't in sequential order of operations, and they're all the same color. Which you agree looks cool, but it is hard to find what you need in a hurry."

More comments on maneuverability, "I get this is a speed machine, not a fighter but it still feels like I'm driving a tugboat. The response is delayed."

Pilot comfort gets his best review,

"I felt like the plane was tailor made for me, it is literally the most comfortable aircraft I've ever flown."

The meeting winds down at about 1 pm. Since you signed Maverick in you have to escort him out, as you exit the conference room he asks, "You want to grab some lunch?"

Your stomach growls on cue,

"I do, how does sushi sound?"

"Excellent, lead the way."

You walk over to the lunch spot, a cozy sushi bar that is cleared out of the lunch rush by the time you arrive.

You get seated and order pretty quickly. As you wait for the food, you ask him what his current assignment is and how it's going.

"I am being tasked with reviewing the basic flight school training curriculum. Something about inspiring the next generation of pilots."

You smirk,

"I bet you have a few things to say."

He laughs,

"I'm on page 12 of the manual and already have three pages of suggestions."

Your food comes out promptly and you dig in. You decide to lob out a question,

"Can you ask you a personal question?"

"Sure, shoot."

"So, what's the thing between you and Penny all about?"

He laughs,

"Yeah, that is a personal one. Penny and you have been involved a few times over the years against our better judgment. I'd get shipped off somewhere and we'd break up. I'd show up again and we start up again. Now that I'm permanently out of San Diego you feel like we can actually make this time work."

"That makes sense, I've just noticed Penny has a little more pep in her step lately when I've been down at the Hard Deck."

He smiles and then says,

"My turn."

"Go for it," you reply, curious what he is going to ask.

"You and Hangman, still involved?

"Yes," you answer, feeling a little defensive .

He shakes his head,

"I just don't see it. He strikes me as the bed hopper type. I remember being that age, being a hot shot pilot and using that advantage with women. He reminds me too much of myself to be a good thing."

"You know 'Hangman™'. The pilot, the ego, the bravado. Not Jake, the guy. The Jake you know, see, and love is a very good man, kind and caring, funny, and good for me. I think people have different parts of life and different faces they show the world. Not to say they don't overlap at all," you reply leaning over the table a little, emphasizing your point.

"It's just hard to see you two together," Maverick offers.

"I know that on paper Jake doesn't seem like someone I would end up with, but I've been with the type of guy everyone expected and it turned out terrible. Maverick, I appreciate your concern, but this is the real deal. Jake told me about your 'treat her right' talk when we first started seeing each other."

He cringes,

"I apologize for that, it was overstepping, but I just wanted him to not fuck it up and hurt you. Probably me trying vicariously to fix my past mistakes."

"You want to know how you met him?" you ask.

"Yeah, I was wondering how you two knew each other that night you ran into you at the Hard Deck," he replies, taking a swig of his drink.

You recap that memorable meeting and Maverick is nearly falling out of his chair as he laughs. (You leave out a few of the more sordid details.)

"He tried to explain to you, Ms. Aerospace Engineer, PhD how planes fly?" he cackles.

"Yup, and then I let him have it. Rooster was pretty happy at the performance. I walked out of there never expecting to see him again. But, he reached out to apologize and it worked."

"Okay, I give him credit for having the courage to try again.

"He's a really great guy and he makes me happy, end of story."

"I can tell, you said you love him without thinking about it, just make sure you invite me to the wedding," Maverick says, a slight grin on his face.

It's your turn to laugh,

"When we get there, we will."

You say goodbye to Maverick at the

restaurant and walk back to your office. The rest of the afternoon flies by and pretty soon you are walking in your front door. Jake's shoes are near the door but you don't see him in the living room or the kitchen. You head to the bedroom to change out of your work clothes and finally you find him on the patio on your porch swing. His head is hanging down and he has a glass with an amber liquid in it propped on his knee.

"Jake, are you okay?"

you ask as you sit down next to him on the swing. The smell of bourbon wafts up from the glass. He looks up and wraps an arm around you as he sighs,

"I'm fine, it was just a shitty day at work."

"What happened?"

"We almost lost a student today, they almost died. It was stupid shit, easy things they should have known, really basic stuff. And it wasn't the first time. I've talked with this guy before and it just wasn't sticking. I had to make the recommendation that they be withdrawn from the program. Which is not going to look good on their record and might ground them. I just can't shake the feeling that I'm shitting on someone's dreams. I keep thinking of how I would have reacted if it was me."

"Jake, some people aren't cut out for the work. I can imagine it feels demoralizing to ground someone,but you have to consider the bigger picture. If they can't handle training, how are they going to be in a real situation? How would you feel if they killed someone else?" you ask, gently.

"I understand it on an intellectual level, but I still can't get over that feeling of ruining someone's life. I've never had this much control over someone's life, except my own," he says, letting out a long breath.

You lace one of your hands with Jake's free hand and say,

"You'll get used to it, the fact you're so affected by this shows it isn't some decision you made on a whim. You really tried to make them a better pilot. And here Maverick thought you didn't have a heart."

Jake narrows his eyes upon hearing Maverick's name,

"Speaking of the old man, how did your debrief go?"

"For work as expected, he was rather frank with his assessments. We ended up going to lunch, just the two of us."

Jake raises an eyebrow.

You laugh,

"Purely professional, although lunch ended on a weird note. He questioned why I was with you. I think he saw that photo of us at the concert last week I put in my cube."

Jake tilts his head,

"See Maverick's still sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. What did you say?"

"Said that Maverick really only knows one version of you. He doesn't know this version," your free hand cups Jake's cheek as you speak,

"The very loving and caring version. I assured him that this relationship is the real deal and he relented and asked to be invited to the wedding."

Jake's signature smirk forms on his face as he leans into to kiss you,

"So you're saying there'll be a wedding?"

"Yes, you know that," you give him a fake slap on the chest, "We're definitely walking down that path."

He puts down his drink and pulls you into his lap,

"Well, if that's the case we should definitely start practicing for the honeymoon. We'll probably have to go somewhere where I can have you nude all the time."

Chapter 4

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@genius2050

@midnightmagpiemama

[thesilentmedium]

TIMING: Late January SETTING: Zane's House PARTIES: @thesilentmedium & @rn-zane SUMMARY: Jonas heads over to help Zane paint his walls WARNINGS: None

Even though it looked like a tornado of the home renovating kind had blown through the house, Zane still preferred it to the previous look. Messy as it currently was, it still looked so much more like a home at this point. Before now, the only thing he’d really made his own was the bedroom and that had pretty much just been hanging the bit of artwork he’d received for Christmas along with a fluffy bed for Buddy. Changing the whole house had felt so drastic and almost forbidden in a way. 

Nothing special had spurred this decision to finally get on with it but Zane knew he’d made the right call the second the first gloomy, old-timey painting had been pulled from the wall. Having Jonas around now, helping, also proved to make the whole process ten times more comforting. 

It was still a bit hard, looking over and seeing the eyepatch, knowing the trauma it represented but today wasn’t about that. Surely, Jonas didn’t want to spend every moment thinking about that awful night and Zane was more than happy to be able to provide a distraction. 

So here they stood, facing a blank wall with multiple swatches of color hastily painted on, a perfect representation of Zane’s complete lack of ability to decide. Between the soft, corally pink, the grayish pastel blue and the gentle mossy green, it was clear that he had no idea what he wanted for this wall. “Maybe I should just go with a basic color. Like… off-white. That’s a thing, right?” Slightly lost eyes turned to Jonas, sprinkled with the hope that his friend would provide the answer. 

—

Coming over to Zane’s was probably one of the healthier distractions Jonas had decided to partake in since his leave of the hospital. Not that he was doing anything particularly crazy to ward off the thoughts of the woods, but he had come home a few nights rather tipsy. It was odd doing such a thing, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Sketching barely took his mind off of it and baking was a little harder now given that his hands were constantly knocking things over. You didn’t need good depth perception to drink though or dance. The vibrations of the music and the way the alcohol muddied his mind made it easier to just have fun. He knew he didn’t want to keep doing it though. Zane having problems with home renovation was a blessing in disguise he supposed.

So here Jonas stood before the wall in a white tank top and a pair of blue jeans that were already stained with paint from previous projects. His left wrist was covered in a black sweatband that hid the marks of Zane’s bite, in case it made the other feel awkward, and his hands were placed firmly on his hips as he looked over the options on the wall, before his gaze wandered to the rest of the room. 

He was trying to get a feel for what Zane wanted, the vibe of the room, but ultimately he got distracted by the other man’s pretty eyes. Zane looked just as handsome as ever and Jonas was relieved. The last time he saw the other was in the hospital. They hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk after that but he was glad the taller man seemed to be doing well. He was even more glad he seemed able to be less awkward with Zane now. When the taller man had first set the boundary of friendship, Jonas wasn’t sure exactly what was okay to do around him. His brain had always been one for overthinking and while his heart still skipped a little when their eyes met, he wasn’t as nervous about messing up. 

Finally satisfied that the other seemed alright even with him here, Jonas offered a smile before pointing to the mossy green. “I um am always biased towards pink, but this color fits you.” Green had always been a calming color, something Zane had in common with it, so it made sense it should cover his walls. 

—

Zane smiled softly, appreciative of the honest answer. The fact that Jonas wouldn’t let his own personal bias affect even something as simple as a choice of paint was enough to bring on a new rush of simmering anger. The unfairness of someone like that getting hurt, caught up in senseless violence, almost getting… Clearing his throat in an attempt to also clear those thoughts, Zane nodded. “Yeah, okay. Green it is. I’ll find something to make pink, though, don’t worry.” 

This low stake work, even if Zane was shit at it, was the perfect distraction. Work was decent for it, too, but he couldn’t exactly let his mind wander while handling needles and medicine and people’s lives. Here, he could always just paint over any mistakes. Or suffer a bruise or two. “So the guy at the store definitely knew I was completely clueless, which means he managed to sell me like… five different types of paint rollers?” With a small chuckle, Zane led Jonas over to the array of supplies, making a gesture of ‘pick whatever’ before moving for the paint himself. 

The gray shirt he had on was already ruined, somehow covered in paint before he’d started the actual job of painting a whole wall, so at this point it was definitely useless that he’d rolled up both sleeves in order to “protect them.” Jonas had the right idea, already looking more qualified for this job than Zane could ever dream of. Still, he stirred up the paint like the store clerk had told him to before pouring it over to the tray, miraculously not spilling it all over the floor. 

“I swear, if anyone saw me at this, they’d never let me put in another IV,” Zane joked, head turned to make sure his mouth was visible to Jonas. A habit that had taken a bit of time to learn but now stuck, despite this new and still slightly tense arrangement between them. 

—

“I would love to see what you choose to make pink… Oh, um he should have given you the right roller for the type of paint you are using.” Jonas squated to take in the options carefully pulling out the roller that made sense with their choice and made sure Zane had one similar to his. He didn’t want all the hard work Zane was putting into this project to go to waste at the end of the day. He didn’t know the sorty behind this house or why Zane was changing it but he could understand the need. When he first moved back into the family house, he had set out renovating and fixing what he could. That was mostly so his family could come home to a place that was no longer showing its age. He was starting to think it would have been better to save it for later, especially when his hopes for them actually coming home were now dwindling with each passing day. 

He shook his head a little before he noticed Zane turning his head. Right, today was supposed to be a day of helping his friend and not fretting over what was going on. Jonas smiled and chuckled at the joke, holding out the roller to the other man. “I am um sure they would excuse you for the mess. You are a lovely nurse and that does not always translate to being good at home renovation. Your house does not need an IV.” Then again with Wicked’s Rest there could be a house out there in need of medical treatment. 

Jonas was beginning to wish he had a long sleeved shirt he could have used. He had always been one to run cold, if the amount of sweaters he took off once he got there was any indicator of it, he wasn’t sure if he had some sort of medical condition or it was the fact he always had ghosts trailing him but his arms were already breaking out in small goosebumps. He ignored them though, they had a job to do and he wanted to start it. “How about we uh each take one wall?” 

—

Any sort of self deprecation never landed when it came to Jonas, the man seemed to always have a compliment on hand for those scenarios. It didn’t do much to help with how little Zane felt he was deserving of those compliments but just like the house, that was a work in progress. There was no going back on the fact that Zane was confident in his decision to keep their relationship platonic, to keep his messy life and the way danger seemed to follow him as far away from Jonas as possible. However, there was no denying that removing himself completely from the other man’s life wasn’t an option, either. 

Jonas had been so relieved to see him at the hospital that vanishing completely felt unfair. If today went well, maybe there really was hope for this to be an alright friendship. “Alright, fair enough,” Zane chuckled, bringing over the paint and smiling at Jonas, letting the unease fade away with every moment. “Yeah, sounds like a plan. Just pick a wall, I’m going to put on some music and… guess I don’t need to worry about scaring you off when I inevitably start to sing along and butcher the song.” 

Zane kept the volume reasonable, not wanting to miss Jonas speaking in that soft manner of his. He wondered how much of the vibrations his friend would be able to sense, putting on a playlist of his most listened to songs since he didn’t really have to play music with someone else in mind right now. Sure enough, about five minutes into painting (after watching how Jonas used the roller and attempting to follow suit) Zane was distractedly singing along to the words, finally managing to feel completely at ease in Jonas’s presence. 

—

Jonas shook his head as another negative comment seemed to come from Zane, “I am sure you uh sound just fine. Singing is meant to be fun even if one may not be good at it.” He knew the other was joking, and was hoping he didn’t seem like he didn’t understand that but he also wanted Zane to feel good about himself. He was such a kind soul Jonas hoped he would turn that kindness to himself, not that it was an easy thing to do. He had taken several years of therapy to even do that for himself and even now he struggled with it. It had been especially hard coming back into the house his father used to inhabit. The place had so many things that made him think of Jacob Ballard and it was never a good experience when he did. 

At least here with Zane there wasn’t anything to make him feel worse, he was already accepting that the other man only had platonic feelings for him now. He could convince himself he was fine with that, he would rather be friends than nothing at all. Jonas didn’t want to be distant especially when he didn’t know what he did in the first place to cause such a thing to happen, he normally wouldn’t fight such decisions and he supposed he really wasn’t. Not outright anyway. Perhaps him constantly keeping in touch with Zane was his way of protesting the space between them just a little. Though he was sure if Zane really wanted to cut off all contact with him there wasn’t really anything Jonas could do to stop him. 

So he was more than relieved to see the taller man singing along with his music. It was just loud enough for Jonas to feel the vibration and he found himself swaying along to the beat. He smiled at Zane and was content to work while enjoying the music for a few moments. He didn’t want to interrupt the other man having a good time. He did have to stop eventually though, his height had always been a challenge in life and painting a wall taller than him was inconvenient. He mumbled something to himself about being short as he placed the roller in the paint pan and shuffled over to the front door where he had left his things. It didn’t take long for him to return with his trustiest step ladder. It was the most stable and sturdy of the lot, even had three steps! He carefully situated it in front of the wall as he got back to work. Ol’ rusty was holding up just fine till Jonas stepped down to refill his roller and the step ladder wiggled just enough to make him lose his balance. 

—

More than a few glances were spared at Jonas as walls went from depressing gray to an inviting green, warmth settling in Zane’s chest when he caught the older man moving to the admittedly catchy beat of a Harry Styles song. It had been a joke earlier about the singing but Zane knew that he would have been comfortable letting his tone deaf vocals ring out even if Jonas could hear them. There were honestly only two things he had really been embarrassed about when it came to Jonas - one of them currently covered up by an inconspicuous wrist band and the other the fact that he’d let things go as far as they had, knowing deep down that it was a bad idea. 

Jonas’s mumbles got a quiet laugh from Zane, who was having no trouble reaching the tops of the wall. He’d been about to catch the man’s attention to offer him a chair for extra height but of course, the medium was well aware of his own literal shortcomings. Zane was grinning, maybe the slightest hint of a tease visible on his face, as his friend padded up the three small steps. It looked sturdy and it wouldn’t exactly make for the highest of drops but even so, Zane found himself moving closer, at the pretense of adding more paint to his still half-full tray. 

He continued to hum distractedly, back facing Jonas so the other wouldn’t feel him staring and get worried about being a distraction to Zane, which he would. Still, he listened for each creak as he stirred up the paint, half-aware that his muscles were tensed and ready to respond. It would have made him feel stupid and paranoid, right up until the moment one of the creaks were followed by a soft, shocked gasp. 

His arms looped under Jonas’s armpits in an instant, the man barely having made it halfway towards the ground before Zane was there, hoisting him back on his feet with ease. It was very low stakes, worst case scenario Jonas would have left here with a couple more bruises so why had his heart leapt into his throat at that frightened sound? A few more bruises weren’t the worst but in the grand scheme of what Jonas had already gone through… “I thought I wasn’t going to break out my first aid kit today,” Zane attempted to joke after he’d moved to face the other, worry shining from his face as he looked him over for any injuries. A small scrape was visible on his ankle, just barely weeping blood, the step stool probably having nicked the skin. 

—

It wasn’t the first time Jonas had stumbled down stairs while out of the hospital, or even before the hospital. They seemed to be his natural enemy. Just as he was about to curse ten years of living out of a car for his inability to walk properly, he felt a familiar feeling against his back. There wasn’t much warmth in Zane, and maybe that was what made his touches even more noticeable. Jonas immediately flushed at the contact as he was set upright perhaps a little too easily. The strong arms didn’t stay there long as the taller man made his way in front of him. 

“Oh um I appreciate the help. I did not expect my feet to slip so easily.” Jonas could still feel the heat on his face as he let Zane look him over. He could feel a slight discomfort on his ankle and when he looked down he shook his head. “If that um requires first aid then I am in quite the trouble.” He joked back, he was trying to calm his racing heart while willing the redness on his face away. They were friends, being flustered from the slightest touch wasn’t the best thing to feel towards someone you were friendly with. 

“Maybe just a band aid would do? And if you um like I can leave the tops of the walls to you.” Jonas wouldn’t mind getting back up the step ladder to finish but something told him Zane would be tense about it now, plus he didn’t think his heart could handle it if he ended up in Zane’s arms again. The last time that happened he was in the hospital and the time before that he was in bed with the man. One was not the best of memories and the other was inappropriate to think about given their current relationship. 

—

This had been going okay. Was it still going okay? Jonas seemed embarrassed or maybe it was just discomfort from Zane rushing in to save him from an innocent stumble. The last thing his friend needed now was being made to feel like some fragile idiot. Yes, Jonas was here to help but a part of him had wanted this to be a distraction from the man, a day where he could attempt to forget being ruthlessly beaten. Probably hard to do with a worried nurse not even trusting you to work a step stool. “I - sorry. Force of habit.” 

Shaking his head, Zane allowed a small smile to replace the twisted frown of worry as Jonas joked. Always ready to defuse the situation. “You’re not in trouble,” he chuckled, nodding at the suggestion of a bandaid. “And I actually keep bandaids outside of the first aid kit so lucky us.” With what he hoped was a tension breaking expression, he moved for the bathroom, grateful for that moment to regain composure. He was half decent at ignoring unwanted thoughts but there was no pretending that even the smallest of cuts wasn’t a stark reminder for his taste buds. 

“There we go,” he said cheerily as he returned, handing the bandaid over to Jonas before turning his attention to the small steps. Contemplating. “It’s up to you. I can definitely take over on the high parts but it’s not like you’re going to break your neck on those so… if you want a do over, I’ll try my best to be chill.”

—-

“No worries, I am uh glad the scratch is all that happened.” Jonas really doubted he would have ended up with anything worse than that, but he didn’t want to point that out to Zane. He was getting used to working around people treating him like he was about to break at any moment. He hadn’t really given off vibes that suggested he was very strong even before the accident; he was shorter than most at only 5’5” and any strength he might show off my being fit was often hidden under pink fluffy sweaters. He was the least intimidating person in the room and maybe that was why he kept getting targeted over Lil. He was really starting to wish he had gotten some of the genes the giants in his family possessed. 

Though that wasn’t why he was so flustered at this moment, sure it was embarrassing to trip on stairs but by now Jonas was so used to it that he normally brushed it off. It was the lingering feelings he still held for the man that had caught him. The ones that he was painfully aware of by now the other man didn’t return. “Oh good, um saves you the trouble then.” He offered a smile as Zane wandered off to the bathroom, grabbing his face once the other man was away and willing it to stop being so red. It had all just been a spring fling, something he had had before and something he was bound to have again. Though normally he was long gone by now, the distance of several miles between him and the person who got caught up in the moment with him made it much easier to let go of feelings that seemed determined to stay. 

He didn’t want to do that with Zane though, he couldn’t. Jonas knew he wasn’t going to be leaving the town anytime soon even with what happened and being Zane’s friend had been something he was enjoying before the other man decided distance was best. He was glad they were able to be normal around one another now, even if Jonas’ face didn’t quite cooperate anytime Zane got too close. He was still trying his best to force the feelings away so he could fully enjoy being Zane’s friend. He didn’t want to lose that, especially after whatever passion that took hold of them that day had fizzled out from Zane. No, he would be a good friend to the other man! He would not ruin this, even if it meant looking like a fool from time to time. At least all this thinking got his heart to slow and he could feel the heat leaving his cheeks. By the time Zane returned he looked like regular ol’ Jonas. Or he hoped he did. 

“I appreciate it.” Jonas offered a small smile and tested the wobbly step ladder once more, shifting it till it stood still and using it for a seat once he was sure the thing wouldn’t wobble again. With the cut safely behind the band aid, Jonas stood back up and when the ladder stayed firm he smiled down at Zane, “I um seemed to have fixed the problem, if I uh happen to trip again you are more than welcomed to take the stairs from me.” 

—

Distracting himself with the process of taping up the next wall that needed painting, Zane kept glancing over at Jonas before catching himself. As if the process of putting on a bandaid needed supervision. This really had just been a scratch, the smallest of accidents but even so, it managed to confirm his fears. Despite all of this being easily blamed on a faulty ladder, it cemented just how worried he was about Jonas getting hurt around him - getting hurt because of him. At times, Zane seemed to function as a literal shit magnet, from the insane kidnapping plot to the fact that there were people out there willing to kill him just for existing. Not to mention his new hobby of snooping around The Grit Pit. 

If there had been any doubt about keeping a safe distance from Jonas, there wasn’t any now. 

He cared about him, how could he not, but had the advantage of not having a heartbeat or a flushing face that might betray him like in Jonas’s case. All in all, it would probably be even safer to cut all ties but Zane couldn’t bring himself to do that. He’d respect the other’s decision if it ever came to that, though. “If the stairs mess with you again, I’m breaking them up for firewood,” Zane deadpanned, managing a smile even through the depressing nature of his thoughts. 

Threatening an inanimate object seemed to have worked as the next hour passed by without further injuries. Not all damage had been avoided, his own clothes splattered with paint and a few new stains added to Jonas’s clothes. Zane asked about the bakery, about Lil and Blue, the topics safe and comfortable. Standing back to admire their work, Zane gave a pleased nod. “Green was definitely the way to go.” Moving to sit on the ground, legs crossed, he patted the hardwood for Jonas to join him. 

“Thanks for helping out. I know things have been weird - actually, that I’ve been weird but this was nice.” A pause, gaze turning to a stray splatter of paint on the floor. “I get that I didn’t really give you an explanation but… just know that it has nothing to do with you. You’re amazing and deserve the world but not… that’s not gonna come from me, is what I’m trying to say, I guess.” A quick glance to gauge the other’s expression. “I get if you don’t like that deal and if this makes you uncomfortable, I totally understand. But I do like having you around and not just because you help me paint.”

—

Jonas was feeling pretty good about their work, happily taking in the finished walls and nodding along when Zane agreed with his choice of color. The green brought a calmness and warmth to the room that matched its owner. Hands on his hips he stretched his back and was about to mention getting some food when the other sat on the floor and motioned for him to follow. Jonas followed the offer, looking towards Zane carefully taking in what he was saying. It was all things he had already come to realize but perhaps with it not being expressed openly he had managed to still hold onto some kind of hope that Zane would come close again. They weren’t meant to be, he knew it and yet it still hurt to have it spoken so clearly. 

Heartbreak was a strange sensation that Jonas was more than used to by now. His life before did not make for a good environment for long lasting relationships and maybe he had hoped that coming back to town would be his chance to change that, he knew he still had all the time in the world to make that true even if right in this moment he felt like someone had punched him in the gut, twisting and pulling at his stomach. He tilted his head down in an effort to hide how hurt he must look in the moment. He didn’t want Zane to feel guilty about any of this because there was nothing for him to feel guilty for. Feelings were unpredictable things and if they left they left. 

Jonas’ hand came to rest on top of Zane’s, “I am blessed to be your friend.” That was all he could really offer in this moment as he pulled back and stood up. “I do wish to stay close but um… I think at this moment it is best for me to return home.” He could feel his voice cracking as he talked, coughing to clear it as he moved to fold up his step stool, quickly grabbing his other things to leave before he broke in front of the other man. He wasn’t learning anything new, he shouldn’t be so torn but he could feel the tears forming on his cheeks and the last thing he wanted was for Zane to offer comfort. His heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. 

“I will talk to you later um, I hope the rest of the renovations go well.” Jonas called out but didn’t bother to turn around to look at Zane, he couldn’t. Slipping on his sweater he opened the door and made his escape, feeling everything he’d been forcing down recently threatening to bubble out of his throat with each passing second. 

[spider-xan]

Honestly, I feel like there would be a lot less frustration with the Coppola film if it was completely irredeemable trash with zero good things going for it bc then we could just write it off as an awful film and laugh at it for what it is - but the fact that there are SO MANY great things about it that are worthy of praise, and we know Coppola generally isn't a bad filmmaker, is what makes it so frustrating, precisely it could have been an amazing high-budget film adaptation that was accurate to the novel and the indisputable definitive version, and then it swerved and made the framing and other choices that it did, with its specific vision superseding the actual text; and ofc there's the title issue of including Bram Stoker's name and implying a faithful adaptation, though I think Coppola tends to do that with straight book adaptations to credit the author, like how The Godfather's full title is actually Mario Puzo's The Godfather.

Like, the casting is amazing! Winona Ryder is perfect as Mina! Anthony Hopkins is inspired casting for Van Helsing! Even Keanu Reeves, with his questionable acting and accent, is at least cute as Jonathan, and his star power at the time makes sense for why he played the role. The costumes designed by Eiko Ishioka are honestly among the greatest film costumes ever, and she rightfully won the Best Costume Design Oscar that year! Love the liminal creepiness of Dracula's castle and how his shadow has a life of its own! Everything about the way the scene of Lucy entering her tomb as a vampire is filmed is sublime - the lighting, the cinematography, the camera angles, the eerily chilling on a visceral level music and sound design, the make up and costume, the way the candles supernaturally light themselves, etc. Quincey is actually included for once! Even some of the epistolary format is retained, with things like the log of the Demeter narrated over scenes on the ship, Mina typing on her typewriter, Jack recording on a phonograph, etc. There are honestly a lot of positive things that can be said about the film, and Coppola does know what he's doing on a technical level, along with the talented cast and crew.

And obviously, no adaptation is going to just copy the text exactly for various reasons, like film being an audio-visual medium with a shorter length than a novel, adaptations being filtered through the lens of their creators and reflective of the social milieu they are being created in, commercial box office considerations bc capitalism, etc., and I think being faithful to the spirit of the source material is more important than textual purity, and a lot of this is going to be subjective on the part of viewers as well. But yeah, it's like, personal preferences aside, the Coppola film just came SO CLOSE to being a film adaptation that's both accurate to the novel and incredible cinema at the same time, but then it made directing and screenwriting choices like Mina just being Dracula's love interest and having none of her heroic moments (all removed or given to the men), everyone being a total asshole, Dracula going back and forth in characterization bc the film can't decide if he's a sympathetic romantic hero who just wants true love or a scary monster villain who wants to take over England and eat people, and you kind of need the latter to drive the plot outside of the romance, etc.

We could have had it all, and that's what is so frustrating to me, along with how the film is so definitive that it gets projected back onto the original novel and just about anything Dracula.

[ridiculoussquid]

A King is a King

A White Calf gift for @babe-bombadil for the @whiteoliphaunt Exchange 2023! Happy New Year!

Rating: G

Characters: Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Dís

Length: 1279

Warnings: None

Summary: Thorin tells his nephews a bedtime story about the Elvenking despite Dís advising him not to. He is less than thrilled with the consequences…

This is also on AO3, in case you prefer to read it there:

“Are you sure they are old enough for this kind of story?” Dís asked quietly. “I don’t want the boys to get nightmares.”

“I’m no longer a baby!” Fíli protested. “Of course I’m old enough to hear it!”

“So am I!” Kíli exclaimed, scared to be left out. “I can even tie my own boot laces!”

Dís raised an eyebrow, remembering how she had needed nearly half an hour today to get him out of his boots due to his completely knotted and tangled shoelaces.

“I’m sure they’re old enough for this story,” Thorin said. “And they do need to hear about certain things sooner or later.”

“Fine, if you are sure. But you will be the one to make them hot milk and sit with them if they do get nightmares. And from now on, you will be in charge of assisting Kíli with his boots if he needs help.”

“I won’t need help!” Kíli insisted.

“Alright, it’s a deal,” Thorin said solemnly, extending his hand pompously.

Dís rolled her eyes but shook it.

“Can we hear the story now?” Fíli asked, bouncing his leg and braiding the edge of his blanket.

“Of course,” Thorin said, settling down on a chair between the beds of his nephews.

“A long, long time ago, when the mountains were younger, the moon was brighter and the kingdom of the Lonely Mountain thrived, there lived an evil Elvenking in a dark forest. He was ancient, and he thought himself wise and just, but the truth was that he was cruel and thought only of his own advantage.”

The candle flickered, bathing the room in warm light. Thorin enjoyed watching the emotions flicker across his nephews’ enraptured faces as he told the story.

A few days later, Thorin returned from the forge, his feet crunching as he walked through the thick snow that was still falling. As he approached their dwelling, he heard the sound of his nephews discussing something in terse murmurs, a sure sign that they were about to start arguing.

“I’m older, I get to decide!” Fíli was saying.

“Get to decide what?” Thorin asked, stepping through the gate.

“Uncle Thorin!” Kíli came running and threw his arms around Thorin.

“You’re back!” Fíli said, hopping down from a boulder that lay close to the entrance to their dwelling.

“I am indeed. And maybe I can help you settle whatever you were discussing.”

Fíli looked sceptical before his face lit up. “You can play him! You’re the tallest person in the settlement!”

Kíli nodded. “Yes! The tallest person in the entire Blue Mountains! And then I won’t have to play him.”

“Who do I have to play?” Thorin asked, rather amused at being able to solve the whole affair so easily.

“The evil Elvenking!” Kíli crowed. “We’re going to play the story you told us!”

Thorin choked on his own spit. “Or I could play… I don’t know… King Thrór? Or perhaps a dwarven warrior… or a man from Dale.”

“No, I’m going to play King Thrór. We need someone to play the Elvenking,” Fíli said.

“And I’m King Girion!”

“We could play something different,” Thorin tried to suggest. “Perhaps how Durin led the first dwarves into battle?”

The dwarflings both groaned.

“We play that all the time!” Kíli protested.

“We want to play the new story!” Fíli said.

Thorin looked longingly at the door to the dwelling and was surprised to see Dís standing there.

“Look, there’s your Amad! We should probably help her get dinner ready.”

Dís shook her head. “Don’t worry about that, the stew just has to simmer a while longer. You go ahead and play.”

“But perhaps I could watch the stew, and you join your sons,” Thorin attempted desperately.

Kíli looked his mother up and down sceptically. “No. She doesn’t fit.”

Fíli nodded. “Amad isn’t elf-like enough.”

“But I am?!”

Fíli nodded earnestly. “You’re tall. And fairly skinny, for a grown-up. You have less beard than Amad too. You’ll make a great Elvenking!”

Thorin spluttered.

“I told you not to tell them that story. Now you get to deal with the consequences,” Dís said in a far sweeter tone than the words merited. “Have fun!”

Thorin sighed, accepting his fate. “So, what do I have to do?”

 “You need a crown!” Fíli decided.

“Yes! The leaf crown!” Kíli agreed.

They hurried to gather some oak twigs that still had the brown autumn leaves attached, and Thorin showed them how to braid them into a crown. Soon, Thorin had two leaf crowns sitting upon his head, adorned with additional leaves stuck in where the twigs were too sparse where leaves had fallen off while being braided.

“Now you’re a very pretty Elvenking!” Kíli proclaimed. “And you can fight us.”

“He needs something to ride on first,” Fíli realized.

“We could get one of the goats from the stable,” Kíli pondered.

“I doubt they would enjoy that,” Thorin interjected. “They aren’t battle goats, they’re milk goats.”

“We could build a snow oliphaunt for you.”

“The Elvenking rides an elk, not an oliphaunt,” Fíli said.

“It was an elk,” Thorin agreed. “But building it out of snow is a great idea, Kili. We could use this boulder as the body, then we don’t have to build as much and I can sit on it.”

Thorin showed them how to roll the snow into balls and helped them push them towards the boulder. He kept having to set his crowns back onto his head since they had a tendency of slipping down. Together, they shaped the head and an awkward approximation of the legs. And if the elk was indistinguishable from an oliphaunt in the end, well, it was the process that counted.

Fíli found Thorin a long stick that doubled as both sceptre and sword. Then, Thorin had to mount his white oliphaunt-elk and declare war on all dwarves that had ever lived.

The improvised sword-fighting that followed soon turned into a full-blown snowball fight, which in turn developed into wrestling in the snow. Alliances were forgotten, leaf crowns fell off, braids unravelled and dwarflings giggled.

Thorin suspected that Dís had already been watching them for a long time before she called them in for dinner with a grin on her face.

It took Thorin quite a while to undo Kíli’s snow-caked shoelaces and wrestle off his boots, but even that only dampened the floor and not their moods.

Thorin woke up with a start. He was drenched with sweat, and he could still smell the flames and see the Elvenking’s sneering face in front of his eyes.

He took a deep breath, sat up and lit a candle. Dís was right. He really shouldn’t have told his nephews that story.

Tiptoeing as quietly as possible, Thorin made his way to the door to his nephews’ room. Fíli was sleeping deep and peacefully. Kíli on the other hand was twitching in his sleep. Thorin was worried for a moment.

“Got you,” Kíli mumbled in his sleep and giggled.

Thorin smiled. It seemed his nephews were made of harder stuff than he was.

“Is everything alright?” Dís asked quietly behind him.

“I had a nightmare, that’s all. Everything is fine with the boys.”

“I told you not to tell that story,” Dís said with a wry grin. “I said I wouldn’t be heating up any milk, but I’ll keep you company while you do so yourself.”

Thorin grinned. “My sister is always a woman of principles, isn’t she?”

Dís gave his shoulder a light shove. “You’re lucky to have me.”

Thorin followed her into the kitchen and silently agreed. He really was lucky to have her and his nephews.

[gnappart]

(leaving here the link to the ao3 version for those who feel more comfortable with its formatting)

SVSSS AU inspired by a possible animatic I could do with “Imposter Imperceptible” in which Shen Yuan is among the imposters (you think there would be just one? In a SVSSS fanfiction-more-like-quick-thought?! Fools), BUT! It’s not an Among Us AU (… an AU AU). 

So! Shen Yuan gets transmigrated as little Ba, Jiu’s younger twin. He gets a Qi-ge too, of course, he’s part of the package deal. A year goes by, during which in one way or another Shen Yuan collects the hints and comes to realise that his Jiu-ge is the great but terrible Scum Villain of PIDW! Now though he’s not so bad. Sure, he’s snarky and not exactly kind, but he cares, he makes sure his didi’s fed whenever it’s possible, checks his health as first thing in the morning and never lets Shen Yuan get (too) cold during the winter.

Then, one day, Jiu-ge tells him and Qi-ge that he felt on his back quite constantly for about a week the stare of a certain wealthy man, surely a noble. He’s sure he’s about to get sold and none of them is having it. They make a plan to escape somewhere that same night, they have a whole day to get ready and inconspicuously retrieve the little money they’ve saved — how should not be investigated. Get everything you need, hide it near the the city’s gate, and when the moon is high and just the song of crickets fill the night that is the time for them to gather and leave that hell hole to find some wandering cultivator to learn from. They’re strong, already did with success some simple exercises with their qi. They can do it.

But when the time comes, Shen Yuan, Ba-di, is missing. The two other kids wait for a bit until Qi-ge gets restless and wants to go and search for the younger boy, but Xiao Jiu stops him ad confesses: that day, a wealthy family bought his didi, allegedly to adopt him. They seemed nice, he would notice a liar or an imminent danger right away… He didn’t want to get separated from his didi, even hated him for a few seconds because why Ba and not Jiu? But, but… It was better than being fugitives slaves, safer, he had to let him go. Qi-ge is sad but understands. Dried the bitter-sweet tears, they depart.

Is Shen Yuan getting some luck in his life? AH! He wishes! Nope! I know, you know, everyone know who got him though, right? None other than Qiu Jianluo, 1st place in the scummiest villains league — joint winner is of course that viscid old man, Lao Gongzhu. Even though Shen Yuan tells Qiu Janluo he’s not Jiu, hi gege (and the bastard noticed!), the man shrugs it off: a twin for a twin, their beauty is the same and so will be they’re role. So, Shen Yuan discovers in a very traumatising way the would have been past of Shen Jiu. There’s a hope he holds to, though: when he got bought, he saw Jiu-ge and his brother saw him, made a terrified expression and run away. He was surely making a plan with Qi-ge to save him, none of them would never leave him.

Uh uh.

We know the drill of this world, the Never-a-Joy universe has some preferences and protagonists are the lucky winners.

Things go too far, patience’s limit has been reached and long passed, no one is coming. Shen Yuan’s furious, Shen Yuan decides that yes, he wants to let go and go ape shit, and so he does. The qi deviation is freeing, seeing blood flying everywhere cathartic. Among the flames and the dying screams, there are no survivors this time: no one helped, everyone turning their heads either because they didn’t care or because they didn’t want to incur in the young master’s retalation. Even Qiu Haitang is left to burn. Shen Yuan is glad he’ll never have to hear her annoying giggles ever again, her blind naivety. Not to mention the bitch would then come back in the future to accuse Shen Jiu, or, well, him in this case, of well deserved pluri-homicide. Good riddance, he thinks.

Painted red from head to toes, Shen Yuan is out for vengeance.

Time skip to many years later.

Shen Jiu, Shen Qingqiu is the esteemed lord of Qing Jing Peak, he’s still kind of an asshole, but because no Qiu household, no Wu Yanzi, no scum villain party! He’s more mellow of his original counterpart, but still perceive others as potential enemies, the too good disciples as potential usurpers. That’s a no no in his life schedule. Binghe, my dear Binghe, I love you but the drama is needed here! But worry not, because there’s no escape from the SVSSS vital plot moments even for scum villains!

Our dearest White Lotus, on a day like all the others (so, it starts bad, it ends worse), runs into a very peculiar scene: Shizun elegant but - oh my! - bloody robes, is being hold by another Shizun, wearing nice but cheap and very bloody robes, a dagger in his other hand. Oh my oh my, what happened here?! 

Elegant-Shizun looks quite dead, so let’s call the other alive-Shizun. Binghe is scared, sure, but he notices he doesn’t care about the lifeless body. About time that bitch kicked the bucket! Shizun who?! Ptui! Just a powerful man wanting to feel better about himself by exploiting the weak! Just like the terrible people back in his village!

There’s just the little detail that there’s seems to be a Shizun too many.

Oh my oh my, what happened here indeed!

Count me as scared and intrigued! (not horny, definitely not horny) Binghe thinks, because he’s avant-gard! [I write these things with no alcohol or funny substances in me, I’m very proud of myself! Though my friends used to say that my body itself produces the drugs that enter my system]

Alive-Shizun notices him and in his eyes there’s a glint of recognition. The man smiles kindly. “Fear not, Binghe, for I’m not your enemy”

He knows his name! Stranger danger! But he killed the evil Shizun? He cannot be so bad!

At this point Shen Yuan presents himself to Binghe (while fanboying inside because LUO BINGHE! WHITE LOTUS LUO BINGHE!), outline his and Shen Jiu’s past, says he will save Binghe from his destiny yadda yadda. [Not sooo sure how this section of the narrative would go, this is just a thing I’m writing down to remember all the ideas I thought about. Will a proper story ever see the light? If the God of Fanfiction will bless me, maybe], but long story short, Shen Yuan convinces Binghe to help him hide the truth (and the body), as he will pose as Shen Qingqiu from now on. No worries about his change of character, Qi Deviations happen (so good that Shen Yuan’s spiritual veins got ruined along the way, keeps the narrative strong!) and conveniently may erase memories, right Mu-shidi? No, this master has not forgotten everything, he knows his martial family and his disciple and the main events of his life, but more like as if he read about them in a book than actually living them, and there some holes here and there. But, oh!, he remembers being quite nasty on more than one occasion though, and he’s very sorry about that!

Mu Qingfang’s smile is so strained his cheeks are sure hurting, while Qi-ge looks one step away from qi deviating himself, but they nonetheless reassure him that everything is okay, whether he remembers or not, as long as he is okay now, they will work on them his memories. And if they won’t come back… well that’s unlucky but I’ve got a whole eternity in front of me, who has time to be depressed about what is lost? Let us make new memories! - he cheerfully informs them. Yue Qingyuan faints.

In a corner, Binghe grins entertained.

This White Lotus, does he not seems too vicious? He is, he is! If you could hear what he hears, you would know of the velvet voice in his head; if could see through his eyes, from time to time, when the voice feels in need of a bit of an outlet, in the mirrors you could see an older Binghe, with a bright scarlet sigil on his forehead. But if you could meet Binghe at night, you would encounter someone completely different - that you, Bingge? A round of applause for the man with thousands of wife and not a joy in his sculpted body! (Theirs is a situation kind of Jekyll and Mr Hide, though the shape won’t change, just who’s in control). This man from the future helped his younger self, told him about the terrible things Shen Qingqiu did and will do, how rotten this man is, how he deserves all the pain of this life and the next.

Curious then, the raw scream Binghe heard in his head when he first saw dead Shizun, victorious but also pained, though he’s sure that if he brought it up Bingge would say it was anger, he, they, should be the ones bringing every Shen Jiu to his demise! Sure gege, sure.

Binghe’s new Shizun, his true Shizun as he likes to call him making the man smile, is a marvel and he’s kind and dotes on his disciple so much. Bingge boils in envy until this kindness is extended to him as well, the kind Shizun recognising a different soul in his beloved little shit sheep. “Not even being turned into a limbless body could make me hate you” Shen Yuan says as he pats Bingge hair and the half-demon understands: this man knows, somehow he knows. He’s not a reincarnation of Shen Jiu from his world, neither his wandering ghost, he just knows and he doesn’t care, about all the blood he’s spilled, sinners and innocents the same. He brought chaos and destruction, full of regrets, pain, he’s broken. But Shen Yuan pats his head and doesn’t dismiss his existence, doesn’t try to exorcise him (he wouldn’t be able but still, the thought counts!), this Shizun showers both him and his younger counter part with unconditioned love?! What witchery is this?!

Binghe seethes with jealousy: Shen Yuan is supposed to be his Shizun, umpf! Like proper siblings, they bicker a lot from then on when it comes to who has more claim on Shizun! Harmony is reached for the well being of Shizun <3 and especially when Liu Qingge starts to appear more and more on the peak. If it was to kneel in front of Shizun to thank him everyday for saving his life they would praise him, but this shameless man doesn’t know his limits! This Brute should stay on his Brutes Peak and that’s it!

And who’s this plain guy going to and forth from Shizun’s house lately? Oh, wait. Shizun’s whacking his head with his fan again, good good. But. But! Shizun never let them stay in the Bamboo house whenever this Shang guy comes! Shizuuuuun!

The first time the man came to visit, he silently looked at this Shizun for a very, long, awkward time and than said just one word: Airplane. Shizun almost spat his tea (he actually did, but the Luo “brothers” are going to forever protect his dignity). What the hell is an airplane?!

After few weeks, Shang-guy starts coming every.fucking.single.day. Binghe and Bingge are this close to give him the Shen Jiu treatment but their Shizun placate them, with a promise or another (not even one went broken; their Shizun is the best <3). 

After a month nothing changed. Well, unless you notice one less Shang going around Cang Qiong mountain (but just some An Ding disciples ever noticed there were two, a plain set of twins, to tell the truth). Everything goes much smoother though, this everyone becomes aware off. And Shang Qinghua doesn’t give off rat vibes anymore, he feels more like an overworked hamster. The Peak Lords look at the unsightly (but recently often together) pair of Shen Qingqiu and Shan Qinghua quietly talking to each other and shrug it off: if the whole Sect benefits from it, no one should think too much about going to the root of it. AND the demon lord of the North Region asked for a peace treat??? The Sect is confusion; the lost look that Yue Qingyuan gives to his second in command makes Shen Yuan burst in laughter in front of everyone. But Shixiong, is it not an event who shall be rejoyced? You should smile as well!

The only one who caught some words of the whispered conversation was Luo Binghe who dutifully later transcribed them in his notebook “Shizun’s code” (he’s sure he will decipher it one day). It went as follows:

SQH: Broooo, so much more paperwork! Double paperwork! I swear, I’m going to die!

SHIZUN <3: Is it not worth it, though?

SQH: Oh sure, didi dearest didn’t pass the vibe test

SHIZUN <3: The bitch was empty

SQH: Rightfully yeeted out of the Mountain and of life

BOTH: Good riddance

SQH: Say, bro, would you like to hear the story of Tianlang-jun? I think the Bing Bros should stay as well this time

Under the roof of the Bamboo House, drink tea the Imposters Imperceptible. 

(No, Shang Qinghua didn’t avoid the fan whacking once the whole truth was out. The Bing Bros are not sure why Shizun is taking out his anger on his friend but he’s wise and surely has his reasons <3).

{Hi everyone! Long time no see! I finally had some free days, which mean enough time to recharge my writer energy juice. I haven’t abandoned my other works, especially the BNHA myths AU, but work truly sucks out all my life force. Still, Tumblr is a magical place where even a forgotten, old something can suddenly see light again, so thank you so much for all the likes and reblogs! They make me so happy (and a bit teary) <3}

[hasufin]

It's probably nothing, until it isn't

My cat just had a lobotomy.

Okay, they prefer to call it a lobectomy. And not a cranial one - this was to the lungs. But I'll get to that.

So, last Friday, I noticed that my boy Shiro was making a kind of odd noise, that he seemed to be wheezing a little bit, and when I touched him he made a moaning noise. This was all very minor, it would have been easy to say "It's probably nothing", and I almost did that.

But, knowing that cats are very good at masking distress, I decided to take him to the emergency vet. There, they determined he had a pleural effusion - fluid in the cavity around the lungs. (As an aside, an awful lot of medical conditions are just "description of the symptom in bad Latin or medical jargon" which means once you understand that you end up going "Yes, I came in with knee pain, and you have diagnosed me with knee pain, but that doesn't tell me anything I didn't already know.")

Anyway, so they drained the lung cavity and concluded it was most likely congestive heart failure. They gave me some meds for that and told me to make an appointment with a veterinary cardiologist. Which I did, for this coming Monday (got really lucky). I took Shiro home, he seemed a little better for a while but just kinda sat around. He also didn't eat or drink, which was worrisome.

On Sunday, I decided to call the vet again. The place I went to on Friday (associated with our regular vet) said they were slammed with pets needing Oxygen and told me to take him to another emergency vet which was actually closer. They looked at him, concluded he had more fluid, which should not have built up so quickly, and proceeded to do more testing. They found it almost certainly wasn't CHF, nor cancer, which would have been the two most likely causes.

In fact, the problem turned out to be lung torsion. One of the lobes in his lungs got twisted - something which can happen spontaneously, but is quite rare. Further, the CT scan showed that the twisted lobe was pressing against another lobe (cats have 14 in total, 7 lobes per lung) and along with the fluid buildup was making it hard to breath.

Yesterday evening they performed surgery to remove the affected lobes. He has been recovering, but is still at the veterinary hospital. It seems he's still not eating, and I authorized a feeding tube. They're still projecting a recovery, but I remain quite worried about my boy.

There are two things I've taken from this.

One is financial. I don't want to go into numbers, but the amount was a LOT. If we did not have insurance specifically for this kind of thing, it would have been a very hard decision. As it was, the big issue was the vet wanted the payment up front, which is reasonable when you're talking a few hundred for a tooth extraction, but as I told them, the last time I moved that kind of money it was a direct wire transfer and it took a week to set up. It's worrisome that we've reached the point where "amount you need to keep your cat alive" is running up against "Whoa whoa whoa that's a lot of money to be flashing around, what are you a drug dealer?" My spouse spent over an hour on the phone with Bank of America trying to get them to authorize a check, which they would not do even though they acknowledged both that they were speaking to the account holder, and there was more than enough money in the account. Spouse is going to be changing banks, because what is the point of having money you can't use in an emergency? Trupanion really came through, though, pre-authorizing a large cost on a Sunday, and getting my upfront down to where I could easily put it on a credit card. Again we're not in any financial trouble for this, it's just it was a very considerable amount of money.

Second, the thing which haunts me is how very close I was to Doing Nothing. Because none of the signs were that obvious. Until the moment the emergency vet showed me the ultrasound, I was still feeling I was just wasting my time and theirs. And even over the weekend, it seemed Shiro was just off because of having been to the vet, and we'd go to the cardiologist on Monday to make a treatment plan, and it'd all be... well, not great, but predictable. I could very easily have woken up Monday to a dead cat and never known why.

I have to confront the reality, too, that I'm just not ready to lose Shiro. I know he's 14 years old, he will be dying in the next few years. He's been with me through four relationships, seven homes, and four jobs. I'm glad that This Time it's something we can treat. Eventually it won't be, and I'm going to have to face that.

[dalgursbate]

Dame Aylin's Home for Wayward Girls (4/?)

Summary: Isobel swears she didn’t mean to start a commune. She’s not so sure about Aylin, though. Or, how a celestial and her reanimated girlfriend help the heroes of Baldur’s Gate process their trauma.

Rating: E WC: 13,812 Pairing: F/F, Isobel/Aylin/Shadowheart

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

They make it to Baldur’s Gate, and Shadowheart seems lighter.

Isobel imagines the weight of leading the party must be wearing on her, but she does not show it. On the contrary, since Aylin and Isobel helped her with her hair two nights ago, Shadowheart has seemed more certain of herself than Isobel has ever seen her. Not that she claims to be the foremost expert on Shadowheart, but by now she thinks she has something of an idea how the cleric is feeling.

Isobel feels a warmth somewhere deep in her gut at the thought that she and Aylin played some part in Shadowheart’s good mood.

The party eats dinner in the city and it is nothing short of rapturous, if only because none of them has to clean up afterwards (though Gale mutters somewhat about his own culinary inventions being superior). Isobel finds herself yearning for this horrid war to be over, so that she can have more nights like this with the people who have come to be her friends.

Shadowheart, in all her benevolence, has decided to use the party’s substantial gold to rent everyone a room for the night in Sharess’ Caress, so that they might all experience the luxury of sleeping in a bed for once. After all, they need to stop there anyway. “Do not expect me to pay for anything else you might get up to, you heathens,” she had admonished before handing out the room keys.

Isobel, for one, is ecstatic at the thought of having a room with a mattress and relative privacy. It’s been too long since she has gotten to share that experience with Aylin, considering they joined Shadowheart’s camp almost immediately upon reuniting (and hadn’t been able to make it out of the hallways of Moonrise Towers before their need for one another had taken over). Which means it has been over a century since she has slept in a bed with Aylin.

That thought fills her with a particular kind of melancholy for a moment, but she brushes it aside. Now is not the time for sorrow, she reminds herself. Now is the time to revel in the precious comfort Shadowheart has granted her.

And revel she does.

When evening turns to night, the party makes their way over to their lodgings. As they enter Sharess’ Caress, Isobel is struck with the scent of incense and sex. It is at once intoxicating and somewhat repulsive.

As she and Aylin begin navigating their way to their room, she sees Shadowheart get pulled into a conversation with a set of appealingly underdressed drow twins. Isobel watches the way they flirt and touch the cleric, the way Shadowheart offers a coy look back at them and whispers something into the sister’s ear.

Good, Isobel thinks. She deserves to unwind a little. A small part of her brain cannot help but feel a little envious that the twins will be the ones to help her do it.

Isobel and Aylin find their room eventually, after asking Mamzell Amira for directions, and as they enter they see it is finely appointed and themed to look like a meadow in the Faewild. The bed in front of them is covered in a fluffy, shaggy blanket dyed a deep green to look like moss; the pillows have fae wildflowers painted on them. 

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Isobel laughs, stepping to the bed to run her fingers along the blanket. It is decadently soft and plush, and will more than serve for Aylin and Isobel’s purposes.

Aylin doesn’t respond verbally, preferring instead to knock the wind out of Isobel by tackling her to the bed.

“Hey!” Isobel protests when the breath returns to her lungs, wriggling under Aylin’s grasp as though she actually seeks to escape it. “Unhand me, foul creature!”

“By Selûne, I swear that I shall not,” Aylin responds from where she’s hovering over Isobel, voice full of bad intentions as she begins tickling Isobel, targeting her where she’s most sensitive.

Isobel shrieks then, and struggles to free herself from Aylin’s grip in earnest, a combination of whimpers and giggles leaving her throat at the assault. Eventually, she manages to flip them over so that she is straddling Aylin.

“Shall we see how you like the taste of your own medicine, hmm?” Isobel asks breathlessly, unable to wipe the smile from her lips long enough to affect a menacing demeanor. She pushes her cold fingers into Aylin’s armpits and tickles her mercilessly, pulling an undignified squawking sound from her lover’s lips.

“If you do not cease this senseless violence,” Aylin manages to gasp out, hips bucking up against Isobel to try to force her off, “I shall decant all your potions into different bottles so you cannot tell which is which.”

Isobel laughs at that, and Aylin takes advantage of the distraction to reverse their positions and resume her torture on Isobel.

“You started it, you villain!” Isobel protests, face scrunching up as she tries to deny Aylin the satisfaction of her squealing. She mostly fails. “And I am going to Banish you for just long enough to hide all of your belongings where you’ll never find them!”

“And where would that be, my love?” Aylin asks, clearly relishing Isobel’s torment.

“At the bottom of the Chionthar,” Isobel hisses, her voice deadly serious even as she hiccups another giggle at Aylin’s provocation.

They wrestle back and forth for a bit, each refusing to either surrender or relent, and trade increasingly absurd threats until they are both panting in between fits of laughter. Isobel says something about Polymorphing Aylin and keeping her as livestock henceforth (while Aylin bites back that she doesn’t even have that spell); Aylin vows to join forces with the Absolute. The bed, clearly built for much more strenuous activity, barely makes a peep at all the commotion, though the way it yields so easily to their forms convinces Isobel that whatever Shadowheart spent for this excursion was well worth it.

They end up with Isobel sitting atop Aylin’s hips, her hands pinning the aasimar’s arms above her head.

“Well, lover, it seems I have emerged victorious,” Isobel gloats from where she hovers over Aylin. Their heavy breathing mixes in the scant distance between their faces.

“Foolish of you to assume the fight is over,” Aylin responds, and moves to flip the two of them over again.

“Do not move,” Isobel warns, moving her face even closer to Aylin’s, “or I will cast Planar Binding on you.”

The threat offends Aylin enough that she stops struggling and glares, mouth agape, at Isobel. “You would not dream of doing me such an injustice.”

“I would if it meant you couldn’t tickle me anymore.”

“Bastard. Miscreant,” Aylin bites out, full of feigned vitriol. “Scoundrel. Ne’er-do-well.”

Isobel just throws her head back and laughs, fully, as she is overcome with adoration for her lover’s exaggerated pout.

Then, there is a knock on their door.

Isobel groans at having her time with Aylin interrupted, but nevertheless climbs off her partner to answer it.

On the other side of it stands Shadowheart, and Isobel’s displeasure dissipates immediately as something bright and happy replaces it. She supposes she should not be surprised, at this point, when Shadowheart seeks them out, but it delights her still. Shadowheart is already dressed in her camp clothes, and she carries with her a bottle of Ithbank.

Isobel arches a brow. “Do you need to dye your hair again?”

“Ha ha,” Shadowheart says flatly. She looks over Isobel’s shoulder, where Isobel can only imagine Aylin is sprawled out on the bed. “I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

“I had been planning to consume Isobel’s very soul through her cunt,” Aylin says from the bed, and Isobel wipes a hand over her face in sheer mortification. She opens the door wider for Shadowheart to enter.

“Please, you’d be doing me a favor to save me from the clutches of this degenerate,” Isobel pleads dramatically, smiling a little at the inanity of it all.

Shadowheart just rolls her eyes and enters the room, though her grin belies any annoyance she attempts to project.

“To what do we owe the honor of your company?” Isobel asks, closing the door behind the cleric. As she turns around to face the room, she sees that Aylin is, in fact, posing seductively on the bed. “I would have thought you’d be too busy with the drow twins by this hour.”

“Who says I wasn’t?” Shadowheart throws a wicked smirk back at Isobel as she crosses the room, sitting at the edge of the bed next to where Aylin still lounges all prettily.  And, oh, there is something about the sight of it that causes a hot flame of want to lick up Isobel’s insides. “Perhaps I merely prefer your company in the afterglow.”

“Darling, do make room for our guest on the bed, would you?” Isobel mutters, and she worries that the heat is going to climb to her face and betray her desire.

“If I must,” Aylin sighs, sounding terribly put-out. She can only maintain the pretense for so long, before her face breaks out in an impish grin. “I never anticipated it being so simple a matter to lure the hero of Baldur’s Gate into our bed.”

“O lover mine, must you really be so incorrigible?” Isobel chides, though she notes the way Shadowheart drags her eyes over Aylin’s form as she rearranges herself to make room for the three of them on the bed. Aylin moves until she is lounging against the headboard with her legs stretched out in front of her, and Isobel rolls her eyes to see how much of the bed she still occupies. Shadowheart shifts up the bed just enough to fold her legs underneath herself, taking up very little space by contrast. Isobel decides to sit next to Aylin and rearranges the pillows to support her back, though she does not stretch out as Aylin does.

“It is fascinating, my dearest, that you never say such things when I am–”

“Aylin!” Isobel interrupts, laughing exasperatedly, a hand reflexively reaching out to slap her lover lightly on the arm. 

Shadowheart watches the interaction unfold with great interest, eyes moving back and forth between the two of them as a smile grows on her face.

“Wine, anyone?” She asks, and uncorks the bottle without waiting for a response. Isobel happily grabs it from her and takes a sip, savoring the intricate layering of flavors. “Not that I’m not enjoying this little back and forth.”

Aylin takes the bottle from Isobel and takes a hearty swig. She grins salaciously, asking, “Was the back and forth with the twins not enjoyable enough for you? Or is our indomitable cleric simply that insatiable?”

Isobel almost says something to scold Aylin once more, but Shadowheart leans back on the bed, supporting herself with her elbows and unfolding her legs so her feet dangle off the edge. She stretches out so that her back arches temptingly and levels Aylin with a sly smile. “The twins tired a bit quickly for my taste.” Aylin hands her the bottle wordlessly, eyebrow quirked, and Shadowheart takes a long pull of it.

“Is that so?” Isobel asks, genuinely curious. She isn’t sure how long she spent wrestling with Aylin, but upon reflection she does not think it could have been more than twenty minutes.

Shadowheart laughs and says, “No, not really. But they did want a thousand gold, can you believe it? Hells, I already spent too much getting the rooms.” 

“Ah, so we were your second choice for companionship this evening,” Isobel says. “I shall try not to be too offended.”

“In fairness to you two, the first choice was a pair of delicious-looking drow whose job it is to be good at sex,” Shadowheart points out.

“I suppose I cannot begrudge you that,” Aylin agrees magnanimously. Then, because she clearly cannot help herself: “Pity you did not get the chance to taste them.”

“I’m finding I don’t mind all too much,” Shadowheart says, and she smiles genuinely at the two of them.

Aylin seems to be searching for something in Shadowheart’s face, the way her eyes are roving over the other woman’s features. Eventually, she asks, “Would you like to cuddle with us?” Shadowheart’s mouth drops open in surprise, or perhaps to say something, but Aylin clarifies: “This is not a proposition. Though I could also proposition you, should you prefer.”

Shadowheart swallows, and she looks between the two of them as though trying to divine how serious they’re being. Isobel herself is a little taken aback by the bluntness of the offer, but she supposes in Aylin’s own, odd way it makes sense. She doubts Shadowheart would ever come to them with anything less than an explicit invitation.

“We could also forget that we ever asked that of you,” Isobel adds after a long moment passes without answer. “And nothing else about our relationship with you would change.”

“No, I–” Shadowheart starts, before swallowing again. A ruddy flush rises to her cheeks. Isobel finds it terribly attractive. “I–cuddling sounds good. For now. But I am…also interested in the rest. To be clear.” Shadowheart takes another pull from the Ithbank before setting the bottle on the floor and crawling up the bed so that she’s in between Aylin and Isobel. Isobel tries not to feel hunger at it and fails, cannot help the desire crawling up her body and settling in her core at the sight of this beautiful, complicated woman approaching her.

She smothers it the best she can, so she can be what Shadowheart needs her to be right now. A petulant part of her bemoans that it would be much easier to do that if Shadowheart hadn’t interrupted her and Aylin earlier, but she realizes that she would rather be here, like this, than have that privacy with her lover. The realization is a little startling.

Shadowheart now mirrors their positions at the headboard, tucked snugly in between the two of them. Aylin repositions her so that Shadowheart is half leaning against Aylin’s chest, Shadowheart’s left thigh sandwiched in between Aylin’s. Isobel curls herself around Shadowheart’s other half, wrapping her arms around her and Aylin and laying her head on Shadowheart’s chest. She entwines one of her legs with Shadowheart’s for good measure. By the time everyone is done fidgeting, the three of them form a giant, unwieldy knot of limbs.

Isobel sighs against Shadowheart’s chest before nuzzling her a little, pleasantly surprised by how warm and comfortable she is, how soothed she feels to be near to these two women. Shadowheart’s breath hitches a little, and Isobel begins rubbing small circles into the skin of her hip.

“Will you stay with us tonight?” Isobel asks, because she is quite positive that Shadowheart is too afraid to ask that same question.

“Yes,” Shadowheart whispers back, and casts a spell to extinguish the light in the room. In the dark, the sounds of their combined breathing are heightened and the points of contact between them feel almost electrified. The hand that Shadowheart has wrapped around Isobel begins stroking her side sweetly, sending little jolts up Isobel's spine. “I would like that.”

Isobel closes her eyes and breathes deeply, to remind herself that this is real and that she is allowed to have this after everything.

In the dark, she hears Aylin press a kiss to Shadowheart’s hair.

[thebookworm0001]

I'm terribly nosy, so-- 3,5,11, 19 for the ask game? Or whichever you prefer! ❤️

Gonna answer 3&5 for another ask in a second, so hold on tight!

11. Do you believe in the old advice to "kill your darlings?" Are you a ruthless darling assassin?

What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

The way that my professors explained this one to me is that sometimes you have lines/sections/etc that you may love, but just don’t work for your piece. So you ditch them. However, you don’t get rid of them. You throw them into a special dead darlings document/folder/notebook and hold onto them. They may live there forever, or you may find that they work perfectly somewhere else.

So, I say less ‘kill your darlings’ and more ‘put them in retirement and they can come out of it if they feel like working again’

I actually combined a lot of my fic wips into one single wip doc, so now I can pull out my darlings and they just hang around. Usually any sadness I feel is replaced once I figure out what actually is working. Then I can try to find a new home for whatever I had to ditch. I’m much more attached to getting the thing right than I am making sure that a single line or phrase sticks around.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey.

When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved to read. Stories were everything to her. Why be in the real world when the pages between covers could offer so much more? One day, the brilliant idea came to her - what if she made her own adventures? She quite liked this one World, where children had been given wings and sought to find a place to live in peace far away from the terrible people who had done so. So why not tell a new story there? So she did! And my goodness, she didn’t stop. She filled up notebook after notebook of stories - using the sandbox other people had made to play with new stories and ideas. Many of them very dark, most of them always working toward a happy end. She even shared some of them with people. Some she knew and some she would never meet. And at some point, she started trying out her own worlds and own people. None of them very original, but what can you expect when you’re first starting out. And she liked that so much she decided to keep doing it, and to pay quite a bit of money to learn how to do it better.

And at this point I’m dropping the fairy tale thing. Tired.

Anyway, went to college for creative writing. Figured out not only do I kinda love poetry, I’m actually quite good at it. Got some of mine published internationally, even. Turns out writing short stories makes my brain hurt but I want to do it more than I want to write the poems. College included some Trauma, some of which I wrote about, some of which I can’t write about still (hello burn injuries) and then I wrote a book. 61k words in one year for a single project - a first for me. And a fucking fantastic way to burn myself out. Like, I do think I actually hurt myself doing that. (Perfectionism and anxiety combined to form procrastination and I’m a slow writer as-is.) Very proud of the project. Still have not read it all the way through (that’s a summer project, actually) because reading my own work is some of the most terrifying shit I have to do and I actively avoid it.

Got a job doing writing and editing things professionally. Then a pandemic happened. And somehow that allowed me to write and publish my first ever bit of erotica. Which continues to be my most popular piece of writing.

I don’t write nearly as much as I used to these days - a combo of that burnout and just not having the time/energy anymore (also that perfectionism that I have been getting slowly better about) - and I’m trying to be kind to myself about it. Writing feels a lot like pulling teeth for me - but the end product makes it worth it. And I don’t think I could ever stop writing. I love stories too much. But I’m at a place where if I want to be able to keep doing it, I can’t push myself the way I once did. And while that is frustrating, it does mean that when i can get my writer brain to turn on, it’s a lot easier to get stuff down. If only because I’ve spent four months working out the details of a scene in my head before writing out a single word.

[criticalana]

Museum thoughts - it's all ideaology

A very interesting exhibition with many fun props to engage with for the experience and explore further the line of the topic. Personally I decided to draw an EcoFeminist, write messages and leave them for others to read as well as to watch a couple of short movies.

Here are some exhibits that caught my attention:

Moving to commenting and thoughts on the topic and the exhibited. The topic was predominantly indigenous futurism, which it seemed that it couldn't escape the frame of the colonialism itself. Whether that be a critique or an empowerment it all seemed to me that it didn't step outside of the imposed frame, which is the frame of the colonizers, not of the colonized. Why do I think that?

A lot of the exhibits, especially in the first part of the exhibition(but not exclusively), tried to tell their stories through mass culture, the topic being futurism. There were refrences to Star Wars, we even got reminded of Avatar. I would like to go further into the example of Avatar. Even though none of the exhibits showed or referenced Avatar itself, they referenced pop culture, from the position of the colonized, but we got reminded of Avatar since it uses very similar tools and ways to tell a story from the colonizers' point of view. Even when Avatar tries to tell the story of the colonized, it is so stereotypical that the creators are proving that they are not capable of looking beyond their biased lenses, but neither are the colonized. We are both, all, fed with the same content, made through one lens, that even if we wanted we couldn't break out of it. Some exhibits even tried mocking the colonizers, but it all ended up being the same(Star Wars figures with native clothing holding a Western sport's dress).

It is possible, however, that it is all mockery, which would make a stronger case for the colonized being able to rebel and use the colonizer's tools to mock them and send a message, but an example of the mediaeval capital of an African country projected into the future and made out of Lego gives me more of a sad dream. A dream which is far away, collecting, working for and buying the colonizer's bricks - the very expensive Lego, every child's dream(although also possible that the message is that the author will use the colonizer's most precious and use it for his own dream).

If that is not the case I would suggest a nice sum up video of Slavoj Zizek's critique of ideology and how he sees ideology:

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1iMF4OVv36g)

Please listen to the points where it is spoken of ideology as a frame, that limits us in seeing outside of it, and without giving us an actual possibility of choice. I would conclude my commenting on this as 'I would prefer not to', but I kind of had to(so I chose one of the pills).