#perhaps consider reading a bit of this...

[satorisoup]

⌗ 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐁𝐎 ! ⁝ ( ᰔ )

— timeskip! koutaro bokuto

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ﾉ fluff. one mention of pregnancy (facepalm). bokuto seems to be a bit forgetful.

𝐖𝐂 ﾉ 833

the blinking bedside lamp reads 7:00am, september 20th. it’s your husbands birthday today, and you’re sure he’d love to sleep in after all of the training he’s been doing. you snuggle closer into the radiant heat beside you, enjoying the morning silence before the events of today, until you’re not.

you’re abruptly interrupted by none other than your husbands loud, rather obnoxious alarm. it dings and shouts, and bokuto moves to slide out of bed with a groan.

perhaps he’s just going to the bathroom.

you wait patiently for his return, until about 15 minutes go by and your hair is swept away from your forehead, a pair of lips replacing it.

“… kou ? ”

bokuto seems almost upset with himself that he had woken you. unbeknownst to him, you had already been awake, lying down in confusion.

“ crap— i’m sorry baby. im off to practice, kay ? ”

your eyes shoot open at that, only for your worries to be answered, bokuto was indeed dressed in his practice uniform, gym bag swung over his shoulder.

“ what ? kou— you don’t have practice. they canceled it for today, didn’t you know ? ”

he reels back, almost distraught with the pout that adorns his face.

“ huh ? why would they cancel practice ?! i was supposed to help shoyo learn my cross-shots ! ”

“ because it’s an important day ! why wouldn’t they do that ? you want to practice today ? ”

“ what’s more important than that ! did i forget an anniversary ?! ”

it hits you at the same time the morning sun rises, your lawfully wedded has forgotten his own birthday. you mentally want to facepalm at bokuto for his forgetfulness, so incredibly eager to practice, but you’re dawned with the humorous fact that this is just so him.

and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to play along for now.

you’re now at the grocery store to buy food and some treats, beer and cake, for the birthday party you had planned at your house tonight. bokuto, the birthday boy in question, strolls beside you absolutely oblivious. maybe by now he’d of caught on.

“ what do we need a cake for ? ”

or maybe not.

you’d already sent a text to everyone invited tonight telling them of your current situation, and all agreed to act completely casual until your husband would eventually come to his senses.

you’re now preparing food, cutting up slices of prosciutto as atsumu pops a grape into his mouth.

“ you married n’ airhead, y’know ”

and yes, you do know, you’re sure of it. bokuto suspected absolutely nothing from the friendly visit of his teammate, and nothing by the arrival of 10 more of his closest friends.

perhaps akaashi’s arrival would make him suspect this is definitely more than just a regular get together, considering akaashi is usually never able to take a break from work for these kinds of things.

there’s a loud slap heard from a hand colliding with akaashi’s back, and bokuto’s bright smile is in view.

“ man, did all of you miss me or what ? ”

or perhaps not.

there’s a gift pile that grows with the more people that show up, and bokuto doesn’t even realize it until it’s practically overloading the table.

“ what’s with all the gifts ? ”

he stands next to you, glancing at it once, twice, before his entire face pales and drops into one of pure shock.

this is it. you’ve got him.

“ oh my god— is this a baby shower ? babe— are you pregnant ?! put that beer down ! ”

after you reveal that you are in fact not pregnant, you can tell that bokuto’s visibly becoming more confused and skeptical. his brow is quirked up into a questioning arch, and his arms are crossed over his puffed chest.

not one single person has cracked into spilling the so called “ secret ”, and you decide that your husband truly doesn’t understand what is going on.

kuroo then sits bokuto down into a chair, holding his shoulder as all of his friends gather around. he’s unable to see you in his linesight, only viewing the many cameras that are now pointing to him.

“ is there something on my face ? ”

and it’s not until you round the corner, holding tightly to a cake with candles and setting it down in front of him, that you let it slip.

“ happy birthday, bo. ”

the cheers that erupt from his friends and the kiss on his cheek from you is all bokuto needs for his face to form into a wide smile, blowing out his candles in a final realization as he bellows in a loud laughter.

“ whoops ! happy birthday to me ! ”

no, you didn’t even have to plan a surprise party, because being married to bokuto koutaro is a surprise in it of itself.

[wanderingblindly]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

oooooooh this is so cruel, how dare you make me consider my fics this way????? reflecting on this made me realize that a lot of my personal favs are actually my less popular ones. that makes sense, in a way; often my favorites are where i'm trying to express a really specific emotion or idea, which might not always resonate with people? anyways, ordered from oldest to newest:

Eighteenth Summer (Do You Wish We'd Fall in Love?)

ambient, pining, sort of sepia toned vignette filtered lestappen. i remember really wanting to capture the ambiguity that comes with being 18 and finishing high school -- a new future looms even when you feel like you haven't finished living what you have now. very much being on a precipice, but with a happy ending :)

You Bring Me Closer To God

i literally fucking love this universe so much. even if the fic wasn't special, writing all the dynamics between the bandmates, between the bar flies, between oscar and lando... it was such a joy. i still think about writing more within Dirty Blondes all the time.

I Know Your Name (But Not Who You Are)

lestappen in grief! the passage of time! the fear that life has somehow stopped moving on but also changed more than you can stomach! wanting things from your childhood but having to accept that you can never go back! but perhaps learning that moving forward is beautiful, too! yet another one where i entered it trying to capture a specific feeling, and i think i managed to like... use the setting in a way that achieved that.

Someone in Seattle

i like this one because i managed to write a fic i'd love to read. i love fics that explore the soft, meandering development of relationships -- the ones where falling in love is a bit of a blurry line, and it happens just by the nature of truly Seeing each other. it's a love letter to my home, and i think of her very fondly.

Impasse of Biting

THIS IS THE ONLY FIC WHERE I FEEL LIKE I GOT EVEN CLOSER TO LIKE. SOMETHING YOU COULD ANALYZE. THERE ARE CHARACTER MOTIVATIONS! THERE'S SPECIFIC WORD CHOICE! THERE'S UNRELIABLE NARRATION AND COMPLICATED EMOTIONAL TIES! idk. it's one that i feel like each reader could come away with something wildly different, and (as someone who doesn't often deal in ambiguity), that makes me proud.

[underfaller]

I grow maddened. 

Rating: T Bill Cipher/ Ford Pines Word Count: 1.5k

I grow maddened. 

Stanford races away from the town until the cobblestone path turns into thick snow. The words circle around his skull, over and over-- a broken record that plays into his increasing insanity. As he stumbles through the woods, his vision lurches; Ford swears that all the dark trees have familiar, yellow eyes, watching every step he makes. 

Watching. Waiting. Ready to devour him right then and there. 

The townspeople all have Bill's eyes. They’re all watching me. I can’t trust them. 

In Gravity Falls, you can trust no one. That isn't a problem-- Stanford Filbrick Pines has no one. 

He barges into his cabin, fumbling with the door’s (multiple) locks before sinking to the floor, back against the hardwood. Ford clutches his right eye. It’s agonizing. Thick blood drips from the organ, sliding down his fingers as he sits, half panting, half sobbing, and fully delirious. 

My muse was a monster. I was a puppet.

Ford stands up, storming through his empty home, still clutching his wounded eye. Blind. I was so blind! How could I have been so stupid? He’s hurt. Betrayed. And furious at himself. 

Ford tears off at the golden tapestries that adorn every corner of the cabin. He shatters every crystal prism until his boots crunch against glass that litters the floor like iridescent snow. Still, he cannot shake his delirium. 

‘Sixer, it’ll eat you alive.’

He’s exhausted, yet he can’t sleep. When Ford even closes his eyes a bit longer than usual, his vision dances with triangles and he snaps them open in a panic. No, he can’t possibly sleep knowing who he’ll see in his dreams.  

But Ford doesn’t know how much longer he can stay awake. He’s growing desperate. He wonders if this is all worth it.

I grow maddened.  

Stanford’s never considered suicide but in his misery and fatigue, the blissful peace of eternal sleep is tempting.Even rabid animals gain the respite of death, surely, Ford reckons, he deserves that much. 

Or do my failures make me less than an animal? 

Ford wonders if he should leave a note. It would certainly be in character-- Stanford always needed to have the last word.

But who would even read it?

Not F. His former partner is probably already in  Palo Alto, enjoying his doting family without even a sliver of thought about Ford or their former dreams. 

Not his brother. How long has it even been? It must have been over ten years since Ford saw him. He envisions his twin’s face-- identical to his own despite their opposite personalities and paths in life. 

Was I too harsh on him all those years ago? 

Would he even care?

Perhaps, his old muse and his current tormentor. Though, Stanford’s suicide note would be more of a white flag than a triumphant last statement. Bill would certainly be amused by his former devotee’s fate. 

Stanford Filbrick Pines has no one. 

Ford makes his way up to the attic.

Perhaps this is the most logical course of action. 

He plans every step in his life yet the one to end it is one done most spontaneously. 

If I do this one thing by myself, will it finally be of my own accord--my own freedom? Or am I still being pulled by his strings?

Ford is in no mental state to pursue such theoreticals now. 

After some fenangling, he undoes his tie and stands atop a rickety chair begging to be kicked over. A red noose hangs over his head, its shadow looming over Stanford like Death. 

Watching. Waiting. Ready to devour him right then and there. 

Stanford looks down. On the floor is a pair of knitted gloves. He made sure to take them off before tying his noose. He closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t see Bill. Instead he sees Fiddleford. Then Stanley. 

They make him hesitate. 

“Ha… hahaha!” 

Stanford’s stomach lurches as his vision doubles. A wave of nausea washes over him before all he can feel is pain and panic and as he grapples for something-- anything-- he only falls further into blackness. 

When Stanford opens his eyes once more, he’s met by his muse. He hovers in front of him with a smug grin. 

“Hiya, Stanford! Watcha doin’?” 

He’s paralyzed in mid air but can still muster words filled with malice. 

“Get out of my head.” 

“Why? So you can continue trying to kill yourself? You’re so dramatic, Fordsy!” 

Bill lets out a shrill laugh; it makes Stanford’s ears ring. 

“I said get out of my head!” Ford shouts. 

Bill stops laughing. There’s a short silence. It feels like an eternity in this pitch darkness. Bill shrugs, raising an eyebrow. 

“Fine, if you want to die so badly, let me help!” 

“Wait-” 

Ford’s body suddenly goes limp, his mind goes slack. Fear overcomes him. 

“Have you forgotten? You’re my puppet.” Bill stumbles around in Ford’s body, giggling. He watches in horror as Bill puppeteers his body off the chair, towards the window. He throws it open, exposing himself to the freezing, winter temperatures. 

“I can do whatever I please with this meat puppet and you, well, you’re just here for the ride! So relax, Sixer, and enjoy the show!”

Even from his mental prison, Ford feels the biting January snow against his skin. 

“Let go of me, Bill! Our deal is off! Get out of my body! Get out of my-” 

“Mind? You first, IQ!” Bill taunts. “Do you think I’d let you go so easily? No, no. Silly Stanford, you’re mine. From now until eternity!” 

Bill takes in a deep breath and exhales, clouds forming from his hot breath. He looks down. 

It's a long way down. 

“Now this is the way to go! Not with some half baked noose made out of your own tie. No, no, my Sixer deserves a spectacular death! Haha!” 

Ford watches in horror as his body teeters over the snowy ledge. He tries to fight the darkness but he’s paralyzed, at the mercy of Bill’s control. 

“What was it again? Ad astra per aspera?” Bill shouts into the icy wind. He cackles maniacally. “Well you better start flapping, Icarus!” 

Ford tries to summon even an ounce of willpower to stop Bill’s possession of his body. He’d never beg aloud for anything. He’d never grovel to Bill Cipher for his meager life. 

But Bill hears all of his thoughts. 

Stop Bill. Please stop. 

Bill laughs aloud.  “Aww…Scared to die? Don’t get cold feet now!” 

Ford’s suffocating. His mind is swimming. His vision swarms. He can’t breathe. 

He needs control but he’s not in control. He never was. 

I am going to die. I’m going to really die here. 

He’s being buried alive in this void. Still, he chokes, 

“Why? I thought you still needed me to turn the portal on?” 

His muse shushes him with a hand wave.

“Can’t a demon help his old partner out? Call it an act of divine benevolence.” 

Bill’s simpering voice makes Ford shiver. He tries to protest further, but he can’t speak. He thinks of Fiddleford. 

He thinks of Stanley. 

He thinks of Shermie. 

He thinks of his mother. 

I am really never going to see them again. 

I still- 

Bill snaps his fingers and everything goes dark for Ford. As he prepares to throw Ford’s helpless body off the window’s ledge, he suddenly stops. Silence. The wind howls. Bill slowly steps back. 

“Ya know Sixer, I could completely wipe your memory with a snap of my fingers. Make you this petty revenge. You could be my little human pet for all of eternity! Wouldn’t that be much better than whatever this is?” 

He examines Stanford’s body in a mirror. Yellow eyes glint back at Bill. This is the optimal Ford. Too bad his little pet didn’t see eye to eye anymore. 

“But it wouldn't be that much fun, would it? At least for me. It’s not the same when I force you to worship me.” 

Ford is still incapacitated but Bill continues. Bill furrows his brow. He sighs. 

“You were such a devout worshiper. You’re actually adorable! Not to mention, very useful-- and a freak of nature to boot! We were the perfect duo! Though I suppose that’s come to an end…” 

Bill laughs bitterly. 

“If you were any of my other henchmen. Oho--you'd be a splatter on the wall right now! It’s ridiculous how difficult it is for me to actually kill you.”

L kdyh ixoo frqwuro ryhu brx, bhw, vrphwlphv, L ihho olnh brx’uh wkh rqh zlwk wkh vwulqjv.

Bill looks at the open window one last time before his smirk returns. 

“You'll come around in time, ” He says. “Eventually. For now, keep futilely struggling. I'll just wait. I have all of time to wait.” 

Bill snaps his fingers again. Ford is once again in his body. The hallucination is over. He looks around wildly. 

“Either way, this party is far from over so don’t go offing yourself yet!” Bill's voice calls. “If you do, I might have to get your twin involved-- and you probably don’t want that.” 

Silence once more. The sun is rising. Ford stands in the middle of the empty room, his heart in his throat.  

As dawn arrives, a soft, golden light shines upon him through a single, triangular window.

[chuuyanakaahara]

not fic, sorry. just a bit from my original fiction project, since i'm trying to find the motivation to finish this chapter :p

The heroes of Iridium City are typically unable to find aliases that inspire confidence rather than fear, because it is fear they are meant to inflict. “Wraith,” Ren says conversationally, his tongue slipping over the syllables, trying to find a way to right themselves without him needing to sober up. 

You aren’t supposed to be this far out, Ren thinks. 

Wraith is a child. Wraith is actually named Lilith, and she is eleven years old. She is out in the cold and the dark in the costume that hasn’t been switched to its winter gear yet despite the chill out because she hasn’t earned it yet, but her wings are brushed out meticulously. 

Wraith is a child with the wings of an angel, but they’re pitch black. They were created for aesthetic rather than purpose, ascribing to the shape and form of what the average human thinks wings should look like if they spontaneously appear on one’s back, and the thick, fluffy feathers give her the title of avenging angel by the worshippers of the city’s dictators. 

“Blackout,” Wraith says quietly, privy only to the information the Initiative gave  to her. 

Blackout. Right. It feels like another world, another person, another soul and hero and villain. Blackout. That is the name permanently tied to Ren like a noose. 

“You’re here to warn me,” Ren replies slowly, putting the pieces together. Sure, he’s slower than normal, and he isn’t sober, but that doesn’t mean he’s dumb. 

He can’t afford to be, with the life he leads. 

“Why are you here to warn me?” Ren continues, intentionally not rising to his full height. Wraith is a child, and while everything childish has been trained out of her like a dog, she deserves the grace of equal footing. 

Ren is not her superior. Ren is not her enemy. 

(Ren is an enemy of the state. Ren wonders — how long until she understands that she is part of that state? That her creators are the one that create this entire fucking world they live in?) 

Wraith swallows hard, the collar of her costume low enough for Ren to watch the motion with bated breath. Keeping her neck exposed is a failing of the designer. Bulletproof material everywhere else, and yet  — kill one angel with one bullet. 

Create a martyr. 

At least, that’s what Ren would do. 

“You are a hero,” Wraith says, “so I’m here to warn you.” 

“Why?” Ren repeats. 

Wraith’s gaze turns to the ground like a scalded child. (Isn’t that just what she is? Or is she a soldier still — what’s the difference at this point?) “I can’t say.” 

“You can’t? Why?” Ren’s like a broken record, but it’s all he can think to ask. 

Wraith doesn’t turn, doesn’t move, but her eyes slide to the side, and Ren turns his gaze in turn. Fuck. More heroes. 

They’re on patrol together. Wraith has the benefit of speed with her wings, barely functional as they are. 

“Thank you,” Ren whispers.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

PREVIOUS

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

[longagoitwastuesday]

Every day I wake up regretting getting emotionally invested in Jujutsu Kaisen

[alangdorf]

Ok so I know I’ve taken a few liberties here with gijinka-fying the Rampaging Doomers, of all characters, but hear me out: self-recognition through the other (derogatory). Not just a reminder of the part of himself he doesn’t like to acknowledge but also a near-perfect replication of him at his worst (Magolor EX, specifically). They know enough about Doomer and Ancient societies and his situation with the Crown to get right to the heart of his insecurities, which makes them really effective at bullying him. Also like. Extended family judging you for your life choices lol

Anyway, included the lines this time cause I’m really proud of the composition but a bit disappointed with how the coloring turned out. It did however help me pinpoint what I’d like to improve on, which is my coloring/shading. I think I get into details too quickly to the detriment of the piece as a whole and I also think the way I shade doesn’t have enough contrast and doesn’t take light sources into account very well. I just need to do some painting studies sometime and that will fix me, I swear

[telesodalite]

I don't know if this has any meaning or connection, but I thought it was sort of an interesting rabbit hole to fall down.

+ Bonus other MiG NATO reporting names.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Why not hunt down some fun fanfics to read while you rest your wrists?

unfortunately i have hunted too enthusiastically and drained the area's natural resources

[vinelark]

i am too very tired to leave the comment deserved but. god. GOD. i am crying. GOD FUCKING DAMN DUDE.

😊 i hope you got some rest!! a little crying with a bedtime story means you get to sleep extra deeply, i think that's how that works.

[starbuck]

My new favorite activity is scrolling through the black sails tag and commenting my interpretations on random people’s posts and they’re like “wtf are you talking about?” and i’m like 👍🏻

[epersonae]

This was going to be an addendum to the five fic Friday I intended to post on Friday, but the end of the week was a little wild, so there was no post, so I'm doing this separately while I'm thinking about it.

first: Choose Your Own Adventure: Reunion! is pretty great, I haven't read all of it but what I have read has been good. The ramble to follow is not a statement about the work as writing or a judgement on the writers, but a weird mental journey I went on while reading.

I follow a lot (most?) of the writers, several of them I would consider to be good personal friends, and one of them is my actual best friend who I have known for about six years. And this group made the choice -- which I think is both cool and interesting! -- not to put anybody's names on individual chapters, and WOW did that end up throwing me for a loop.

Because I have not (yet?) been able to pick out any individual authors (I made one tragically incorrect guess; friendos who heard me work thru this in real time or later, don't call me out on my bad guessing!) and it kind of fucks with my head. In this way where I doubt my ability to know someone's work, and what does that say about both my "skill" (?????) as a reader and about my attentiveness as a friend?!

And THEN. I got caught in a loop of guessing and not guessing and thinking too hard about people's word choices and writing quirks and whatever, and I found that I was Having A Bad Time. As in: I was actively not enjoying the flow of the story because I was in my head doing pattern-matching. Combined with the CAN YOU EVEN CALL YOURSELF A READER/FRIEND thoughts above, I had to just put it down for a minute and work through all of those thoughts.

I've been thinking a lot about various forms of editor brain (at varying levels of granularity - my current WIP has required a lot of shifting from sentence level to page level to overall structure level) vs reader brain, and then I guess now I've added puzzle brain as a very different thinking process. And that it's very hard, for me anyway, to get the enjoyment of the reader mind while focused on the puzzle of it all.

And it's not supposed to be a puzzle!!!! I was adding this extra level of puzzle because of [fill in the blank of insecurities or w/e]; so I had to take a breather, work through it, and then come back to it as a story.

I guess, on some level, I appreciate that those folks made the decision to post it that way, because it was an extra bit of emotional processing that gave me some personal insight separately from the story.

Anyway, that's my ramble about this excellent group project fanfiction. Please do read it, they did some fantastic work!

[chiropteracupola]

Spring's a girl from the streets at night...

[fragmentedblade]

Kalpas and Sakura are so hot together. Every interaction, every dialogue, even the absence, is so heavy and tense and juicy

[jacksintention]

Tragedy Trio week ~ Indescribable horrors + Unimaginable Wonders

This is an attemp at Lacie’s song. I always imagined the song having sad strange lyrics that Jack would not fully come to understand until much later. I liked to imagine the song talking about the beauty of the Abyss and its light, as well as its overwhelming loneliness; a song about Lacie’s own isolation as well as the Core’s. Weird lyrics easy to forget yet with a repetitive simple melody easy to remember, and able to fit in a pocket watch.

For Pandora Hearts Month 2022 @phmonth2022 @i-prefer-the-term-antihero

[cyancherub]

i personally dont think its Weird to copy a writer's style BUT only if it's like. a leedle new writer trying out their fave's style, or an inconsistent writer trying out their style to get inspo

if the writing is being posted and put out in the world for other people to see, it's weird to me no matter who it is. taking inspiration/learning techniques from various sources and incorporating that into your style is one thing, but mimicking specific sentence structure + diction + metaphors + etc from one person and passing it off as your own style is another.