#snippet of a more complex work

[coldercreation]

Would you ever plan to write another long multi-chapter story for the pack?

Yes. I really really really wanna😭

I just need the story for it, which… isn’t that the problem exactly? xx

[writtenbydarling]

Troubled Mind

“Your absence woke me.” I say, stepping behind him and wrapping my arms around his shoulders after I find him in the garage, hunched over his workbench, over his gun. Again.

“What are you doing right now?” i ask, not wanting to press the issue.

“Trying to sleep.” He says bluntly, not one to lie to me, even if the truth is a little harsh. His shoulders relax a little when he feels my warmth against him, and a little tension loosens from his body.

He leans back against my chest, his head resting against me as his gaze turns upwards to look at me. “It is not working, though.”

“Is your mind troubling you again?” I place a kiss on his forehead, the scars feeling so much smoother than the rest of his skin.

“What are they saying this time, my love?”

My hair falls over my shoulders and down his chest, drawing a curtain around us, locking the rest of the world out. It’s just us, him and I in this world of rose-gold silk.

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply again at my question. His hands relax against the firearm he holds, and he allows himself a moment to be vulnerable in my presence. Nobody ever get’s to see this side of him, the worry, the weakness, the shadows that cloud his mind when nobody is watching. But he knows he doesn’t need to hide from me. He knows I am strong enough to catch him when he begins to fall.

“The same as always, love. Memories.” he replies in a voice softer and darker than the night around us. I can feel the tension in his shoulders growing again, feeling his body tighten, but it eases almost immediately when my hair falls over him like a curtain. He loves the way I can shut out the world so it’s only him and I.

After a few silent moments, he opens his eyes once more, and glances up at me. “It is nothing you need to worry yourself over, love. I will be fine, I promise.” He murmurs, leaning back to kiss my arm that’s draped across his chest.

“You know that you don’t have to be fine, right? You can scream and throw stuff and break things. You can rage and burn the house down. But don’t tell me it’s fine when it’s not. Please don’t do that to me.” i say softly, hugging him a little tighter. My deep green eyes fix themselves on his icy blue’s, drawing him in as if he could find a quiet forest behind them he could wander without the voices following him there.

I might be the only person alive able to make the voices disappear, to calm his mind. And i loved it. Because it meant he was mine and would do everything to stay mine.

He freezes as I draw him back to me, his eyes locked onto mine. For a few heartbeats, the silence in the room is deafening, and all he can do is look at me, feeling a mixture of guilt and gratitude in equal measure. He knows I’m trying to help, but he doesn’t want to burden me with his problems, even though he already does sometimes. I can almost hear his thoughts racing in his head, see it by the way his eyes focus and unfocus.

Finally, he swallows hard and nods, his body relaxing once more in my embrace. “I know, love. I didn’t want to worry you, that is all.”

“I am your wife, it is my job to worry about you.”

I step around him and sit in his lap, cupping his face with both hands. “Let me care about you like you care about me.”

He can’t help but soften, inhaling deeply, he allows himself to sink into my hands, his heart full of gratitude that I’m even willing to put up with him. After a few more seconds he sighs, his shoulders relaxing completely as he gives in. “Okay. I will allow you to do that.”

"This will hurt a little." I say, meaning it as a promise. I'm a blood witch after all, so I need exactly that from him to make it happen. I turn my head, looking over the table and my gaze falls onto one of his knifes, a pretty thing, curved like a claw. He is absolutely deadly with that thing. The handle feels heavy in my hand as I grab it and raise it to my bottom lip, setting just the smallest cut. It really doesn't need much. Then I put the blade back, turning towards him with a single drop of blood dwelling from the cut.

My thumbs brush over his cheeks as I cup his face again and i watch him close his eyes as i pull him in for a kiss. At first it’s soft, but it soon gets heated until i bite down on his bottom lip, when i taste blood, I feel that little energy surge racing through me before i push my mind into his head, throwing my shadows over his thoughts and worries, caging them in and no matter how much they rattle at the bars, they can’t come out.

It won’t hold too long, but it would give him a few hours to at least fall asleep. When i brake the kiss my eyes held his blue for a moment, as they always did after this special little hex i had cooked up for him. He can almost feel me inside his head, smothering his more unruly mind and he suddenly lets out another soft, almost imperceptible whimper as his arms tighten around me. He’s at my mercy, completely and entirely in this moment.

"Better now?" I ask, leaning back a little to be able to see his face fully, needing to know how he feels. It's magic, not science, so it's not very exact. He’s silent for a moment, his eyes closed as he takes stock. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he opens his eyes again. They’re dark, but the shadows in them have lessened for now. The voices inside him are gone. “Much better.” he replies quietly, his hands moving to grasp at my hips as he keeps me in his lap. “Thank you, love. You don’t know how much I needed that.”

"I can only give you a few hours, three or four." I'm good at what I do, but my possibilities are limited when it came to the human body and mind. I was better with plants. Give me some herbs and I cook up the sickest shit. That was my specialty. Herbalism. But it still should be enough to go to bed and sleep for a while.

He nods quietly at my words. That is all he needs—just enough for a few hours. “Four hours is plenty of time for me,” he says in a low and quiet voice. He’s relaxed, but his eyes are still dark as he gazes back at me, his gaze taking in every inch of your face. He’s thankful I am able to relieve even a little of the strain in his mind, but he’s also worried about what it does to me in the process as he always is.

I take a good look at his face, the way his eyes shine. I'm still present in his head, in the background, holding his worries captive. It's a small border I am balancing. If I do too little they will break free. If I do too much I could swallow them, which would snuff them out. But that would mean killing parts of his brain and he wouldn't survive that.

A very thin line.

"What is that lingering in your eyes, love? What worries you?”

I have been on this earth longer than he would be able to understand, I have seen plenty of violence in my younger times, when I fought for my place in this world. That was far behind me now, but I still understood what he was seeing in the field. I understood how all those memories, thoughts and worries came to life, what trauma they held.

His gaze is unwavering as his eyes study me, but after a few long moments, he looks away, staring off at the walls of the garage. “You know me too well, love. I worry about how this affects you,” he says softly. His hands tighten their grip on my hips again, as if to keep a better hold on me while you’re still inside his head. “I know how much energy this takes from you. It almost seems selfish of me to keep asking this of you.”

"But it is me asking you. Not the other way around. You have never once asked me to help you. I am always offering." I brush his rather messy hair out of this scarred face, then I kiss the tip of his nose. "I would do everything for you. Trust me, the day you die will be the saddest of my life." He knew I would outlive him, we had that little talk when I wasn't aging after almost 4 years of relationship, 1 of those married. So I had been telling him about my true nature, literally.

I had never loved any one like I love him, he held a very special place in my heart and I would weep for a long time. But until then I would burn down everyone that dared to hurt him, which sometimes made it a little hard to let him leave for his deployments, but he loved his job in a very fucked up way. I respected that. From warrior to warrior.

His hands move to hold onto my wrists as he keeps his eyes down, avoiding my questioning stare. He's being stubborn, in his own way, as if he doesn't want to acknowledge what the effect of my power has on myself. “You’ll outlive me by centuries, love, I know that. But I worry about how this is affecting you right now,” he insists, still refusing to meet my eyes.

"I am strong in ways that you can't fathom, but that is because your mind is not wired for doing so. It's like trying to understand the space the universe holds up. Which is a lot, by the way. Your scientists almost got it right." I chuckle a little, then I get serious.

"I know you worry about me the way I worry about you. And so you never fail to ease my mind. Your mere presence makes me calm and keeps me centered, I don't have to hide myself around you anymore and you are perfectly fine with every fucked up thing I do. I couldn't wish for more. I love you." I kiss him, once, twice, licking the remaining blood off of his lips. "But just as I trust you when you tell me you know how to handle your mind, I need you to trust me that I am able to handle my own.”

He closes his eyes and sighs quietly as I lean into him. He knows I’m right, of course. Despite his size and brute strength, I’m far stronger than any human he’s ever met and if one lived as long as he suspects I have, then I probably have been in worse scrapes than a silly thing like this.

He relaxes a little bit into my hold as he gives in to my logic. “I do trust you, love,” he mutters quietly. “You just worry me.” "What do you mean by that?” He said he was worried about me, not worrying. Huge difference.

His hands run up and down the sides of my arms in a gentle caress as his gaze flicks up to meet mine again. It’s full of something intense, something that always seems to set him apart from everyone else. “I don’t like it when you hurt yourself to help me. You’re far too precious to me to see you harm yourself. But, yes… I worry for you as well. Sometimes. I worry you’ll do something stupid that I can’t protect you from. That’s all I meant,” he replies quietly.

"It is my job to protect you right now. So ease your mind my love." I kiss him again, softly and gentle and he gives in to the kiss, his fingers gently digging into the flesh of my arms as he lets himself become lost in me for just a moment or two, not that his minds allows it. But he still can’t shake that worry every time he feels I am inside his head. “Very well, love,” he mutters in between kisses. “Have it your way. I surrender.” "I would never hurt you. That would kill both of us. Trust that I can control this." I pepper his face with little kisses.

Despite himself, he chuckles softly in the quiet garage. My little touches and affections are always endearing to him, they always manage to break through that stubborn, hard exterior of his. Simply because I do nit care about this tough exterior of his. I fell in love with he shadows behind his eyes, with the demons running wild in his mind, those who made every other woman run fast and far. But I am not any woman. I am his woman. His wife. I came to stay.

“I do trust you, love of my life,” he replies after several moments, his nose nuzzling against my neck. “I’m sorry I was being a grumpy ass in the first place.” "As you know, I know what is in your mind. So I understand very much how that can change behavior and build patterns." I wink at him. I might have not studied psychology like the humans did in their universities, but I had watched them long enough to figure shit out on my own.

He chuckles a little at my comment, a deep, low, rumbling sound that makes his chest vibrate under me. But, as expected, he just can’t resist the urge to tease me about it, he never can. “Don’t start thinking you know everything now, love,” he says with a smirk, gently nipping at the flesh of my neck. “You might get a big head. Bigger than it already is, anyway.”

"You are only jealous because I use it to my advantage that I look absolutely adorable and you can’t." I would much rather scare people, looking like he did, but my injuries healed under potions and essences. Under my blood. So instead I was treated like a soft little wildflower, like a dumb little girl that just happened to have a few good ideas on accident and that her pretty face was opening every single door for her anyway. They never saw behind the facade of the woman I played when I was outside. Which was the main reason I liked to work and sell from home, since going outside gave me a headache.

He rolls his eyes and gives me a gentle swat on the hip. He knows how deceptively adorable, deceptively weak I appear to the rest of the world. That’s one of the most dangerous things about me, that innocent little flower face of mine that lures in unsuspecting souls. Anyone who ever underestimated me would find themselves sorely mistaken, a lesson he learned the hard way early in the beginning of our relationship.

“Watch it,” he warns with a chuckle as he gently presses his lips to my collarbone. “I have my own methods of getting what I want, love.” "Uhhhh... the big strong soldier is using intimidation on the soft little girl. How brash..." I lean back a little acting like I am fainting but looking at him with one eye and a big smile on my face. "Somebody help! I'm a damsel in distress!” He laughs gruffly under his breath as he catches me by the hips, keeping my back arched backwards in his grip, before pulling me back against his chest. He smirks a little as his nose brushes against my cheek, his voice dropping again in that rough, sultry rasp that it always seems to have whenever he gets serious with me. “A damsel in distress, huh? You better watch how you tease me, love,” he whispers. “You know damn well I’d take full advantage of that.” The smirk on his lips widens as he feels my body react to his voice, and the shiver that runs down my spine. He notices it every single time without fail, and his ego blooms at how much he gets me. His strong arms wrap around my waist and hold me tight against him. “You’re mine for the taking, you cheeky little witch.”

Oh goddess... I think as heat shoots down my spine, l love how tall he is, I love when his voice drops so damn low. It really doesn't matter what he says in that moment, I just feel the vibrations in my very soul and it makes me weak in the knees. "Oh mighty warrior, please! Have mercy..." I beg him when he pushes me down on his workbench, biting my lip while I wrap my legs around his waist.

He growls deeply again as I beg him for mercy, practically feeling my body shudder against his with need and he’s more than happy to oblige that need. So he buries his face into the crook of my neck and plants hot biting kisses to my skin as his hands grab at my thighs, fingers digging into that soft, warm flesh to mark me with the faint bruising he can’t get enough of. “Mercy, mm?” he rumbles again. “That’s cute. That you think you deserve mercy.”

Every single time he grips me so tightly it leaves a bruise I get a tiny rush of power, just a fraction of magic igniting randomly as the bursting of vessels sets blood free, which is an automatic signal for attack. My nervous system is wired like that. Everything I am given will be used, if only to heal the area instantly, still for me, it feels like pleasure, I am absolutely addicted to this feeling, which is exactly why he keeps doing it over and over again. My head tilts back a little as the oversized shirt of his I am wearing falls down my thighs. I didn't bother putting on more than  what he had left next to the bed after he came to bed last evening. I loved wearing his shirts, when they still smelled like him, I loved wearing them to sleep, it made me fell safe and sound.

"Please be gentle with me! Don't hurt me..." I beg him, mockingly, reaching out for his belt and slowly unbuckling it while holding eye contact. He feels me shivering against his body again as he bites down on that soft, sensitive skin on my neck, just hard enough to cause a mark, to make me ache under his touch, and his lips curves up in a sinful smirk on my collarbone. I always, always give just a little bit of a shudder like that when he does that to me, he knows it, he actively chases it. So he grabs my wandering hands as they slip to his belt, looking at me as he pins my wrists above my head, his eyes dark, full of something primal.

“I should tie you up, little witch, before you hurt yourself..." He reaches up into one of the shelfs that hang over his workbench and grabs two zip ties, hooking one into a bold in the wall closing it. Then he fixes the other around my wrists and connects both, evidently keeping me from moving my hands.

My excitement only grows with everything he does, my pulse is spiking under his touch as I look up and my eyes follow his strong hands expertly fastening the zip ties around my wrists like they had done a million times by now. "That's so fucking hot..." I moan a little.

He smirks a little as he pulls away, just enough to admire the view of me bound under him on his little workbench with his own shirt that barely covers. It’s a sight that makes his body ache with need, with desire that only I ever seem to satisfy. He reaches up and grabs my chin to hold my gaze, his eyes still dark as the night. “Careful, love,” he replies in a low growl. “You’re playing a dangerous game right now.”

"I know, trust me. I know." But then way my eyes are almost glowing as I look up at him, the way they hold their defiance and still I bow to him willingly.

I could rip that plastic with a flick of my wrist if I had to, but why taking the fun out of this? If he wanted me tied up, he would tie me up. And I would lay back and take it like a good little wife.

There’s something about the way his eyes flash, glowing a brilliant shade of blue as I am all laid out on his workbench, at his mercy, in his clothes, and it just makes the dominant side of him even get more out of control than usual. He leans down a bit, just enough to press his weight against me, wanting me to feel him, feel how much he wants me and it makes me moan breathlessly. “You look so damn beautiful like this, love… so perfect. So… mine…”

"Thats because I am yours, and only yours. Until the day you die." It's the same thing I said to him during my wedding vows. I love reminding him every now and then that I still mean it and he groans softly at that. There’s something so satisfying about hearing those words, knowing that I belong to him and him alone, that he can make me his in any way he pleases and I’d be perfectly happy with it, that I’d take whatever he gave.

“That’s what I goddamn like to hear, love.” He bends back down and his large hand cups my jaw, tilting my head up a bit so he can look my in the eyes. His voice drops to a low growl again. “You’re mine.”

"Prove it, big man. If I'm yours, just take me." I look up at him daringly, just poking at him a little more, making sure he stayed sharp and, yes please, a little feral. He chuckles at the way I push and provoke, with those glowing eyes, he just loses whatever remaining self control he has.

And that’s exactly what I wanted. “You challenge me, love?” he ask huskily, his hand moving from my jaw down to my throat. His grip is rough and firm as his thumb presses against my pulse point, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “You think you can handle me like that?”

I immediately feel dizzy and lightheaded as he puts pressure on my neck, blocking my veins from transporting blood as fast as my heart was beating. Oh goddess, thats so good. "Yes." I say, the same provoking tone as before.

His fingers dig into my skin a little more as he squeezes that little bit tighter, just hard enough to start limiting my oxygen, just enough to make me want him more, feel like I'm lost at the mercy of him. “Careful what you wish for. You know exactly what happens when you tease me like that, don’t you my love?”

"Bruises... fuck..." I sharply hiss when his nails scratch over my thighs. I sometimes forget how much rougher he gets when the voices are gone. It's almost like the more of his attention I draw with sound and movement, the more aggressive he becomes, more predatory, like he was hunting.

He laughs as I curse, leaning down to my ear so he can whisper in a gruff voice. “Thats right. You’ll be covered in ‘em by the time I’m done with you.” "Yes please..." I beg, my lips parting and my back arching as he pushes forward, leaving me gasping for air under his vice-like grip around my throat.

So full...

It's like he just shut off my ability to think and turned me into a dumb needy mess. Every snap of his hips is hard, not fast, but deep. Every time his hips press my thighs apart he forces the air out of my lungs. To him I look beautiful like this, laid out on his workbench at his complete and total disposal. All of me, all of me is his and his only, his for the taking. Nothing makes him wanting to let it all out on me more than this.

The bruises from his fingers, the indents of his teeth, the shirt of his I wore that was one of his favorites on me because it was from his old uniform, had his name and rank from back then stitched onto it. His name, with was now my name as well, since he dared to marry me.

"All. Mine.” Sharp thrusts punctuate every word. "Say it, Witch.”

"I'm all yours." I repeat for him, whining under his grip, shaking and trembling under his body. Getting rocked back and forth crudely while he held me down by my throat. He smirks, satisfied with my response, bending down over me. “Good girl,” he whispers to me, his lips hovering just over my ear, gently brushing over the shell. “Who do you belong to?”

"I belong to only you." I bring out, my voice a little thin as I press my eyes shut against the sensation of him placing a hand on my stomach and rubbing slow circles with his thumb, leaving me trembling and cursing his name and existence. “That’s right. That’s damn right, my love,” he murmurs into my ear, his low, gruff voice just sending shivers down my spine. “You’re mine. All mine.” He growls the words out against the sensitive side on my neck, his lips and teeth roaming across my skin as his thumb rubs just a little bit harder.

"Holy moon... fuck... don't stop. Please don't stop..." I beg him, feeling white heat rolling through my body. His dark chuckle, as he does exactly that, is everything I need to fall over the edge. I moan his name like a prayer, over and over again until he stills and holds my hips tightly against his, both hands pressing my lower body against his own hips, spilling deeply.

He chuckles again, that deep note sending shudders down my body once more, aftershocks slowly fading out. He loves the way I call out his name like that, like he was the only one that could bring me to such heights of pleasure and ecstasy. Because I’m the only one that can make him feel this much pleasure, make him feel this much release. “That’s what I like to hear, love…”

[mla0]

I have way too many fic ideas... I was like "Oh I'll work on the next Ways to Go chapter. Oh I'll start the first chapter for the fic for my wings AU. Oh what if I wrote a MLA0 fic set during Princeton." and now I'm switching between all three. Head in hands.

SAMEEEEE MAN we're in hell together. to continue the big fic now, to do the like, 2-3 oneshots floating around in my brain, to continue the original writing that's mostly just for me and my partner..... DECISIONS HAVE NEVER BEEN MY STRONG SUIT!

[bridehall-if]

--The hungry mouth of Bridehall Manor lets out its clarion call. You have been compelled to answer.

DEMO OUT NOW!

You play as the youngest child of the Simonson family, born out of infidelity-- a perfect Victorian scandal. Due to your unfortunate birth circumstances, your parents have decided to send you away to take up a position as household manager at the remote Bridehall Manor after the previous one's untimely (and altogether strange) passing. You expect your time in the mansion in the Catskills of New York to be uneventful and isolating.

You'd be wrong.

The longer you stay at Bridehall, the more secrets you find hidden behind its mahogany doors, beneath its ornate wallpaper, under its rich hardwood floors, and especially within the denizens of the house themselves.

Just be careful not to drown in the deep, deep black of its shadows.

+ Customize your MC-- what's their attitude towards society? How do they feel about working at Bridehall? What are their thoughts on the supernatural?

+ Also, choose your gender,* interests, personality, name, and more.

+ Discover more about the (troubling) history of Bridehall and the people that have lived in it.

+ Experience the world's most uncomfortable carriage ride.

+ Romance 1 of 5 ROs-- the matriarch, the minister-in-training, the runner-up, the major, or the phantom.

+ Befriend those who live there, or make enemies. Connection is a fragile thing, especially in a place like Bridehall.

+ Blood sacrifices! If you're into that sort of thing.

TW: Gore (not extremely descriptive), mentions of infidelity, violence, brief suggestive content, mentions of animal death, mentions of drug use. This IF is recommended for those 16+

================================================*Disclaimer: Because this IF is inspired by the 1880s, gender roles are still sort of a thing. There is an option to play as femme/masc non-binary, but based on your presentation, that affects how you are treated in society and some additional world aspects. However, there will not be any transphobia/intentional misgendering in this IF. It's just not something I want to write. I'm not non-binary myself, so I'm very open to suggestions on things to change relating to this topic.

================================================

🌑Harriet Margrave -- the matriarch -- (she/her) {FMCs only}

| Assured. Respectable. Intimidating. The wife of Amos Margrave, although she doesn't like it when people bring it up. She runs the house, some might say with an iron fist. She seems to have taken a dangerous liking to you.

| However, beneath her strong, cool exterior, she's not all that she seems-- you catch glimpses of something dark and curious lurking. It's up to you to decide whether it should never see the light of day or, perhaps, to be consumed entirely by it.

| Harriet is in her late 40s, with ash brown hair always kept in a neat, complex updo and deep blue eyes that shift with tones of green in different lights. She has a light but rosy complexion and stands at around 5'7. She tends to wear a lot of black, as if she's in perpetual mourning, although she doesn't mind an occasional blue accent.

"Low and deep Spake in mine ear her voice: "And didst thou dream, This could be buried? This could be sleep? And love be thrall to death! Nay, whatso seem, Have faith, dear heart; this is the thing that is!" Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss." -- snippet of Assurance (1887) by Emma Lazarus

================================================

🌒Ansel Margrave -- the minister-in-training -- (he/him)

| Flighty. Devout. Gentle. A hopeful future Methodist minister, he's recently been plagued by supernatural visions (or so he says,) and your arrival and the circumstances surrounding it do nothing to calm his worries. You may be able to reassure him otherwise.

| As you get to know him, he may reveal that he has far better reasons to be afraid than you might think. Will you walk with him through his troubles, or leave him to wander the solemn corridors of Bridehall on his own?

| Ansel is in his early 20s, and he looks much like his mother with his ashy brown hair and pale complexion, although due to its lack of rosiness it sometimes borders on ghostly. He'd like to dress more vibrantly but fears reprisal from his clerical peers, thus, he usually sticks to muted greens and browns. He stands at around 5'9, and wears spectacles.

"In solitude profound, As shadows fall, what memories, Thick as dew-drops on sun-risen meadows Troop around thee!" -- snippet of Night In Egypt (1880) by George Vaughan

================================================

🌓Cecil/ia Blumenthal -- the runner-up -- (gender selectable, he/him or she/her)

| Independent. Scrappy. Creative. C's been working at Bridehall for practically their whole life, climbing the ranks until they could finally reach the position of head butler/housekeeper they deserved-- until you came along. In their eyes, you have everything you want on a silver platter, and how much work have you done to get it? None. In short, they've got a real bone to pick with you. Will you play into the feud, or maybe try to change their feelings? Honestly, best of luck on that one.

| Because of how long they've been at Bridehall, C knows more about its history and secrets than they let on. Much, much more.

| C is in their mid-20's, with shiny brown curls that F!C keeps in an artfully rushed bun and M!C keeps just a bit too long. They have coffee-brown eyes and warm, tanned skin dotted with freckles. They stand at 5'6. They prefer to dress for convenience rather than style, but they always wear a tarnished silver brooch in the shape of a bird-- F!C pins it to her collar, while M!C pins it to his lapel.

"I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night. Til it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine." -- snippet of A Poison Tree (1794) by William Blake

================================================🌔 Marshall Ward -- the major -- (he/they)

| Outgoing. Empathetic. Perfectionist. A new arrival at Bridehall like you, he's an old family friend of the Margraves who plans to stay for the autumn. He's the perfect picture of polite society-- porcelain smiles and impeccable manners. Despite the divide between him as a guest and you as the help, he insists on making a connection with you. One that may be a bit too strong for his own good.

| Now, you don't know much about the military yourself, but it is a bit odd that a non-retired military officer was permitted leave for an entire season, and whenever you ask questions surrounding his arrival, you only get heavy silence in return. It's as if there's a tight wire of secrecy underlying his sunny veneer, and the more you press, the more it's likely to snap.

| Marshall is in his early 30s, with short, coily black hair and an impeccably combed mustache. They have light tan skin and have a small scar running across their cheek, and he stands at 6'2. He is very meticulous in the way he dresses and is particularly fond of red ties with embroidered patterns on them.

"Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell. They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. -- snippet of The Charge of the Light Brigade (1854) by Lord Alfred Tennyson ================================================

🌕Annabelle -- the phantom -- (she/her)

| Mysterious. Quiet. Ethereal. Every so often, out of the corner of your eye or the reflection in a mirror, you catch a glimpse of her. Is she even real, or is she simply a product of your own mind, spiraling ever deeper into instability? Whatever she is, you feel an indescribable, intangible pull to her that may become very hard to resist.

| Annabelle is inextricably linked to the house and its history. If you dig to learn more about her, you may unearth the very roots that Bridehall stands on. Roots that it would very much like to keep underground.

| Annabelle appears to be in her mid-20s, although the semi-translucent, filmy aspect to her makes it a bit hard to tell. She has very dark skin that glitters and shines under moonlight, and she seems to be perpetually wet, as if she had just been thrown in a pond. She wears a pale pink dress a decade or so out of date, and stands at about 5'3.

"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling-- my darling-- my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea-- In her tomb by the sounding sea. -- snippet of Annabel Lee (1849) by Edgar Allan Poe

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

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs (teaser!)

update: this fic's been posted! click here to read <3

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au || crack, fluff, teensy bit of angst because a certain someone doesn't know how to communicate their feelings...

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── haii everyone it's been a long time coming...i've been having a MAJOR writer's block and also just kinda taking a break because work has been more tiring on my body so i've just been exhausted recently so i apologize for the lack of content,,,but WE'RE BACK! if anyone's ever watched backstreet rookie (it's my comfort show i love kim yoo-jung), i'm kinda going for those romcom vibes here hehe. this sneak peek isn't as revealing as my others,,,it's quite short but this one is gonna be a lil more rom-com mixed with eventual angst because what is heeseung if not a yearner?

send me an ask/comment if you'd like to be tagged !!! <3 (current tag list at end of post :D )

snippet under the cut!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and the same unimpressed, judgemental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spice and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help—” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

this made me crave ramen.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

<3, addie

current tag list: [bolded couldn't be tagged, sorry :( ]

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

[55sturn]

wedding date!chris

ib: anyone who has written this trope! pls reply w their users so i can tag!

he was desperate to see you after months of no contact. the two of you had been the best of friends. from the age of seven, the two of you were nearly impossible to separate. you did everything together, wherever one went, the other was right beside them. and chris was absolutely enamoured by you from day one, which is why no one in his family could fathom how easily he let you walk away.

when the two of you began experimenting with one another sexually, chris blatantly ignored the warning signs going off on his brain. he just wanted you so incredibly bad, that he’d take you in whatever way you gave yourself to him. he didn’t care that he was putting almost seventeen years of friendship on the line. he was in love with you, but there were so many thoughts, doubts, fears, and insecurities firing off deep inside his mind that prevented him for telling you how he felt.

you weren’t stupid, you saw the way chris looked at you like you were the only person in the room that mattered. you saw the way he treated you, he treated you like you were more important than everyone else, the same way he treats his momma. you were, and still are, everything to chris. you saw the way he felt, he didn’t need words to say it, and the only reason you noticed it, is because it mirrored your own feelings. but you were waiting for chris to say something, to do something that didn’t end with you laying between his sheets.

and you got tired of waiting. the ball was in his court, and you had expected him to make the next move after you used the idea of sleeping together causally as a potential gateway to something more. but he never did anything. and it killed you.

you were a big believer in “if they want to, they will.” and you so badly wanted to believe that chris wanted you in the same way you wanted him. you really thought that he was going to take it to a serious level with you, and when you realized that he was treating less like you were the only thing that mattered, and more like every girl he’s been with before, you took your leave. you knew you deserved more than to be stuck waiting for a guy, even if he was your best friend, to decide if he wanted you.

and when you received a text from chris, your heart dropped. you didn’t know how to respond. because let’s be honest, how the fuck were you supposed to respond to the guy you fell in love with at the age of thirteen asking you to be his date to a family friend’s wedding after six months of no contact whatsoever? how the fuck were you supposed to respond after going from being apart of every milestone, big and small, to watching his life through videos and pictures on the internet, only getting updates through the small snippets he shared with his fans? and that’s what hit you the hardest, you were no longer someone that got a closer look at the inner workings of his life, private and public, but rather, you were living the same life as his fans. and you weren’t a fan, you couldn’t, and would not, let yourself live like that anymore.

not when you knew what songs he preferred when he was sad and driving around to clear his head, not when you knew that he’d make and eat his mom’s homemade soup when he was homesick, or that he always sent pictures of your favourite things to his mom when you were busy, or how he looked and sounded during his most intimate and vulnerable moments.

so, you took the time to carefully craft your response. agreeing to be his date, but only if the two of you could meet up somewhere and actually talk about what went wrong before you showed up to the wedding as his plus one.

and chris’ head was spinning as he read the text, he agreed without even knowing if you were still living in the same slightly run-down apartment complex just a few blocks away, and if you were, he was going to kick his own ass. because how could he let things get so bad between the two of you, how could he let you go, and remained unbothered by him for six months while being a ten minute walk away from him half the time? and when he found out that you were only ten minutes away from him, he was quick to show up at your apartment the next night at a quarter to midnight.

you were in the middle of drying your hair and getting your work uniform ready when a hefty series of knocks rattled against your door, it startled you slightly but your nerves calmed when you figured it was just your neighbour asking you to watch her sick cat while she ran to the corner store again, but as you opened the door, your heart rate spiked as you met the eyes of the very man that haunted your thoughts and dreams every night.

“chris, why are you here?”

STAR’S CORNER i started texting vi abt this idea and i needed to get it out rq, so let me know if u want me to keep building on this lil blurb !! also chapter one of SHUT UP MY MOM’S CALLING is possibly dropping late saturday night <3

© 55STURN 2025 ! REBLOGS OF MY WORK ARE NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED !

[stoopakoopa]

Day 8 - Reunion

Drew out a little snippet from my partner's fic for @mesdelostrescaballeros2024!!

Part of a larger continuity being uploaded on ao3! Read it below ⬇️

Donald pulled up outside the apartment where Panchito was staying and took a deep, fortifying breath. Of course he was excited to see his friend again! Of course he was excited for The Three Caballeros to be once more reunited, even if only for a day. There was just that one catch—he felt bad even calling it a catch, like it was somehow a bad thing that he and Zé had finally professed their love for one another—but it would always be awkward telling Panchito. Surely, the duck thought with an internal groan, things would unavoidably change within the trio.

To make it all worse, José had been away on flight shifts when Panchito arrived in town, and Donald had agreed to only break the news when his new boyfriend had returned. He was a terrible liar about this kind of thing: his tongue got all tied up and his beak chattered when he spoke. How in the hell was he supposed to—?

The Donald Duck Pity Party was cut short as sharp, energetic chatter caught his ear from the street: Panchito was being seen off and heading straight for the car. Donald flung himself toward the back seat, toward the gift José had planned to hand over today, and hastily threw a spare blanket over it. The thick, scratchy wool did a decent job of concealing the obvious shape of a brand new guitar, at least if you didn't pay it mind. They'd give it to him when they were all together. That's how they were supposed to do things. Together.

Panchito appeared, waving goodbye to someone before bounding out of the apartment complex. His face lit up when he saw Donald, and before Donald could even get a word out, Panchito had leapt into the front seat, pulling him into a bear hug. His wide sombrero wobbled dangerously, but he didn't seem to care.

"¡Ay caramba, amigo! What took you so long to get here?" Panchito exclaimed, yanking Donald into his arms despite protest from his seatbelt, all to kiss Donald's cheek with his usual enthusiasm.

"'Ey, Pancho! How you doin' amigo?" The duck choked out, finding it a little easier to act natural amid the strangulation.

Panchito released Donald to pinch his cheek playfully. "Better with you here! I've been working on that new song I told you about last night! What about you? What have you been up to all day?"

"I'm doin' swell! And nothing much! Been taking 'er easy today." He lied, and not well—he was already talking too much. "Excited, though! Not every day I get to hang out with my two best pals!" Donald pulled away from Panchito's hold in order to return his attention to driving, feeling too awkward to linger in the warm hold, however much he usually would.

The charro clicked the seatbelt into place and leaned back in his seat, apparently unfazed by the duck's haste. "Ay güey, I'm just hyped that we are finally getting together again for a change. So, what are we doing this time? Are we gonna hit up the club so hard we get kicked out again? Or maybe reopen the Magical Mythical Monster Petting Zoo from Scrooge's secret vault? Or how about we raid the Anvilania embassy and get the ambassador drunk again? You know she still calls me." 

Donald nodded, absolutely not absorbing anything the rooster was clucking about in favor of focusing on the road. He was happy, of course; his friend's exuberance was infectious to say the least. It had indeed been too long since they got to hang out like this as a group… but a part of him still felt tense. He chanced another glance at the vaquero—oblivious, humming merrily, a long leg resting against the door as he propped up his foot on his knee and took up what little space his seat offered. He wished he could feel so carefree.

When they arrived at the little airport, Panchito's excitement was hard to miss. Before the car could even finish pulling up to the 15-minute zone, he'd unbuckled and bolted out of the car window, running ahead towards the tarmac and calling out for Zé at the top of his lungs.

"Yeah, don't wait up or nothing!" Donald called after him with a roll of his eyes. Crazy bird, he hadn't even put the car into park yet!  The lighthearted atmosphere Panchito had cultivated was at war with the impulse to complain bubbling inside him because he wanted see Zé first, to get a chance to hold his boyfriend first before they had to act respectably platonic in front of their none the wiser companion. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly, just…

One hug, one second to let the weight of the week melt off was all he wanted. But that wasn't happening. Not yet. Instead, he'd have to wait and keep playing the part.

"Great," he muttered, jerking on the car's parking brake. "Just act natural. Simple."

The airport, while always abuzz with people from all walks of life and from every corner of the globe, was relatively less hectic on a weekday like this, and José was all the more grateful for it. Deplaning the small jet from Panama was fairly routine and done quickly, leaving Zé with a little free time before he met up with his friends. He brought with him his single suitcase, loaded with more clothes than his usual amount, plus some souvenirs from Brazil and the several other countries he had stopped in during the work week. There were things for the kids back at the manor, plus a homemade gaúcho style poncho pala made by his vovó for Della (whom the old bird had assumed was still freezing from her time on the Moon).  Strapped to the outside of the suitcase (because it could not fit) and wrapped in cloth was José's gift to Donald, a new hammock for his houseboat. He hoped he would like it.

Walking to the exit, Zé attempted to steal himself for the reunion to come. Not so much for seeing Donald, though his blood ran quick with excitement for him to be sure. But Panchito, whom he had not seen since they met for that ill-fated holiday to Bahia that never came to fruition. They had kept in constant contact even after their break up, though it caused pain on both sides. They had been determined to preserve their eternal friendship even in the face of romantic disappointment. And though it took some years for Zé to be able to look the rooster in the face without the unbearable ache in his chest urging him to take it all back and try again, he never wanted to lose sight of what drew him and the other two Caballeros together in the first place. They were his family, no matter what happened.

Even when I act like a stupid teenager and run crying to my ex-boyfriend about my hopeless crush, which turned out to be not so hopeless after all because we're together now and— Merda!

Zé closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. It was very good that he had this spare moment to compose himself as he entered the airport proper.

The distant sound of a familiar crow cut through the din of the crowd, stopping Zé in his tracks. That voice—there was no mistaking it. And like the call to sunrise, it made his heart want to leap into the sky. Spotting a tall flash of red, and a hat that he insisted was too big for his head, standing tall amongst the crowd, Zé dropped his suitcase and his umbrella and ran forward like his tail was on fire. Before he even had time to think about it, he was launching himself into Panchito's arms. The rooster caught him instantly, just like old times.

"¡¡AAAAAAJAJAJAJAJA!!" Panchito's triumphant grito echoed across the terminal. His grip was tight, almost desperate, and his wide grin spoke volumes. Zé could feel the emotion radiating from him—Panchito had missed him more than words could ever say, that much was clear. His whole body seemed to hum with excitement. 

"José!! Mi cielo!" Panchito crowed, his voice overflowing with affection as he slowly, reluctantly, released the green parrot. 

Zé smiled warmly, returning the sentiment. "It is so good to see you, docinho!" His tone was as light and affectionate as ever. "It has been too long!"

"No manches, pendejo, it's only been a few months!" Panchito guffawed, his eyes sparkling with unfiltered happiness. His grin stretched wide as he shook his head in disbelief, the warmth in his expression unmistakable. The man was an open book, his emotions always worn on his sleeve.

The malandro chuckled softly, adjusting his hat. "Well, yes, but it has been twice as long since the three of us have been—" He stopped, scanning the area. "Espere, onde está o Donald?" 

Panchito's expression shifted briefly—a flicker of realization, maybe impatience. He glanced back toward the car, where Zé knew Donald must still be catching up. The vaquero's elation had clearly driven him to rush ahead, leaving their other friend behind. Zé could almost feel the mixture of emotions brewing under Panchito's playful exterior, a familiar tug of longing buried in the joy of reunion.

But Zé knew better than to bring that up. He simply smiled again, his voice calm, teasing. "Always in a rush, eh  mano?" 

"Life is too short to sit still," the rooster replied assuredly, and his hand which still rested on his waist in a half hug pulled him in for just an instant, a punctuation to the point. 

"Hey, ya found 'im! Over here, guys!!!!" a distinctive voice cut through the busy hum of the arrival hall and Zé immediately turned towards the sound, his heart immediately catapulting into the stratosphere.

"DONAL'!" he and Panchito shouted in unison, their voices echoing across the platform. The moment the malandro caught sight of Donald looking flustered and determined as ever as he weaved through the crowd, all the excitement, the nerves, the longing came rushing back to him. He broke from Panchito's hold to sprint to him with ever increasing urgency, his heart pounding not from exertion but from sheer jubilation.

Quickly he closed the distance between them, throwing his arms around the sailor and pulling him into a tight embrace. He fit into his arms perfectly, and for a moment he didn't want to let go. Donald absorbed the impact with ease and let Zé down safely, the rest of the world seeming to melt away in an instant. Zé quickly buried his face into Donald's shoulder, feeling the comforting weight of his lover's arms around him. There was relief, adoration, and an overwhelming sense of peace. Even for just a fleeting moment, everything felt right—like he was where he belonged.

"Meu querido..." Zé whispered softly, just for Donald, though he didn't linger on the words. He knew this interlude was fleeting.

Sure enough, as if sensing their private moment was up, Donald's voice broke through their quiet intimacy. "Panchito...?" Donald called, one arm still wrapped around Zé as he extended the other towards their rambunctious rooster to include him.

Zé was too distracted with cuddling up to his sailor's side to register the gleam in Panchito's eye, at first. As it was, it was only the loud, triumphant yell that signaled their impending doom, and the parrot felt he had little choice but to make sure he didn't endure it alone, his arm holding his duck in place.

"No, wait—!" Donald started, but it was too late.

Panchito came down hard from where he had launched himself into the air like a luchador delivering his finishing move. Elbow extended, he crashed into the two of them with the energy of a firecracker bursting on impact. Donald let out a choked WAK! of surprise, his arms flailing as he was knocked clean off balance. Zé, caught in the middle of it all, simply accepted his fate with a laugh, not even trying to brace for the collision.

They tumbled down in a heap of feathers, beaks, and limbs, Zé wedged between his two best friends, both of them piled on top of Donald, who lay sprawled at the bottom. He could feel Donald wheezing beneath him, dazed from the sudden assault, while Panchito—of course—was perched victoriously at the top of the pile, leaning on one elbow like he owned the world.

"Órale! ¿Que te pasa? You were supposed to catch me!" Panchito chortled, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he flashed a wide, playful grin down at the both of them. "I could have gotten hurt!" 

"God forbid…" Donald rasped weakly.

Zé couldn't help but chuckle, even as he lay squashed in the middle. Completely unconcerned by the chaos, he wiggled into a more comfortable position between them, his head resting against Donald's back. He could feel the frantic beat of his partner's heart beneath his cheek, could hear the shallow breaths as Donald tried to recover. There was no tension, no frustration. Just pure, unbridled affection. Even in moments like this—especially in moments like this—Zé felt nothing but love for the both of them.

This was how it had always been with the three of them. Chaos and laughter, roughhousing and tenderness, all tangled together in one messy, beautiful friendship.

"Well, caras," Zé sighed contentedly, "it is good to be back where I belong."

"Where, with all of ya on top of me?" the sailor beneath him groaned, barely able to get out a full breath with all the pressure bearing down on him.

Don't tempt me, the malandro thought before immediately shelving it for later.

[chipper-smol]

ISAT 2025 Art Bang!

After the telephone game lot of people told me that they were interested in joining another project just like it so here we are!

Sign up is available here!

There's a project server invite at the end, you're not required to join it but please don't feel anxious to join! The previous participants have created a very kind community 'v'

The timeline!

What is an Art Bang?

An art bang is meant to create a BANG of fanwork in the fandom! You (and as many authors who sign up) come together to write fanfics from scratch. The fanfic can be an idea that you’ve been wanting to write for a while and just haven’t gotten the motivation to, a fanfic you haven’t been able to continue but want to, or it can be an idea someone else suggests when you join.

Halfway through the writing process authors will be paired up with artists who have read a summary of their work and want to draw for it. When everything is finished, everyone will release their fanfic and fanart in the same week in an explosion of fanworks!

More info below the readmore!

How does it work?

Step 1: Authors sign up and start writing on June 28th. Authors CANNOT add any words to their official word count until after June 28th.

Step 2: After about a month, Authors submit a snippet or summary of their fic which is presented to the artist participants anonymously.

Step 3: Artists choose as many fics that they’d be interested in drawing for and I organize and pair up everyone together.

Step 4: Authors finish up writing, Artists finish up drawing.

Step 5: Works are scheduled to be uploaded to Ao3 and/or Tumblr!

Rules/Expectations

If you use generative AI or AI “assistance” I will trap you in a timeloop ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

AI anything is not allowed under any circumstances and will get you immediately banned from this project and any future projects.

All fics must be uploaded to either Ao3 or Tumblr

Spoilers for ISAT and SASASA:P are not reinforced in the Discord server

Authors

Authors must write at least 10k words in total.

Authors can write as many chapters and fanfics as they want.

Can be about anything! It can even be a continuation of a previous fic that you’ve lost motivation on, but you still must write at least 10k words in total.

Can be any rating! General Audiences to Explicit are welcome 

Authors who want to write Explicit fics must confirm they are 18 years or older.

Artists

Artists must create at least one finished artwork. 

If artists want to create something like an animation or animatic, they can check in with me and we can decide together what is a reasonable finished goal.

Artists can create artwork for multiple fics.

Artists who want to draw for explicit fics must confirm they are 18 years or older.

Can I share snippets of my work before the artist claims?

Preferably no, artist claims are made anonymously so that works are picked without any bias.

10k words seems like a lot?

Altogether, yes, but this challenge extends over 2.5 - 3 months, that’s roughly 3k words a month.

Can I write multiple fics?

Yes, but one of them needs to reach the 10k word mark.

Do explicit fics mean nsfw/sex included things, or is it general heavy themed ones?

Both. Nsfw/sex and general heavy themes.

How 'high level' do the art pieces need to be? i dont want to just do simple sketches of course but how complex should they be?

Since you'll be given a month+ to work on your piece, at the minimum it should be a polished piece. IE Lineart, color, shading

[heartsongss]

three. we heroes.

masterlist.

a/n: guys im putting up a poll soon for the love interest because its a bit of a Choice and I want ppl to like it so watch out for that gang

One week later, you find yourself catching the train into Gotham. It’s 6:30, and the train is surprisingly packed for the time. You figure that even in Gotham, where rent is permanently cheap, people need to make a living. Insurance, and all that.

You chew on your nail, eyes watching the entrances and exits everytime the bus stops, but no monsters climb on, staring at you hungrily. Just more humans, blissfully unaware of the horrors hidden even further into Gotham’s heart. Would they run in fear, horrified by the odd contortations of monster flesh? Or would they accept it. Gotham is the home of human monsters, after all.

What is an empousai to Bane? What is a hellhound, all angry and drooling blood, to Killer Croc? Nothing. It's just another beast out for their blood.

The bus hitches to a final stop and you get off, near the heart of Gotham. Camp owns an apartment they use as their Gotham home base. You’ll start the Cull here and end it there, too. You wonder when your family will arrive. You know that they found out last night, as you watched through the windows as they climbed into a Camp van.

You were in bed by the time they got home, carefully ignoring the sound of them entering the house. Distantly, you could hear their whispers. Not the full things, only small snippets of conversation that relate to you.

“...(Y/N)...”

“It doesn’t….”

“...Weak!...”

You fell asleep to their thoughtlessly cruel words that night, and you made sure to be out far earlier than they’d be up waiting for you, intent on spending as much time away from them as you can. Hopefully, the Cull will save you from them. Maybe they’ll forget about you all over again, letting you fade into the background again, nothing more than the normal one.

You open the door of the apartment complex, hurrying through the halls and into the elevator. You press the button for the fourth floor, watching blankly as you pass the prior numbers. It’s all so close, now. In just a few hours, you’ll be fighting for your life. All of Gotham will be asleep, ignorant to the real monsters in their home city.

You’ll protect them all.

From block to block, borough to borough, you’ll keep them all safe. The elevator stops, and to step out to walk to the apartment door. You fiddle with your keys, unlocking the door and sliding in. There’s a few dim lights scattered about, illuminating eleven figures.

Katie Gardner, Travis Stoll, June Woods, Clarisse La Rue, Mary Leblanc, Will Solace, Lucy Black, and Jamie.

Your eyes widen at the sight of your friend. You had no idea that he’d be here today! He smiles tiredly at you, doing a two finger salute in a greeting. Smiling at him, you go and sit by his side. Clarisse stands just as you sit, looking out at you all.

“As you know, some of the Justice League will be involved in this year’s culling. We’ve supplied them with Celestial Bronze weapons, and Lady Hekate pulled the mist from their eyes. We’ll be working in groups of six. Three Demigods, three heroes.”

You nod, fiddling with your bracelet. You’ve named it doron, for gift. It was the first thing you ever got from your mother, and your most cherished. It’ll protect you well, tonight. You look to Clarisse, raising your hand.

She points to you, silently telling you to ask your question.

“Who’s working with who?”

“I was getting to that.” She says, deadpan.

You scowl at her, chewing on her lip.

“Katie, June, and I will be with the Flash, Wonder Woman, and Superboy. Travis, Mary, and Lucy will be with Batman, Wondergirl, and Red Hood-” You sigh in relief, “And (Y/N), Will, and Jamie will be with Superman, Impulse, and Nightwing.”

Fuck. Fucking shit. You try not to let the panic show on your face, reaching out to clutch at Jamie’s hand. He squeezes it reassuringly, tapping his foot in a panicked beat.

Clarisse barrels on, uncaring, “We’ll meet at eight today and get everything in place. Ensure they understand we’re doing it our way, never theirs.”

She takes it personally, you can tell. Something must have happened during the discussions. You don’t care much, though, a bit distracted of being on a team with your older brother. Your eyes flick to the clock. It’s seven. One more hour before you’re face to face with your family, walking them through the yearly massacre held in Gotham.

You’re so fucked.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Wonder Woman is leading them through a recap. Discussing do’s and don’ts, how they differ from baseline humans. She’s particularly focused on Bruce, who’d made the mistake of condemning the demigods who had killed.

He said they were cruel, and that nothing - even winning those wars - warranted so much death on their part. He said they should be jailed.

Clarisse, Dick thinks her name was, was royally pissed. She had turned on him, eyes wild, and spat, “Do you have it in you to lock up your own child?

The room had gone silent. Clarisse, breathing heavily, stared hin down and said, “(Y/N) did the most damage out of all of us. They fought for their survival. For our survival. You want to persecute them for that?”

Bruce hadn’t been able to answer. Mostly because Clarisse had been led out of the room and hadn’t returned. That was when Wonder Woman had taken over, explaining (Y/N)’s ancestry. She admitted that Clarisse would have known more, and she’d try to get her to talk the next day, but she hadn’t been with Wonder Woman this morning, apparently with the demigods in charge of the Cull.

Wonder Woman was still talking, saying, “They’re unconventional. They’re used to fighting with what they have, so they’ll probably make use of their surroundings. Including you.”

Dick nods. Bruce, beside him, grunts. His hands are clenched, tightening in a rhythm. He’s stressed. They all are, really. They hadn’t thought (Y/N) was so… scarred. They hadn’t even noticed! The poor thing must have been so scared. They couldn’t go to their family for help with the monsters following them… They hadn’t even been to camp! What if they were homesick, those summers spent away?

He frowns. Jason bumps his shoulder, looking at him through his helmet. Jason had taken it hard. It was different, but he knew what it was like to fight. He knew what it was like to be so scared, but unable to do anything but face it. It’s horrifying. 

They can fix it. After all this, they can talk to (Y/N) and fix it all. They must be so tired! It’s okay, though. Because they can rest with the family. It’s okay.

Diana’s voice filters through his senses again, “We’ll be meeting them at their safehouse in half an hour. From there, we’ll help with their preparations. They’re setting up some seals to keep monsters in, and preparing the spell to put most humans to sleep. That will happen around… twelve? one? It takes them a while to prepare themselves.”

They approach the Zeta tubes. Diana pauses, looking out at them. Her eyes stop on Dick, Bruce, and Jason. A silent plead to stay calm, a silent message.

They are strong enough.

“You remember your groups? Good. Gods help us all.”

[aventurineswife]

Hello Sweetheart! I have returned once more to lend you an idea, a request if you may—for Mydei. If you’re feeling spicy, you could add Aventurine for some self indulgence on your part. Or a separate character you think would be fitting for the prompt!

I found an audio I thought would be adorable, perhaps our reader reminiscing with their partner or soon-to-be partner. Mutual pinning may work as well… either way! I have a dialog for reference this time around.

Fluffy goodness! Warm laughter, perhaps some sort of confession if they aren’t already established. Up to you! Enjoy 💙🫶

“You’re not what I thought you’d be like”

“Mean and scary?”

“Yeah-“

“Yeah, well. I actually thought, you’d be mean and scary too.”

“Me??”

“Terrifying!”

“You were the one I never knew I needed”

Summary: You and Mydei share a quiet evening after a long day of traveling. While relaxing, you play an old recording where you recall your initial misconceptions about Mydei being "mean and scary," which leads to a playful conversation between the two of you. As the conversation progresses, you confess that Mydei isn’t what you thought he would be, revealing a side of him that is caring and gentle. Both of you reflect on the bond that’s grown between you, with Mydei subtly hinting at his feelings for you, leading to a soft, unspoken confession of mutual affection.

Tags: Mydei x Reader, Fluff, Mutual Pinning, Slow Burn, Romantic Confessions, Character Development, Light Humor.

A/N: thank you for the req, love! 🤭💖

The night air in the cozy inn was quiet, save for the crackling of a small fire that warmed the room. You and Mydei sat across from each other, the light flickering gently on his features as you both relaxed after a long day of traveling. The usual tension that came with his presence had melted away, replaced by a warmth that had become more and more familiar over the past few weeks.

You couldn’t help but smile as you listened to the soft hum of the evening. It was hard to imagine that only a short time ago, you’d barely known this man—this fierce warrior who, by all accounts, should have been intimidating, cold, and ruthless. Instead, you’d come to know Mydei as someone who, while still fiercely loyal to his cause, was far more complex, with layers that revealed themselves only to those close to him.

“I found something earlier today,” you said, your voice soft as you glanced at him. “A... recording. It reminded me of you.”

“Oh?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “What’s this about?”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought up the audio on your device. It was a simple recording, just a little snippet of your voice from a while back, talking to yourself in a way that now seemed amusing. You played it, the words from a much younger you echoing in the room.

"You're not what I thought you'd be like."

“Mean and scary?” Mydei’s voice rumbled through the room, amusement flickering in his eyes as he teased you.

“Yeah—” you heard your younger self say on the recording. “Yeah, well. I actually thought you’d be mean and scary too.”

“Me??” Mydei’s tone was light, a playful challenge in his voice as he leaned forward, meeting your gaze. “Terrifying!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he delivered the line, that same glint of humor now so familiar to you. The recording was an amusing relic of your past assumptions, but now, sitting across from the man who had defied those assumptions in every way, it was a reminder of how far your relationship had come.

“Terrifying, huh?” you teased, leaning back with a smile. “I guess that’s one way to describe you.”

Mydei leaned back in his chair too, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a certain softness to his gaze now, one that made your heart flutter despite yourself. He hadn’t said anything out loud, but his silence spoke volumes.

You cleared your throat, feeling a mix of warmth and uncertainty. “You know… I never thought I’d end up here, with you. You’re not what I thought you’d be like, either.”

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue.

“I thought you were all sharp edges and cold determination,” you confessed, your voice softer now, “but… there’s a lot more to you than that, isn’t there?”

Mydei’s eyes softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I think you’ve seen more of me than anyone else,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the weight of them not lost on you. You had grown so accustomed to the warrior he appeared to be—fearless, unyielding. But in the quiet moments like this, you saw the man beneath that exterior. The one who cared more deeply than he often let on. The one who had fought for his kingdom, for the people he loved, and for the future he dreamed of.

And maybe, just maybe, for someone like you.

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you was filled with unspoken understanding.

“Hey,” you broke the quiet, your voice soft. “I… I’m glad you’re not what I thought you’d be.”

His smile widened just a little, a touch of warmth in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re not what I thought you’d be either.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the room, and for once, it didn’t feel like you were the only one taking a leap of faith. Maybe Mydei wasn’t as terrifying as you thought, and maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one who had begun to feel something more.

“So,” you said, your voice teasing as you leaned forward a little, “when are you going to admit that you’ve fallen for me?”

Mydei’s expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes, but it was gone so quickly that you almost missed it. He leaned in too, his voice low as he spoke.

“I’d never admit that.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh really?”

“No,” he replied, his gaze meeting yours with such intensity that it stole the breath from your lungs. “Because I’m not sure I need to. Not when you already know.”

And just like that, the last of the tension between you both seemed to dissipate, leaving only the warmth of the fire and the shared understanding in the space between you.

The future—whatever it might hold—seemed a little brighter now.

[chubsonthemoon]

new jayvik book yaaay! this is with soft hands: Viktor takes care of Jayce (and other stories): a collection of works by @sulkybender!

as usual, process + design chatter under the cut <3

This book was such a special one to make! I don't make many anthologies these days, but sulky's fics just hit that perfect note of tender + heartbreaking + loving that make you want to hold a loved one, so it was well worth the effort. And especially given the nature/tone of the collection, gathering all the different fics, arranging them, and binding them felt extra special :]

Two things I wanted to convey with this bind were: simplicity and movement. Sulky has a way of writing about points of time that stand all on their own, but also fit into this larger art-moment-movement for the boys. The moments are simple in action (a kiss, a fruit falling, a word shared), but layered and complex in what's moving under the surface. In every piece there are a number of small tragedies and triumphs that Jayce and Viktor go through together, and each of these moments flows organically from one to the other, each snippet like a lighted way station in the dark, sometimes layering up and winding around and doubling back, until you reach the end and oh, look at that, you're crying aha. I'm always reading these stories all cozy in bed--they always feel like the last thought you have before you fall asleep (and they often are, for me! LOVE reading a sulky fic right before I pass out sjdflksj).

In keeping with this idea of movement and fluidity, one of my favorite elements to design was the order of the fics + table of contents! I've used these hand-drawn ribbons in other binds and love how they add a little movement to a spread. I also really love how all of the titles are little poems in their own right, so I tried my hand a contrapuntal poem with their ordering. On the left are works from sulky's collection on ao3, "with soft hands: Viktor takes care of Jayce." On the right are other of sulky's works that I thought were similar thematically or were parts of other series (some of which include collection fics). On the whole, I'm quite pleased with the effect!

(For funsies, have a go at reading it both vertically and horizontally heh :3)

I also found some really neat one-line illustrations from Adobe Images of hands reaching for each other. I used these as the decorative elements between the two larger sections, and between each of the fics:

For materials, I found this gorgeous natural Japanese linen while on a recent trip and knew from the moment I saw it that I was going to use it for this bind! Endpapers are this pretty white paper I had in stash--it has gold and silver flecks + some really pretty wispy, thread-like inclusions.

Leaning more into the idea of movement + simplicity, I used some neutral-colored Gutermann silk threads for my first true gradient endband! This was my first go at a gradient, and while I'm still working out how to manage my tension (a constant battle with every bind, lol), I'm quite pleased with the colors :3

This was also my first time trying a set-in bookplate! I didn't get photos of the process lol, but I basically cut the first few layers of the bookboard into a square + sanded it down so that when I glued in the paper, it would lay flush with the rest of the cover. The image is from Aquarian Odyssey: A Photographic Trip into the Sixties by Don Snyder, and I thought it was really lovely and fitting:

Aaand that's all for today! Thank you so much again to sulky for their permission to bind. Sulky, I love reading your work, and I loved making this! I'm so happy to have your words on my shelf :D

And once more, for the road: you can read sulky's work on ao3, here <3

[swordsandholly]

def need more ditzy reader with mechanic 141- the only thing that tops my love for military men is blue collar boys <333

make sure to take care of yourself tho lovie!! don’t burn urself out :))

I for sure want to write more of her. Hopefully after this insane week at work I’ll be able to really sit down and crank out some writing. For now I’m battling my way through Ch 3 of Across the Way

But pls enjoy this little not proofread experimental snippet I wrote for ditzy reader

“Look.” Your landlord sighs loudly. Like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I’ll send someone out.”

“That’s what you said two days ago! And three days before that!” You stomp your foot at no one just to get some of the anger out.

“I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

“Why can’t you-“ The line cuts before you can finish. The jerk hung up on you! What the hell!

You pout, plopping down into your desk chair and sighing. What are you supposed to do? You’re not allowed to call a handyman according to the lease and you don’t have a boyfriend right now. You can’t keep washing pans in the bathroom. It’s gross.

You huff.

“Alright?” Simon asks and you whirl in your chair. How does he walk so quietly?

“Yeah…” You pout harder under his steady gaze, slipping down further into the chair.

“You’re a terrible liar, luv.” His eyes crinkle in corners with a smile.

“Well…” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. “My kitchen sink has been broken for a whole week and the landlord won’t do anything about it! I called and called and he just keeps saying he’ll send someone and then doesn’t!” Your voice pitches at the end, real annoyance bleeding through into the edges of your words. You fist your hands in your skirt.

“That’s all?” He raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just ask one of us?”

You blink twice, staring up at him. Your face heats and you look away bashfully - not wanting to admit you didn’t think to ask for their help. Stupid. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

“I’ll come by after work.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I’ll be there.” He nods before marching back into the garage. You just blink after him as he goes.

True to his word, Simon shows up at your door with a massive tool box in hand. Really, he still can’t believe you live in such a shit complex. Price pays you well enough. The locks might as well be paper-mache. Simon lowers his mask before knocking. He trusts you with his face - hell you probably forget it every time you look away - but he also wants you to trust him too. For whatever reason.

You’re staring when you open the door. Big doe eyes looking up at him and blinking slowly. He wonders what goes on behind those blank eyes of yours - if it’s nothing at all or such a chaotic dialogue that you can’t process it enough to pay attention.

All or nothing.

“Gonna let me in, doll?” He asks. You startle, not realizing how intensely you zoned out.

“Oh! Yes!” You jump out of the way, letting him into your small studio apartment. Every time he thinks your shorts can’t get smaller he’s proven wrong.

Simon takes a look around, huffing at the net full of stuffies hanging on the wall. Everything about your home is soft - soft colors, soft fabrics. It smells like vanilla, just like you always do when you come into the shop. His eyes lock briefly on a well-loved sewing machine covered in stickers with a project still under the needle. You must have been working on it before he got here.

Did you mean to leave your bra hanging on the back of that chair right by the kitchen? Lacy and lilac. He’ll have to remember that for some other time. Maybe your birthday.

“Let’s ‘ave a look.” He sighs, knees popping as he crouches in front of the sink. It’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure. At least you figured out how to turn the water off.

“Pipe’s busted.” He says. “I can seal it but it’ll take a sec.”

“Okay.” You murmur.

Simon sighs as he turns onto his back to get a better look. He doesn’t miss the way you stare blatantly at his midsection as his shirt rides up. He might adjust some to expose just a bit more.

You really are the least subtle thing in the planet, aren’t you?

“Can you come hold the light f’me, luv?” He points to the toolbox.

“This one?” You ask, as if it isn’t the only flashlight in the box.

“Yeah.”

“Like this?”

“Yup.” At first he expects you to sit silently so he can concentrate, but he quickly realizes that was far too presumptuous.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Si?” You ask quietly.

He huffs. “No.”

“Oh.” You chew your lip. “You seem like the kind of guy that would.”

Simon has never heard a bigger misread in his damn life but he’ll take it as a compliment, he supposes. “Why do you ask?”

“Cause this is boyfriend work and you’re good at it.”

Simon tries to see your logic - he really does - but he just has no clue how those things are even remotely related. Sure, guys fix things for their girlfriends but calling it ‘boyfriend work’ when anybody with two cents could do it is a bit silly. More than, if he’s honest. He just grunts in response, at a total loss for how to respond.

Simon looks down at you. The way you kneel as your cleaving spills out of your tiny tank top - one of many you insist on wearing so often. He can give into temptation just a little bit, right? “Gonna need you to get closer, doll.”

“Oh!” You scoot forward until your knees brush his side. So ready to listen. Cute.

“Can you lean in a bit?”

“Like this?” You lean forward, chest pressing against him while your hand splays over his midsection for balance. Fucking hell.

“Perfect. Good girl.”

It’s bold and a bit uncoordinated even for him. Something Johnny would try. The purposeful choice of words seems to go right over your head. Instead you blush and smile, shifting your hips just a bit. Your chest pushes further into him. So soft.

Fuck.

You’ll be the death of him. Thank god you’re too unobservant to notice that he’s rock fucking hard.

He’s already done with the sink by the time of this little exchange, but he pretends to tighten some useless bolts anyway just to keep you against him a little longer before shooing you away. It’s cute, the way you scramble to get out of the way. Simon turns the water back on before standing, and gesturing toward the sink.

“Give it a try, luv.”

A little furrow forms in your brow as you step forward to turn it on, crouching and standing to make sure the leak has stopped. You turn the faucet off and whip your head around with a grin.

He’s pretty sure you burst an eardrum with the pitch of the squeal you let out, bouncing over and tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“It’s no pro-“ he cuts off as you push up onto your tip toes and press a kiss to his cheek. He can’t help but bark out a laugh. Little minx.

“Oh, I got some lipstick-“ You reach up to smudge it off but he bats your hand away. He’ll wear it back to the garage and show off the kiss he got. Johnny’s going to absolutely fume.

[just-brighteyes]

If only it were that simple...

AU fic snippet under the cut 👀

Finally, the formal event was over and Zelda allowed herself to be whisked away from the tiring night of politics. The rulers of each race and village, like Link, were unhappy with her Zelda's resumption of her traditional throne and the strained, yet polite, negotiations had worn her patience thin.

Though Link had been happy to return to duty as a royal guard and trusted confidant, his relationship with Zelda had become tense as he expressed his agreement with the rulers of Hyrule; the monarchy should be dissolved in favour of a council of representatives.

Walking through the gardens on the way back to her rooms, Zelda could feel his stare on the back of her neck.

"I know you don't agree with my ruling Hyrule, but you don't have to be so surly about it."

"Hm," came his non-committal response.

"I can't abandon the kingdom my father worked so hard to protect, even if he made my life a misery back then. I have to carry on his legacy, otherwise it was all for nothing."

She stopped walking and turned to face him. Link caught up and was standing close to her, the moon illuminated his tired and stern face as clear as day.

"Don't look at me like that, you know I have to rule so we can have peace in Hyrule."

His expression softened and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a familiar hug. He'd grown a few inches since the calamity, now a fully grown soldier, and she took comfort in these moments when they could be just Link and Zelda, not the Hero and the Princess.

After a moment, she felt him stiffen, as though he had made up his mind about something.

"What's wrong?"

"Abdicate," he said.

"What?"

He raised a gloved hand to her chin, tilting her face towards his. A warm glow dusted his tanned cheeks as he repeated,

"Abdicate. Hyrule has ruled itself for a hundred years, it can take care of itself. Then... maybe..." his voice quivered and failed.

Her ears burning, her eyes flicked unwillingly from his eyes to his mouth. How desperately she wanted to live the life he was boldly offering to her, finally giving voice to the tension that had been building for months.

He was offering her a simple life among the people where they could simply be. No critical decisions, no complex political events more dangerous than a battleground, no treaties to write or prisoners to sentence.

It was impossible.

"Link. You know why I can't..."

She knew it would happen. It hurt just the same.

Disappointment and hurt flashed across his handsome face, before his eyes hardened as he slipped back into his role as the perfect soldier. He dropped his hand and stepped back to a respectable distance.

"Very well, Princess."

"Link I-"

"It's late, your highness. Let me escort you to your rooms."

Evan as a man of few words, he had never been this formal with her, despite her numerous protests. She knew at this moment, she'd lost him.

[artificiallita]

i got bit by the butch wolverine bug and trust me im in lov w her BUT have we considered futch deadpool???

(headcanons and upcoming fic snippets under the cut)

working on a big silly fanfic about this hot mess boinking logan in the odyssey. here’s some headcanons while the story finishes cooking.

- so. kept her first name as wade. i’ve seen a few alt names floating around for f!deadpool (big love for the winnies, winonas, and wandas of the ladypool extended universe) but genderfuck ‘not rlly a name’ just fits my vision for her. her parents were weird idk.

- deadpool is a woman in all variants except one in my personal headcanon. he is called dudepool. also her corresponding nicepool is male gaze-ified pre-mutation wade. she’s bleach blonde and her suit has a titty window.

- ex special forces turned mercenary whose life shit the bed when she was diagnosed with cancer. tried to be proactive about it long enough to get a mastectomy, then found out said cancer was pretty much everywhere else, and we know the story from there. since this predates her healing factor, she’s permanently single-boobed. has padding in her suit to even her out since it doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, wears big t-shirts and ignores it in her civilian life.

- bisexual disaster zone. spent many years in a very happy and deeply perverted relationship with a male stripper named van carlysle, until that went down the toilet. a solid 70% of the casual sex she has is with women.

- dresses like the shitshow nightmare we know and love, loves an awful t shirt and a pair of crocs. put little to no effort into her appearance pre-mutation and that hasn’t really changed, had a brief phase of screwing around with makeup and wigs and then decided it was basically - to use a line of internal monologue from the pending fic - rolling a turd in glitter.

- speaking of, has a real complex about the changes to the way people perceive her post-mutation, namely that they seem to find her super fucking irritating and odd in a way that they very much Didn’t when she was still conventionally hot. between her military background and the general company she keeps, she’s quite often the only woman in her circles, and has always been a dysfunctional mess of adhd and unfiltered word-vomit, but that was generally read as mpdg ‘cool girl’ behaviour prior to her transformation, and now people seem to just think she’s a lunatic. less ‘oh god im hideous’, although she *absolutely* has those moments too, more ‘oh god everyone i know has thought i was a weird pain in the ass this entire time and only tolerated me because they wanted to fuck me’

- wears a lot of poorly applied eyeliner and purposely sleeps in it because she thinks it looks cool. it does not.

- had absolutely zero plans to snitch to cassandra about johnny’s rant, right up until the ‘bald hell’ line. she took that shit personally (almost definitely didn’t need to but whatever. i support women’s wrongs.)

and some snippets from the fic, all of which are me wade objectifying logan. technically spoilers but also what else did anyone expect

[aihoshiino]

chapter 166 thoughts

As of chapter 166, Oshi no Ko has finished a roughly four-and-a-half year run started back in 2020. While there's some speculation about an epilogue or some extra content in volume 16 when it drops, this is where the main story ends. And you know what that means!!!

OSHI NO KO HAS OFFICIALLY ENDED WITHOUT ADDRESSING OR ACKNOWLEDGING THE FACT THAT RUBY KISSED HER BROTHER IN CHAPTER 143

please understand that this is FUCKING BOGUS

I'll probably do a longer post on this subject specifically, but my main critique of 143 when the chapter dropped was that while I liked the individual beats in it and I was really glad to see Akasaka finally addressing this tension bubbling underneath Aqua and Ruby's relationship, the immediate swerve away from showing us the aftermath of that kiss felt to me like an admission that the story was going to needlessly draw this out even more. Now that the story has ended and we can see that moment had literally no impact on the plot or even the character dynamics, I'd like to revise that statement - it feels like an admission of compromise. It feels like crumbs thrown to AquRuby fans to tempt them to keep reading and to stir up the waters of the ship wars, so people would keep reading and stay invested in the manga right to the very end. But most of all, it feels deeply disrespectful to both Aqua and Ruby as characters. Rather than exploring their feelings and giving both of them interiority and complexity in relation to incest or even just fucking acknowledging that the kiss had happened and letting their dynamic evolve, the series just memory holes the entire event and asks that you do too. Rather than letting Ruby have any development whatsoever as pertains to that relationship or, god forbid, let a female character move on romantically from the male lead, the series ends with her feelings so up in the air that I literally could not tell you what she thinks of Aqua by the time he dies.

ANYWAY… FINAL CHAPTER. BREATHES OUT VERY HARD.

I really can't believe it's taken us until the final chapter to actually deal with Ruby's grief over Aqua lol. We got a snippet of it last chapter but it was so brief that it really just felt like a tease. I also just think it's kind of bizarre that we're spending this little time on Ruby having feelings about Aqua's death to the extent that I have no idea how or when she found out about it.

It's also kind of hard to feel particularly strongly about Ruby's grief when the chapter doesn't really bother to explore it all that much. It's just a montage of Ruby quite literally Screaming, Crying and Throwing Up while Akane dispassionately narrates it all. The art also doesn't really help in terms of connecting with the emotions at play - I usually really like Mengo's expression work and the way she depicts extreme emotions but this all just felt like of… I don't know how else to put it. Goofy??? Is that an insane thing to say about Ruby grieving her brother???

Idk, something about both the panelling and just the extreme on-the-noseness of Ruby, again, literally Screaming, Crying Throwing Up while she's wearing a Burning cosplay Just In Case You, The Audience, Didn't Get It only for her to abruptly be done crying with no exploration or insight as to what's going on in her head that allows her to move forward.

Honestly, this is kind of the issue with everyone in the cast. The resolution is just sort of "Aqua died and we were sad about it but then we stopped being sad". I know what the story is trying to go for here - it's trying to express that even when you're in pain, life goes on and so you have to find a way to go on with it. But the result is that we spend all this time oogling at their pain without spending equivalent or even meaningful time on their recovery process.

It feels both excessive and undercooked at the same time and I'm left with the same icky, voyeuristic feeling I got from Aqua's funeral last chapter. This should be the point in the story at which we empathize with Ruby the most, but she remains a frustratingly distant figure right to the final pages. Part of this is an unfortunate consequence of Akane's narration directing these final chapters meaning that we're hearing about Ruby from an outsider's perspective and thus don't really see what's going on in her head… but if I can be frank, this has been an issue of Aka's with Ruby in particular basically nonstop since chapter 123.

As others & myself have noted, despite the absolutely catastrophic downward spiral Ruby is in at that point, Aqua revealing himself as Gorou basically flips it all off like a switch. There's some mild lipservice paid to the idea that Ruby is just using her dependency on Gorou to prop herself up and it's pointed out that the issues that contributed to her breakdown haven't actually been resolved - but none of these issues are ever even acknowledged again, let alone resolved. So, functionally, that reveal does fix all Ruby's problems in the space of a single chapter and the result is, again, that we spend multiple chapters gourging on depictions of Ruby's absolute rock bottom only for her to ping back to normal like a lightswitch. As such, the depictions of her pain feel less like explorations of Ruby's interiority and more like voyeuristic oogling at Ruby's misery and trauma and the effect is that the resolution to it all is both unsatisfying and a little gross. The result is that it feels like Akasaka is just indulgently mining the imagery of cute girls suffering because it causes simple thoughts neuron activation but doesn't respect these girls enough as characters to build them back up.

It doesn't help that this is basically the in-universe excuse for Ruby's career further skyrocketing. Instead of Ruby becoming a star on her own merits as the story keeps insisting she was supposed to, she's artificially buoyed by the public's morbid fascination with her tragedy. If I was feeling charitable towards the story right now, I would say this is an avenue of intentional critique but… well, I don't feel super charitable about the story right now lol

I WILL say that the one part of this chapter I did just uncomplicatedly like was the beat of Mem trying to suspend activities (presumably in the wake of her grief for Aqua) only for Kana to basically immediately explode into her room and help her get back on her feet. It's a beat that would've been much more effective if we'd, you know, seen it, but I otherwise enjoyed it and I thought it was sweet.

But. pbbbbtttt. I guess I can't talk around it any longer… let's get into the Dome concert.

To start things off on the immediately worst note possible, Akane describes Ruby performing at the Dome as being 'everyone's dream', including Aqua's. I'm reminded once again of the strange turn the story took in insisting that um, actually, performing at the Dome was totes Ai's dream all along (even though she literally didn't give a shit even a week before she was due to perform there herself) so Ruby performing there is fulfilling that dream for her!!! and I can't help but wonder if this abrupt shift in focus is an attempt to make readers forget what Ai's actual dream was - to see her beloved children grow up happy and healthy. Hell, it wasn't even really Aqua's dream, until the story suddenly had to try and convince us that his entire purpose for existence was to kill himself so Ruby could be an idol for slightly longer than she would've otherwise. The only people whose dreams she's textually fulfilling are Ichigo and Miyako and Ruby herself, but…

Honestly, is this really Ruby's dream anymore?

Who is Hoshino Ruby? What does she want? Why does she want it? These should be the very least of what we can concretely say about not only a protagonist but a character who has become a central figure of the entire story as Ruby has, but with the way Oshi no Ko has warped and distorted her, I find myself increasingly unsure of what the story wants her to be or how I should answer those questions.What does Ruby feel about Aqua? Was she still in love with him? Had she moved on, romantically? Was she still waiting for a response to her confession? Did she finally realize it was probably kind of shitty to respond to her brother going "lowkey wanna kms" by sticking her tongue down his throat? I Guess We'll Never Know.

This extends to whatever the fuck Ruby's relationship with idols and being an idol is. Almost the entirety of Ruby's time in the story has been spent reiterating over and over that Ruby cannot just be an idol who imitates Ai and that to truly shine, she needs to step out of her mom's shadow and shine in her own way. Ruby even literally tells Kana in no uncertain terms in 137 - "I'll be a star in my own way. I won't be like Mama."

While this has always been the text of the story, as I've pointed out before, the actual art with which Ruby's idolhood depicts her basically just as Ai 2.0. It relies so heavily on mining the imagery of Ai's charisma and personality as an idol and using them as the measure of Ruby's success as an idol that Ruby essentially has no visual or conceptual identity of her own as an idol. She's just Ai, But Arbitrarily Better, For Reasons The Narrative Fails To Actually Establish But Hopes That You Just Accept Anyway. This was always kind of annoying, but now that friction seems to have been resolved by… just making her Ai 2.0, But Arbitrarily Better (etc, etc) in the text as well. The fact that we're given no further insight as to Ruby's feelings and continue to just have Akane Explain Ruby's Character Arc to the camera also doesn't help.

All this combines to make the Dome concert and the final few pages feel exceptionally cold in a way I really don't think was intended by Akasaka. Yes, that splash page was nice and flashy but… I just felt nothing. I have no idea if or why Ruby cares about this. And even though the Dome concert has been hyped up through the entire story as the peak of Ruby's achievements as an idol, I feel no sense of accomplishment in her finally being there - not just because her journey to it was basically sneezed at us across two panels, but because it just feels hollow as a victory lap for Ruby. Again, she feels so distant and abstracted as a character that I can't bring myself to feel very strongly about her good or bad.

I think the perfect encapsulation of this are the final four pages of the story. Ruby's words here are very clearly intended to be a callback to Ai's words to Gorou in chapter one but as @all-of-her-light pointed out in our initial discussions of the chapter, Ruby very much does not have an equivalent to Ai's conclusion that she nevertheless wants and values the opportunity to find personal happiness and fulfillment outside of being an idol. Are we supposed to believe that simply being an idol is all that Ruby needs to achieve a similar degree of happiness and fulfillment? Is there no more to her than that?

I've seen a lot of people interpret this ending as exceptionally bleak and, as usual, gleefully predicting Ruby's immanent suicide because her beloved oniichansensei isn't around but this is indulging in, if you'll allow me to be frank, some pretty transparently ship-motivated flanderization. Despite what certain sections of the fandom would like to believe, Aqua and Ruby's lives, past and current, have never revolved around each other to the exclusion of every other relationship in their life. Ruby has a massive support network of people who love and care for her and actively want her to get back on her feet. I can one hundred percent believe that she does not need Aqua in her life to be happy and content.

The issue is that we don't see enough of Ruby to understand that ourselves. Again, she has become such a distant figure with so little insight into what she's thinking and why that this ending is basically a Rorschach test in which you can interpret basically whatever the hell you want or assume because we have so little canon basis to support or debunk our assumptions.

and yes. don't think i didn't see them. it IS both grimly hilarious and weirdly tonally appropriate for this ending that ruby has a bunch of oshi goods of ai and aqua including their fucking autographs set up to say goodbye to every day.

AND…… WE'RE DONE!!! THAT'S OSHI NO KO, BABY!!!! well, technically, there's going to be a 20 page extra chapter in volume 16 but I don't see it being big or substantive enough to meaningfully change my feelings about the ending so… I guess we're leaving it here. Damn. Feels crazy to be done with it.

I'll probably do a bigger post down the line about my thoughts on the ending as a whole but in terms of just How This Chapter Made Me feel, I guess the word is just… meh! It's definitely not an ending I like and I think the execution is sloppy and rushed but I also just don't really have the energy to feel angry about it. Maybe that's sad in its own way but tbh… I still really love Oshi no Ko! I still find it engaging and I find the characters I enjoy rewarding to talk about. I like the artistry of the anime adaptation. I don't blame anybody else for being so turned off by this ending that they're done with the series but for me, I like what I like about OnK too much that this ending could retroactively ruin it for me. Whatever else happens with the OnK franchise, whatever directions the anime and live-action take, this will always be the series that gave me Ai and the Hoshino family and. look at me. look at what she's done to my brain. could I really ask for anything more than that?

That being said, I'm definitely not done with discussing the series! I have fics to write (including a VERY exciting large scale project lined up with some friends), my Ai analysis post to finish and I also want to do a re-read of the series and finish my anime rewatch. I'll be here to discuss Oshi no Ko as long as I have things to say about it and as long as you guys will have me! Despite how the series ended, I've had a genuinely wonderful experience in the fandom and I really don't want to let go of the little community we've built together just because the series is done. I'm Ai's fan for all eternity!!!

[maxispixels]

HANDPICKED

PART FOUR.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

1.8k words

You work at a flower shop in late 70s London and Hobie's being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?

CW: One slightly suggestive joke

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight. Part nine. Part ten. Part eleven. Part twelve.

The pages of your sketchbook had taken a darker turn. Besides a few buttercups here and there, you had stopped drawing flowers. No, now you had a new subject, far more fascinating, but also far more complex.

You just couldn’t get his face right, no matter how much you tried, his features never felt like him. His nose was too small, then too wide, his skin never the right shade, and you couldn’t remember if he was wearing lipstick or not. 

You were so frustrated, you threw your sketchbook across your tiny flat. The loud thump almost startled you, filling you with instant regret. You hoped you didn’t break it as you rushed to get it back.

Somewhat, the crumpled paper made it look just a bit more like him, the scrappy charm of wrinkled pages suiting his style. You felt like the drawing was mocking you for even caring.

You hated how you found yourself tinkering with your little radio, trying to find the station he put on at the shop, never quite managing to reach it. The static hissed and crackled, occasionally interrupted by snippets of cheerful pop songs or somber news reports. None of it sounded right, none of it was him. 

You didn’t even want to listen to punk at the moment. You just wanted to understand him. Figure him out. His whole attitude. How he seemed to care about so many things people didn’t care about, how he didn’t care about what people did care about. 

That was totally what this whole thing was about. Definitely, mh hm. Just trying to understand.

After all, he had that air, like he knew something more. Like he figured out something you didn’t, and you wanted to know what that was. Maybe if you had listened to him talk instead of memorizing his face… All of that to not even be able to make a proper portrait. What a shame.

The weather kept getting colder as the days passed, and the heating in your home still wasn’t on. You were doing free extra hours at the shop just to enjoy the warmth. There was not a speck of dust left there—not even on the old radio. 

Even Rose scolded you about spending too much time there. You told her about the boy, how he brought the buttercups. You were a little sad they were going to wilt, so Rose taught you how to press them in your sketchbook. She didn’t miss the numerous drawings of a certain someone, and she looked at you disapprovingly.

“What?” You muttered.

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Youth.” 

You felt the underlying implications. “He just has an interesting face!” You defended.

“Whatever you say.”

You didn’t insist.

Days passed and the temperature only dropped further. It was still autumn, but it certainly felt like winter. The rain was constant and loud and cold. It seeped through your clothes and reached your bones, making your teeth clatter whenever you were outside. 

At least, the rides in the bus felt relaxing. You didn’t even mind having to snuggle with other people. They felt warm and soft, with big fuzzy jackets. 

You wouldn’t mind rubbing shoulders with a spike in the bus, but Spikey Thing only showed up when he felt like it.

You’d given him funny nicknames in your head. That’s what he got for playing mysterious. Loser. 

You looked at the door at every jiggle of the bell, hoping to catch a glimpse of his tall wicks, or studded belt, or leather jacket, or red combat boots. It was honestly shameful how disappointed you felt when anyone else entered the shop. 

That didn’t happen often, which left you alone with your thoughts too much. The heavy rain deterred most people from trying to buy flowers, and you had to put inside the pots in the storefront. The wind and rain would have broken the plants. 

You were dripping and you were cold, and tired, and frustrated. 

When the rain stopped for a moment, you went back outside to wipe the front window a little. You didn’t want the grim from the rain to linger on the glass, it was a pain to remove when it was all dry.

“S shapes work much bette’, y’know?”

You almost had a heart-attack. You didn’t hear him coming at all, and he startled you so bad, you almost dropped your cloth. You met his gaze through the reflection in the window. Play it cool, you told yourself, turning to face him properly. “Oh, and what would you know about window washing now?” 

“I was a window washer at some point.”

You snorted. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

“Wot? Don’t believe me?” He challenged, grabbing the supplies right from your hand and doing the window in record time. And he didn’t need  your little stool to reach the top of the window. And it was really well done too, not a trace left.

“Okay, you win.” You sighed, impressed and defeated at the same time. You smiled as you imagined him just cleaning windows as a job. It made him a tiny bit more ordinary, normal.

“I always do.” He gave you back the supplies, entering the shop before you. “It's bloody freezin’.” Seemed like he also liked the heating in the shop. You followed him quickly. 

Only when you both were inside did you notice how grim he looked, with eyebags deeper than the last time—you’d know, you were lost in his eyes for an embarrassingly long amount of time, and darker spots across the edge of his jaw. The sight somewhat tugged at your heartstring, but you refrained from asking. 

He walked around like he owned the place, leaving behind mud stains. His arms swung lazily along each of his steps. You didn’t even scold him, a bit too happy with him showing up. 

“Missed me?” He asked as he sat down on your stool, behind the counter.

“Forgot you ever existed. Spent the most peaceful week of my life.” You blatantly lied.

“Pft, careful what you say, I got the till in front o’ me.” He teased, gesturing dramatically. “Fuck, you don’t even have a lock on that thing! That’s askin’ for it.” 

You chuckled. “Whenever the amount is over 500£, Rose takes it with her to keep the count.”

“Rose?”

“The owner. My boss.”

“No way. Rose sells roses.”

“Yes way. The shop’s called Rose’s roses for a reason. She made that joke before you.”

A comfortable silence fell after that. He stayed perched behind the counter, watching, while you shuffled the pots from the storefront, trying to find space for them in the crowded shop. You untied ribbons, swapping colors and fluffing petals, pretending you didn’t feel his gaze burning into your back.

“You’re overthinking the display.” His voice pulled you out of your concentration. “Just chuck a load of flowers in a bucket and call it modern art.”

“You’re not helping.” You sighed.

“Good — I’m helping you embrace chaos. It’s liberating.”

“I’m already liberated, thanks.”

“Liberated? You’re folding ribbon into little bows. That’s basically bondage.”

You glared at him. “Why do you even care? You’re not even buying anything.”

“No, but I’m stealin’ some fantastic entertainment.”

You pinched a smile off your lips before going back to fold said ribbon. You heard him fiddle with some stuff behind the counter, but didn't pay him any more attention for the moment. He didn’t bother you either as you took on the rest of your tasks. 

A customer entered, an older gentleman that already visited a couple of times. He often bought flowers for his wife—which you thought was quite adorable. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Anderson!” You greeted cheerfully. He smiled down at you, and you stood up. “How can I help you today?”

“Good afternoon. I am looking for a bouquet for my wife. It’s her birthday, and I wanted something special.”

“Of course. Do you have anything in mind? A theme, certain flowers, colors?”

“For once I was actually counting on your recommendations. I just want something original.”

You hummed, thinking. You usually suggest roses, everybody loved roses, but it was far from original. “Maybe some lilies with lavender…?”

“I got her lavender a couple of weeks ago…”

“Oh right.” You mumbled. Spikey thing from the back suddenly spoke up.  “If you want to give ‘er somethin’ special, maybe get ‘er somethin’ other than flowers.”

Anderson turned, startled, as if only now noticing the man slouched in the corner. His eyes darted to the ripped leather jacket, the spikes, the mud streaked boots, then back to you, wordlessly asking if he was supposed to be part of the staff. 

You turned as well and glared at him. If your eyes could shoot bullets, he’d no longer be living. It had an effect as he coughed and cleared his throat. “I mean, succulents are also an option, and uhh, their blue tint will marry, erm, beautifully with blue flowers over there. Yep. Succulents. Very, erm, modern, strikin’ even.”

You were about to scold him again, but his suggestion made you pause. That was actually a good idea. You turned to Anderson, whose eyes held a mix of confusion and disapproval at this stranger’s involvement. 

You grabbed some chrysanthemums, with a light blueish color, as well as some succulents, a couple of white flowers and other leaves to create a harmonious bouquet. You hated that he had a point. Succulents did work beautifully with chrysanthemums, damn him. He had no business being this obnoxious and occasionally clever.

Anderson looked at you incredulously. “You know what?… That works. I guess. Thank you?” He blinked, almost confused at how this random suggestion gave such a pretty arrangement. 

“You’re welcome.” The punk grinned, satisfied. 

You sighed, as you unceremoniously pushed the boy out of the way to the till to take care of Mr Anderson.

“Blimey, that much?” He exclaimed from behind you and and you shot a glare at him again. “Wildflowers are free and much more personal.” He added. 

Anderson just shook his head, now more amused than anything else. “Funny friend you got yourself.” You gave him a sheepish smile as you handed him his change.

“And I hope you have a marvellous day, good sir.” The deep voice echoed behind you and you swore he did a little bowing gesture. You rolled your eyes at your ‘funny friend’ dramatics. When Anderson finally left the shop, you turned to him.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell was that?”

“Me being a genius. I should probably take your place, you suck at your job. I can wash the window better and I’m a better salesman too.”

You huffed and pushed him out of your way, trying to act more annoyed than you really were. It didn’t work too well as you couldn’t help a chuckle from escaping.

Part five.