#the reasoning behind his creation is lost even to me

[canadiankakashi]

Behold, a guy

[back2bluesidex]

In Motion - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Jungkook X Client!Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT, Friends to FWB au

Wordcount: 1.4k+

Summary: You are finally letting Jungkook set everything in motion. And he is more than happy to show you what he has to offer.

Warnings: Rough sex, Jungkook is wearing a leather fit, he cums on her tits, he is kinky, he is a menace, unprotected sex (it's a no no), squirting twice, he callers her whore for once (because I had to put it!!) NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Here is another unhinged smut.

If you are standing right beside the door waiting for Jungkook to arrive, then you don’t wanna ponder upon it. Never in a million years will you ever admit that you are horny as fuck and you are desperate for you hot, handsome and absolutely stunning tattoo artist. 

Honestly, he has been dropping hints. He has been trying to let you know that both of you are on the same page but you, being you, have been playing hard to get. You are inflating your ego by reminding yourself that Jungkook is down bad for you even when he has a quite long queue of guys and girls trying to get fucked by him. 

But not anymore. 

You decided it’s about time you give in and take the chance. 

Your doorbell rings once, pulling you out of the thoughts. 

Taking a deep breath and a few moments (not to make it obvious that you were waiting just right beside the door), you open the door revealing Jungkook. 

Your eyes wander down his body. Just as always, he is in his tight black leather fits. An arm full of tattoos starts just where the short sleeve of his top ends. 

But before you could drink him in anymore, he is pushing you inside, making his way inside your condo without a single greeting. 

This guy doesn’t even bother asking for permission. 

He grabs you by your arms, interchanging your positions and pushing you into the door. 

“Finally. You came to your senses.” Jungkook mouthed briefly before aiming right at your neck.

You let out a breathy moan because, again, Jungkook doesn’t prep you with kisses. He straight on bites down on your skin. 

“I was always on my senses.” You interject. 

His hands travel down and reach to the knot of your robe, pulling the loose end hurriedly. 

“Uh-huh” he smirks, “Your little act of trying to play hard to get almost had me ending up on someone’s bed last night.” 

He removes the robe within a blink. You stand there naked for his eyes wearing only your underwear. 

“Oh? So, did you fuck them?” you place your question, tugging him closer, biting on his earlobe, eliciting a low chuckle from him. 

“I said almost, darling. They weren’t enticing enough. I jerked off thinking about you and the things I could do to you.” his throat vibrates on your lips as you continue to litter open-mouthed kisses all over his neck.

Jungkook’s hands find your tits. He grabs both of them with both of his hands, squeezing the swells and twisting the nipples as hard as he can. His thumb then brushes over the tattoo right under your left tit, his own creation and also the reason behind the pumping sexual tension started between you two. 

You are unbelievably wet right now and you don’t want to wait any more than you already have. And when Jungkook’s erection presses on your stomach, you lose it a little. 

“Take me to the bedroom.” you whine as Jungkook rolls his hip into yours enjoying the distressed look on your face. His hands don’t stop playing with your tits. 

“Look at you whoring right now. Who was denying my advances for the past few months, huh?” Jungkook smirks again, pinching on your nipple so hard that it makes you hiss. 

“Stop teasing, JK. fuck me or get lost.” you object. Your voice is somewhere between a moan and a whine. 

“I choose the first option.” he hoists you up, placing his hands right underneath your ass. You wrap your legs around him. Your core presses right onto his upper stomach. You are glad he chose to wear this extravagant leather top, otherwise he would have felt your wetness on his skin, which is kind of embarrassing. 

When Jungkook drops you on your mattress, you see his eyes drifting towards the evident wet spot on your red lacy underwear. He stands at the end of your bed right between your legs, which dangle off the edge. 

“Umm.. wanna taste that.” he mutters as he slowly pulls up his top above his head, leaving himself shirtless for your eyes. You raise one of your hands to touch that taut stomach and chest of his. But he slaps your hands away, grabs your wrists with one of his hands and pins them on your stomach. 

“Not so soon.” he purrs. 

His free hand pulls down your underwear in a swift motion. Goosebumps spread all across your skin as soon as your slicked cunt comes out of its cover. 

Jungkook wets his lips with his tongue once and then dives down between your legs, sitting on his knees. His fingers work their way to part your folds and give his tongue a free access to your clit. He licks a stripe off. 

“Oh Jungkook-” you whine, contained with pleasure. 

His lips wrap around your clit and he starts suckling on the bud. Your eyes roll back with the session. You moan out some incoherent words every time jungkook sucks a little hard. His fingers plunge their way into your hole with no hesitation. 

“O- Oh my g-god, Jungkook.” you shout at some point as you feel heat building in your stomach. 

“I waited so long for this.” Jungkook goes on speaking into your cunt, “Only I know how much I wanna see you like this.” he twists his fingers in a way and touches a spot that has you seeing stars. And before you know it.. You are squirting on his face. 

“Fuck, Y/N. You are raining.” Jungkook groans, detaching his face from your cunt. He lets your hands free while standing up and climbing on top of your body to attach his lips to yours. 

“Fuck, did I just-” 

“Yes. you just squirted all over me. Now taste yourself.” Jungkook crashes his lips on yours, poking his tongue into your mouth. You wrap your legs around his torso while your hands move to the south, touching his bulge through the leather of his pants. You squeeze it hard and Jungkook groans into your mouth. 

“Don’t get me started, Y/N. You know I get hot hearted.” he mumbles, nipping your lower lip. You moan. 

“As much as I would like to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, that can wait. Right now, I need to fuck your cunt for all the time you kept me waiting.” he stated, standing up and unbuckling his belt. 

His cock springs up free as soon as it is out of its stuffy confinement. Your mouth waters at the sight. If you do this another time, you will certainly suck his soul out of him. 

“Like what you see?” he asks and you nod. 

“You could have gotten this cock inside of you ages ago. But no. Your ego is fatter than your ass.” He teases you. 

“Stop being a jerk.” you fight back, already being far too gone.

Jungkook positions his cock’s head right into your clit. He thrusts once through your folds, rubbing your clit deliciously with his tip. 

“Oh lord- Jung-jungkook where the fuck did you learn that?” You voice out loud, feeling your insides twitch again and he hasn’t even penetrated you yet. 

“You know, this is how I like it.” he breathes as he finally pushes his shaft inside you. 

His cock glides inside you so smoothly as if your cunt is made to accommodate it. 

And then he starts moving. Your bed starts squeaking as soon as he picks up a rhythmic pace. One of his hands reaches down to pluck your hands from the sheets and place them above your head. His mouth drops down to your nipple, sucking and biting on the same. The thumb of his free hand starts drawing tight circles on your clit. And that’s it. 

You squirt unannounced, again. 

“Fucking hell. Two times in a row.” You heard Jungkook chuckling darkly but you are so gone with the overpowering orgasm that you don’t catch his contorted face that signifies the fact that he is nearing too.

You only feel it when he pulls himself out of you, pumping himself once and then spilling his cum all over your already ruined body. 

It flies before you face like ropes of Champagne confetti. 

“How was it?” Jungkook breathes hard, still standing at the end of your bed leading down to face you. 

“The best I have ever had.” your answer makes him smirk. 

You are still trying to process everything, including the white stickiness all over your tits, and stomach, but soon you hear him speaking again, “So.. if you are ready and if you let me.. I can set us in motion.” 

And you know you are into this shit with Jeon Jungkook for a long time because there is no way you are denying him anymore, not when he can fuck you like this.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae

[astarioffsimpmain]

Unsolicited Affections (Part 1)

[Screenshots and Tav, Ban, by the lovely @brabblesblog]

Halsin x Plus Size F!Reader

Warnings: Body insecurity; internalized fatphobia; otherwise, floof (for now)

Synopsis: Your growing feelings for Halsin can no longer be ignored. Even so, that doesn't mean you don't try for your poor heart's sake. However, Halsin keeps bringing you closer, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it without confessing... even though confessing is your worst fear.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to @brabblesblog for taking these screenshots and allowing me to use Ban in the header! For all readers, there will be a Part 2 to this fic and it will be the smut you all requested from the poll I took! This became a super duper indulgent fic for me, as I struggle with all of the insecurities the reader struggles with here. But I hope this little 2 part creation can act as a balm for anyone who has ever struggled with their bodily image, or wondered if they'd ever be seen as beautiful. This one's for you; for us. <3

Part 2 Here

The battle had been bloody. Grime and viscera was spread across each body, hair color lost in deep dyes of red in the wake of the victory. You and your companions trudged back to camp in silence; exhausted. You had failed to obtain what the battle had been fought for in the first place, and you were certain that your mood was soured for the rest of the evening. Upon reentering your campground, Gale was the first to greet you all, thankful to see that everyone was alive, albeit roughed up; obvious disappointment creased his features for a moment when you told him the news that you had failed to obtain the magical object you had set out for, but he hid it behind an understanding smile and ushered you to sit by the fire as he finished dinner. 

You had reasoned that if the Netherese Orb in Gale's chest required the consumption of magic to remain stable, that the more powerful the object, the longer it would sate him. So you had taken a group and set out for the most powerful magical object in your direct vicinity - the Circlet of Blasting. You had recognized it the day previous on the head of a Drow with several of its companions near the Myconid colony in the Underdark. Once you found them again, you approached to inquire whether you could cough up enough gold to take it off their hands, but when they turned and pierced you with vicious red eyes that gleamed back at your group with a reflectiveness like a cat's, you knew gold would not satisfy them. And as they drew their daggers, you were proven correct, and the battle had begun.

You slumped over on the log next to the fire, too exhausted to properly stow your weight, as you removed your armor piece by piece. The second person to approach you carried a warm bowl of stew and placed it gently into your palms. The hands were tender and gentle, and much too large to belong to anyone but your favorite Archdruid. You raised your weary head to meet his beautiful bright green eyes, creased with worry, but soft with care as he lowered himself to the ground beside your legs, his muscular arm grazing the now-bare skin of your thigh as he adjusted. A flutter ran through your stomach at the contact, but you clamped down on it before you could get carried away. You knew his kindness was platonic. It had to be. Halsin was simply…kind. 

The tell-tale signs of complicated and painful feelings had risen within your chest since rescuing Halsin from the goblins, and although you had tried to deny them, recently it had proven impossible. But while you finally admitted to yourself that you had fallen for his disarming smile, the scratch of his well-worn fingertips against your softer skin, and how passionately he cared about every living creature in nature, you refused to admit it to anyone else. You would be sparing yourself that embarrassment this time around. Your chest ached, remembering the many times you'd fallen for someone and approached them with this truth, only to be turned away over and over again. Inwardly, you snarled, blaming the extra plush your body carried for your lack of luck in love. Whether the objects of your affection had been kind, polite, or downright rude, there was always a moment in which their eyes would quickly rake your body up and down before delivering their blow. Perhaps they didn't even recognize that they did it, but you saw. You always saw. 

So, while you knew Halsin would never be unkind to you, you had been trying to make peace with the very probable fact that he would only ever see you as a friend - never quite attractive enough to be anything more. It was something you were used to, but it never seemed to dull the throbbing pain in your heart whenever you thought on it too long. There was a part of you, somewhere deep, that knew you were not at fault; that knew you were not to blame; that perhaps if they had deigned to look beyond the surface for even a moment, that they would have seen how genuine your heart was, and how they never would have had to go without affection, love, or loyalty should they have chosen you. You weren't without this enlightenment, but the constant dissatisfaction of, or concern for, the body you carried from those around you - from well-meaning friends to pushy strangers - weighed heavy on your tired mind. 

This moment around the fire was no exception, your burning desire to curl around Halsin's broad shoulders like a cat and purr was strong, but overshadowed by the fear of rejection. You had him near, but pulling him too close was to risk sending him far away, and you weren't sure you'd be able to stand it were that to occur. An icy shudder ran through you at the mere thought of Halsin retracting his warmth from your side. "- giving you a chill?" His dulcet voice pulled you back to reality like a line reeling you in, but you caught only his last few words. 

"What?" You said, blinking as his image in your eyes grew sharper again. "Apologies, my mind was far away." 

"No worries." He chuckled. "I merely asked if the night air was giving you a chill. You were shaking, my heart." 

My heart. 

You melted a little. The nickname was fairly new. The first time he had called you that had been two mornings prior, after a late start and a quick bath in the bioluminescent pools near your campsite in the Underdark. You had come trudging back to camp in clothes that were quickly dampening due to being pressed against your still wet skin, wringing your hair out ferociously as you tried to hurry to catch up with everyone else's progress. You had just started to wrench your boots up over your clinging pants when Halsin had approached you, laying a warm hand against your wet-stained shirt. You had startled, your head snapping up to his in a surprised daze. 

"Slow down." He had said, running a soothing hand down your bent spine and back up, sending full bodied shocks through you like tidal waves. "You needn't worry, my heart. We will wait for you." 

As the memory warmed your cheeks, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes, praying he couldn't see the thoughts lingering just inside the colors of your irises. "No, I'm alright. Just- just a bit weak from not eating all day. Thank you, for bringing me this." You finally acknowledged the bowl in your hands and raised it a little. 

"Of course. Please, eat. I hear from the others that you had a rough skirmish. I implore you to let me check you over once you've finished your stew." 

Ignoring the way your heart jumped dangerously near to your throat, you nodded silently, opting instead to pick up the wooden spoon in the bowl and begin to eat. It was one of Halsin's spoons; one he whittled. It was smooth and beautiful and easy to hold. Almost all of the cutlery in camp had been fashioned by Halsin, and several of the stools you kept as well. It was his hobby and his form of relief, to create things with his hands. Subconsciously, you glanced down to where the hands in question rested on his knees; large and rough, his hands had seen it all and done it all through his 300 plus years of life, and you couldn't help but quietly admire how much they had learned and lost in the process. And after all of that, he chose to create beauty with those hands that knew so much. It made your heart clench with a new wave of affection. You swallowed hard, as if the feelings would force their way back down in the same way as the contents of your bowl. 

Again, you were drawn back from your reverie by the Druid's movements, one of his hands moving from his lap to yours. His palm came down to rest flat on your thigh, only a thin layer of fabric left to separate the blazing heat from your skin. You barely suppressed a gasp of surprise at the sudden contact, feeling much more intimate than it probably was, and locked eyes with Halsin, whose brow was worried into wrinkles. "You seem more distant than usual, are you sure you're alright?" He said, his thumb taking a slow drag across your leg, sending your poor heart racing in your chest. 

"Yes," you managed to respond, rather breathlessly. "I- I'm alright." Even you weren't convinced by your attempt at deflection, and Halsin's frown only deepened. 

"When you've finished your stew, come find me by my tent. I will have some healing herbs waiting for you." He said sternly and you nodded silently. His eyes softened at your wide-eyed expression and he reached up to gingerly tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Promise me you will come." He murmured quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, and your heart stuttered wildly in your chest. 

"I promise." You replied, and a soft smile graced his lips. He nodded in return and stood up, brushing himself off before walking back towards his tent. 

"Gods," you muttered under your breath, pressing your palm to your chest in an effort to keep your pounding heart inside. 

"You've been given the perfect opportunity, darling." A voice chimed lyrically behind you, and you turned your head to find Astarion eyeing you appreciatively. "Don't waste it." He grinned widely, putting his fangs on display as he did so. 

"Shut up, Astarion." You mumbled, your face heating as you pressed your hands over your eyes. You only hoped you wouldn't make a fool of yourself. 

fin

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fic idea: Lex Luther's youngest

Lex Luther will admit that his attempt to clone Superman had failed because he gave Superbo far too much free will. He may have lost the lab and a few scientists, but he still had the receipt in his head.

Yes, Superboy's creation was considered a miracle, but there is no such thing in science. He was sure he could recreate the experiment.

He just needed to ensure this one would have less world knowledge. Keep the weapon a weapon by providing it never thought of itself as anything else.

So he got to work. He blended his DNA with the small remaining samples he had of Superman. It was frustrating to see ninety-nine failed attempts to get the cloning right. Lex was on the last of his piece when he almost gave up, choosing to hype up everything in a last desperate attempt.

He placed it in the tube, left it to process overnight, and when he returned, there was a full teenager in the pod- now glowing green for some reason? Lex pauses, surprised beside himself, before fierce pride overcomes him.

He did it. He's completed his second clone all on his own.

Lex had only a few seconds to celebrate before the experiment jerked awake, and the bluest set of eyes he's ever seen stared back at him. It should be aware later in this stage. Then again, it shouldn't be this grown, either.

The clone screams.

Its voice slams against the glass that should have held against any full Kryptonian and shatters it. Lex throws himself behind one of the counters, feeling the waves of power wash over him.

It shakes the whole underground lab, threatening to bring down the roof over their heads, and Lex can do nothing but cover his ears and press himself against the ground.

The clone is wailing like a haunting banshee. He wasn't even aware Kryoptonian could do this.

The noise dies down. Lex glances over the counter only to find the clone on its hands and knees, gasping for breath. He reaches for the lead box in his pocket, mindful of the clone's every movement.

He'll put it back to sleep with some kryptonite, then place it back in its pod to have its mind molded into the perfect weapon. The experiment springs to his feet as his fingers close around the box. Lex pulls it out and flips open the lid as the clone's eyes lock with his.

Its eyes are green and glowing. Fascinating.

He watches as it starts to waver, tilting dangerously to the side, and smirks, knowing the rock is working. Calmly he walks over; the clone raises its hands in two tight fists, a frown on its face. "None of that now."

He presses the kryptonite against its chin to teach it a lesson. Pian will be the best teacher, and it will learn to obey every command of Lex or face severe consequences. The clone looks down, gaps, and then bites the kryptonite. Cleanly enjoying the flavor as it chews and hums, eyes closing in blessed like Lex had just fed him the highest quality chocolates.

Lex's soft "What the fuck" was very warranted.

"Thanks for the food, Mister." The clone chirps after going for another bite. It smacks its lips, then in a bizarre turn of events, it holds out its hand for a shake. "I'm Danny, by the way. What's your name?"

Lex kept staring at it before slowly taking the offered hand and pumping it up and down. He's not sure if this is real anymore. Maybe he was still asleep?

"This is the part where you tell me your name." The clone says after a while of handshaking. It shifts on its feet clearly with far too much personality, but not one Lex created. Not even one that was influenced. It was literally made last night.

"You know what. This sort of feels like a FruitLoop-level situation, so I will go. Have fun with whatever this is." The clone says, gesturing to the area around them while stepping backward. Lex opens his mouth to tell it there is no escape when it goes through the wall.

Density shifting!? But that was a power of Martian Manhunter, and Lex knows he had not even gotten close to that DNA yet.

He quickly grabs his tablet, clicking on the security cameras of his home, watching the clone fly through all his walls- flying as simple as walking, but not like Superboy, who picked himself up with telekinesis, or Superman, who pushed against gravity but flying as if though he was swimming with the airflow.

The young clone found the last wall and flew out of his home, far above his property, disappearing into the sunset with a black and green blur in his wake.

Lex leans back, putting down the tablet now that he cannot watch the clone and its obvious awareness of its surroundings. How had it learned all of that?

The mystery didn't get in the way of the most important fact: His youngest seemed to be very talented.

Maybe he would treat it like a person if only to keep him here to study. He had to get to Danny- before the rest of the Justice League could and bring the boy into his fold as the perfect heir that Kon refused to be.

How hard could it be to get Danny on his side?

(Danny punched his way into a new dimension after escaping from the burning remains of Amity Park. His parents, sister, and friends fell in battle trying to keep humans and ghosts safe after the GIW started a war with the zone.

After losing his hometown, he led the spirits to victory once the GIW labeled all citizens as too contaminated and ripped away their rights. His town's survivors were at his side, fighting for the ones they lost.

Once they beat the GIW, the government was informed of the small civil war and disbanded the department. It was a hollow victory- their apologies and promises to rebuild would never bring back the ones he lost.

In his grief- and fear of becoming Dan- he went to Clockwork, who only shook his head and told him time was flowing correctly. He then went to FrostBite, who, after listening to the broken King, offered him a home among his people. Danny lived with the Far Frozeen for three years when he was offered a position on the exploration team that would map out the Ghost Zone.

Only the elites of the elites were allowed among them. He accepted. He was given a watch, a magical journal to record what he saw, and feast as a far well.

He then flew through the first uncharted portal, punching the barrier between worlds and bursting into a new universe where he would record and report back to the Far Frozen after five years of living among the natives.

Turns out, flinging himself at the barrier of reality took a lot of power, so when he got to the other side, he promptly passed out. He found himself inside a large tube, contaminating the water with his ectoplasm, and when he woke, it was to a bold man standing outside his box with greed in his eyes.

Danny used the ghostly wail out of instinct. Which may have been overkill since the man offered him frozen ectoplasm after almost passing out again for using what little he had acquired during his nap.

Maybe one day he'll see him again and say thanks. For now, Danny had a new world to explore. )

[dira333]

Soul-Food - Osamu x Reader

Enemies to lovers - Requested by @notsochillnerd - with Atsumu as a terrible wingman who just wanted to check out his brothers' nemesis...

There is only one thing more annoying than Miya Osamu with his cooking talent, excellent marks, and unfairly good looks: his twin brother Atsumu.

“No.” You say again, arms filled with produce. He’s in your way and he’s not even sorry about it.

“Come oooon!” He whines, draping himself over the railing of the stairs as if this is a photoshoot for some perfume. “I’m so hungry! And Osamu won’t cook for me! I’ll even pay you!”

“Wow, now I want to do it even less, knowing you might not have paid me in the first place.” You snark, patience wearing thin.

“Now get out of my way, I need to get to my room.”

“To do what?” He steps to the side, but his face remains close to yours. You’re not the fastest as it is, even less when carrying that many vegetables. 

“I need to cook.”

“Perfect.” His grin is so wide, it could split his face. “You cook, I’ll eat.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

You hesitate, if only for a second. But Atsumu is like a shark and that was the single drop of blood that he needed.

Half an hour later he’s sitting at the little table in your apartment. 

Your kitchen isn’t spacious, but equipped with everything you could possibly need - there’s a reason this school costs an arm and a leg each year. And Miya Osamu got the scholarship instead of you.

You wouldn’t have any problem with it if not for your father breathing down your neck. He’s got the money to send you here twice if he wanted to, but in his twisted mind, a 100% is barely a passing grade and you should have been able to win the scholarship, monetary status be damned.

“What are you making?” Atsumu asks from behind you.

“Udon.”

“Why is it black?” 

“I’m using Sepia.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.” You snap back, hoping against hope that he will fall quiet. He doesn’t. 

-

You’ve spent almost a year in a class with Osamu.

He might not always get a better mark than you, but he quickly figured out how much you hated it when he did. There’s nothing worse than someone else gloating over your loss.

The teachers love him and tolerate you. 

So far they’ve been kind enough not to put the two of you into a group project, or maybe they just played it safe. The sheer bloodlust you feel when he grins in your direction must have tipped them off.

But this year is going to end soon and your teachers expect you to come up with a dish. Your own creation, not unlike the dish you had to make for your entry exam. This time, however, it’s supposed to showcase what you want to do, going forward.

You can’t bring the same thing you made for your entry exam, even though it was perfect and a delight - you made it roughly one hundred times before. 

Your father has always been a fan of the Kaiseki Ryori and while you had loved taking part in the Haute Cuisine as a child, feeling grown up as you nibbled on tiny bites of expensive food, it has lost its appeal on you.

After all, there’s a set number of times you can eat a meal, even Chawanmushi, before you get sick of it.

“Hello? Are you still listening?” Nuisance number 2 asks behind you and you flinch, staring down at the dough that you kneaded for too long. 

“What’s Osamu doing for his exam?” You ask, feeling a little guilty about your attempt at spying.

“Why do you want to know?”

Nevermind. Now you only feel annoyed.

“Just because. Maybe I want to talk about something other than you.”

You move to throw the dough out, only to be stopped by Atsumu’s voice.

“What are you doing?”

“I messed it up. It’s not going to taste good.”

“So what? I’m hungry.”

“You want to eat gross noodles?” You eye him warily, but he shrugs with a grin.

“It’s definitely going to be better than what I’d produce myself. But since I hate cooking, I’d probably just get takeout pizza anyway.”

“Aren’t you an athlete?”

“Yeah?”

“And they let you eat Pizza?”

“They don’t know. Or they don’t care. Whatever you like better. I mean, they gave me a list of stuff I should keep away from but that’s like, all the food I usually consume.”

“Here.” You pull out a pen and paper. “Write down what you eat in a day. Snacks included. And drinks.”

“Why?”

“If I have to endure your chatting, you might as well get something out of this. Now, shoo!”

You turn, lid of your composter already open when his voice reaches you.

“DON’T THROW AWAY THE DOUGH!”

“Fine!” You snap. “You can eat your disgusting noodles!”

They don’t taste that awful in the end, not with your delicate sauce with mussels and steamed broccoli that turned out so good Atsumu licks his plate clean.

-

You’d been part of the track club in Middle School, switched to Volleyball in High School because they had fewer practice hours per week. Your marks had always been more important than any side activities, your future as a part of Haute Cuisine decided before you could walk. But it had been fun, especially when Coach gathered you after practice to talk about the importance of self-care. How certain foods could make or break you. How important salt and minerals were for your body, how food was more than calories, protein, carbs, and fat.

You’re not even a little bit rusty when you scribble down a meal plan for him. You keep it easy and as cheap as possible, light on the cooking because you figured he must be the opposite of his twin in the kitchen if he came begging for food… You’re not sure if you’re buying his excuse of a brotherly fight, but you’re not ashamed to say that you didn’t mind him praising your food over Osamu’s. Suck that, Miya!

Meanwhile, Atsumu’s brows are pulled so high, they’re hiding behind his bangs.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“Your new meal plan. You follow that, you’ll increase your stamina.”

“But it’s so much work.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Whatever.” You get up, throw the pen down at the table. Your patience has never been the best anyway.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He follows you to the sink but not to help with the dishes.

“You could cook for me.” He offers it like it’s a great deal. You snort.

“I bet there’s something you want. Something I could do for you…” He wiggles his brows now, looks disgustingly like Osamu when he got a better mark then you. And that kickstarts your brain.

“I want Osamu… I mean the recipe…You know, what Osamu made to get the scholarship. If you can get me that dish of him to try, I’ll cook for you.”

Atsumu grins in a way that doesn’t feel good but he nods.

“Alright, it’s a deal. You’ll cook for me and I get you the dish.” He holds out his hand to sign the deal but you’ve been the daughter of a cutthroat banker for too long to fall for that.

“I’ll cook for a week.” You tell him firmly and watch with a sick satisfaction as his face contorts. He looks awful when he’s pissed and there are definitely not enough moments of the Miya twins looking awful.

“Two weeks.

“One week, only dinner.”

“One week, lunch, dinner and snacks.”

“Are you insane?”

“Do you want Osamu’s food?”

There’s a moment of Silence, and you’re eyeing each other, calculating who’s bluffing and who’s not.

“Fine.” You huff eventually, because you feel it in your bones that trying that damned dish will get you a step closer to figuring out what you need to present for your Final.

-

You feel like a drug addict, going down the deep end, when Atsumu appears at your door one week later, carrying a Bento-Box wrapped in the cutest fabric you have ever seen.

“Are those little foxes?” You ask, eyeing the reddish-tinted animals on the grey fabric.

“What if ?” He asks back, nose up in the air.

“Jeez, I was just curious.” You snap back and muster him. He doesn’t look malnourished.

“What did you eat this week?”

“Why do you ask?” He sets the Bento-Box on your table and saunters into your kitchen, peering into the still empty pots and pans.

“You’re an awful liar.”

“Okay, so I told Samu that you cooked for me.” He throws his hands up in the air like you’re the one making a big fuss about things. “Told him it was fingerlickin’ good. Got him all angry and puffy.”

You are not ashamed to say that comment lifts you off your feet just a little bit. Hah!

“So?” You ask cooly, untying the Furoshiki with eager fingers.

“So he insisted that he would cook for me. Everything went according to plan, I pretended it wasn’t as good as your food until I asked for the dish he made for his entry exams.”

“Did you know what it was?” You ask as you lift the lid of the box.

“Maybe.” He says and you can hear in his voice that he knew. He probably didn’t tell you just to experience this.

“He made Onigiri?” You ask, your voice a little shrill.

You had made Chawanmushi, a dish literally to die for, practiced one hundred times, and he beat you with Onigiri?

“Try it.” He reaches for one of the Onigiri in the box and you slap his hand away.

“Mine!” You hiss angrily and his grin is almost feral.

“I’ll take a walk around the block then.” He jokes, moving toward the door. “Leave you alone with it.”

“Leave.” You wave him off. “I’ll make dinner later.”

“Half an hour.”

“Leave!” You huff and the door clicks shut behind him.

-

You bite into the first Onigiri and time stops for a second. 

The rice is cooked to perfection, but you know the different varieties well. He must have splurged on this kind, bought from a boutique farmer of some sorts. 

It’s filled with tuna and spring onion, but it tastes different then all the Tuna Onigiri you’ve had before. You write down all the different things you can taste, compare them to the knowledge you have but still - did he use a spice you don’t know? A combination you’re not familiar with?

The taste lingers, but you cannot put your finger on it. You feel a little weepy too, as if you had just watched your favorite movie from when you were a kid. You sniff and take the other Onigiri, bite into almost cautiously. It’s Tenmusu, your favorite kind of Onigiri.

This time, literal tears run down your cheeks. The shrimp is crisp, the sweet sauce calling you back to childhood, reminding you of the few free afternoons you got to spend with your mother, just the two of you, no work allowed. You only remember to write down the taste and ingredients when the last bite has disappeared and your hands leave the paper stained. 

Well… You’re no closer to figuring out what to make for your finals, but you might be getting your period soon. Why else would you be moved to tears by food?

-

“Onigiri, huh?” You ask Osamu after class the next day. You can’t help yourself.

He looks up from his phone, surprise on his face. It’s ridiculous how good that makes him look.

“What about it?”

“I heard you made Onigiri for your Entry Exam.”

“Ah, yes.” He smiles, the kind of smile that makes you want to slap it off his face. “Tsumu told me he made you try it.”

You can feel your face go slack. WHAT?

“What did you think?” Osamu asks, way too confident for your taste. “Did you like them?”

You can’t decide between a huff and a snort and the sound that does come out reminds you more of a dying walruss.

“They were probably pitying you.” You point out, nose in the air. “I showed up with Kaiseki Ryori. I made Chawanmushi.”

“Ah.” Osamu sounds like he’s not sure what that is. But you’ve gone over that in class, he’s just messing with you.

“Well, when do I get to try it?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“Yeah, it’s only fair, right? After you tried mine.”

You swallow thickly, look around for some help, but you’re the only one’s still in the hallway.

“Fine.” You huff eventually, because he does have a point. “As long as I don’t have to eat it.”

His brows furrow and your mind unhelpfully supplies you with the information that his eyes are a different shade than Atsumu’s. Osamu’s eyes are almost as grey as his hair, reminding you of the sky outside. 

His mouth moves and you blink, try to focus on his voice, but fail. Your collar feels too tight around your neck and you pull at it, too aware of Osamu’s eyes that flicker to your neck and stay there. God, what’s going on?”

“What did you say?” You ask in the most snooty voice you can manage. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Why do you cook something you don’t like?” He asks. “Don’t you enjoy cooking?”

Something snaps inside you like a rubberband that has been pulled taut for too long.

“Why do you care?” You sniff and he rolls his eyes. 

“I was just asking.”

“Sure you were. But you’re psychological warfare doesn’t work on me! You can flutter your long eyelashes at someone else!”

Osamu laughs. “I wasn’t-”

“Neither was I. Well, are you coming or not?”

“Where?” 

“You wanted to try my Chawanmushi!”

“Gesundheit.” You turn, not the least bit surprised to see Atsumu standing there. It’s lunchtime for him, he’s coming to collect his goods. “Or was that a codeword for something naughty?”

“Oh god, you’re awful.” 

-

You know that the Chawanmushi has turned out as perfect as all the other times. You can tell by sight and smell, but you cannot bring yourself to try it.

The thought of it has you swallow back bile but you serve it to the brothers with the biggest smile you can manage.

“Here.” You present it in tiny, elegant bowls.

“Are you in pain?” Osamu asks and you drop the smile.

“Go f-” 

“Why is it so tiny?” Atsumu asks, eyeing the bowl skeptically. “I’m hungry.”

“I made you Curry.” You tell him off. “This is just a tasting. You can’t eat full bowls with Kaiseki Ryori, you’d never manage that amount of food.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Atsumu digs in, spoon clinking loudly against the bowl to the point you fear for its life.

He’s done with it before Osamu has even tasted his, still smelling the dish carefully, pulling the spoon through as if to check for clumps.

“It was fine.” Atsumu gives his mark as one would comment on an order of KFC. “Now, the Curry?” 

You huff but don’t get up, eyes still trained on Osamu. Then, finally, he brings the spoon to his mouth. If you’re focusing a little too much on his full lips, that’s entirely because he’s the world's slowest eater at the moment and nothing else.

His face remains passive. 

Cold sweat runs down your back as he slowly but surely finishes the dish and nods appraisingly.

“It was good.” Osamu says calmly. “The Curry?”

Breathing is a little hard at the moment, but you manage to get up, collect the bowls - you don’t throw them at the floor in a fit of rage and you’re very proud of yourself for that - and get them safely to the kitchen sink.

Your hands shake a little as you serve the Curry in three different plates, but if the boys notice, they don’t comment on it. 

“I hope you like it.” Your voice is back to normal, your wounded heart tucked safely back into your chest. “It’s packed with protein and healthy vegetables to make sure you have all the necessary nutrients. You could eat this every day and wouldn’t have to worry about losing out on anything.”

Atsumu digs in without another word. He beams around the spoon, curses loudly.

“This is so good.” He says, mouth full.

“Pig.” Osamu announces next to him, puts the first spoon into his mouth and-

You can see it, in the widening of his eyes and the light blush that appears on the height of his unfairly sharp cheekbones. He likes it. He likes it very much.

You should probably feel a bit more upset about the fact that they insult your Chawanmushi but get high on your Curry, but then again, it just feels good to watch Osamu have the same reaction to your Curry that you had with his Onigiri.

“You should make this for the Exam.” Osamu points out in between a groan and another spoonful of Curry. “It’s amazing.”

“No!” Atsumu shakes his head, still speaks with his mouth full. “The Udon you made yesterday. That was crazy good.”

“What Udon?” Osamu’s voice has a tint to it you cannot place. Does he know about the Onigiri you tried but not about the deal itself? Is he jealous he didn’t get to try them?

“Okay, so she makes the Noodles herself, right? This time without the freaky black stuff-”

“Sepia,” you throw in but he ignores you, “But she used pork belly for the sauce and something creamy and mushrooms, I think-”

“Shiitake.” 

“And I tell you, Samu, it was so so good! Like, it reminded me of Mom making that stew, you know? When Dad had that big sale thing and we got to celebrate it?”

Osamu’s eyes light up in a way that has you looking down at your food, heart thrumming in your chest like a hummingbird on speed.

“Can you-” He hesitates for a second. “Can you make me that?”

“I could.” You point out, not at all feeling the upper hand. You feel nervous instead as if this is a test or something worse. You swallow thickly, try to think of something to wager against it. Your mind is unhelpful at best, offering the possibility of a date - as if! 

“If I get your recipe. For the Onigiri.”

Osamu’s mouth clicks shut. He blinks, clearly surprised. Then he grins, the kind of grin that tells you this isn’t going to work in your favor, at all.

“Sure. So, Udon tomorrow?”

“I was going to make Katsudon tomorrow.” You point out, pissed that he’s overthrowing your meal plan. Atsumu looks like he’s gotten a glimpse of heaven.

“Really?”

-

You hate to think about it, but the week is nearing its end and Osamu feels less like the devil and more like the dangerously cute boy from your class now. The dangerously cute boy who’s going to get a better mark than you, take the promised internship at one of Japan's leading five-star restaurants and laugh in your face if you don’t shape up right now.

Your father is as helpful as ever.

He’s currently obsessed with the Yakimono part of Kaiseki Ryori, taking you out to dinner each weekend only to try new variants that you should use for your Final Exam.

The food is good, there’s no denying that, but it lacks the emotional touch you had with the Onigiri.

The same Onigiri that you’ve made three times already. They never taste like Osamu’s.

You’re suspecting that he skipped on one ingredient in the recipe, the one thing you could not put your finger on when you tried them. 

“Hey.” Atsumu’s waiting at your door when you return from coffee with your mother. She had been even less helpful, talking about the new dessert dish she was creating. You might have gotten her cooking skills, but you hate baking almost as much as Chawanmushi.

“I thought we said we would skip the cooking over the weekend.” 

“Yeah, about that.” He lifts a heavy bag. “I wanted to ask for a favor.”

“I’m not setting for you.”

“Why would I- Never mind, I wanted to ask… Could you like, show me… how to cook?”

You blink in surprise.

“Why would I teach you that? Don’t you have your brother?”

“He’s not a good teacher.” Atsumu points out and you snort.

“So you want to learn how to cook? And stop harassing me and Osamu?”

“No, no, I will still harass the two of you for food, but it looked easy when you did it, so I thought you could teach me, maybe?”

“Fine.” 

“I’m even pa- Fine? Oh, wow, that was easy.”

“If I can ask you some questions in turn without you judging me?”

“Me, judging someone? Never.” He puts a hand on his chest, probably aiming for his heart, but he’s now swearing on his left ribcage.

-

You watch like a Hawk as Atsumu prepares the Omurice. He’s got a bad habit of getting distracted, but he’s not a bad student.

“So…” You swallow your nerves. “You and Osamu used to play Volleyball together, right?”

“Yeah. He could have gone Pro, like me. But he said…” He raises his hands to make air quotes and lowers his voice into a deeper pitch to mock Osamu, “Skillswise I'm just as good as you. But I think that, when all's said and done, you love volleyball just a teensy bit more than me.”

“And you were okay with that?” 

“Nah.” Atsumu flips the Omurice onto a plate and hands it over to you. “Try.”

“It’s good.” You hand it back to him. “Eat.”

-

When Atsumu leaves, you’re left with even more questions than before.

What does it mean to love something so much you’re willing to pass up something good?

Atsumu is making good money as a Pro, even now. But Osamu had no idea if he was going to make it into this school until he tried.

And why did he make freaking Onigiri?

Midnight has come and gone when you put a jacket over your sleepshirt and slip out of your apartment in nothing but booty shorts and bunny slippers.

You’re not sure if there’s a nightguard. There might be, this is still a mixed dorm filled with hormonal teens and tweens. 

Even though you’ve never been to Osamu’s place before, you know the route by heart. You had memorized it in a childish fit when you realized his room was just below the fire escape.

You wouldn’t allow him to survive you in case of an emergency.

You knock twice before you can hear movement. The door opens and you almost swallow your tongue.

His hair is in disarray as if he’d dragged his hands through it all night and there’s the imprint of his pillow left on his cheek. He’s topless and you keep your eyes trained on the imprint on his cheek as if you don’t notice his happy trail or his still well-trained abs. 

He blinks slowly and yawns.

“What’s up?” He asks. Something moves over his face, quick like a sparrow. “Shit, are you hurt? Did something happen?!”

“No, no, I… Shit, I don’t know, I-”

“Come in.” He pulls you inside, but he calculates wrong, uses too much force for your quivering body. You end up mushed against his chest, face plant right into the warm skin.

If you die like this, you won’t even be mad about it.

“Shit, sorry.” He grabs you and puts you at a distance again, blush high on his cheeks. 

“Your Onigiri.” You start, before he can realize that you’re flustered too. “You didn’t list all the ingredients.”

“I did.”

“Did not. They don’t taste the same.”

“Ah.” He makes that insufferable sound like he knows everything you don’t. 

You want to poke his abs, but you decide against it, mainly because it would make you look weird. But they do look ni-

“Tea?” He asks and you hold your right hand with your left, just in case it turns sentient. 

“Yes, thank you.”

“Your Onigiri don’t taste like mine, because I make them for someone.”

“What?”

“The Tuna one.” He looks at the kettle instead of you, but his voice is wistful, distant. “I always make that one for Tsumu.”

“And the Tenmusu?”

“It’s my Mom’s favorite.” He says softly and you can’t help it, but you start to cry.

“Your Mom likes Tenmusu too?”

“Ah, shit, don’t tell me- Wait, here, take this…” He hands you a tissue to blow your nose and dry your tears. 

“So you’re saying your secret ingredient is love? You’re really going to stand there and make me believe that you got the scholarship because you put love in your food?”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me. But there’s a reason your Chawanmushi did not taste as good as your Curry.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Gladly.” He smirks at you and this time your hand is faster than your mind, pointer finger digging into the firm muscle of his right pectoral.

“Don’t mess with me.”

“Why not?” His face moves closer to you, or did you move closer to his? “Isn’t it fun?”

Whoever moved first doesn’t matter now as his breath washes over you. His eyes skip to your lips and you lick them, no thoughts left in your brain.

Behind him, the kettle whistles, signaling that the water’s cooking, but neither of you moves. 

This could end very badly, or very great, however you want to look at it. 

Your mind, helpful as ever, comes up with a sentence that just slips out of your mouth unprompted.

“Atsumu said that you loved Volleyball a little-”

He draws back the moment he hears you speak, face now closed like a window that has let down its shutters. 

“Right, Atsumu.” He says, interrupting you. “You should get back to the bed.”

“But the tea…”

“I forgot.” He takes the kettle off the stove. “I was going to make a hot water bottle for myself. Sorry.” 

-

Somehow, somewhere, you took a wrong turn.

Maybe it was when you started liking Osamu, in this weird way that has you enjoy the bickering and the competitiveness. Maybe it was even before that, when you let Atsumu get away with his needling, fed him Udon instead of throwing him out.

Or maybe it was even before that, when you didn’t put up a fight everytime your father decided for you, when your mother put work before spending time with you. 

It’s a good thing that Finals are right around the corner.

You can’t focus in most classes, left staring holes into Osamu’s back. 

Atsumu’s stopped showing up himself, probably now a master in cooking for himself. Or he’s gone back to Osamu, to fantastic Onigiri and whatever else he knows how to make.

-

Four days before the Final, someone bangs on your door.

“Jeez, I’m coming.” You pull the door open to reveal Atsumu, soaked and clearly pissed..

“You okay?” You ask. “Or do you need a towel?”

“Why are you not a couple?” He asks back. “Like, the tension was there, you were practically undressing each other at the table - in front of me, might I add - and yet you’re not even speaking to each other? I even cooked all my meals these past weeks in the hopes of hearing good news but Samu’s acting like a bug crawled up his ass and died.”

“What are you even talking abou-”

“Oh, don’t fool me.” He steps inside and moves toward your bathroom without asking. “I just ran here because all I get from Samu are cryptic messages. Did you say something?”

“No, I-”

“Spill.” Atsumu points at the kitchentable, hesitates for a second, then he points at the kitchen itself. “Make some food while your at it. Also, can I have some change of clothes?”

You make Okayu with ginger and honey, the rice porridge a comfort to your heart and a boost to Atsumu’s immune system.

It’s not a long tale. It could be, probably, but you refuse to go into more detail than necessary. Atsumu might be kind of a friend, in his weird, annoying way, but he’s still Osamu’s twin brother.

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” He grabs the bag with his clothes and stalks off, dressed in one of your oversized hoodies and bright pink pajama pants, both things slightly too short on him.

“Give him a chance when he comes back,” are his parting words.

But Osamu does not show up.

Neither does he the next morning in class.

-

One of the teachers calls you over after class.

“You and Miya-san are pretty close, right?” She starts, speaks on while you’re still trying not to choke on your spit. “Could you bring him the notes from today? He called in sick. Tell him to take care and rest, so that he can take part in the Final.”

“I-I will.”

You end up in your own room instead, debating if you should just leave everything in front of his door and run. If he’s not at the final, you automatically win. But that’s not a win you’d feel good about, if you’re being honest to yourself.

Before you know it, you find yourself making Oyaku again, with Ginger and Honey, the one food that always gives you comfort and boosts your health. The process is simple, but it still calms you down every time. When it’s done, you look down at two portions and know what to do.

-

“Osamu?” The door is closed, but you can hear faint shuffling behind it. “I made you Oyaku. I heard you’re sick and got your notes from the teachers. I didn’t tell them that I’m a friend of yours, but she was convinced of it and didn’t let me change her mind. But I… we kinda are friends, right?” You feel so weird talking to the closed door. 

“Even if you don’t like me, we got to keep up the reputation. Eat the Oyaku, okay? Winning doesn’t feel the same if you kick yourself out of the game.”

You put everything in front of his door and leave, lingering at the end of the hallway, just out of sight, until you hear his door. When you look back, the Oyaku is gone and all you have to do is wait.

-

Osamu is already outside when you step out of the classroom. 

“Already finished?”

“Onigiri doesn’t take that long to make.” 

“Ah, right.” You nod, don’t know if you should avoid his gaze or follow your instinct and look a bit more closely. He sounds healthy at least.

“What did you make?” His voice is gruff when he asks.

“Ginger Honey Oyaku.” You answer, voice soft. “Which might confuse the teachers because I had all the ingredients ready for honey-glazed pork belly but I decided against it at the last second.”

“I’d have loved to try that pork belly.” Osamu sighs dreamily. “But that Oyaku was so good. I could eat that everyday and never get tired of it.”

“Same.” You smile but it falters when you feel his eyes on you and you know you’ve got to say it. “I made it for you.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“No, what you said… about the Entry Exam.” You can feel your heartbeat, like the fluttering of hummingbird wings. If you’re going to pass out during your confession, you’re going to kill Osamu for it.

Behind you, the door opens and two more students step out. Osamu looks at them and back at you and you nod, point down the hallway. “Let’s take a walk?”

There’s a broom closet not far down and you slip inside only to regret it seconds later. There’s barely enough space for the two of you, his breath washing over you as you try to focus on the words you need to say. Out loud, so he can hear them too.

“I want to beat you.” You can hear him snort, but you keep your gaze on your hands. You won’t be able to speak if you look into his eyes. “But you’re also really funny and caring and cute, in a way. I could see myself, I mean, I already, you know-”

“What about Tsumu?” He asks, voice strangely hoarse.

“What about him?”

“Don’t you like him more? You don’t feel the need to beat him every two seconds, right?”

You roll your eyes and groan.

“Seriously? The best thing about Atsumu is that he looks kinda like you.”

If you had wanted to say more - you didn’t, but you hate letting anyone else have the last word - it leaves your mind the second his lips press onto yours. 

Your mind’s not yet caught up, but your body is, hands dragging through his hair to pull him closer, to marvel at the softness of it - what conditioner is he using? - to have him a little closer.

His hands are on your hip, your back, roam over your shoulders, leaving warm trails and goosebumps behind.

Then there’s bright light and a shrill shriek and you burst away from each other only to face one of your teachers.

“What? The indecency! During an exam no less! Detention! Detention!” Her garbled words don’t make much sense, but the last word you understand.

Osamu sends you a look, his eyes speaking of little guilt and a promise to continue this latter. You can’t help but feel the same.

-

As it turns out, Detention automatically overrules your exceptional Exam marks. Neither of you wins the internship. Neither of you cares. 

Osamu had applied to an Onigiri shop not far from the school as a second option and with your last name you have no trouble securing an internship with a well-known nutritionist for Pro Athletes. 

Your father is not happy about your change in dreams, but when you explain the earning capacity of this position, and the business plan you’re already halfway through making, your excitement swaps over.

Your mother, as usual, barely listens. But you take it in stride, her usual droning on about a recipe she’s working on, by thinking about how in less than an hour, you’ll see Osamu again.

-

“You guys owe me.” Atsumu declares during Movie night. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, the last piece of the Pizza in his hands. “I’m talking about food for life.”

“We could have done it without you,” Osamu insists, arm around you, face nuzzled into your hair. He pretends he’s watching the movie, but you know better. He’s been thinking about the cheese crackers in your pantry for hours.

“If I hadn’t pulled you out in the rain to talk things through, you wouldn’t have gotten sick and your girlfriend wouldn’t have made Oyaku for you! That’s enough reason for you to love me forever!”

“If you hadn’t interfered he wouldn’t have had to think we were dating instead.” You point out and dig your hands into Osamu’s grip on your arms, moving away from him.

“Babe, what-” He starts but you nod in the direction of your pantry. “Get the crackers. I can’t watch you any longer.”

“Really?” His face lights up like a child in front of a Christmas tree. It’s worth the ridiculous price you paid for the crackers.

“Really.”

He kisses you and the moment could be perfect. But there’s still Atsumu, fake gagging in the background.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[wszczebrzyszynie]

In your older art (when he was a rabbit breeder named Nikita I think) Mikita seems much more… smiley than he is now. The first time I saw him (I think 2022) I remember him being gay + aro instead of aroace. I adore this character and I would love to know how he changed/developed over the years!

Oh gladly. I adore this topic. Mikita is my oldest one (8 years old now!) and i have quite a lot to say and show about him, so ill put it under the read more. For some reason the picture formatting is completly broken when i do it. Thank you for the kind words

Mikita went through quite a lot name changes now that i think about it, at least compared to my other ocs; it went hand in hand with his ethnicity mostly, as he was i believe polish first, then polish/lithuanian and only since... 2020? belarusian (which i agree is definitely... a pipeline, but theres no deeper meaning behind it; for the 70% of his life the world he lived in was 100% fictional, and at the beginning even fantasy-like). His first actual name (not "rabbit breeder", which was the title used for him in the original story instead of a name. Names were a modern au thing) if im not mistaken was Fryderyk, then Nikita, and then Mikita. That name change did probably happen around 2022 because a Belarusian belarusianized his name for me and I liked it so i changed it. Very nice of them it makes much more sense in the current story

Years 2016-2020-ish he was gay (but not aromantic) and also dating Mikołaj; frankly i do not remember when exactly that changed, but he and Mikołaj are some of my oldest still in use ocs and they were always a package deal of sorts. Last time i drew shipart of them was in 2021. I think it might have stopped around the time i realized i am aromantic? It was a very important moment to me and the second it clicked i realized most of my ocs were secretly aromantic all along too. It was pretty funny now that i think about it

Personality wise he was a bit insufferable. Well he used to age with me (like most of my ocs) so he was very much a 15 year old. Very bratty and unempathetic to others, actively manipulative and overly ambitious. He used to smile a lot yes it was very in character then and i think it makes him look more annoying so it stays. Well either way i made so much art of him in that time i actually canonized it as his younger self in canon, now that hes older. I think thats a fun choice and i still like his old design, so its good to reuse it. Art from 2020, 2021 and 2023. I think current Mika would hate his old self a lot

Frankly when it comes to my ocs the big shift from that more dystopian completly fictional setting to more historically grounded one happened at some point and i dont remember when that was. 2020-2021 ish possibly. Its hard to remember because it did not happen from day to day; i think i abandoned these ocs original story for months before i made that choice? and even then i dont remember how current DNS or such a clear idea for it came to be, especially considering that it changed basically every single character drastically. Its weird to me but i suppose that knowledge is lost. That being said i think it does coincide with the creation of Przemek, who quickly became one of my favourites, so maybe theres that. I dont know. Well either way its a very good thing that it happened

[raidenenthusiast]

the astral express family as a unit is SO important to me.

starting with the trailblazer. confused, used, and hardly remembers anything about who they were before. the stellaron in their body is essentially a ticking time bomb. the personal fear that comes with that is already immense, and that's not even taking into account other people's perceptions. but they were accepted, immediately, stellaron and all. they aren't feared, they're loved. instead of others being protected from them, they're protected from others.

dan heng. scared, lost, and without a home to return to. his past tainted every step he took on the xianzhou, and despite the events of the main story, he's still working through how other people see him, as well as how he sees himself. he's never truly been SEEN before, not as dan heng over dan feng. but he's finally been given a place of acceptance. people who love him as he is, with no attachment to his past self. he's found not only a home that he can always go back to, but a home he WANTS to go back to.

march 7th. the girl who doesn't even remember her own name. we as people are shaped by our memories and out pasts. how can someone so young cope with the great unknown constantly looming over her head? companionship. compassion. the promise that no matter what that unknown brings, she is no longer alone. a hand to hold in the darkness, to guide her through the worst that the universe can bring.

welt yang. loss and grief have shaped the person he is today. the threat of the honkai means the constant fear and application of losing the people most important to you. to have a family in the world of the honkai is just about the most dangerous thing you can do, and he knows this firsthand. his memory is not tampered with, but rather incredibly clear. he was a child when his life was overridden by duty, and that duty is something he refuses to let go of, even now. but these people don't see his duty when they look at him. they don't see the herrscher of reason. they see mr. yang, the ever-reliable, slightly ancient, kind member of the crew.

himeko. everyone on the express will come and go, and the life of a nameless is an inherently lonely one. attachments cannot be too severe, lest severing them ends up destroying her. but here she is, with all her knowledge, loving these people anyway.

memory and acceptance are both key themes with the entire express crew. not just past memory, but the creation of new memories. better memories. the express is a place where who you are is inconsequential, and all that matters is that you're safe now. you're loved now. and you will be loved, no matter what happens. no matter what you do, say, or choose.

and something so constant is the glue that holds this group together. not only that, but something they all desperately need.

the trailblazer, young, confused, and scared, needs something to remind them that they aren't alone. something to latch onto, something to cling to that grounds them through the turmoil of hosting a stellaron. dan heng, the greatest criminal of the vidyadhara, needs something to remind him that there is hope. that his life will not always be weighed down by the mistakes of his predecessor, and that there are people out there who love HIM, just as he is, with no fine print or strings attached. march 7th, with nothing behind her, needs something ahead of her. something real, something concrete, something or someone that she can tangibly see, feel, and hold. the uncertainty and unknown hang over her head like a cloud, but that darkness feels much less scary when someone can hold her hand and tell her she's not alone anymore. welt yang, who's lived so long, been through so much, and lost so many, needs a new beginning. not that he's leaving behind the ties he has left, but forging new ones, with absolutely no strings attached to the identity of the herrscher of reason. think about why he never mentions his past in full; obviously for a multitude of reasons, one of which the subconscious desire for a life untainted by the honkai. and himeko, who left everything behind for her dreams, needs people different than her. something new. like-minded people follow the same principles; fulfill their life's purpose, and exit the express. however, in the midst of all that, she's gained more than colleagues, more than nameless, more than fleeting images of friends long gone. she's gained the unconditional love of a family.

and that's not even getting into the dynamic between just welt and himeko. the fact that himeko always feels alone, and then there's welt, who travelled the very cosmos just to protect the life of a former student he feels like he failed. the fact that she likely has no idea of this fact, and assumes he'll leave the express and return to his "real" family someday, when in reality, the only reason he stepped foot on the express in the first place was FOR her. BECAUSE of her. to protect HER.

i'm gonna be honest, even though void archives hasn't made an official appearance yet, and their motivations are obviously skewed due to the fact that they're not technically human, i would fit them into this too. they were never intended to live their own life. their origins and their programming prevents that. destroy the honkai, above all else, no matter the cost. after millennia of being trapped by otto, their own identity, what little of it existed, slipped through their fingers. why do you think they hate being compared to him so much, despite adopting so many of his patterns and mannerisms? what they need is a life of their own. which connects so deeply with what welt needs, too.

and i'm just spitballing here, but i have a theory that part of the reason they left the express in the first place was because they were afraid of the comeraderie they found there interfering with the reason for their existence.

addendum; if the stellaron is in fact a manifestation of the honkai, i NEED to see how that changes the trailblazer's relationship with everyone. especially given the fact that void archives was created to eradicate every form of the honkai, no matter the cost....

anyway. all this to say. i love the express family so much.

[tenchikotheartist]

Frick it, we ball

KISMET HEADCANNONS for some future fan stuff I wanna make... Goes with this post kinda

Under a cut because it's LONG (the fixation has been REAL)

Gen

They band was formed shortly after the events of Trolls 1. It's the only way they make sense in my mind's timeline.

Branch was trying to get more involved with Troll village without relying on Poppy to connect him with people. He formed his own group of friends, and they became Kismet after realizing how much they enjoyed harmonizing/performing together.

These guys give me frat boy energy for some reason. They just collectively become more chaotic when they're around each other. Yes, even Branch. He and Hype play hot potato with the braincell because otherwise, nothing would get done in this group.

As they got to know one another, teasing one another became their primary love language. Lots of jabs and quips will fly among them when they're together, but they each know it's all in good fun.

Branch

Branch kept his involvement in the band a secret because, well...y'know. He has complicated history with being in a boyband, so he wanted to explore his feelings about Kismet without being bombarded with input from people outside the group.

He's fond of his friends and genuinely enjoys being a part of the band though! He just wants to be sure he's a part of this boy band because he's happy being with them and not because he's trying to recapture something he'd lost 20 years ago.

At first, the others were (understandably) hurt by Branch's desire to keep his place in the band a secret, but after he explained his reasons, they were willing to support him.

They were absolutely thrilled when he finally becomes open about the band though!

During the secrecy period, when he performs in Pop Village, he hides his identity behind a disguise that somehow works (Branch, every time it works: "wtf????"), and he goes by a stage name.

Hype

Officially the group leader, but he's more of a mediator than anything. He relies on the rest of the group to give their input for any big band decisions, but he coordinates band meetings, schedules gigs, and works out compromises if there's any group conflicts.

He and Branch had been childhood friends before The Incident(s) estranged them. Back in the Troll Tree, they'd been neighbors whose parents (Branch's grandma; Hype's mom) set up on frequent playdates, so they'd been really close.

They reconnected after the events of movie 1, Hype introduced Branch to Trickee and later Boom. Trickee brought in Ablaze and the rest was history.

Hype is a social butterly but he's otherwise one of the more calm personalities in the group. He feeds off of other people's energy and is a bit of a people-pleaser. Luckily, he's pretty good at finding the right crowd to run with, otherwise he'd probably land in so much trouble.

Boom

Hype's cousin, and a big party person! Before the band took off, he DJ'd at a party venue in Pop Village. That same place was also where Kismet got their first gig!

He loves loud music and flashy parties where he can shine on the dance floor and make memories people he may only know for a night.

Peak ADHD Energy™. He's a chatterbox. He has no volume control. He tunnel visions so hard, he becomes that B99 headphones meme. The man has cool guy syndrome, no doubt about it!

For the creation of the Band earliest albums, Boom took charge as the producer. He loves messing with music, mixing and remixing sounds on his free time and experimenting with the genre.

Trickee

A thrill-seeking menace to society. He's adventurous and loves taking huge risks for the adrenaline rush. He's the type of guy who would go down a waterfall in a barrel or ski down a dangerous mountain just to see if he survives it.

Everyone in the band is in agreement about protecting Trickee from his own shenanigans. They are 70% of his self-preservation senses.

He also loves a party scene and can often be found with Boom leading the charge towards any good time.

You know that sense of dread before performing in front of a crowd? The way your belly flips and your heart races and you're sure you're shaking hard enough for everyone to see? Trickee lives for that shit when he's in the band. The jitters can get to him, for sure, but afterwards, the man is LIVING from coming out alive on the other side, and he's sharing that thrill with everyone else in the band!

Ablaze

A Rock Troll who has lived among the Pop Trolls since he was a teenager. He stumbled across them while looking for a place to belong, and despite what he was raised to believe about Pop Trolls, he came to love their warmth and friendliness. So he moved in and let everyone assume he was just an odd-looking Pop Troll.

He an Trickee are housemates (podmates?)--not for romantic reasons but because they're longtime friends. When Trickee moved out of his family's home, Ablaze invited him over, and they liked the living arrangement enough to keep it permanent.

At first, Ablaze isn't open about his identity as a Rock Troll, but as he grew closer with the other members of Kismet, he came out to them. By the events of Trolls 2, he's open about being a Rock Troll.

Ablaze's personality sits somewhere in the realm of both chaotic and laid back. On the outside, he's usually pretty chill, but if Boom or Trickee have trouble afoot, Ablaze is usually there egging them on in the background, much to Branch's dismay.

He becomes extremely energetic when he's performing. The more exciting the song, the more vibrant he becomes! The energy is one of the reasons he loves pop music so much, but he can also get hyped from performing rock music. He gets kinda intense though lmao.

The first time the rest of Kismet sees him jamming to rock, they're like "OH. He's definitely a rock troll O_O" They support their rock-n-roll brethren 🤟😔

He has a special interest in fire, particularly fireworks. Back in Pop Village, he even made a business of it, making small rockets, sparklers, and other celebratory items for all your Pop party needs.

Anyway that's all the headcannon stuff I'll share for now. Hope y'all liked reading xD I'm really hoping my attention span will stick around long enough for me to share more in the future, because this fixation has been A Time™/pos

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading.

TWO FOUR

THREE

You're sitting on the floor of your living room, waiting for Barnes to finish scanning your apartment for any signs that someone might be watching you. The most ironic part of this is that he's doing it just minutes after discreetly placing a camera above your door. The message this sends to you is that only he can watch your every move.

"What can you tell me about your life?" you ask while serving a glass of wine to each of you. You're certainly nervous about drinking wine near the expensive rug you received as a gift from a bakery customer, but it seems worth the risk when you think that drinking wine while sitting on the floor seems romantic.

"Well… non-confidential details. For example, my middle name, which is Buchanan, by the way. I was born on March 10th, a beautiful spring day. My mother used to say I was the most patient baby she ever knew. On the other hand, during my teenage years, I became a troublemaker. And I only started to behave better when I met my best friend. Steve was definitely the best person in the universe. Always thoughtful, trying to be cheerful even when there was no reason to be. The rare times he lost his temper, I knew the other person was in the wrong." Barnes sits down next to you. He smiles sweetly, as if he's fondly remembering the past. Then he takes a sip of the wine and looks at you, as if he's expecting something. You don't realize that you've been staring at him or making the atmosphere a bit awkward until he clears his throat, as if prompting you to say something.

"Your best friend must have had to put up with a lot to keep you in line… considering you're still getting into trouble even today. By the way, do you guys still keep in touch?" you ask, as if returning to reality after losing your train of thought while staring at Barnes. But how can you avoid getting lost in the most beautiful blue eyes you've ever seen?

"He wouldn't be proud of what I've become. But we lost contact after, let's say, we went our separate ways. In my mind, he's living a peaceful life, maybe with a house near some lake where he can fish. Maybe he's married, with at least one dog. But part of my job was saying goodbye to what was valuable to me before, well... before I accepted the job. A sacrifice I was willing to make." Barnes says, this time between sips of wine, seeming to get emotional. It's probably the wine taking effect, or maybe it's the longing for those he had to leave behind.

"And do you regret it? Giving up being with those you loved most for a job that obviously puts your life at risk? I don't mean to criticize you, but it's not too late to have regrets. We could have died when that guy attacked the bakery." You end up judging Barnes' life a bit, without intending to, but you know you've crossed a line when he looks at you with a certain anger, saying nothing.

"I didn't realize I was here to be judged. What else do you want to criticize about my life? The first time I fell in love with someone? Or maybe something more spicy, like like the time I fucked my partner while we were on a plane? Do you want to know if I managed to make her cum or would you like to criticize me because sex in a public place is wrong?" He takes another sip of wine, emptying his glass. You feel a mix of emotions as you listen to him speak. He wanted to humiliate you, that's obvious. So you don't think twice before throw the rest of the wine in your glass in his face.

"I would have apologized for intruding on your life in an untimely manner. But you can't talk to me like that. Now, I'd like you to get out of my apartment." You say angrily, getting up off the floor and hoping your expensive carpet stayed intact after you throw your wine at Barnes. You assume he can leave on his own, so you head to your bathroom to wash your hand. It's stained with wine, so you clean it off. Your thoughts are in turmoil, wondering how something that was supposed to be romantic lost its meaning. Maybe Barnes was better in theory than in practice; maybe your hypothetical Barnes was just an illusion. You only refocus when you catch a glimpse of Barnes standing near the bathroom door out of the corner of your eye.

"I overreacted. You didn't mean to be disrespectful, and I was out of line. It wasn’t my finest moment." Barnes says as he approaches you, and you watch him through the reflection in the mirror. He quickly moves to stand behind you, not close enough to touch, but close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your back. You get goosebumps, unsure if it’s because of his proximity or the huskiness in his voice as he speaks.

"I should have guessed it would be like this. You clearly have no intention of letting me get close to you. And you know what? Right now, it seems to me that you're doing just fine on your own." you say cynically, which seems like the right thing to do at the moment. Barnes gives a crooked smile and then moves closer. You turn to face him, as if you don’t want to make this moment more dramatic than it needs to be.

"Want to know something about me? I push away most of the good people I know because, most of the time, I have no idea if I deserve to have them around. But somehow, I don't push you away as easily. I eat your bread every day even though I don't like bread that much, just because I noticed you like to test new recipes when I stop by your bakery. Your coffee isn’t your strong suit, but I drink it almost religiously. Not everything I know about you comes from the fact that I put you at risk. I just took an interest in the lovely baker who smiles at me every morning as if I were the most important person in the world." Barnes says, looking into your eyes, and you’re surprised. All this time, you thought you were the only one noticing him. But he was noticing you too.

You have no immediate reaction, processing what he just said. Then, a surge of confidence takes over you; you place your hand gently on Barnes' face and caress him. But something awakens in Barnes. He places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer, and in moments, he brings his lips to yours. The initial contact is delicate as he explores every part of your mouth. It takes you a moment to believe that you're kissing James Barnes, but once you realize it, you pull his neck closer, deepening the kiss. It's as if your mouth is waging a war with his, as you both savor the taste of each other. You let out a soft moan as he presses you against the sink, but you quickly wrap your legs around his waist. He runs his hands down your back until he reaches your ass and holds it tightly. Urging you to climb onto your sink, you feel his hands release you onto the sink and then touch your thighs and leg. You are however interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Apparently she was worried about the lack of news. He takes a breath while you watch him text Natasha, probably reassuring her. Then he looks at you, but this time with a hint of regret. It’s obvious it was too good to be true.

"Let me guess? You need to leave, and it’s better if we don’t talk about what just happened because you shouldn’t have done that?" you say as if you already know what he’s going to say, which you probably do, because he doesn’t make any move to deny it.

"It seems that, in the end, you know more about me than you realize," Barnes says awkwardly before quickly leaving your apartment, leaving only a lingering tension in the air. Soon after, you decide to take a shower and go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day, and thinking about Barnes won’t do any good right now. The next day, you head to work earlier than usual, wanting to make some muffins and éclairs to sell at the bakery. Your first customers compliment your coffee and muffins, and you can’t help but wonder if your coffee is as bad as Barnes made it seem.

"What would you recommend to a new customer?" A man with a kind look, blue eyes, and blonde hair approaches your counter while you’re pulling a batch of fresh bread from the oven. He is muscular, well-built, and has a wonderful scent.

"I’d recommend almost everything here except the coffee; I’ve heard it’s not that great. And welcome to Y/L/N Bakery. My name is Y/N; I’m the owner and also the baker. If you want my honest recommendation, this new bread recipe turned out great, and I’ve made some éclairs if you’re interested in sweetening your day." you say subtly as you watch the man place his backpack on the floor of the bakery. It looks like he’s just arrived from a trip.

"My name is Steve. Steve Rogers. I heard that an old friend of mine used to frequent your bakery, and I came here hoping to find out where he might be. Have you by any chance seen Bucky?" Steve asks gently as he approaches the counter. You look at him thoughtfully.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" you ask, not quite understanding who he’s talking about. You’ve had many customers, but none named Bucky. Steve then pulls a photo of his friend from his pocket. Immediately, you recognize him. It’s Barnes, in military attire, in a photo that looks like it was taken a few years ago. And then you realize that Steve must be the best friend Barnes was talking about last night.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[ghcstao3]

(part 1)

-

As more days pass, the job doesn’t get any less strange.

Johnny is still poring over Ghost’s hint, trying to figure out how it could be possible that all these varying pieces are from the same artist. Unless it was someone more contemporary, experimenting in art styles of different eras—

Which would make sense, if not for the paints and materials not available in the present day, their methodology in creation having been lost to time, or its dangers realized.

And the signature. Scribbled consistently on every one of the pieces in the exact same place, exact same handwriting, even when the initials of S and R shift from the Roman to Latin alphabet, and when the length of the name itself shrinks and grows.

About every theory that pops into Johnny’s head is easily dismissed for another that makes slightly more sense, until he reaches another road block in reasoning. It’s impossible, plain and simple.

But at the end of the day, Johnny has to shake his head of those sorts of thoughts anyway. Because he’s here for a job, not to speculate, even when it’s his current employer that’s planted this dilemma in his head.

Speaking of—Ghost hasn’t gotten any less weird himself, either. Or, perhaps enigmatic, Johnny should say.

He continues to pose questions to Johnny as he works, but at some point they begin to sound less like questions from the owner of the artwork—and more like questions from the artist, as if seeking feedback.

All Johnny can do is answer honestly. He’s gotten better at deciphering Ghost’s hums and huffs and grunts, but not to the extent of really understanding what he’s thinking. Which only serves to confuse Johnny further about the whole… arrangement.

It’s on the last day, while Johnny is finishing up the last piece, that Ghost asks him the strangest thing of all.

“Say you were… immortal,” Ghost begins slowly, sometime nearing the end of the day; the end of Johnny’s contract, “would you choose to make a mark on the world, or remain invisible?”

Johnny furrows his brow. “I’m not sure. I mean—really, unless you’re big and famous, you kind of remain invisible to most, anyway.”

Ghost shakes his head, seeming almost frustrated by his answer—which would be a first. “No, not like—like if you made art, would you choose to keep it hidden, or would you allow it to be shared?”

It’s the first time Johnny has ever heard Ghost seem unsure of himself. He’s never seen the man falter like this, wavering in this intimidating, indifferent persona he’s thus far created.

Johnny suspects that there’s more to this question than it simply being a hypothetical.

“Depends,” Johnny says. He blinks up at Ghost, staring undeterred into that intense gaze of his. Sometimes Johnny thinks Ghost expects him to be nervous in his employer’s presence. “If it’s something personal, then sure, I’d keep it to myself. But I think in creating art, there’s also times that you’d want to display it, so I would. Not necessarily to leave something behind, but… maybe to inspire someone else.”

Ghost considers this for a long while, eyes raking over Johnny’s face for who knows what. Maybe a discrepancy in his honesty.

Eventually, he breathes slow and deep as he squares back his shoulders. “Then I’ll ask this again:” He pauses. “What do you think happened to the artist?”

The corners of Johnny’s lips twitch upward, though a proper smile never appears.

“I think he’s giving himself away right about now,” Johnny decides. It hasn’t really clicked to him, of course, that Ghost might be immortal—but it’s a conclusion he can at least speak aloud.

Ghost squints his eyes, and Johnny is inclined to think that means there’s a smile hiding beneath his mask.

“Suppose I have,” Ghost admits. Almost sheepishly, he then asks, “Does that change your answer?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I still think these should be displayed, if you’re willing. They’re… they’re beautiful pieces, and… why should you hire me to restore them just to keep them in storage?”

Ghost shrugs, and there reappears that new uncertainty. “I wanted a second opinion.”

Johnny laughs, shaking his head again. “Next you’re going to tell me you destroyed these yourself just to get it.”

Ghost stares at him a long, silent moment after that. Johnny’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline with the very clear answer to that joke.

“…Ghost.”

“It’s Simon,” Ghost corrects. “And I may have… tampered… with them. Just a little.”

Johnny scoffs. “Ghost, Simon, whatever. Some of these materials have been lost to time! And you just… you just—“

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes Ghost—Simon—that has Johnny trailing off from the rant he’d just been ready to go on. Art history is so meaningful to him, and he has a living man who can attest to those times in front of him, and—

And Johnny was just insulting him.

He shrinks back as Simon’s laughing tapers off, and that cold look in his eyes is overtaken by something warm, something friendly.

“Those pieces never meant enough to me,” Simon finally says, something melancholy falling over his tone. “But… I do have one more that was actually ruined by time that I think… I think I’d trust you enough to fix.”

Johnny’s eyes widen, perking up at the suggestion. “Really?”

Simon nods. “I’ll pay you however much, I—“

“No need,” Johnny interrupts. “You’ve already paid me… far more than you needed to, for the rest. I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Simon cocks his head, silently willing Johnny on.

The smile threatening Johnny finally releases, spreading wide across his face.

“You let me ask questions,” Johnny says. “I have a few debates to settle.”

Simon hums. Something… approving.

Finally, he says with an air of humour, and something oddly akin to hope, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

[medicine-san]

savanaclaw android [ au belongs to @ceruleancattail ]

[ okay I've felt better now, and as promised here full story with 🍩 and 🐺. unfortunately most context were lost because I tried too hard to keep it short ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I do not speak english, I don't know how to write, this is purely me being dedicated to murphy's law. ]

tw: fluff jack fluff jack fluff jack

leona who funnily enough was bought not to be a miracle as what people originally intended him to be, but a kindergarten teacher.

who would've thought such high maintenance android would end up getting his hands wiping some kid's piss and puke off the floor, his rumoured high intelligence are nought but just for teaching mere children's knowledge. not like he can do anything, his owner need his help. it's in the contract. letting these tiny creatures pestering him, their tiny hands all over him or his tail or his ears. or having them fight to sit on his uncomfortably hard thighs when it's lunch time.

what an insult to his creation.

but recently, he began to experience an unexplainable series of lagging in his speech pattern. his eyes begin to blur at times. simple tasks beginning to feel like a burden as his head would dangerously overheat, even the kids could see the strain he's baring from how much he's scrunching his brows.

the sound, he'd say, the sound. it's annoying.

a sound of something stirring. everytime he heard the sound, his eye would hurt so bad as if it's scratching to come out of his eye socket. his students would just childishly claim it was a migraine, telling him he should rest more. "I could not have migraine you stupid cubs", is what he'd say if not because of the strict filter for his speech.

popup notifications begin to emerge, warning him of a foreign third party running his system. multiple non permitable access to his memory drive, he just now noticed that there are viruses corrupting his system. how could this be possible? he never turned his antivirus software off. is there a malpractice happening without him knowing?

and it doesn't take long for him to figure out the problem.

his eyes are the problem.

the images, the videos, continuously sent to a certain someone he could not mention as that will breach the TOS. even thinking this is already straining his thought process to the point of overheating.

his eyes are the reason.

and with that same eyes, he continues to stare at the messy mess. nonchalantly showing off his bloodied hand with bits of what could be assumed as remnants of skin and flesh to the watching eyes behind the screen. it is a bit dark, but they are not stupid.

especially not after the screen went temporarily blocked before it shows the face of a certain android, specks of blood can be seen on his face.

don't you think delivery guys got away quite easily?

you can be one of those annoying old men who think the whole world is their enemy and will not hesitate to shoot you for wanting to get your ball that accidentally got into his lawn, but will let his gate open for limited access to his front door if you're his delivery guy. well, as long as they keep their bloodthirsty dogs on leash at least. humans are not to be trusted.

maybe it's not the greatest job, but it's one that he enjoys doing. the rush to get everything on time, the competition to stay on top, the joy that comes with being able to see new places and faces. ruggie enjoys it all. can machines even feel joy? he may have no answer to that, but it is something akin to that, if he could describe it.

or at least, that's what the old lady told him. truly, how could she describe human emotion on him, a robot? do humans really have to push their human perspective on everything? that's why they keep getting themselves in stupid situation for being too emotionally attached to objects. but then that's why those heartslabyul ai software is all the hit right now.

because they are lonely.

the old lady is kind. really! she always greet him whenever he came to the area for deliveries. asking him about his day, about the weather, if he's working too hard. such young man shouldn't get his skin burned by the sun! she'd say. grandma, don't you think your concern is misplaced? worry about yourself first, instead of this young roaring machine. I'm still full of energy, and carefully oiled. my gears won't rust away anytime soon, and I'm not getting busted that easily. not while there's still people who need his service.

like this shaky hand that's reaching out of the crack of the door.

the wide, soulless eye staring at him, pleading for that magical key to the world of happiness. to see such unhappiness, and him having the power to change it, oh how thrilling! he couldn't control the grin from widening!

he loves this job, it helps more people to be happy.

for a guard dog, jack model is certainly quite a character. not in a bad way, it's just funny to see this over 190cm android tensing up for his monthly checkups. even while sitting down, he still manage to tower over the mechanic's smaller figure. his ears flatten whenever their hands reaching the inside of him for any loose bolts, quietly whimpering to himself whenever they bumped his circuits with their fragile fingers while checking him up. his sensory should've been turned off, so it's certainly not "pain" he's experiencing.

"calm down, puppy,"

"you're making this difficult for me."

it's difficult for him too. human, can't you see? the way you're talking to him, the way you're handling him, how you'd rub circles around his knuckles whenever he'd had a nasty fight with aggressors, or when you'd aggressively scratch his head and ears after every patch ups with them, cooing him with "good boy"s and "good job"s. all while smelling like oil and chemical, the clinking sound of equipments softly echoing in the workshop, his ears catching up lowly moans of other androids under their care, the buzzing noise of fading life all around the two of them.

how romantic, hell he could imagine himself getting a kiss too from how much his brain is replaying all the romantic scenarios on tv dramas he'd play BEFORE coming here. oh please do, just a peck on my head is all I want. touch my cheeks and pull them lightly, what I'd do just to feel you gracing me with your marks on me. those damned lines play by itself on his mind as he's staring directly at their face. taking notes of how their face scrunched when he's not staying still to their liking, or at how their shadowed figure igniting a certain scene that got his eyes drooping. his tail lightly drumming the chair he's sitting on, the artificial fur sweeping their pants tenderly.

sickeningly sweet.

as if he didn't just had a romantic awakening in the middle of what can be considered a butcher's shop of his kind.

[pyschedtrickster]

TADC Ep 2 - Depression and the Meaning of Life

Well, I may or may not be a day late to release of the episode, but I've watched it three times so far and I have some thoughts. Let's get the gritty stuff outta the way.

First of all, The Amazing Digital Circus belongs to @gooseworx and therefore everything I say here is just my personal take on the episode. I could be wrong, talking out my ass, etc. But this episode really spoke to me, so good job Goose.

Secondly, spoilers <3

Third, I think I've written enough that people won't get jumpscared with spoilers. This is gonna be a long read, so bear with me. This post will contain ALL my thoughts on the episode, both meaningful and just silly things I liked.

BUBBLE

So anyone who knows me from Bunnydoll Burrow knows I love Bubble. They're my favorite so far and this episode only cemented that further. They're wonderful comedic relief and even if they don't have any character development (which I don't think they will), I will always love them.

Caine Cares Too Much

While watching this, I was immediately off-put by Caine's reactions, even beginning with him calling Zooble back. He sounds so... dire? I don't know if that was intended to mean something or if it was just to put emphasis on how much Caine cares about his creations. Caine is AI, so world-building is likely his ONLY goal, or his prompt if you will. It wouldn't surprise me if that was why he was so upset by everyone's reactions.

But I can't help but wonder if this will play into his character arc. We understand that Caine is ambiguous right now and there's no real explanation of what his intentions are in the Circus. Something about this just really set me off. It made me feel unsafe in a way as if staying behind would result in danger of some kind. Obviously, it couldn't be that bad, as Zooble did stay behind and turned out fine. Still, I can't shake the feeling that this is foreshadowing.

Zoobie

Hilarious. What a solid nickname, I've seen so many headcanons that Zooble would be a stoner in the real world. This only makes it better. They are now Zoobie in my mind.

Pomni's Child Comment

While I'm sure this was just a silly comment to be made, I kinda liked it. Just a little in-show reminder that through all of this, Pomni is a real, grown-ass woman stuck inside some digital Hell. The whole first episode, we see her wallowing and panicking, justifiably so. Finally, we get to see her grow more serious and stable.

Through the episode, we see more of her being a good character and becoming more at terms with her situation. I'll touch on this more soon.

Gangle

My girl CANNOT catch a break. Gangle is such a funny character and so, so sweet. She's level-headed in my opinion, even through her emotions. She seems to have a good grip on the shit happening around her but has a hard time communicating properly because she has a lot of feelings going on. Me too, honey, me too.

Even in the face of violence, danger, and overall shitfuckery, she doesn't shut down. Sure, she cries. But I've cried plenty of times while still holding the fort down. I think I just relate to her.

Lastly, I NEED to know what this means like I need oxygen.

Government Mandated Shipping

I dunno man, I just really liked this. I'm a shipper at heart. I've been writing fanfic since middle school. I saw pure fanfic material when I watched this scene.

Kinger and Raggs

This scene made me smile. It's a cute nod towards how Kinger is the longest-standing character and, according to some lost post of Goose's, Ragatha is the second. Plus, all of episodes one and two, we see her trying so hard to be a rock for Pomni. She tries to include everyone, keep everyone cheerful, and be a stable constant in a realm of chaos; Seeing Kinger recognize how far she's come and using that to bring her back to reason was just so refreshing. Ragatha deserves more appreciation like that: less about what she does for others, and more about what she's done for herself.

Jax's Disappointment

So we don't know much about Jax besides how Goose loves him and says he's an asshole who may or may not be irredeemable. When he started talking about violence and getting excited at the thought, I chalked it up to him being an ass. But it struck me just how much this mattered to Jax in this scene. I have questions, man. But I'm about to go on a wild tangent, so hear me out.

Jax is happy when being destructive. He gets immediately upset when things go well. And in the circus, we can assume that there have been a lot of traumatic, wild things that have occurred. I wonder if the chaos, the violence, is a comfort for Jax because of those traumatic experiences. As a person with trauma, I've learned that there's a funny cycle that I and other traumatized people experience.

We don't like the situations we're in, but when faced with normalcy, it's so much scarier than the damaging situation we come from. So, we run from 'normal' back into the suffocating arms of our traumatizing situations for comfort. Going back to the situation means more trauma, more trauma means a harder time finding peace in a safe, normal environment, which means more trauma... you get the picture.

So am I saying a fictional purple bunny is using violence in a digital realm to cope with the very real topic of trauma? Maybe. Yes. Yes, I am. This is how I cope.

Depression, Finding Your Place, and the Bigger Picture

Now you may be saying, "hey! You skipped over some major scenes to talk about silly stuff! What gives?"

Well, as the title of this post suggests, I had some heavier stuff to address in this episode and wanted to compile it all in one section. So that meant skipping over a scene to bunch it in with other ones. I'll break it down.

Depression

Let me begin with the fact that I have been diagnosed with depression for years now. I've been hospitalized for it and I've had family members struggle with it around me. This heavily influenced how I viewed this episode and specifically this scene.

Gummigoo had a perfectly reasonable reaction to seeing the perfect replica of him that is his model. Seeing something like that would shatter your world, and we see that happen to him immediately.

But when Gummigoo talked to Pomni and asked why anything matters, it gave me this really familiar feeling. Thoughts of being nothing, of feeling meaningless, the mere idea of being an obstacle--I've experienced all of these. I'm sure others have. Pomni was right when she said it's normal. Everyone has felt down from time to time.

But what Gummigoo is talking about really hit home with my depression. Thoughts like these, especially when they linger for long, change how you view the world. Everything is tinted blue and desaturated. You feel empty and eventually, so does the world around you. You feel like when the party is over and everyone leaves, you disappear--or you think you should, at least.

"Why are you trying to cheer me up? How does this benefit you at all?"

And it's so, so hard to accept help when feeling like this. Depression is a bitch in the way that it wants you to stay depressed. It feels like everyone around you wants you to feel better because it is a convenience for them. It almost feels transactional if you smile.

But Pomni says it so beautifully; "I guess I just don't want you to feel like you're nothing. I don't want anybody to feel like that."

The way she says it makes me feel like she knows the feeling too, and in reality, she says she does understand in a way how Gummigoo feels. But that? That made it real for me. I don't know why. This whole scene, the entrapment and loneliness despite not actually being alone, just embodied how I've felt for years. What amazing writing.

Finding Your Place

This scene was really the cherry on top of everything I just spoke about. We see that these two understand each other, at least as much as they can. They recognize all of this, it's ridiculous. They're hurtling through space into the unknown, hoping everything works out. They may feel empty, but they're not alone. They've got each other, for better or worse. Maybe they don't know where they belong in this liminal space, but they know where they stand in each other's minds.

And then we get this ending scene. God. Fuck.

I knew that there was obviously something to that dream Pomni had in the beginning, but somehow I didn't expect this to be the conclusion to it. I guess I was too distracted by everything else. So when I got to this shot, I got all warm and teary-eyed.

Pomni finally feels like she's got a pack, a place in this digital circus. When you don't feel mentally alone anymore, there seems to be a weight that's lifted off your shoulders. It doesn't cure the sadness, but at least you know that if you need to be picked up, someone will be there. Depression wants you to be alone, but it just lost that battle. The internet has said it best: A win is a win.

The Bigger Picture

We all know where the end of the road is. How we get there is the mystery. This thought can really make a person feel small, especially when depression comes in to tell you that you in fact are small, according to the chemicals in your brain. But the power of numbers and knowing your place in the world makes facing the unknown a little easier.

I'll be honest, the words are kinda lost on me at this point. Our demise is a really hard topic to broach. I've lost a lot of people, especially some major players in my life (shoutout to the Dead Dads club), and still, I don't understand it all. But the best way I can explain it is through my own experience and how I applied it to this episode.

I had for a long time gone through life trying to prepare and prepare. I played the role of the strong, unaffected individual after being hardened by trauma in childhood. I didn't want to be outwardly emotional, because if I was I would have to admit defeat.

It made me feel weak, especially when my depression would whisper nasty things to me about my self-worth. The bigger picture at that time didn't even exist in my mind. I lived to serve and die. It was no way to live.

Only recently, with time, a couple grippy sock vacays and therapy have I started to form my own, new big picture. At the center of this is my interactions with others. Family, friends, and strangers, all of them are affected by my actions. Even during the days when I feel worthless or alone, I remind myself that even the little things I do have a spiderweb effect. I have worth, more so than serving others or being some obstacle. I can simply walk down the street and perhaps I'll be the person who some kid looks at and hopes to look like when they're older. My existence is so much more than just a give-and-take situation with everyone around me.

It felt like Pomni found her purpose in the circus, and it was more than just playing along until the end. Rather, it was to befriend the people around her who have proved in one way or another way that they care. Abstraction wasn't in vain to them. Lives mattered, and therefore so did Pomni.

In a vast, digital world where chaos looms like a grey cloud, Pomni always mattered. She just had to realize how, and it was much more than being an obstacle or a pawn. And so do we, I think.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

🎵 Hiya can i request Spencer and x reader with the Lyrics

I’ve found a reason for me to change who I used to be. A reason to start over new, and the reason is you - The Reason by Hoobastank

🎵

This yet again turned out way angstier than planned and I’m sorry for that. Hopeful ending though! Basically - what if Spencer didn’t get sober when he did?

The Reason

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - Spencer’s drug addiction cost him everything: his job, his friends and the love of his life. When he finally decides to get clean, can he convince you that you were the reason for his newfound sobriety?

CW - drug use, mentions of weight loss, slightly aggressive behaviour, swearing, rehab, twelve step program, hopeful ending.

WC - 2.9k

The hardest part of anything of a self destructive nature was how close knit you became with it. Addiction was now interwoven in the fabric of the Spencer Reid canvas, as much as any other facet of his life. 

Leaving it behind, as he’d tried and failed to do many times, felt like severing a limb. Giving up his vice would be like killing the very part of himself that taught him how to survive. 

Addiction was an inherently selfish disease. Somewhere along the line Spencer had stopped caring about anyone or anything that didn’t directly pertain to getting high. 

What had started as him using when the torment got too much had ended up in him using simply to feel ok. As time passed he needed more and more of the drug to reach the high he craved. And in turn that made it harder for him to even consider the idea of quitting. 

By this point his mind was clouded only by thoughts of drugs. It took a hold of him, wrapping its tentacles around him and dragging him down into an abyss of his own creation. 

His addiction had taken everything from him piece by piece; little by little. It had gotten in the way of his job, his work obligations becoming less important to him than getting high. 

And so he’d been fired from the BAU. 

It had taken his health, his energy and motivation. He’d lost more weight than he had to lose, or so he’d been told. But it also took away his ability to see the world clearly and so he didn’t notice the skeletal form staring back at him in the mirror. 

One by one it had destroyed his friendships. Some had held out longer than others, JJ and Garcia in particular trying to cloy Spencer back to reality far longer than anyone else. 

But his drug use made him angry, almost aggressive. And eventually even his two best friends had given up on him. But honestly, Spencer didn’t even have the impetus to care. 

Through it all, you remained stalwart. You were determined to stay by his side and help him every step of the way. 

But once it became clear that Spencer didn’t want your help, there really wasn’t much you could do but walk away too. 

Your two year relationship came to a sudden and horrible end one night when you’d tried to help him detox. He’d been drug free for twelve hours and thankfully he’d slept through most of that. 

But when he woke up was when it all went so horrifically wrong and after that night you knew Spencer was no longer the man you’d fallen in love with. 

He screamed and yelled and fought for you to let him out of the apartment, to let him buy more drugs. 

One more hit, that’s what he kept saying. One more hit and then I promise no more. 

With tears streaming down his face and trembling hands, looking more scared and lost than anyone you’d ever seen, it would have been easy to give him the world on a silver platter. 

But you remained strong, blocking the doorway with your body and refusing to let him out. You tried to reason with him that he didn’t need them, that everything was going to be ok without them. 

But Spencer was long past listening to reason. 

The final nail in the coffin that had been your relationship was when he forcibly grabbed you by the shoulders and peeled you away from the door with more strength than you knew he possessed.

He threw you aside like you were a discarded gum wrapper and you fell to the floor in a heap. And maybe if that had just been the end of it, you might have been able to salvage things. 

But it wasn’t the end. 

You were quick to jump back to your feet, grabbing his wrist as he went to open the door. You spun him to face you and as if in a blink of an eye his tears had dried and the eyes looking back at you weren’t the same ones you’d known for the last two years.

His eyes were so dark they were black, pupils bleeding into the gold of his irises and swallowing them whole. Looking back at you was a man you didn’t recognise. 

That was only further confirmed when he took you by the shoulders again and slammed you against the wall, causing a small whimper of pain to leave your lips as your back collided with the hard surface. 

His grip on your shoulders was like a vice, his blunt fingernails digging into your flesh even through your shirt. He looked manic, evil; and that terrified you.

“I swear to god Y/N if you try to stop me leaving the goddamn apartment…” he spat, trailing off at the end of his sentence. 

“You’ll what?” You bit back, despite the fear coursing through your body. 

“You don’t want me to answer that. Do not make me choose between drugs and you, because I can promise you, you will not like the outcome.” 

His grip on you tightened and you whimpered again, sure he would leave bruises. 

“S-Spencer, you’re hurting me.” Your voice was trembling. 

“No I’m not, don’t be so pathetic.” He snarled at you. 

“You’re scaring me.” 

“This is nothing compared to how scary I will be if you don’t let me out of this fucking apartment.” 

You knew then that it was over. For the first time in two years you didn’t see the love he held for you pooling from his eyes. You didn’t know this man. You certainly didn’t love him. 

And as much as you wanted to help him you knew you couldn’t. He was passed help. And you would only be putting yourself in danger if you stayed. 

“If you leave,” your voice cracked with emotion. “I won’t be here when you come back. If you choose drugs over me then we’re over, Spencer.” 

There hadn’t been even a hint of hesitation when he’d suddenly let you go, stepped back, shrugged and spoke again. 

“You can see yourself out then.” 

And that was the last time you saw him until, a little over a year later, when you received a phone call from the one person you never expected to hear from again. 

***

Spencer Reid was not a perfect person. There were many, many things he wished he hadn’t done. 

But taking the vials of dilaudid from the dead man who’d held him hostage was probably one of the dumbest. 

He tried to get sober but the longer he used the harder he found it to quit. For a time he managed to hide his addiction from everyone, you included, but it quickly spiralled out of control. 

Had he been in his right mind, there was no way he would have put anything above his relationship with you. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him, he still remembered meeting you like it was yesterday. 

You were a student in Gideon’s class around his age and on the occasions when he spent his time away from the BAU shadowing his mentor at the university, the two of you had grown close. 

You were his first relationship, he still even now didn’t really understand how someone like you was interested in someone like him. But he counted his lucky stars every single day. 

But his drug use got out of hand and really the moment you walked away should have been the wake up call he needed. Unfortunately it wasn’t. 

After that night he continued using for another ten months. That time passed him by slowly and rapidly in equal measure.

His whole life had fallen apart but all he could think of was his next hit. The small windows of clarity that came when he woke up in the morning didn’t last long as he often shot up before he’d even indulged in his first coffee of the day. 

Being sober terrified him. If he was sober too long then he would have time to reflect on all the things he’d lost and all the things Hankel had done to him. 

But then one morning before he stuck that needle in his vein, he ventured into his living room. 

It had been months since he’d seen this particular room through sober eyes and maybe that was why it had taken him so many months to notice it. 

It was innocuous in its smallness which paled in comparison to the rest of the room. Perhaps it was the sunlight seeping in between the cracks in the curtains, causing the item to shimmer that caught his attention. 

He padded towards it, the small glint of silver set against the dark wood floorboards just to the left of his front door. When he reached it, he fell to the ground and picked it up between his fingers. 

The cool metal of the chain tingled against his fingertips and he cradled the small pendant in his palm. 

On your first official date when Spencer had taken you for dinner you’d told him about your affinity for birds. 

Since you were a child you’d always loved the symbolism of them, of freedom and hope and new beginnings as well as courage and strength. 

He kept that piece of information with him and on your first anniversary he’d gifted you the small silver bird necklace he now held in his palm. 

You’d never once taken it off since he’d given it to you. And somehow it had remained on his floor for some ten months since the last time he’d seen you. 

And for whatever reason that necklace was like a beacon to Spencer. It was a sign that something needed to give, that he couldn’t carry on this way. 

So with the necklace still in hand he marched back to his bedroom and flushed the dilaudid down the toilet. 

Then he called JJ. 

Despite not talking to him in months she was more than happy to help her best friend. She checked him into the most elite rehab facility in the state, for which Rossi was footing the bill for. She stood by his side through the worst of the withdrawals, and he was visited by the members of his old team. 

During the course of getting sober he needed to make amends. One by one he did this, first with JJ and Rossi, then Penelope, Hotch and Emily and finally with Morgan. 

He was two months sober and still residing in the facility when he finally called you. 

He didn’t expect you to come, that’s not why he called. But you came anyway. 

He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how hard it was for you to visit him after a year had passed, after everything he’d put you through. 

Yet somehow you’d put your hurt and your anger aside simply because he’d called you. 

Sitting opposite you in the recreation room, all the things he’d thought he would say to you left his brain. Seeing you now the extent of the pain he’d caused you spread across your features and the only thought left in his head was how much he hated himself for putting you through that. 

He looked down at his hands, the paper beneath his fingers. The twelve steps. The twelve steps of which he was stuck right here on number nine. 

“The eighth step,” he whispered, tearing his eyes off the page to look back at you. “I managed the eighth. We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. The, uh, making of the list was the easy part. It’s the part that comes next that’s really hard.” 

You stayed silent, lips drawn in a tight line and back rigid in your seat. You waited for him to continue. 

“Step nine is the part that requires us to actually reach out to the people we’ve hurt and make amends with them. They tell us that the only exception to this should be in cases where trying to make amends will do more harm than good. Opening up old wounds, causing more pain. 

It’s why it took two months of being here to reach out. I’m worried that in doing so I may have very well done more harm than good. But uh, selfishly, I needed to apologise to you face to face. And I’m sorry if that’s opened all those old wounds for you.” He ran his fingers over the paper by way of keeping himself tethered. 

“I got used to you being selfish.” You replied passive aggressively and Spencer knew he deserved that and a whole lot worse. 

“I don’t have any excuses, Y/N.” He sighed, rolling his lip between his teeth. “The drugs turned me into someone I don’t even recognise. They brought out the worst in me and you had to suffer the brunt of it and for that I am truly sorry.” 

“Is that it?” You shrugged, sliding your chair back. “You wanted to apologise. You said it, I heard it. Are we done here?” 

Spencer watched with a confused frown as you got to your feet, slinging your purse over your shoulder. He picked up the sheet of paper and stood too. 

“Uh, I mean I guess so?” He pulled a face. 

Why would you agree to see him and come all this way for only a few minutes? 

He watched you turn on your heels and start towards the door while he stood scratching at the back of his neck. He stuffed the wrinkled paper into his pocket and as he did so his fingers brushed against the metal chain. 

He freed it from his pocket and held it up so the pendant was in his eye line, the little swallow with its wings spread wide as if in mid flight. 

Freedom. Hope. New beginnings. Courage. Strength. 

Suddenly he took off after you, catching up to you in the gardens as you headed up the path towards the parking lot. 

“We’re not done.” He called after you. “At least I’m not.” 

Your back straightened and your pace slowed until you were at a halt. Cautiously you turned back to face him. 

“What else is there to say, Spencer?” You exhaled loudly. 

He walked closer to you and you noticed the necklace dangling from his fingers. 

“Y/N, I am sorry that I hurt you. It’s something I’ve had to live with every day I’ve been sober. I wish I could take away all the pain I put you through but I can’t. But there’s something I need you to hear.” He gently reached out for your hand, turning it over so your palm was up and he placed the little bird inside of it, coiling the chain into your hand. 

You wrapped your fingers around it once he let you go, holding it tight as if it might come alive and fly away. 

“What? What do you need me to hear?” Your eyes gave way to your sadness, to the pain he’d caused you. 

“It was finding that necklace that gave me the courage I needed to ask for help. It gave me the strength I needed to get sober. It offered me the hope that I could get clean this time, the freedom of knowing I didn’t need drugs to survive. It gave me a new beginning, it opened a door for me to start over.” He felt tears in his eyes and he fought to keep them at bay. 

“Spencer, I’m really pleased you finally got sober, I am. But let’s not pretend it had anything to do with me or that necklace.” You swallowed, holding the chain tighter still. 

“No one’s pretending. It shouldn’t have taken me as long as it did to realise and I can’t change that. But I found a reason for me to change who I used to be. A reason to start over new.” He sniffed, unable to stop reaching for you and cupping the side of your neck. “And the reason is you.” 

Your own tears overflowed, one’s you didn’t realise had worked their way to your eyes. You loosened the grip on the chain slightly, letting your fingers brush over the metal. 

“Spencer,” you mumbled. “I…”

“I know it’s probably too late for all of this and I can’t expect you to just forgive me overnight. But if you think there’s ever a chance you might one day forgive me…it would mean a lot of you would come and visit again.” He let his hand fall to his side again and took a step back. 

You wiped your tears with your free hand and nodded slowly. 

“Can I…I need to think about it, ok? I just need to process all of this.” 

“Of course, take all the time you need.” He nodded. 

You said your goodbyes after that and Spencer slumped back inside, convinced he would never see you again. 

One week later when he arrived in the rec room to meet his visitor, you were sitting at the table waiting for him, smiling softly in his direction. 

And taking in the small silver swallow in its rightful place hanging around your neck, Spencer felt hope. A new beginning unfolding right before his very eyes in the recreation room of his rehab facility. 

As he slid into the chair opposite you and you reached across the table, brushing your fingers over his knuckles, he knew he’d found his reason for being put on this Earth. 

And the reason was you. 

[maimingaffairs]

HII IM DEEPLY AMAZED BY UR WRITINGS CUZ U GOT ME GIGGLING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL AND KICKING MY LEGS. ANYWAYS!!

I would like to request angst to fluff for Aleksander where they were past lovers but reader was killed just like what happened to Luda. Eventually on the present time (Alina's timeline ig), during the winter fete, Aleksander saw reader's face as Alina was doing her magic showcase ig and Aleksander followed reader outside (maybe for fresh air) and then thats when reader started getting flash backs maybe a headache (DO UR MAGIC HERE LOVE) and maybe when whe wakes up, he's asleep by her side and she just says "Sasha?" in that sweet tone and ALL FLUFF

(SORRY IF THIS WAS A BIT LONG, IM KINDA HAVING AN ENERGY OUTBURST)

hi my anon baby <3 i worked on this for a couple of days. sorry it’s so late!!! i feel as if i’ve seen a couple fics like this and i tried to make it as different as i could while still staying within the margins of your request… i hope it’s okay.

warnings: canon typical violence, character death (kind of?) blood, angst, fluff, all of it. just all of it.

word count: 4.7k

of Wildflowers & Damnation

(aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

-

Some days were easier than others. Just as on the other side of the coin, some days were harder. Inconveniently, today happened to be one of the harder days for Aleksander. He tried to reason with himself often that after nearly five hundred years of living, that he shouldn’t be so affected by loss anymore. 

That didn’t make it any easier, unfortunately. He’d lost so much in his life, that he didn’t mourn so heavily, and then he’d lost you. 

He’d met you nearly two hundred years after the creation of the fold, and to say he loved you would be to say it was only a bit cold in the arctic, which is to say, it was a gross understatement. He loved you more deeply than he ever knew was possible, and perhaps that’s why it was so terribly hard to accept even all these years later, that you just weren’t alive any longer, while he lived on. 

He had tried to bring you back, he really did. Much to his mother’s dismay, for the second time in his life, he resorted to the use of merzost to heal you. But you never woke. 

Aleksander stood silently near his door. It was nearly time for him to find Alina, to join the festivities at the Winter Fete, to show the country’s most influential just how powerful the Sun Saint really was. He knew it was time to go, but his mind wouldn’t rest.  It wouldn’t stop replaying your last day with him. 

-

The two of you walked hand in hand through the forest that was just behind your small home. Aleksander wasn’t normally one for such plain and domestic types of endeavors, but the wildflowers were blooming in the valley at this time of year, and he wanted nothing more but to see you smile at them, as you did every year before that. 

“Do you have a favorite flower, Sasha?” You had asked him softly and looked up at him with a big grin. You better than anyone knew that he wasn’t much of a flower person, but the question was still on your mind as you walked together. 

He thought to himself for a moment as he peered down at your excited face and then he shrugged, “Oh, there’s too many to choose from, my lovely. Perhaps a dandelion.”

“Dandelions are weeds, Aleksander.” You pointed out and he shook his head and nudged your side. 

“They still bloom, do they not?”

You didn’t seem to like this answer, because you simply huffed under your breath and gave his hand a little squeeze, “Okay but I meant a real flower. Not a little yellow weed.” You insisted. 

He thought for a moment longer and then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, “Alright. Poppies.” He finally conceded and you seemed to like this answer much more than the last, because you hummed and sidled up to him sweetly, your head resting against the side of his arm. 

“Poppies. I would’ve taken you for a rose person.” You mused. 

“And why roses?” He asked, curious to hear your response. 

“Because. They’re terribly beautiful, but you wouldn’t dare just grab one recklessly. They’re covered in thorns. You have to be gentle with them, work around the thorns. Then it’s yours to have. Kinda like you. Just gotta work around your thorns.” You replied and then let out a tiny giggle, “At least, that’s what I did. Seemed to work out just fine for me.” 

Your words made his chest feel as if it was flooding with impossible new amounts of affection for you and he stopped the two of you where you walked and he leaned down to delicately wrap both of his arms around your waist. You eagerly wrapped your tiny arms around his shoulders and he moved down a bit more, closer to your level. 

To Aleksander, you were the sweetest thing in the world. Everything from your kind smile to your fiery attitude made him swell with love for you. To love and be loved in return was such a strange concept for him to grasp. Especially when the returned love was given by such a gentle soul such as yourself. He often found himself unworthy of such a love, unworthy of your kindness, your care, your acceptance. You knew of his past transgressions, yet you loved him anyways, always insisting that mistakes get made. Everyone messes up. To the world, he was The Darkling. The Black Heretic. A wicked man with a soul as dark as his eyes. That version of himself even existed in his own mother’s eyes. But to you, he was simply Aleksander. 

He held you even tighter now and he buried his face in your hair for a long time before he slowly pulled away from you and brought his hands up to delicately cup your face. He held your face so gently as if he was convinced it would shatter between his fingers and he watched your eyes, fascinated by you. 

“What a sweet little thing, you are. What did I ever do in this life to have been blessed with such a love?” He asked softly, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours a few times. 

“If I had to guess, it might have had something to do with your sympathy for weeds. I suppose they need love too.” You teased, and he didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your teasing before he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. You kissed him back and placed your hands on top of his, letting out another little giggle into his mouth. He pulled back and watched you in amusement, a smile spreading across his own face. 

“What could you possibly be laughing at during a moment like this?” He asked and you scrunched your nose up and patted the backs of his hands a few times. 

“Your beard tickled my lip.” You replied gleefully, your eyes meeting his in a mirthful gaze. 

He slowly pulled away from you and took your hand again, pulling you into his side as the two of you started to walk once more, “Shall I cut it then?” He asked and chuckled. 

You practically skipped alongside him as the two of you walked and you shook your head, “No. I think you look handsome. But you might need a haircut soon. You’ve got bangs nearly.” You pointed out and reached up with your free hand to push a strand of hair away from his eyes, “Don’t worry. I can do it for you.” You added and laid your head against the side of his arm once again. 

He laced his fingers in between yours and gave your hand an affectionate squeeze as he led you down along the dirt path, “How have your lessons with my mother been going?” He asked. 

It was your turn to nearly roll your eyes now and you took a quick glance up at Aleksander, “Well. She doesn’t like me much, and I’m still not very good at controlling my fire so… to be continued. Maybe. I don’t know. Perhaps I just don’t want to learn anymore. I have no use for these powers.” You replied and tapped the side of his hand with your pinky finger. 

You were an Inferni, a poor one at that. Normally Aleksander would protest and tell you to embrace your gift but he didn’t this time, resigning to let you speak your mind. If you didn’t want to pursue your abilities, he wouldn’t force you, “I don’t think she dislikes you.” He replied down at you finally. 

“Oh, I think she does. She’s always got a backhanded comment locked and loaded just for me.” You argued with a little sigh. 

Aleksander knew it wasn’t you that she disliked in specific. It was just the fact that his mother disliked the fact that he was selfish enough to let himself love you. She always insisted that he’d ruin you, just like the girl he loved before you. She insisted that he wasn’t meant for you, always telling him to set you free before he inadvertently broke your wings. Deep down, he knew his mother was right. She usually was. But he couldn’t bring himself to ever make you leave. Not now. He was too far in. 

He shook his head a couple of times and sighed, “She’s not exactly inviting. But that’s not to say she dislikes you. Don’t pay her any mind, my love.” He replied and then brought your intertwined hands up to his lips so that he could place a few light kisses to your knuckles.

He lowered your hands back down between the two of you once again and he glanced up over the hill in the distance. You two were nearly to the small valley and he could tell your excitement was growing, because your steps got more hurried and you occasionally would let out giddy squeals and hums. 

A snap of a stick on the path behind you had Aleksander sweeping you in front of him as he turned around to survey the area. The two of you had stopped walking now and he looked around behind both of you, finding nothing. 

“What was that?” You asked quietly and glanced up at your lover, feeling a bit uneasy. 

“I’m not sure, darling.” He replied cautiously and turned back around to glance down at you. 

Your eyes were already fixed up on his face. You didn’t look scared, but you didn’t look like you felt too secure either, and he didn’t blame you. Something had shifted in the forest around you two, there was a strange feeling. You grabbed onto his arm tightly and you gave it a little tug. 

“Sasha, we don’t have to go any farther. We can head back home now.” You whispered, but he shushed you softly and turned back around slowly to check the path behind the pair of you. 

A small snapping sound came again, but this time it was now in front of the two of you. There was a little shuffle and another snap and he felt you yank his arm again.

“Aleksander.” 

He turned around as your grip on his arm loosened and he looked down at your face, which was now drained of color. You wobbled a bit and fell forward onto him, and he swiftly caught you with a shocked exclamation of your name. 

He held you upright and that’s when he saw the arrow that had lodged itself in your back and stuck out through your chest. He wildly looked around and had spotted two men in thick furs darting out from behind a tree. Drüskelle. He had barely a second to move the two of you before they let loose another arrow and he retaliated quickly. 

One of the men let out a yell in their native tongue and Aleksander wasted no time in quickly diving down to the ground with you as another arrow flew. He gently sat you up against one of the small trees on the edge of the path and turned around, and with zero hesitation, finished the two men off easily with The Cut. As they fell to the ground, he looked around for more. When none came, he turned to you and scooped you up into his arms as quickly as he could, not daring to pull the arrow from your chest quite yet. 

“Hey, hey. Y/n. You’re going to be alright.” He insisted. 

But the way your head lolled to the side weakly made him think otherwise. You didn’t respond to him, but you looked up into his eyes, tears beading in the corners of yours. 

“We’re going home. I’m taking you to my mother, we can fix this.” He promised and didn’t wait a single second more before he was dashing off down the path with you hanging all but limply in his arms. He could feel the warmth of your blood seeping through the sleeve of his shirt and he grit his teeth, refusing to let himself panic. You were going to be okay. You had to be. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Aleksander was going to let you go now that he had finally found you after years upon years of being alone. He didn’t notice the tears gathering in his own eyes until they were falling down his cheeks and you let out a distressed sound.

“No, Sasha. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.” You whispered hoarsely, and the sound of your voice only made it worse.

He ran straight out of the forest and through the field behind your home before he finally ran through the back door. He laid you down on your side atop the round wooden table in the middle of the room and he yelled for his mother, who came shortly after he called. 

“Mother. We need to do something. Drüskelle, in the forest attacked us, and they-“ he started frantically, only to be cut off by the older woman.

“There is nothing you can do, Aleksander.” She said shortly and then shook her head, “We don’t have a healer nearby. We aren’t healers ourselves.”

He looked over at you, and you seemed so much smaller than usual now, curled up on the table with an arrow still protruding from your back, “Mother, there has to be a way. I will not let my lover die.” 

“There is no way. There is no natural way for us to save lives. You know this. Bid her goodbye.” She said sternly. 

His head perked up a bit and he reached out to make sure you were still alive by touching your pulse. 

Weak, but still there. Just barely. 

“But I can. I can do it, I’ve practi-“ 

“You cannot!” She protested and held her hand up to her son, “You will not! You will take whatever time you have left and say goodbye, for it is only the way of life. We see life come and go and we remain. Not even you can change that. I’ll give you space. That is final.” Baghra said sharply and turned on her heel to leave the two of you alone. 

Aleksander was at your side in half a second, and he crouched down to be level with your face. Tears were rolling across your face and your lip trembled fearfully. 

“It doesn’t hurt, Sasha. Don’t worry about me please.” You whispered and he reached out to brush tears from your eyes. 

“I’m going to fix this. Okay? You aren’t going to die today. I swear it.” He promised, but his faith was running thin. He reached out and he grabbed your arm gently and held you in place, “I’m going to remove the arrow, okay? And then we’re going to heal you.”

“You are not a healer, Aleksander. Don’t do this.” You begged softly and he looked down into your eyes again. He pursed his lips and shook his head a few times. 

“I won’t lose you. I won’t walk this earth without you by my side, do you understand?”

“No, Aleksander, no.” You protested, trying your best to sound stern like Baghra had, but your voice faltered and he knew you didn’t have much time left. 

He ignored your protests and grabbed hold of the arrow and quickly pulled it out of your back, and whatever voice you had left was spent on the wail you let out as your blood began to freely spill out over the table. He quickly threw himself over you, only to find you shaking. He looked down at your face to learn that your shaking was from your silent sobs and he frowned deeply. 

He was going to save you. It was going to be alright. 

He closed his eyes and placed his hand over the bleeding hole in your back, wracking his brain for the strength to use the magic so forbidden that had been abused by his ancestor, to heal you. To save you. 

He let out an agonized yell and finally felt the same cold, pricking sensation spread through his veins that had occurred the day he created The Fold. He felt stinging in his fingertips as he pushed out everything he could from his hand into your wound. Into you. 

At long last, the stinging stopped and subsided, and Aleksander realized you’d gone still under his touch. He felt a little splash of relief and he turned you around onto your back, only to find your eyes closed. He felt his face drain of all color and he shakily reached up to feel your pulse against your throat. 

Nothing. 

To say the days following were that of pure anguish was to put it lightly. He’d taken you to the valley of millions and millions wildflowers and laid you to rest there. At least he knew you’d be somewhere you loved. 

For weeks after your death, Baghra was full of warnings and disappointment for him, chastising him for using merzost once more. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done, Aleksander. You may have very well not healed your lover, but you don’t know what you’ve done. This will come back to you one day. You will regret it. There will be punishment.” She warned.

Not that he cared. 

“Let me regret it. Let it haunt me for the rest of my days, woman. It’s not the only ghost that hangs above my head, now.”

-

You didn’t recall much. At all. All you knew is that one day you suddenly did recall, as if it was the beginning of your life. 

Amnesia the doctor called it. You’d likely had a head injury and forgotten things, that’s all. 

Whatever you were before, whatever life you led, it was erased from your mind without a single clue as to what it had been prior. In the last few years that you started recalling, you’d worked as a dress maker in the city of Ketterdam. When one of your clients had graciously invited you to come to Ravka’s Winter Fete with her and her daughter in trade of two elegant gowns for them, you’d accepted her offer immediately. 

So there you stood, in the hallway of the crowded Ravkan palace, eyes traveling the faces of everyone who passed by. The two girls you’d attended with had gone off to greet the royal family, and you’d stayed back, opting to survey the crowd instead. You’d heard word that the Sun Summoner was going to be putting on a display in only a few short moments, and just as the thought crossed your mind, it all began. It started with a whirlwind of activity, and you watched the Grisha throughout the room showcase their abilities skillfully, and the sight invoked a strange feeling deep within your chest. You had the sudden urge to bring your hands together just as they did, feeling as if you could perform alongside them. You fought the urge back and flexed your hands a bit at your sides, shaking off the strange feeling.

Your eyes travelled to the front of the room and they fell upon a girl and a man, standing shoulder to shoulder, both wearing black. You assumed it was the Sun Summoner and who you had heard to be General Kirigan, the fierce Ravkan general who also happened to be Grisha. As the pair began their display of power, you felt your head begin to ache dully, and once the Sun Summoner’s light lit up the entire room, the pain in your head only grew sharper. 

Everyone in the room seemed to be filled with excitement, and as the display was done, the volume seemed to increase tenfold, making you clutch your head between your palms. 

The pair at the front of the room turned around and when you saw The General’s face, you blinked a few times. A thought clawed at the inside of your mind, begging to be let free. But you didn’t know how. You didn’t even know what it was. He seemed to notice you shortly after you noticed him, and you could’ve sworn you saw a look of complete astonishment cross his face as quick as a flash of lightning.  

Suddenly the room seemed to blur out as if in your periphery and you gasped as little flickers of imagery flashed behind your eyes. 

A field of flowers, the darkest eyes you’d ever seen, and fire. You furrowed your brow together and you leaned your hand up against the nearest wall, your chest rapidly rising and falling with short, quick breaths. Disorientation fell upon you and you found yourself stumbling through the crowd of partygoers and out of the room. The bustling hallway was a struggle for you to navigate, but you eventually prevailed and found the door to the courtyard. You all but went falling out the door and you stumbled clumsily until you reached grass and you held your hand to your chest as you stopped running. You felt sick to your stomach and your hands began to feel clammy and you swore that you heard someone calling your name- though you were unsure how you knew the name was yours- because you hadn’t been called by it before. You couldn’t even respond in anyway before your eyes rolled back into your head, and you were collapsing backwards towards the ground. 

-

Aleksander felt insane when he followed you out of the palace. He’d had days where all he could do was think of you, but never once had he seen your face anywhere but his mind. He called after you, but you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did, you didn’t respond. He walked briskly up to you just in time to watch you collapse, and he lunged forward to catch your falling body in his arms awkwardly. The strange angle at which he held you up at made you look so small and fragile, and he hoisted you up into his arms. It couldn’t be you. There was no possible way it could have been. He didn’t dare look down at your face for a few moments, standing there in the courtyard with his jaw set firmly. 

Finally, he did dare to look down, and when he did, he almost found himself collapsing with you. Sure, you were unconscious and your hair had become a bit tousled, but there was no mistaking the face that he saw. It was yours. His y/n. 

He looked around wildly, trying to come up with an explanation for the mere fact that his very dead lover was here. How you were here. He buried you. He reached up with one hand and he brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheeks. He refused to let himself feel relieved or happy or excited. If this was the punishment his mother had promised him years ago, he wouldn’t give in. But he couldn’t just leave you. Not out here, not like this. He stood with you in his arms for a while longer in contemplation before ultimately deciding he’d take you back to his chambers and wait for you to wake. If you woke. Then he’d proceed to ask who you were, to figure out what was happening. 

He carried you off through the night towards the nearly deserted Little Palace, and once inside, he made a beeline for his bedroom. Once he reached the shelter of his room, he closed the door fast and locked it, looking around to make sure no one was inside. He promptly walked you to his bed and laid you out on it, staring down at you. The urge to lay at your side was consuming his every thought and he ground his teeth together, fighting back a round of tears. 

Yours was the face he saw when he fell asleep. Every night. Some dreams were pleasant. You and him in the flowers, or even in bed together, happily. He’d hear your laugh, your hums, your sweet voice… all of it. Some dreams were not so kind, and these were the ones where he relived your last moments over and over again. 

His endless patience had seemed to run out and his will to remain complacent broke. He’d take the pain of having to lose you again if this wasn’t real, he’d be damned all over again to feel the emptiness of your loss if only just a moment of his time could be spent by your side one last time. 

So he kicked off his boots and removed his black decadent kefta, and he slid down into the bed next to you, his eyes not leaving your face once. He reached out across the minimal space he gave between the two of you and he grazed his fingertips across your cheekbones, up into your hair, down the side of your neck and along your jaw. Everywhere. He traced the outline of your lips and he swiped the pad of his thumb across your chin. Not a single thing had differed from his memory. If you’d told him he’d plucked you out from behind his eyes and laid you out in front of him, he would’ve believed it. 

Oh yes, if he was to be damned with the consequences of trying to save you, then he’d take them. He’d take them graciously if it meant one last night at your side. 

-

He was unsure of when he fell asleep, but he didn’t ever realize that he had until he felt hands on his face. His eyes shot open and he expected sunlight to light up his room, but instead it was dark, with only a glimmer of silver light filtering through the window. He frantically looked across from him on his bed and he reached up to push the hands away from his face, but once his eyes focused in the moonlit room, he dropped his hands and found himself lost in your eyes instead. 

Your hands stayed against his cheeks and you seemed to be at a loss for words. He knew the feeling well. It was mutual. 

The state of unconsciousness you had fallen into had been one of unrest. Memories upon memories began to flood your head all at once. Still, you were unaware of how you were alive and how you had come to be unearthed, but you assumed it must have had something to do with the merzost that you so vehemently opposed him using. 

He reached out to touch your face so gently, as if he thought you were only a figment of the moonlight and would disappear underneath his touch. When you didn’t, he let out a sigh, one that sounded terrified and relieved all at the same time. You couldn’t find your voice while you stared at him, your mouth wanting to form a thousand words all at once. 

Until it settled on just one.  

“Sasha?”

To Aleksander, this was the sweetest sound he’d heard in his entire long life, and he couldn’t help the tears that loosed themselves from his eyes. He could only nod in response as he wrapped his arms around your small form and he pulled you against his chest. 

If this was damnation, then he’d embrace it with open arms, and if this was a second chance to save you from the consequences of his past, then he’d do better this time. Whatever the case may be, he wasn’t going to leave this room until he was sure you wouldn’t evaporate into nothing. He laid his hand ever so protectively against the back of your head and he leaned his own head down until his lips touched your hairline. He could’ve whispered a million things to you at that moment, promised you everything, sung you praises and profess his love until he ran out of the breath to do so with, but he’d never been one for that many words all at once. So he leaned down to press his lips against yours, and it said everything he couldn’t all at once. He pulled back slowly and he tipped your head back a bit so that he could gaze down at your face, unchanged by all this time. 

And so he uttered out a promise, one that he intended to keep this time, no matter the cost.

“Yes, my sweet girl. It’s me, and I will never lose you again.” 

[roguelov]

Remember Me

Summary: On a trip to the Waking, Dream returned but, with something missing. He had no memories of you, of his love. So, you may have an idea on how to get his memories back.

Word Count: ~4k

Reader: Afab

Warnings: Smut (unprotected sex, riding, minor oral (male!receiving), minor dirty talk), slight angst in beginning, lots of fluff at the end

Requested by the lovely @duckland

MINORS DNI/ 18+ ONLY

“I’m sorry.”

It was the same repetitive drone - an annoying buzz in your ears.

Who were they sorry for?

You? Or Morpheus, your sweet Morpheus?

Morpheus had taken a trip to the Waking only to return broken - or at least broken to you. You were not sure how, why, or who did it, but Morpheus could not remember you. He could not remember any aspect, not any of the time spent together, not even your name.

Everyone - the entirety of the Waking and even a few of Dream’s siblings - tried to help. They tried anything and everything to return his memories, but it all ended in failure. Now, you were left with pointless apologies, apology after apology each one grating on your nerves.

So, you hid.

Hiding from the pitiful stares, hiding from the insurmountable heartache, hiding from the one person who you cherished more than creation itself.

However, you couldn’t - and shouldn’t - hide forever. And before you worked up the courage, your feet had already carried you to him, carried you home. You knocked on the bedroom door, knocked on your own bedroom door.

A voice, so soothing and resounding, spoke from the other side. “You may enter.”

You opened the door, peeking your head in.

Morpheus sat perfectly straight on the edge of the vast bed draped in his signature midnight color. His eyes, those beautiful twinkling blue, stared off emotionless as he retreated deep within his thoughts searching through his shattered memories. His hands clasped together, yet he mindlessly twisted a ring - a ring he cannot recall giving nor receiving, a matching ring you wore on your hand.

His eyes slid over to you, blank and reserved.

Eyes of a forgotten life.

He stopped fidgeting with his hands, and placed them in his lap. He nodded, respectfully. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You hovered by the door. “Is it okay if I come in?”

“This is your place, just as it is mine so please do not feel you cannot enter because of my sake.”

You nodded, closing the door behind you. You shuffled over, and plopped down on the bed with a sizable space between the two of you. Swallowing down the pain, you whispered. “Did any of it help? Being in here? Seeing our life together?”

Morpheus paused, then solemnly shook his head. “I am truly sorry, but I cannot recall you nor our life together.”

Your throat constricted. You blinked back a few tears and nodded, turning away from him.

“I wish I could.” He confessed in a soft voice. His attention was back on the ring. “I cannot remember anything, but it does pain me to see such a sullen look on your face” - his eyes flickered over, connecting with yours “- and if such feelings reside in me then maybe not all hope is lost.”

You blinked.

And surprisingly, you laughed. A short bubble of laughter.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed together.

“You,” you smiled softly at him, “you are still my Dream; still hopeful despite it all.”

His eyes widened slightly, taken back by your statement. Yet, his shock vanished, giving way to a kind, gentle smile. A loving smile only you ever saw. “I am beginning to see why you are part of my life.”

You laughed again, a true loud laugh filled with joy and hope.

Oh, it was like an old melody to Morpheus. One he had rediscovered after centuries, and nearly lost to time. His heart skipped - a quick flutter. He truly loved such thrilling feelings - feelings that he deeply missed, feelings that apparently came true again with you.

“What?” He breathed out, wishing to hear the reason for your honey rich laughter.

“Sorry,” your laughter faded, but a wide grin was left behind, “you always said you couldn’t imagine a life without me. I guess hearing you say that just proves that your memories of us are still inside you just locked away somehow.”

“Ah.”

You smiled. “You know, you called me your North Star once, that I was the one thing always guiding you back home.”

“My star.” He whispered, tasting how the words were familiar on his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Yeah, your star.”

A frown tugged on the corner of his lips. Questions surged. Why did this happen? How could it be fixed? Why did his heart ache in your presence? Why were his thoughts scrambled and confusing? How could he forget his love?

How could he forget his beautiful star?

Seeing his frown, you leaned over and clasped his hand. His eyes fell to your hand. Hesitantly, unsure of himself, he turned his hand, offering his palm. You instantly, like all the times before, intertwined your fingers with his, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “We will figure this out.”

He continued to stare at your hand in his, stare at the set of matching rings. He wordlessly nodded.

“Morpheus.”

His eyes trailed up.

You tilted your head and smiled, trying to ease any of his worries and pains. With your free hand, you reached out to cup his face, but froze. Your hand hovered awkwardly beside his face. He was Dream, your Dream, but you weren’t his - you were still a stranger.

“You may touch me.” His voice was low, oddly thick with uncertain emotions.

You cupped his face.

He immediately leaned into your touch, and sighed in relief. Odd, how a stranger brought such comfort.

But how can I unlock his memories? You thought.

You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone. “Can … can I try something?”

“What?”

“Could,” you nervously licked your lips, “could I kiss you? I … I don’t know if it could help or -“

“You may.” He answered.

Anything, he thought. Anything to remember you.

You blinked, surprised by his eagerness. You mumbled a shaky ‘okay’. You scooted closer, and drew his face towards yours. Your eyes dropped to his lovely pink lips. Leaning in, your lips brushed over his, almost waiting for him to tell you to stop. Nothing, no objections. You closed your eyes and pressed a gentle chaste kiss.

However, Morpheus stared, rigid. Somehow overwhelmed and underwhelmed all at once.

Just a hollow ache.

You began to pull back.

“Is that how you greet your husband?” Morpheus amused by your short fleeting kiss.

You hummed, smiling. “If you want something, then ask my dear husband.”

His heart leapt into his throat.

A memory, just a passing snippet, but one memory had returned. You backed away, but he soon quickly chased after you. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him. “Again,” he muttered against your lips, “please, kiss me again.

You didn’t hesitate, and you didn’t hold back.

You kissed him with more passion - with more desperation.

Please, bring him back to me.

You threw your arms over his shoulders, and carded your fingers through the ends of his hair. He sighed, fluttering his eyes closed. Your lips moved in sync, in this wondrous dance of take and give. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss. Your tongue grazed over his bottom lip. It ached for entry, and you could only pray he would answer. And he did, he relinquished all control.

Your lips curled into a giddy smile. Your tongue slipped in, tasting him just as you’ve done so many times before. Your nails scraped against his head. He shivered. You tugged on his soft raven locks.

Morpheus hummed.

He was thrilled by how well you knew his body, and how easily he reacted to your touch.

Without thinking, he moved you. He brought you onto his lap.

It was instinctual, completely out of habit.

Your hands slid out of his hair, dragging your nails down his neck, down his shoulders, and rested on his chest. You bunched up his shirt. Needs and pleasure clouded you. You gently pushed on him. He fell back onto the blankets and pillows.

His chest heaved - all his air was stolen by you. Not only the air in his lungs, but his thoughts were stolen too.

Stolen by a not quite stranger.

Breathless, you stared down at Morpheus. His eyes showed no signs of recognition, only hints of wonder and confusion for the stranger who knew him so well. Did I take it too far? Am I overstepping? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -“

“It’s okay,” he said. “I asked for that, did I not?”

You nodded and quietly asked, “So, did … did it help? Did you remember anything?”

“I did.”

“You did?” You tried not to let your excitement overtake you.

“It was small, a simple conversation.”

“Okay, uh, that’s good,” you whispered.

Your lips still tingled with the ghost of his, and you could still taste him on your tongue. Nervously, you adjusted yourself to comfortably straddle his waist. Your hands still laid on his chest, resting above his beating heart.

Should you keep going?

God, you wanted to.

But.

“We can keep going or we can stop. Just tell me. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” You said.

Morpheus’s hands skimmed up your thighs, and curled around your hips. Again, it was such a natural act - it was what felt right.

You smirked down at him. The sunlight from Fiddler’s Green haloed around you. “What do you want, my king?”

“You.” He answered. His hands latched onto your hips, not wishing for you to be anywhere else. “You and only you, my love - my star.”

Morpheus blinked.

Another memory, another wonderful memory. His back itched at the faint memory of the prickly blades of grass, and his skin was warmed by the nonexistent sun.

It was all here. All the memories of you were still here.

“Morpheus?” You asked, concerned by his silence.

He swallowed, tightening his grip on you. “Do not stop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I want to remember.”

You smiled. You bent down, and kissed him softly. “As you wish, my king.”

My king.

He loved how it rolled off your tongue.

Yours.

You trailed kisses down his jaw and neck. He instantly craned his head, surprised by how his body simply acted.

“I will never grow tired of marking your skin,” you whispered the confession into the crook of his neck. Your teeth grazed over his flawless skin, making him shiver. You enjoyed - immensely - marking his skin, enjoyed how easily he bruised, and how quickly he healed to repeat the process all over again the next night. “And you may not remember now, but I know you love it when I do.”

“Louder,” you murmured. You nipped at his neck, adding to the countless amount of love bites you created. “I want the whole kingdom to hear you.”

Morpheus groaned.

“Again.”

A moan, faint and soft, rumbled in the back of his throat. Memories and reality clashed together, fueling his growing pleasure.

You sat back, and ran your hands down his chest. Biting your lip, you slipped your hands under his shirt.

His breath stuttered.

Your delicate fingers traced over every curve, every taunt muscle, every inch of his body. To you, his body was an instrument. You knew where to touch to draw out such lovely sounds, to create a symphony of pleasure. Slowly, you lifted up his shirt, revealing the body you had seen dozens upon dozens times before. The body of a friend, the body of a lover, the body of your husband.

Before you could ask, Morpheus sat up, shucked off his coat and shirt then tossed it all onto the floor.

Excited, you started to remove your shirt, when his hands stopped you.

“May I?” He asked.

You smiled. “Of course.”

Taking the hem of your shirt, he carefully lifted it up and over your head, throwing it into the pile he created. His eyes fell to your body - a body he had not seen before, but his hands knew of it. They danced over your skin, running over your curves and edges. Like muscle memory.

Yet, he did not touch you where you wanted him to. You swiftly unclipped your bra, adding it to the pile on the floor.

Morpheus, however, stared, transfixed by you.

“You can touch me,” you whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

His hands brushed up your sides and cupped your bare breasts. You let out a breathy sigh, and dropped your head forward. He gently played with them, kneading and occasionally pinching your hardened nipples. He was more enthralled by your soft moans that constantly tumbled out of your parted lips.

But, he quickly moved on.

One hand glided up your chest, and grabbed the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

Your lips.

He could not get enough of your lips.

“Morpheus,” you mumbled as his lips left yours. “What are you doing?”

He smiled, one that hid secrets. “Can I not kiss the one I love?”

You huffed, smiling back at him. “You can, but here? In the library?“

He swooped in again, stealing another kiss. “I wish to kiss you wherever and whenever I please.”

Morpheus parted his lips, and slipped his tongue in your mouth. It swirled around, savoring each second. He knew without thinking exactly how to render you into a mess.

And a mess you were becoming.

You whimpered, and clung to him. You rolled your hips, needing just a bit of friction.

Morpheus moaned in your mouth.

Empowered by it, you rolled your hips again.

He swiftly broke the kiss, releasing a shaky breath. All of this was insanity, but he wouldn’t stop - couldn’t.

And neither could you.

You were becoming relentless.

You kissed up and down his neck, and soon nipped at him. The first of many marks to come. He hummed, and wrapped his arms around your waist. You bit him again, and again, sucking on his bruisable skin. He groaned, holding you tighter.

“I will make you remember me,” you promised.

He shivered. Such an exciting promise.

You pushed him back down. And he willingly complied.

Smiling, you then began to kiss down his chest. Occasionally, biting and sucking at his skin.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

Marking up his chest, you moved farther and farther downwards. You kissed each of his hips, then paused - paused at the waistband of his pants, clearly in the way. You peered up at him.

He cracked open his eyes, glancing down at you. His heart soared at such a sight: you peering up through your lashes with a teasing smile on your swollen lips. Licking his lips, he nodded - a quick jerk.

Your smile widened.

Undoing his pants, you swiftly discarded all the layers of confining fabrics, including his underwear. The King of Dreams, Ruler of the Nightmare Realm laid completely bare before you, with red splotches dotted over his once perfect skin, just like so many times before.

Your eyes fell to his hardened cock. Biting back a smile, you carefully wrapped your fingers around it.

He tilted his chin back, groaning through clenched teeth. With the barest feathery touch, pleasure - unadulterated pleasure - surged through him. Pleasure he didn’t know of, but his body certainly did.

“Remember all of our nights spent together.” You teasingly stroked him. His mouth fell open, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Remember how some of those nights I had you begging.”

“Say it, Morpheus.”

Morpheus sprawled out on his back. Sweat covered his forehead, making his usually chaotic hair lay down flat. He was left utterly breathless. His hand was tangled in your hair, tugging on it in a silent plea to keep going. He licked his lips, and mumbled, “Please.”

You smirked, peering up at him with your face nestled between his legs. You peppered butterfly kisses up his cock. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Morpheus moaned.

Your thumb ran over his tip collecting his precum. Your movements were painstakingly slow, easing him - or torturing him in his case - to his high.

He greedily bucked his hips.

“Patience,” you purred, “I need you to remember all of it.”

You let go of him, and he nearly whined.

“Remember how my lips feel against your skin.” You nipped his hip, bruising him further. “Remember how my hands trail over your body.” Your hands skimmed up his sides, sending waves of goosebumps. “Remember how I whisper and moan in your ear.” You crawled on top of him, and ducked your head and gently blew at his ear. He shivered. “Remember how much you mean to me.”

“I love you.”

Morpheus froze. He slowly turned, looking at you. You were gaping like a fish, stunned by your own sudden confession.

“I … I do,” you mumbled, finding your voice again, “and you don’t have to say anything right now. I just … I just thought you should know. I love you, Morpheus.”

He stayed silent, his expression was blank.

Embarrassed, you glanced away.

“Love … love is something I know of fondly, and I also know of the heartbreak and ruin that inevitably follows.” His voice was barely above a whisper as the truth spilled out.

You peered back over at him.

His expression was now soft, and full of love and adoration. He gently cupped your face, bringing you close to him. He pressed his forehead to yours, letting his world be consumed by you. He smiled, “But with you, it feels … different. I know it will be. You keep me grounded, and I am safe and home with you by my side. You, my love, are my guiding star - my North Star, always bringing me back to you. So yes, I do love you. I love you more than you could ever fathom.”

You pulled away from him, looking down at his lust filled eyes - the dark void overtaking the pristine blue galaxies.

You quickly shimmed out of your pants and underwear, wanting to fill his needs, wanting him to come back to you.

You hovered over him. The tip of his cock skimmed over your wet folds. You cursed under your breath. While, Morpheus’s hands latched onto your hips, excited and relieved. He almost pushed you down himself. But, thankfully, you finally gave in.

You sank down on him, enjoying how he stretched and filled you.

His jaw clenched. Heavenly, would be one word to describe such a sensation. Addicting, would be another.

Your hands rested on his chest. You began to move your hips up and down - savoring it, memorizing it. How deliciously full you felt, how easily he meddled with your body.

Countless nights spent like this, countless nights of love and passion, countless nights of whispered confessions. You wouldn’t lose him, you couldn’t.

Your nailed dragged down his chest as you found a steady rhythm.

A moan rumbled in his throat.

His hands moved up and splayed across your back. He then, surprising himself, sat up. He was so desperate to have you closer. It was cold without your skin pressed up against his.

Cold and lonely.

Smiling at him, your hands moved to his shoulders for support. You continued to bounce, an easy languid pace, watching as pleasure washed over his features. Your fingers played with the edges of his hair, occasionally tugging on him sending shivers down his spine.

Then, you rolled your hips.

Waves of pleasure coursed through Morpheus. He dropped his head, nuzzling his face into your neck. His heavy breath fanned over your hot skin.

“Look at me, Morpheus, please.” His head fell back, staring up at you with dazed eyes. You smiled, and pressed your forehead to his. “I’m right here. I got you.”

Looking into your eyes, he was lost within them.

Lost within the surge of memories.

Each one zipped by, each one beautiful and loving, from the moment you met to the last one - him kissing you goodbye before he left for the Waking. It was a chaotic whirlwind, leaving him dizzying and his heart pounding.

He blinked as tears welled up, he matched your smile and cupped your face. “My star.”

Your heart skipped. Is he -

“My sweet star,” he pressed his lips to yours, “how could I forget you.”

You laughed, almost about to cry with absolute joy. “Morpheus, my Dream, welcome back.”

He kissed you again, loving how your lips fit against his. The perfect puzzle piece, his other half, his guiding star.

He carefully flipped you around, gently laying you on your back. He smiled down at you, brushing away a tear that escaped your eye. Your smile was wide, and beautiful as ever. He loved your smile, loved how you lit up a room with it.

He rolled his hips, and his cock slid out and back in.

Your smile dropped as you let out a breathy moan.

He also loved to hear such sounds from you.

He buried his face into your neck. “My star, my love. Forgive me.”

You grabbed his face, making him look at you, “There is nothing to apologize for.”

Smiling, he took your hand, kissing your knuckles - kissing your ring. “Then allow me, your loving husband, to take care of you.”

He rocked his hips again.

You sighed in wonderful bliss and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing him down to you. Each stroke filled you, each one hit all the right spots. Oh, it was great to have him back.

His hand trailed down your side, stopping at your thigh. In an instant, he swiftly hooked your leg up and over his shoulder. An intense bloom of pleasure coursed through you. You moaned loudly and unabashedly as you arched your back.

“How could I forget such beautiful sounds,” Morpheus hummed.

He snapped his hips.

You whimpered. Your nails clawed at his back. Ribbons of red slashed over his already bruised skin. He moved at a new, deliciously, unforgiving pace. Each stroke you saw stars. You barely could catch your breath.

“Morpheus,” you moaned.

“Hmm, how could I forget such beauty.” He lifted your hips, hitting a new spot.

You gasped.

The sinful sounds of skin smacking together, the sounds of him sliding in and out, the sounds of his heavy breathing and deep soothing voice - it was nearly too much. His hands re-explored what he had almost forgotten. He needed to touch you, touch every part of you. They grazed up your sides, and pinched one of your nipples.

You moaned.

“Never again.” He whispered.

He mercilessly pounded into you, committing every second to memory. He dared not forget a single second.

Your walls clamped around him, you would not last much longer. “Morpheus,” you warned him.

“Let me see it,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Let me see what I’ve nearly forgotten.”

He would not forget you.

He would not forget how your lips fell apart as you cried out in pleasure, how your head tilted back into the pillows, how your eyes fluttered close and bliss overtook you. Smirking, he fiercely continued to work you through your orgasm, remembering how he loved to watch as you withered in overwhelming pleasure, as you clung to him whispering his name over and over. All of it was divine. Sweet bliss. He quickly followed, reaching his own end, as your name tumbled off his lips.

But, you swallowed up his sounds. You hungrily kissed him, drawing him down to you.

Morphues chuckled in the back of his throat.

You pulled away, cupping his face as he hovered over you. “Don’t you dare let something like that happen again.”

He smiled sweetly. “I promise.”

He bent down kissing you again. You hummed, thankful the cruel nightmare was over. Your Dream was back.

He whispered into your lips, “But, I will not object if this is how to regain my memories of you.”

You huffed through your nose. You brought him down onto the bed, so you could hold him properly, to have your husband back in your arms. “Later. Right now, I just want to stay right here like this.”

He wrapped his arms around you, grateful to be back. “As you wish, my star.”

Never again.

He will remember you, forever and always.

[yangsharperavery]

so here's the thing...

i've written about this topic a few times during and after season 1, but the carmy and sydney of it all remains a highly contested and discussed topic. even after season two.

what i find so truly fascinating is that chris storer and joanna calo and everyone involved with the creation of this lovely, well constructed show absolutely could have created the duo they work SO hard in the press to convince viewership they intended.

if they really wanted sydney to be a psuedo/standin sibling for the one carmy lost, or the brainy, determined business partner that comes in to orient a sinking ship...

there are a couple hundred ways they could have managed that and made it abundantly clear that's what the angle was within the dynamic between carmy and sydney.

instead... we have all this very overtly (and covertly) romantic, potent and simmering subtext regarding the nature of their relationship and what they mean to one another, their effect on each other and their seemingly endless potential.

in a whole host of ways there are a number of scenes that literally don't make sense without the lens of the undercurrent of feelings or reverence or romance or something that exists between them beyond the intended business partners/co-creatives.

there are ways to narratively parallel sydney as a mirror and equal and peer of carmy's void of all ambiguity and romantic tension and any energy of awkward longing or confusion.

but that's not actually what we got. i've been consuming television media for most of my life. i've watched hundreds of shows; shipping has never been a requirement for my viewership or interest.

which leads me to believe that there's either a bunch of deflection/dismissing happening for a very distinct reason. or there's been a bait and switch planned from the beginning.

you would literally have to remove 75% of the nuance within carmy and sydney's interactions for the stictly platonic claims to make sense and effectively land.

you'd have to go through and remove various staging, shot selection, editing, music choices and sometimes entire scenes to accurately convey original or "intended" messaging.

to completely eradicate the liminal space of subjectivity between them.

why is carmy talking about tina looking like sydney with that distinct expression on his face when they all wear that apron?

why are they being awkward at the lockers like it isn't customary for coworkers and business partners to go out after work for dinner or drinks or whatever (literally evidenced by tina this season)?

why is sydney mentioning jealousy at all when it comes to carmy's relationship? especially when it makes perfect sense for her to be upset with him for not pulling his weight?

why is sydney entering into carmy's life for the first time and deciding to stay, the second time, something that literally brings him out of his panic? when it could have been him cooking, his drawings, his staff, his gf. ANYTHING else.

they effectively made sydney an emotional, mental and energetic tether for him in that scene. for what reason? business partner ones or????

why do they bicker like an old married couple? is that customary for creative collaborators and coworkers?

why superimpose sydney, parallel her doing something the audience saw carmy do last season, and then show her going about her night while he's by contrast, with his girlfriend? why show a random closeup of a meaningful tattoo on her shoulder? no thematic significance beyond the grind of the restaurant world and career ambition?

why is there an obvious awkward breaking of energy after a highly vulnerable and tender moment between the two of them under the table? why does sydney noticeably fidget/adjust herself/her apron when he walks away to get her gift?

there's actually a hundred instances of these questions you could ask over the course of the two seasons when it comes to them.

so the reasoning behind the shipper pushback is baffling and a bit laughable.

some people bring into question, perhaps this is just the natural chemistry that jaw and ayo bring to their characters bc they're obviously good friends.

which... sure. i guess. but even that begs the question, you wrote and shot and constructed a story a specific way and then your two actors sort of bled on and expanded the material in a very obvious way you didn't expect?

cool, cool. so again... you're surprised that could lead to viewership seeing something deeper than mere platonic business partners?

that's shocking and surprising to you?

no way.

especially considering storer and calo have commented on how close jaw and ayo are and that their dynamic is different than the one she has with ebon and lionel. which is hilarious bc she adores ebon and has been out of the country traveling with lionel (and some other people from odd future.)

so clearly they all enjoy each other, are friends and get along.

but why even make that note of demarcation regarding jaw and ayo's dynamic and STILL be like "oh yeah, we didn't write or mean for them to be a romance " you're shocked that people SEE something given your storytelling and their obvious connection that even you, the creators themselves remarked on?!?!

there's a picture from the golden globes of ayo holding jaw's mom's hands during his acceptance speech. like they're really besties.

but i'm sorry, they can't bestie themselves into what carmy and sydney clearly exemplify on our screens without an entire framework at their disposal. because they're talented and professionals.

so if the writing is saying something, then it's intentional.

maybe the intention was to have their characters skirt and skate on the periphery of each other.

maybe it was for things to be awkward and weird and undefined or hectic and toxic.

maybe they weren't ever gonna have some relegated idea of a shipper's happily ever after.

people have feelings that go unexpressed and undefined. people fall in love and then don't end up together.

maybe the slow burn fizzles out, maybe it explodes or implodes, maybe one of them self denies, maybe they both do.

maybe it will or won’t be addressed directly or covertly. that's actually not a requirement for its existence.

to act like there isn't something true and obvious and visceral that exists between these characters is frankly like asking those who watch your show not to use their eyes and their brains.

impossible.