#this drawing threads a fine line between i hate myself enough to try and draw a mirror ball & i love buggy enough 2 try drawing a mirrorbal

[sw4nfire]

the orange moon is a mirror ball and on a night when pirates are the star attraction I'm going to give your island a horror show

[hxseok-honee]

sundress || part 9

written portion under the cut!

sundress [part 9] || "I like it."

previous || masterlist || next

a/n : [when you’re close to me, i can’t breathe // we’re already six feet deep] fuck up the friendship x leah kate

taglist [open] :

@deepseavibez @thetrueghostqueen @reddeathraven @dingzerenistall @skyrro @unadulteratedlyunique @ramyagovindraj @itismochirice @wwhseokjin @drpepperobsessed @monamone @thekookiecorner @army-moa75 @burningupp-replies @lele-bb @pb-n-juju @red-kebab @heonsbebe @peachyyoongs @superloverpielamp @marifujioka @butterflylion @heyitsgigi @lochness-butmakeitsexy @miki-chi @cahowlkook @worshiphoseok @lilacdreams-00 @bongsbeforebibles @miriamxsworld @oasiswithmyg @peonyplace @annewrighthglc @calling-dips-on-j-hope @yoongiofmine @loveyoongles @instantspot @missmadwoman @x-xjaeminx-x @luvtaeha @vanillxangxl @renhold-nightspear @taeshuworld @lvrseok @supahumbreon @a-noona-mous

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Monday, 20 September, 10:01am

“I sit through that class every morning, and I don’t think there’s a single thing I remember about it.” Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair as he exits the Charms classroom, free hand attached to Y/n’s hip. They hover in the doorway, waiting for Jin and Tae to join them, and then the four of them are headed down the corridor to their next class. Yoongi can feel his roommate’s eyes on him and Y/n, and when he glances over his shoulder, he finds that both Jin and Tae are looking with intrigue at the arm he’s got wrapped around Y/n.

“What?” They look up, Y/n glancing back to see what’s happening. Jin clears his throat, shaking his head, and Tae just smiles, a toothy grin that’s more than a little sheepish.

“It’s just… a bit weird, still -- seeing you two together. We’re getting used to it.” Jin nods before pointing between the two of them, eyes guarded.

“As long as I don’t have to accidentally walk in on you two getting freaky in the room, I don’t care what you do. But…” He trails off, glancing down at Yoongi’s arm again, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. “Yeah. Getting used to it.”

“You look good, though! You guys are a good match.” Tae gestures with both hands, the paperback book in his hold flapping obnoxiously as he tries to make sure he and Jin aren��t being misunderstood. “It’s cute -- we all like it. You know, except Jungkook.” Yoongi snorts, shaking his head.

“I really couldn’t care less what he thinks about it.” A lie, of course -- otherwise Yoongi wouldn’t be doing this at all. He wants to make Jeon Jungkook pay, just as Y/n does, but their friends don’t need to know that.

They reach an intersection then, Tae and Jin branching off to the right. They glance back when Yoongi doesn’t follow, and he points simply down the corridor on their left.

“I’m gonna walk Y/n to her next class -- see you guys at lunch?” Y/n looks at him, surprised he’s not heading to his own class. She waits until their friends are waving goodbye before she’s saying anything.

“You’re gonna be late…” Yoongi shrugs, guiding her down the left-hand corridor toward her Transfiguration classroom, his arm tight around her waist.

“So, I’ll run.” Y/n rolls her eyes with a scoff, but lets him walk her to class, anyway. She pretends she can’t see everyone in the corridor looking at them, just as they had been all morning. After all, once news had broken that Min Yoongi was no longer available, people couldn’t help but be curious. But Yoongi hasn’t said a thing about it, so she won’t either -- even if it is a little nerve-wracking.

When they get to her class, the very last one at the end of the corridor, Y/n turns to him, eyes suspicious.

“You better not use this as an excuse to skip your own class and go back to bed. You still have enough time to make it there.” Yoongi grins, shaking his head.

“You know me too well.” With a smile, she steps in and presses her lips to his in a quick peck. She would have tried to stay longer, but she can still feel everyone looking at them, and she’d panicked just a little bit. That’s a lot of eyes on them at once, and she figures a chaste kiss is acceptable enough that she can run into the safety of her classroom afterward without seeming like she’s avoiding his affection.

But as she’s turning to leave, a soft ‘see you later’ leaving her, she feels a hand on her elbow, pulling her back. Yoongi’s giving her a knowing look, tugging her close to him with an amused smile. When she’s close enough, he’s mumbling to her, fully aware of what’s been bothering her.

“You can do better than that.” Nervously, she’s glancing over his shoulder, but he’s tutting quietly, drawing her back. “Don’t look at them -- look at me.” She looks at him for just a moment, trying to build the courage to kiss him properly. It comes to her, and she’s stepping right up to him, hand on the side of his neck when she leans in.

Yoongi’s grip on her waist tightens when her lips find his, and he’s pressing forward right away, making sure to keep her focus on him. His free hand comes up and his fingers are threading through her hair, holding her still while he angles his head, molding his lips to hers more comfortably.

She pulls away first, ears tinting red almost immediately because she can tell everyone had seen that -- that they’re already whispering about them. But Yoongi makes it deceptively difficult for her to get carried away by the attention, tilting his head to block her view of the corridor with a playful smile.

“Good girl.” He’d meant it innocently -- she knows he’d meant it innocently. He’d only been praising her for not letting the embarrassment get to her, for doing it right that time. But he doesn’t know how those words affect her -- or… rather, he didn’t.

Because he catches it. He’s close enough, and his eyes are on her. There’s no way he’d miss the way her eyes had widened, even though she’s quick to mask it, or the purse of her lips -- the catch of her breath, almost imperceptible.

And then he’s narrowing his eyes at her, gaze flitting around her face, trying to pinpoint what had just happened. He puts it together easily, the side of his mouth tilting up as he gives her a knowing look. He wants her to say it, so he’s certain -- so this is something that can be shared between them, not something she’s too embarrassed to tell him.

“What was that?” Y/n blinks, shaking her head as she takes a step back, putting distance between them. He only steps forward to close the gap again. “No… something definitely just happened to you.” She shakes her head again, pointing over her shoulder into her class.

“Nope. That was nothing--I mean. Nothing happened, there was nothing.” She backs away further, jumping when she bumps into the corner of the wall. Yoongi only tilts his head with a squint, a full smirk on his features now.

“You know I’m not gonna let this go, right?”

“Go to class, Yoongi!” And then she’s gone, all but running into her classroom in a panic. Yoongi snickers, shaking his head as he turns and heads down the corridor, pocketing that interesting bit of information for later.

--

Monday, 20 September, 4:15pm

Y/n’s in the library, eyes scanning the shelf in front of her as she searches for the book title Hoseok had sent her. It’s something that has a chapter on the Wiggentree, which is what they’d chosen their project topic as for Herbology.

I’m definitely in the right aisle… Maybe I’m just missing it?

She moves to return to her starting place in the otherwise empty aisle, convinced she’ll find it if she just looks again. But she doesn’t make it far, a hand coming down on the shelf and blocking her. She’d been too focused on scanning the books to even notice that he’d arrived. But she certainly notices him now.

“So -- you like ‘good girl’?” Turning as the words are whispered into her ear, Y/n all but stumbles backward into the bookshelf, eyes wide as she finds Yoongi peering back at her. He’s squinting at her, just as he had this morning, as he searches her face for a reaction. Blinking rapidly, she glances down the aisle, worried someone might find them like this.

“Yoongi, what -- you can’t just sneak up on me like that!” Her voice is hushed, because she’s aware this is a library and even more aware that it’s full to the brim, having seen almost every seat taken when she’d walked through the room. The chances of them not getting caught are slim to none.

But Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, only stepping in and further blocking her way out. She scoots back as much as possible, but there’s only so far she can go with her back pressed against a wall of books.

“No one forced you to tell me that you were here.” Y/n sighs, because she should have seen this coming. He’d been totally fine all day, holding her hand at lunch and walking her to class after, never saying a word about what had happened this morning. Even during their free period, they’d just taken a nap in his bed -- everything had been normal.

So when he’d texted her asking where she was, she hadn’t thought twice to tell him about the book she’s been looking for. She should have known he’d bring it up again -- he’d even said he would. But she hadn’t expected it to be here, in such a public place.

Maybe I should have. This is Yoongi.

When she doesn’t say anything, Yoongi leans in, setting his lips against the shell of her ear.

“What else do you like to be called, hm?” Flushing red, Y/n plants her hand on his chest, intending to push him away. But he’s already pulling back, just enough that their noses are brushing while he looks into her eyes. She hates that he’s smirking, because he knows she’s flustered.

“You know you should just tell me -- I’ll figure it out for myself eventually.” He’s fully aware she won’t say a word, already seeing that her jaw is clenching, mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m not telling you shit.” He raises an eyebrow, thoroughly amused by her disgruntled expression.

“No? That’s okay. I’ll just get it out of you later, pretty girl.” Y/n blinks rapidly when her heart jumps and grimaces, because he’s testing her right here in the middle of this library. And she knows when he smiles that she’s failed.

“Got you.” Y/n rolls her eyes, cheeks warm from how embarrassed she feels, and moves to push past him so she can leave -- she’ll just find the book later. But Yoongi’s in her way, a playful smile on his face. “You still haven’t told me if you like ‘good girl’.” She shoots him a wild look.

“You know the answer to that.” And then she’s looking away, because his eyes are lighting up and she’s not sure how she’s supposed to feel about that -- mostly, she’s not sure why it doesn’t bother her that he’s excited about this. “Can I go?” He smiles, humming in faux contemplation.

“Nope. I wanna hear it from your mouth.” She turns to him, exasperated, because he’s being obnoxious and he knows it. But he doesn’t let up, only pressing forward until she’s backed against the shelf again. “Come on… it’s just a couple words -- say them and I’ll let you go back to your project.”

When she only glares at him, he hums again, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Okay, then.” And then he’s leaning forward, slotting his lips against hers roughly, muffling the noise of surprise that leaves her. She pushes him back just enough that their lips part, eyeing him with shock.

“What are you doing? We’re alone--”

“Are we?” She blinks, knowing what he means -- that there are eyes everywhere, that what they’re doing is okay because they are in public, even if the aisle’s empty. Because this is exactly what it's like to date Min Yoongi, so it's okay. Everything they're doing and saying right now -- this is how it's supposed to look to anyone that comes across them.

He looks her over, checking that she’s alright -- that she’s not upset.

“… Can I go back to being the sexy boyfriend that corners you in the library to convince you with my mouth to tell me what I want to hear? Or do you want to stop? Because I’ll stop.” Y/n snorts, shaking her head. He’s careful as always, but if she’s honest -- she doesn’t really mind this all that much. She’d agreed to it, after all. So instead of telling him that this is fine -- that they’re fine -- she continues the previous conversation.

“You’re not gonna convince me to say it, no matter what you do.” He looks at her sideways, smirking, and she immediately regrets having worded it like that because she can already see Yoongi’s competitive side making an appearance.

“Is that a challenge?” When she only rolls her eyes, he leans in, stopping just shy of her mouth and waiting, just in case she doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t move, gaze only flicking down quickly to his lips and back again. He tries his best to mask the smile that threatens to form on his face, but even as he closes the gap, it’s there.

He kisses her once, then leans back to talk to her.

“Say it.” She smiles, eyes full of mischief.

“Say what?” He kisses her again.

“Say it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Again.

“I could do this all day, Y/n.”

“No, you can’t. You hate missing dinner -- you like the dessert too much.” He sighs impatiently, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her in. The kiss he lays on her lips is different than the last few, this one made to leave her breathless. She hates that it does.

Without pulling away, he gauges her reaction, noticing immediately that she’s grabbing at the front of his uniform, almost as if to ground herself after something so unexpected. He doesn’t give her time to recover, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth. When she inhales sharply, he pushes his tongue past her lips, licking into her mouth -- she whines, the sound immediately cutting off because she’s realizing that they’re still in the library.

Yoongi only smirks, finding it cute that she’s so aware of her surroundings. But he wants her completely out of it, thinking either about him or nothing at all. So he brings one hand up to the back of her head, where he’s taking a fistful of her hair and tugging harshly, forcing her mouth away from his as her head gets angled to the side. That whine comes again, but she’s definitely already more dazed than before, because she doesn’t stop it from happening. Her head is spinning too fast, the feeling turning to pure white noise when Yoongi attaches his mouth to a spot under her ear, his lips searing hot against her skin.

“Yoongi…” She breathes out his name, clinging to him like she’s going to fall over if she doesn’t. Yoongi tells himself that that’s why he presses himself flush to her, sliding his free hand down to her ass and pushing her hips forward into his -- because he wants to help steady her. It has nothing to do with hearing her call for him like that. Nothing at all to do with the reaction it draws out of her when he does, that breathy moan he’d secretly been looking for. Pulling his lips from her neck, he drags them up to her ear, not even noticing how hard he’s breathing.

“Now do you wanna tell me?” She doesn’t respond, whining incoherently. Yoongi sees out of the corner his eye that someone’s turning into the aisle. When they stop short and immediately turn to leave, he’s smiling, because they’d just gotten caught and Y/n has no idea. She’s too busy trying to catch her breath -- trying to come to her senses. Yoongi’s having none of it.

Using the hold he has on her hair, he brings her toward him, smushing his lips to hers -- it’s not as rough as she’d been expecting, but it takes her breath away all the same. Just like the first one. She whimpers against his lips, and it warms him -- the idea that even this is enough to make her feel good. He wonders if she actually prefers when he’s soft with her -- he’ll have to explore that more later.

Pulling his lips away from her, he watches her. The way she doesn’t open her eyes right away or even notice that he’s waiting for her. She just leans her head back against the hand in her hair, and Yoongi steadies her, smiling at how dazed she is. He shakes that hand gently, jostling her, and that’s when she’s opening her eyes, realizing he hasn’t done anything in a few seconds. They make eye contact, Y/n trying to blink her way out of the fog in her head.

“Don’t you want this to end already? Wouldn’t you rather go back to finding your book before we have to go to dinner?” She nods automatically, even though there’s a small part of her that hesitates first -- it must be because she’s too out of it to process his questions right away. When she doesn’t meet Yoongi’s eyes for a few seconds, he’s pulling at her hair again, drawing her attention. And when her gaze finally lifts to his--

“Then be a good girl and tell me you like it.” Yoongi watches as she reacts -- as she breaks. As her lips part in a small gasp, her eyelids fluttering as she looks at him. As the hold she has on the front of his shirt tightens, her knuckles almost white. It’s the first time he’s ever seen this side of her -- the first time he’s ever seen her give in like this. He almost feels bad for how proud he is that she’s like this because of him.

But then she’s saying it -- what he’s wanted to hear from her all day. She doesn’t say all of it, but she doesn’t need to. Just those three words are enough to make him smile, because submission looks shockingly good on a stubborn lion like her. His Y/n.

“I like it.”

[thorfemmes]

Cloudy

in which harry hates summer storms, but she loves them.

Hi everyone! I know I’m not really a fan account, so please feel free to skip over this post if you don’t want to read fanfic! I’ve decided to take part in @helladirections​ ‘s Summer Feeling writing challenge, and this is what I came up with! Feedback is greatly appreciated, I’m trying to hype myself up into writing again. Also thank you @jasline-arod​ for being my beta reader, I love you endlessly!<3

Prompts: summer reading & ice cream

Rated 18+: fluff, SMUT, soft dom!harry, teasing, edging, punishment, impact play, light bondage, condescension kink if you squint, cute aftercare!!! 

Word Count: 3.8k

Summer storms were quite melancholy.

Harry supposed he was being a bit dramatic, considering (y/n) loved the rain. If it weren’t for the possibility of getting a cold and the wandering eyes from their surrounding neighbors she would be out dancing and skipping around the backyard in the puddles and mud. But alas, their neighbors were a bit too nosy and she couldn’t afford any sick time off at work right now, so she was using this day to clean the house. Some last minute spring cleaning as she called it.  

Harry, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to roll around in the sheets all day with her. The young couple had planned a nice date out for the day: a stroll around the neighborhood, a picnic in the park, maybe some window shopping in the plaza. Their car was currently in the shop so anything they wanted to do would have to be within walking distance -(y/n) really didn’t like Ubering around. Mother Nature apparently had other plans. 

Which leads us here. Harry had seen the storm die down and in all of his stubborn brilliance had insisted on making an ice cream run. ‘S just a little drizzle! He maintained. I’ll be back before you know it, Poppet. It turns out “a little drizzle” can easily turn into torrential downpour in the twenty minutes it takes Harry to bike to and from the grocery store. He couldn’t believe his luck, and now as he approached his front door sopping wet and dragging his bike up the steps, he was silently cursing himself for deciding Ben and Jerry’s was worth the trek. 

“Babe? Is everything alright?” (Y/n) proffered over the soft music she had put on when he left. She could hear his frustrated grumbles and sighs from the living room and had of course seen the storm pick up. 

“ ‘M fine, sweetheart, just a bit wet ‘s all.” Harry griped from the kitchen. He quickly dried off the pints of ice cream and stuck them in the freezer before pouring a bowl of uncooked rice for his cell phone. Flicking off the lights in the kitchen, spotless and dust-free thanks to (y/n), he walked into the living room to find her tucked into the corner of the couch reading a book.

Peering over the pages, her eyes softly danced over her lover -damp and frumpy from the rain outside. He had a slight pout on his face that made her giggle playfully, eyes glittering with nothing but adoration and humor. 

“My strong love, fought the rain and thunder just to get his girlfriend ice cream.”

He snorted at her, trying his hardest to hold back a smile. “Think I deserve a prize, don’t you think? It was quite brave of me to go out there, I could’ve gotten swept away by the flood of puddles!”

Her laugh rang like a chime. It was times like this, soft and quiet and domestic, that made his heart skip a beat. She made him delirious and dizzy with love. 

“Of course, my love. Your prize is in the bathroom, hanging from the towel rack. I saw the rain pick up and figured you might come home a bit soggy,” She said with a laugh. “Go get changed, when you come back we can lounge about and read together.”

Harry’s heart fluttered as he shuffled out of the living room. When he came back, now changed into a crisp crew neck shirt and some washed worn sweats, he quickly popped over in front of his love. She looked up from the novel in front of her, stars in her eyes. Harry quickly leaned down and showered her in kisses. Anywhere he could reach was covered in smooches. She wiggled and whined playfully as he threw his leg over her waist, but not before grabbing the book and laying it on the coffee table face down. They grappled and playfully dodged kisses until she cried “Alright! Fine you win!” with a ridiculous pout and her hands pinned to the couch under Harry’s grasp. 

“You’re so mean,” she pouted through puffs of air.

“Mean ‘m I? Would a mean boyfriend have gone out in the harsh winter storm for-”

“It’s the middle of July!” 

“For pints of Chunky Monkey, Phish Food, Karamel Sutra, and Tonight Dough? I don’t think tha’s very mean, d’you?”

Harry swore the sigh she let out sounded harmonious. “No, I suppose not. It sounds like you’re spoiling me, huh?” She tried to loosen his grip again. “Let me up, please?”

He grinned down at her. “Kissy first?”

She leaned up the best she could for a smooch before he let her get back up. Harry laid down on the couch and patted his tummy with the hand not resting under his neck. 

“C’mere, let’s read.”

(Y/n) crawled between Harry’s legs and laid between them, her head resting on his soft stomach. “Mm, nice and comfy.”

Harry chuckled with her, loving the warmth and comfort the weight of her gave him. He wrapped an arm around the front of her chest and softly rubbed his thumb over her shoulder. 

“Do you want me to start the chapter over?” She asked, perfectly content to reread for him.

“Course not, Petal! Just pick up where you left off, please.”

“ ‘I’m going to America. To seek my fortune.’ (This was just after America but long after fortunes.) ‘A ship sails soon from London. There is great opportunity in America. I’m going to take advantage of it. I’ve been training myself. In my hovel. I’ve taught myself not to need sleep. A few hours only. I’ll take a ten-hour-a-day job and then I’ll take another ten-hour-a-day job and I’ll save every penny from both except what I need to eat to keep strong, and when I have enough I’ll buy a farm and build a house and make a bed big enough for two.’ ”

Harry began to lose focus on the story, instead concentrating on his petal’s voice, soft and clear enough for just the two of them. Almost as if the bubble around them might burst if she spoke too loudly. She began to alter her voice, adding in dashes of accents and key changes as the characters varied. Harry let a heavy breath fall from his nose as he smiled and bit his lip with a smile. 

“ ‘Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?’ ”

Harry held his breath.

“ He couldn’t believe it. ‘Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were-’ ” 

Now, Harry knows he has a very specific taste in literature. And while he may personally prefer obscene prose and Joan Didion, this line -from a novel built on fantasies -was embroidered on his heart in bright yellow thread. The millions of grains of sand could not even begin to embody how dearly and how fiercely he loved her. His heart physically ached at the thought of her; her presence, her laugh, smile, ambition, everything. He loved (y/n) in a way he never imagined possible. Harry could not even begin to fathom a world without her. And if the little velvet box hidden in an old shoe box behind a ton of winter coats in the upstairs closet was anything to go by, he didn’t want to begin imagining it. 

“Lovey, are you okay?” (Y/n) spoke up. She noticed him stiffen up immediately after she finished reading that paragraph. 

Silence followed her question. She stuck the loose playing card she had found into the book to mark her place and gently sat up to shift herself in his lap, setting the book down on the coffee table again. Harry was pulled from his thoughts of navy blue suits and white lace gowns when she softly called his name again and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Is everything alright Harry? You zoned out for quite a while there.”

Harry looked at the heavenly sight in front of him. Her hair was a bit mussed up from the cleaning and the sweat that had no doubt appeared in the slightly humid house. She sat in an old cropped cotton shirt that proudly touted a faded improv club logo from college on it (she had gone to one meeting and of course it was the meeting where they gave out free t-shirts) with wrinkles and dried stains from cleaning spray. Her gray pajama shorts had little line drawings of bumble bees on them, and were currently riding up her thighs as they sat straddling Harry’s hips. He dragged his eyes to look at her face. He swore she was glowing in the grayish sunlight streaming from the windows. Little moles and freckles and acne scars dotted across her makeup-less face. Her eyes were wide and her lips were gaped open slightly in worry as his silence continued.

Harry finally, finally took in a breath (he desperately needed it, he didn’t realize she had literally stolen his breath away) and mumbled “ ‘M fine, petal. I just love you so much,” and with that closed the all too wide gap between them. 

Her eyes widened just a bit more before kissing back, her eyes fell closed and her hands held tightly to his cheeks. Harry swore the kiss was meant to be gentle, but then he found himself nibbling on her bottom lip and soothing the slight sting with his tongue when she whined against him. She pulled away breathlessly and looked over his face, now flushed crimson with their movements.

“I love you too!” She breathily laughed. “Let’s-”

Her thoughts were lost as Harry began to kiss a trail from below her ear and down her neck, one hand squeezing her soft hip and the other holding her head in place as she squirmed (she was a bit ticklish). He sucked and softly bit at the junction between her neck and shoulder as she let out a faint moan at the attention being given to the sensitive skin. She ran her fingers through his loose curls and gently led his head back up to meet her lips. She tenderly rolled her hips against his -his hands quickly following the motion. 

“Ah, fuck baby. You’re so fuckin’ sexy m’love,” Harry groaned against her lips. They were breathing in each other's air, hips thrusting against the other and hands grasping at fabric and anywhere they could grab. Harry lowered his hand to cup her hot pussy over her shorts, rubbing his palms against her clothed clit.

“Mmf, please Harry please!” She wanted him so badly, she was this close to ripping his clothes off at the seams.

“What d’you want baby girl? Hmm? Ask me nicely ‘nd maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

The air shifted between them. She knew he would give her whatever she wanted, but the power was now in his corner. She whined loudly and bucked her hips up as he teased the waistband of her shorts.

“Don’t be a brat, petal. You won’t like the outcome.” Harry grinned up at her, running his thumb over her bottom lip that had stuck out with a pout. “Why don’t we run upstairs so I can fuck you properly. Tha’ is unless you want to stay down here with a sore bum ‘nd nothin’ else? Hmm, petal?”

“Harry, I swear if you don’t do something I’m going to screa- ah!” Harry’s hand came down on her ass with a loud smack! 

(Y/n)’s eyes widened as she scrambled off of his lap and up the stairs to their “guest” bedroom, Harry not far behind. Harry giggled at her antics. Of course he wasn’t planning on leaving her needy and wanting, but she was being bratty and he couldn’t have that now could he?

(Y/n) all but threw herself onto their bed and ripped off her clothing, absolutely desperate for whatever Harry threw her way. She’d ride his thigh if that’s all he’d give her. She was that needy right now. 

She scrambled up the bed and sat down with her legs crossed, patiently waiting as Harry stood at the foot of the bed.

“I think 10 swats on your bum are an appropriate punishment for you steppin’ out of line. Don’t you think, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” (Y/n) watched as he walked around the side of the bed. He reached into the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of shea butter lotion and the pretty pink ribbon she was all too familiar with.

“Lay down on your tummy, petal,” Harry said, setting everything on the table. 

(Y/n) quickly laid down, grabbing her pillow and nestling her cheek into it. Harry grabbed one of the extra pillows and shoved it under her hips. He then pulled off the t-shirt and shrugged off his sweats, leaving him in a pair of heather gray briefs that left nothing to the imagination. 

“You’ve such a pretty bum, sweetheart. ‘M so excited to see it marked up with my hand marks,” Harry caressed and massaged her cheeks carefully. “Count aloud for me, lovie.”

(Y/n) was about to answer when Harry’s hand came down on her left cheek, hard. “One!” She squeaked out.

“D’you know why you’re bein’ punished, lovie?” Smack!

“Ah! Two! Yes sir! I was being bad earlier. I was being naughty and begging without saying please!” 

Harry rubbed over the sore area. “Very good, baby. Are you going to do it again?” Smack! Smack! Smack! Three spanks came in succession.

“Three! Fou-, Four! Five! No, Sir! I won’t!” She squirmed and hid her face in the pillow as her grip tightened on the material. She was a bit embarrassed at the fact that she was already getting teary eyed, but it had been a second since she'd been punished like this.

Harry paused and moved her hair out from around her face. “How are you doin’ (Y/n)? Gimme a color, please.”

“Green, Harry. I’m good, please keep going.” She wiggled and lifted her ass up towards Harry's other hand.

“Okay, lovie. Just makin’ sure.” Harry quickly kissed her cheek then pushed her head back into the pillow. She moaned loudly at the forcefulness.

The rest of the spanks came and went, leaving both of them breathless and stinging. Harry reached up and grabbed (Y/n) by the hair to pull her on all fours, his other hand removing the pillow from under her hips before running his fingers over her pussy.

“Y’not gonna do tha’ again, are you, petal?” He said smugly.

“No sir,” She hiccupped. 

A jolt ran through her as he gathered her wetness and began circling her clit with two fingers. 

“So sensitive, petal. Bet you almost came jus’ from me spankin’ you. Maybe you don’ need my cock after all? Maybe I should jus’ take care of myself and leave you here, what d’you think, petal? ”

She let out a pitiful moan. (Y/n)’s whole body was shaking; she was desperately trying not to come, her arms were shaking from holding herself up, and her breath was shaking from the stimulation of it all. She was almost there, almost ready to come when Harry suddenly let go of her hair and stopping playing with her pussy. Her arms gave out under her as she whined desperately at the loss of stimulation.

“Please! No, don’t leave me!” She sobbed. “I need it! Please give me your cock sir! I’ll be so good, I won’t come without askin’ please! Ple-”

“Okay, shh baby. Shh, ‘m gonna make y’feel so good. Y’such a good girl f’me.”

Harry leaned down and kissed up her spine gently. As he reached the base of her neck he grabbed the pink ribbon and ran it teasingly over her shoulders. “Color?”

She sniffled a bit before answering confidently, “Green, sir.”

“Tha’s my girl.” He pulled her up so she was kneeling and grabbed her arms, skillfully tying a cute little bow around her wrists. She wiggled a bit to make sure it was comfortable. Once she was settled, Harry pushed her back down into the pillow.

“What a sight. Must’ve been savin’ this for a rainy day, huh petal?”

She snorted at his joke but was quickly silenced by his finger sinking into her pussy. She hissed at the sensation, already a bit sensitive from the first orgasm he denied her. 

“Y’always so warm for me, lovie. So warm ‘n tight. Can’t wait for my cock, can you?”

She whined and pushed back on his fingers as he added another, thrusting in and curling to find her g-spot. “Please! I’ve been so good, I’m ready!”

He chuckled at her begging, letting his thumb pet over her clit again before pulling his fingers out of her after one final thrust. “Y’think you’re ready, baby girl? I know I am.”

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “I’m ready, I promise.”

Harry used the wetness he had gathered from fingering her and stroked himself a few times, exhaling heavily as some pressure was finally released. He grabbed the ribbon where her wrists were tied and lined himself up, pushing gently into her soaked cunt.

They both released a guttural moan as he moved in her; her walls tightening around him and his length rubbing inside her perfectly.

As she felt him bottom out she let out a sob that was stuck in her chest. “Fu-ck. Thank you! You feel so fuck-fucking good!” He growled in response, reaching around and playing with her clit again while he waited for her to get accustomed to his size. She choked out another moan and squirmed, crying “Please! You can move now, please fuck me!”

He pulled out until only the head of his cock remained in her cunt, and then thrusted back in experimentally. Her moan spurred him on, allowing him to continue to set a slow and rough pace. 

“Holy fuck, bunny. Y'feel so good,” Harry grit through his teeth. “I love this fuckin’ cunt, this ‘s all fo’ me, huh?���

She moaned and nodded as she squeezed his cock as tight as she could like a good girl. She wanted to behave, be his good girl. (Y/n) wiggled her hands at him as he continued to thrust. He got the hint and laced his fingers with hers. She let out a contented sigh that melted into a moan as his thrusting sped up. He loosened one of his hands from her grasp to reach down and stroke her button of nerves. 

She wailed in response, tears brimming in her eyes again from the overwhelming sensations attacking her. Harry was all that existed. He surrounded her, stopped playing with her bundle of nerves and reached his hand up to wrap around her neck, pulling her up to meet his kisses. All she could feel, smell, taste as he paused thrusting to slide his tongue into her mouth before slamming back into her and letting her drop back into the pillow. 

“Sh-shit baby girl. I can feel y'squeezin me, you’re almost there aren’t you?” She nodded in response, unable to form words. “Hold it jus’ a bit longer, I know you can do it. Fo’ me please, petal. Wanna feel tha’ cunt come with me.”

She shuddered as she fought to hold her orgasm back. Her cunt clenched and dripped down her thighs as Harry pounded into her as quickly as he possibly could without hurting either of them. 

“N-now! Come now, petal! Give it to me, baby. Come for me!”

(Y/n) came with a shout, her eyes shut as tightly as possible. Her whole body clamped down onto Harry’s cock as she came and came and came. Her orgasm pulled Harry’s out of him, milking him for everything he had. One final thrust had him filling her with his cum, both moaning at the feeling of her pussy being filled even more.

She slumped into the pillow, body feeling like pudding. Harry leaned over her as they both took a moment to catch their breaths, both spent and relaxed after their afternoon delight. Harry recovered first, gently pulling out of her cunt. She clenched around him as he left her, almost as if she was inviting him to stay.

He quickly untied her wrists, mind set on dealing with his spilled seed later. He delicately rubbed the tender area, gently kissing the indentations.

“Y’did so good for me, (Y/n), thank you baby,” he whispered to her. She looked at him with foggy eyes, the afterglow finally settling in. She hummed in acknowledgment of his praise, smiling softly at him. “I’ll be ri’ back, petal. I’ve gotta go grab stuff to clean you up.”

He ran as quickly as possible to grab water bottles and snacks from downstairs, before stopping for a wet washcloth and a change of clothes for her on the way back. He set the food and spoons on the bedside table before cracking open a water bottle for her.

“Can you sit up a mo’? I know your bum’s a bit sore.” He helped her sit up enough to drink the water he gave her. As she gulped down the water, thankful for the cool drink to sooth her heated throat, he gently wiped up the mess he made of her pussy. He ran and tossed the cloth into their ensuite sink, quickly returning to his love. 

“Can I rub some shea butter on your bum and wrists? It’ll help with the soreness, lovie.” 

She sleepily nodded before asking “Could you please pull my hair back? It’s sweaty and itchy now.”

He laughed at her cloudy state and grabbed one of their scrunchies off of the dresser and carefully tied up her hair. He then pumped some lotion into his hands, warmed it slightly and guided her to lay down on her tummy again so he could soothe the red marks. After a few moments, when her fogginess had cleared and they were giggling and cracking jokes as he jiggled her bum in his hands, he helped her get up and walk to the toilet so she could relieve and redress herself before heading to their bedroom with the snacks. 

(Y/n) climbed into bed, mindful of her sore bum, and excitedly grabbed the remote to turn on a movie for the couple to unwind to. Harry followed closely with two pints of ice cream and spoons -Chunky Monkey for her and Karamel Sutra for himself. They giggled again and settled down under the blanket as the opening scene to Clueless started on their television. 

Taking a bite of the ice cream, (Y/n) looked over at her boyfriend. “Hey Har?” He looked at her, mouth full. “Thank you for getting us ice cream even though there was a storm. And for letting me read to you. I hope you enjoyed your prize.” She winked at him with a huge grin.

Heartily laughing, he leaned over and landed a loud smooch onto her cheek. “Of course, anything for you my love.”

As she cuddled into his side, snacking on ice cream and watching this cheesy rom-com, he knew he needed to find a reason to excuse himself to the closet that evening.

[magioftheseas]

Gundham & Yasuke

Summary: The Forbidden Tanaka’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. YES.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and blood/injuries.

Notes: Unsurprisingly, Tanaka was the winner of the poll for which FTEs were to be done next. So his FTEs, quite hilariously, are getting posted on the anniverary date for sdr2′s initial release. That feels pretty...fitting. Writing Tanaka’s dialogue was really hard but I did my best. Despite my best efforts, these two don’t get along the best that they could. Cursed.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

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It went without saying that he didn’t have a normal middle school experience so he didn’t interact with a lot of people who exhibited the so-called eighth-grader syndrome. But he knew that once kids had the cognitive ability to identify their lot in life and long for more, such desires could get...twisted, to say the least.

Just about everyone wants to be fucking special if they’re not too focused on surviving. And most people grew ashamed of the lofty aspirations and special interests they developed in that delicate era. Matsuda understood that much, even if he was considerably detached from it. In some ways, those people were like animals. Strange beasts that acted on impulses and instincts. That still had intelligence but not, like, awareness. When it came to engaging with these types, Matsuda had no choice but to accept them even as he shook his head at their delusions of grandeur.

He understands he’s supposed to do that in theory.

In practice, however...

“Sharp-tongued fool!” Tanaka bellowed. “You draw too near to the barrier of the Ice Kingdom!”

It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s always a beautiful fucking day. Clear, sunny sky. Warm but with a pleasant breeze to keep it from being too sweltering. It’s such a nice day—and Matsuda Yasuke does not want to be here.

Without another word, he turns on his heel.

“Aha!” Tanaka sneered. “To think just the warning prose would be enough to make you turn tail and run. A cowardice I did not expect, but perhaps... I should have.”

While walking away and listening to that guy cackle to himself, all Matsuda had in response was to flip him off.

He proceeded to avoid Tanaka for the rest of the day—and would’ve avoided him for the rest of his life had fate not had something else in store.

--

It was another beautiful day. The perfect day for a walk. He was thinking by the ranch so that he could admire the chickens as he passed. Unfortunately, he not only came across chickens but also the cow that used to be a chicken he quite liked.

Also Tanaka Gundam.

And their eyes ended up meeting.

There’s no real point in reasoning with someone who exhibits grandiose delusions, he reminded himself. It’s no good to denounce them, but it’s also no good to enable them. It’s a delicate line that I do not want to fucking bother with.

Matsuda does look away, intent on ignoring the other. Despite that resolve, his thoughts don’t shut up.

I didn’t have any peers in middle school for obvious reasons. I never actually spoke to someone my own age who felt this way. I was too busy being fixated on my own goals and lofty aspirations.

A couple of steps forward. It’s fine. If he continued the way he was already going, he can just pass Tanaka. It’d be easy. Simple.

...

Fuck.

He pauses. He turns. Tanaka has already turned away, but as if guided by the third sense of a fucking Evil All-Seeing Eye, he turns back to Matsuda. His brow quirks.

“Has the barrier truly weakened so?”

“I don’t know,” Matsuda replied intelligently. “For some reason, I feel too worn down to go through the effort of pretending you don’t exist.”

Tanaka cackled lowly.

“Such an insolent remark. It seems you do not truly know your place. But that is just as well. Even now, your true name is one that seems out of my grasp.”

“I’m Matsuda Yasuke. Nice to meet you.”

Tanaka clicked his tongue, scowling at Matsuda’s blank expression and his deadpan tone.

“That,” he snarled. “Is merely a brush against the surface. It does not encompass the deepest depths of your rogue soul.”

Alright. So he wants to know what makes me tick. If I had to guess.

“Your true name,” Tanaka requested impatiently. “I have no need for superficial titles.”

“That’s cold,” Matsuda huffed. “The name my mom gave me isn’t superficial.”

...even if it is ironic.

For some reason, Tanaka does perk up. He gives a nod of approval.

“A fair retort,” he concedes. “That maternal bond is its own scarring shackle.”

That admission was the first true crack in the wall between them. Or so Matsuda supposed, and he felt himself slip just a little bit further.

What a headache...

“Anyway,” he went on with a wave of his hand. “It’d be incredibly foolish to give you my true name, right? If telling a demon my name gives them possession of my soul and telling them my birthday gives them control of my life... Then telling someone like you...”

Tanaka nodded again, grinning so widely it was damn near grotesque.

“I see...the sharp-tongued fool is still retaining a sharp mind...”

I shouldn’t have played along even in jest. Fuck.

“What special abilities do you possess?” Tanaka purrs, drawing closer now. “What hidden capabilities have you acquired?”

Tanaka stalks even closer, his eyes are flashing with curiosity and hunger. Probably because this fucking weirdo wouldn’t understand a normal interaction if it bit him in the face.

I still hate that stare. I fucking hate that stare.

“You already know that,” Matsuda snapped, forcing himself to stay relaxed. “Neurology is my talent. You even know my name and birthday because of those damn student files...”

Calm down, calm down. It’s just fucking Tanaka—

Tanaka does halt. His head tilts quizzically.

“Hmph.” With nostrils flaring, Tanaka seemed to duck into his own scarf. “I suppose you are human after all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Simple.” Tanaka chuckled. “I sensed your apprehension, Matsuda Yasuke. I sensed—and yet, I could tell it was not a chill brought about by the Ice Kingdom.”

Matsuda does flinch at that.

“I shall take my leave for now so that you may re-gather your peace,” Tanaka declared. “Till next time, sharp-tongued fool.”

Tanaka gave him a salute. Matsuda barely had a chance to wave back before Tanaka flipped his scarf and coat so that it would dramatically billow behind him as he made his overly dramatic exit. So fucking extra, and yet—

He left so that I could take the time to calm down.

And how the hell was he supposed to feel about that?

--

“Even now, I can hear the crackling of the Ice Kingdom’s barrier.” Tanaka was cackling. Another beautiful day. Yet somehow this weirdo was set on shrouding himself in asinine mystery as well as his own dark layers. How the hell was he not burning up?

Tanaka noticed his staring and merely smirked. “What brings you today, Matsuda Yasuke?”

Aah. Even with that pompous fucking tone, it’s an understandable question.

“I don’t like things to be unbalanced,” he said which was a bald-faced lie but sounded persuasive enough. “Since you interrogated me last time, I thought I’d ask you a few questions of my own.”

“Hmph!” Tanaka snorted. “You seek a comprehension that may underlie a deep terror that cannot be contained! Do you not fear for your sanity?”

“No, I’m insane already,” Matsuda said flatly. “I drove myself insane years ago.”

“Is that SO?!” Tanaka boomed, incredulous or admiring, Matsuda wasn’t sure. “Your humanity is one that only hangs by a thread, then?!”

I...can’t disagree with that, huh.

Matsuda shrugged.

“We’re not supposed to be talking about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Tanaka remained guarded but gave a nod.

“Very well. Demi-human or no, I shall not lose to you.”

That’s more like it. You’re much less annoying this way.

“What talents do you have?” he settles on since it’s only fair. “Even if it’s not the full roster, I’d like to know some...special abilities.”

“You shall only get a portion,” Tanaka said, sniffing. “Despite my appearance, I’m an active fiend. Between sorcery and human hunting, I manage my website.”

Matsuda blinked, trying to imagine this guy at a computer. Actually, it was really easy to imagine. There’s no way Tanaka learned to talk like an edgelord on his own.

I bet he spends a lot of time looking up stupid shit like Norse mythology. But, if he has a website, then...

“I have encrypted my research with magic,” Tanaka informed him. “Thus, only those worthy can gain access.”

...if he means through password then I could probably hack in with ease.

“If I had to guess what kind of research it was,” Matsuda mused. “Then—probably something like a pet diary, right?”

There were a series of muffled squeaks from Tanaka’s scarf. Tanaka burst into a boisterous boom of laughter.

“Even with your wits, you would only be able to access the dummy site!” Tanaka grinned victoriously, even though no conflict had taken place. “Your skill level would only open the gates of the Exciting Breeding Journal.”

“...Alright. That’s fine by me.”

You’re literally here because of your talent in animal husbandry.

“Favorite food?” Matsuda asked next. Tanaka stiffened. Growled, even. Because he was pissed off about getting such a lukewarm response? Matsuda didn’t bother inquiring, instead pressing, “Do you have one?”

“The orange melon that bears the face of the devil,” Tanaka huffed, put out. “No other food compares in terms of high nutrients or versatility in cooking methods. More importantly, its seeds are the most effective food source for my Four Dark Devas of Destruction.”

...a pumpkin. He’s talking about a pumpkin, right?

“However! Those seeds must be carefully washed, carefully dried, carefully peeled,” Tanaka rambled on. “And lightly fried.”

“How meticulous,” Matsuda muttered. “But nothing less for...them.”

“Indeed. A difficulty that beguiles pain and pleasure alike matters not in the face of a grand purpose.”

I can agree with that even if I hate how it’s worded.

“There is more when it comes to the caring of beasts,” Tanaka rumbled. “Shall I lead you deeper?”

“Uh.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Next time. Let’s talk more next time.”

Tanaka gave him a truly wicked grin. For once, it actually felt malicious.

“Take as much time you need to prepare yourself, sharp-tongued fool.”

Matsuda made a face but bit his tongue.

Piece of shit.

--

Tanaka wasn’t out and about today at the ranch. He wasn’t in the diner, either. It went to reason that he was likely in his cottage.

It’s only because I found some pumpkin seeds that I’m even going...

When he knocked on the door, he found it unlocked. Since he wasn’t an animal, he was going to wait for Tanaka to answer the door rather than barge in but...

“Ku—!”

He heard a noise. A sharp, strangled sound that was undeniably made through gritted teeth. Matsuda opened the door immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

And indeed—Tanaka was holding his bloodied hand in a death grip. The hamsters were chirping and chittering, but unaffected. What happened was clear, especially in how Tanaka’s shoulders were hunched.

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around packets of wet wipes. He rummaged through his pocket for one, stepping forward and reaching out.

“Let me...”

“NO!” Tanaka shrieked, and like a startled beast he scrambled away from his hand. He was panting, still gripping his injury with a wide and wild-eyed stare. Seeing Matsuda there did little to calm him down, as he growled, “The blood that flows through my veins bears a fearsome curse. You must step away now to spare yourself their potency.”

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around disposable gloves. He slipped them on, tearing the wet wipe packet open, and made his way closer.

“Come on. We really don’t want that bite to get infected.”

“This is not my first blood sacrifice,” Tanaka snarled, even showing his teeth. Gross. “I have no need for your medical sorcery. And furthermore, that meager covering...!”

“Oh my fucking god, shut the hell up.” Matsuda snatched up his hand, prying the other off as Tanaka shrieked some more. Thankfully, Matsuda was able to pull it away and got to work dabbing and cleaning the wound. Tanaka had completely frozen now, but Matsuda was still fuming.

“Don’t ever fucking call me meager,” he snapped, and thankfully Tanaka had spare clean bandages for him to re-wrap his hand with. “Crude and foolish I’ll take. Meager I won’t.”

Tanaka finally scoffed as Matsuda made sure the bandaging was secure.

“A demi-human like you has such pride.”

Look who’s fucking talking.

“You should not have endangered yourself, however,” Tanaka went on. “I was not telling falsehoods about my poisonous blood. It is only by a thread that you have not already deteriorated. As crude and foolish as you are, I do not desire your demise.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of poison, so you’re worrying too much,” Matsuda replied but winced from a sudden headache. As he rubbed removed his gloves to rub his temples, Tanaka stood up.

“You once again face the ramifications for your hubris!” he exclaimed and rushed back to deal with his hamsters. “I grant you relief, and I advise you to take your leave immediately.”

“I’m fucking fine, it’s just a migraine,” Matsuda griped and disposed of the gloves and wipes. “Should you really be handling those hamsters again so soon?”

“They are not mere hamsters!” Tanaka bellowed. “The fangs I have taken are that of the Crimson Steel Elephant, Maga-Z!”

Maga-Z blinked its bright beady eyes at Matsuda.

“For the sake of the Invading Black Dragon, Cham-P,” Tanaka went to coo over the largest hamster which was orange, not black. “A golden demon, one who understands fear all too well... Much attention should be heeded to make sure they do not get overly stressed out... While many devil beasts of this ilk are aggressive and fearfully territorial, the golden variant is the most docile and intelligent. They recognize me as...”

He trails off. It’s as if he’s too moved to speak.

I have heard hamsters had an unnaturally high rate of cannibalism, Matsuda thought. But I suppose like with dog breeds, they come in all sizes...and temperaments...

It was obvious Tanaka knew his shit, being an Ultimate at all. But seeing it firsthand, watching him dote on the beasts with a cottage interior largely dedicated to their cage and tube, the guy definitely loved animals. Like, a lot. Despite his delusions of grandeur, he at least seemed to love animals a healthy, non-obsessive amount.

“They’re living well,” Matsuda commented blandly.

Tanaka scoffed at him.

“For demons that live a mere 1095 days, the luxuries in life mean everything. I would never settle for less.”

“I see...” He scuffed the end of his shoe against the wooden floor. “That’s good.”

Shouldn’t have worn open-toed shoes, but I don’t have any alternatives. Oh, right.

“I got pumpkin seeds.” He tossed the bag and it landed on Tanaka’s lap. The hamsters jumped, and even Tanaka flinched. Matsuda, however, turned on his heel. “Sorry. Bye.”

With that insincere apology, he headed out. He could feel a disproving stare on his back but that didn’t lessen his steps in the slightest.

--

His favorite chicken-turned-cow was in a good mood today. She was accepting pets and even nipping at his fingers. All he had on him was candy. Not any fruit much less hay although...

“If you plan to feed that creature, you should be wary of apples,” Tanaka rumbled from behind. Where the fuck he came from, Matsuda wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t surprised to be hearing from him. “You can risk over-eating which will cause a bloated stomach for the animal.”

“Ah, thanks for the advice,” Matsuda said sincerely, turning back and frowning when he noticed the other’s own hanging head. “What’s with the long face?”

“I would hope that you do not consider that creature to be your familiar, Matsuda Yasuke,” Tanaka murmured sullenly and solemnly. Like he had come across something truly pitiful to the point of depressing.

Although he seems more focused on the cow itself...

“I don’t have a familiar,” Matsuda huffed.

Tanaka quirks an eyebrow at him. Furrows it, even, as if Matsuda is the one not making sense. How seriously annoying. But rather than inquire further, Tanaka just shakes his head.

“Creatures like that one are born to be slaughtered,” he said, turning on his heel. “What a wretched fate, one that cannot be escaped even with the use of the Evil All-Seeing Eye. If one is to form a bond with such an unfortunate beast, they will invite only calamity.”

“That’s...” Not necessarily true. There is livestock out there allowed to live full lives. But they’re exceptions that prove the rule, I suppose. And the fact that I even thought to use a word like allowed... “Woof.”

Tanaka barked back. “This sentimentality only arose because I have not encountered any new beasts. I shall go searching as to put my mind at ease.”

He walked on, and Matsuda found himself following. Tanaka didn’t seem to mind at all. The opposite, in fact.

“There are many creatures I’ve tamed, sharp-tongued one,” Tanaka went on to say. “The Cerberus. The Phoenix. Even then Midgardian Serpent.”

Looks like I was right on the money about him looking up Norse shit. That’s just another fucking word for Earth, asshole. I’ve read enough shitty fantasy manga to know.

“I saw a toucan one time,” he commented in lieu of verbalizing his thoughts. “And I guess there are the seagulls. Or those mascots.”

“Those uncute fiends cannot be trusted with their speech,” Tanaka hissed. “As for the others... Ah, the ravenous, feathered beasts.” Tanaka nodded sagely with approval at that one. “They are a perilous project as they are quite fearless and impulsive. Even when greater threats arise, they gather like a court waiting to hand down judgment.”

I think...that’s more something that crows do rather than seagulls.

He does think about it though, birds judging one another. If he looked up, he’d even see a seagull or two soar overhead. A phrase rose to his mind, unbidden.

When the seagulls cry...

“Hm?” Tanaka paused when he noticed that Matsuda had stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, and whatever expression was on Matsuda’s face—whatever that was had Tanaka clicking his tongue. “What is on your mind?”

“Something stupid,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Even in peaceful times, I can’t help but worry about how easily things fall apart. Sometimes for something as petty as a broken promise.”

Is it speech alone that gives us the means of betraying one another?

Tanaka did stiffen.

“It sure is fortunate for us that we’ve yet to deal with any storms,” Matsuda went on to say. “In fact, it’s perfect weather every single day. Isn’t that strange? It almost doesn’t feel real, and if it’s not real... Does anything that happens here matter?” He paused again. “Like I said. It’s stupid.”

“Your inane ponderings still have an air of malice,” Tanaka muttered darkly.

Huh.

“Are you saying I’m someone to be on guard around?” He cracked a dry smile. “I’m not that fucking interested in messing with people. I just lack patience.”

Tanaka gave him a look. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

“I think... I will seek solace elsewhere. Do not follow me.”

Matsuda didn’t. Simply watched the other go. It might’ve been one of those annoying situations where the person was saying the exact opposite of what they wanted, but even if he could tell that was the case, he still wouldn’t have followed.

After all.

He lacked patience.

--

Tanaka seemed especially moody today. Although no matter how sullen his air was, the island sun wouldn’t let up in the slightest. In a way, that was pretty cruel, right? In that much light, it made it difficult to hide. Or something like that.

Wonder what he’s being so fucking temperamental about...

Matsuda makes his way over, waving as he does. He stops, however, when Tanaka regards him coldly.

“Matsuda Yasuke,” he rumbled in a gravelly tone of voice. “The sharp-tongued fool whose practices engage in the constitution of the mind... Would you like to duel?”

Huh?

Matsuda dropped his hand.

“...have you finally fucking gone actually insane?” He sighed. “Don’t answer that. No, I don’t want to duel. And if you push it, I’ll leave. I don’t have time for that bullshit.”

Tanaka’s cold stare became more of a glare.

“I’m afraid I do not have such luxury around you,” Tanaka said sharply. “You grind down my defenses with this continued, unsightly association. Despite wearing the face of a human, you, Matsuda Yasuke are...!”

“I’m just human,” Matsuda replied before he could finish. With an unimpressed shrug, he added. “And if you wanted me to stop bothering you, all you had to fucking do was say so.”

“I allowed these exchanges out of a sense of curiosity, arrogantly unheeding the danger,” Tanaka went on, muttering as he did. “Truly, I have been foolish.”

The sun shone down on him. On a day this bright, there wasn’t anyone to hide. Tanaka ‘Gundam’ looked a bit ill. When Matsuda took a step closer, however, he recoiled. With a sharp hiss, Tanaka held up his hand in warning.

Like an agitated cat.

Matsuda drew back with a sigh.

Someone like this—really is so needlessly fucking difficult. And for what? An inflated sense of importance? Wasn’t getting into Hope’s Peak enough?

...if he complained too much, he’d veer uncomfortably close to hypocrisy.

Hope’s Peak was just another step for me, but I wonder what it was for someone like this? Where the hell would he be if he didn’t get in? Honestly—I doubt it would’ve been all that significant.

“Alright,” he said. “Did you get anything out of our interactions at least?”

Tanaka stared at him, but being a normal fucking person without magical powers, Matsuda was more than capable of staring back, unaffected. For some reason, Tanaka did shy back a little.

“I have keenly observed you,” he said lowly. “Namely how your regard only shifts when directed towards creatures already marked for death. I suspect—you are a creature of calamity. The eye of the storm.”

“So, what,” Matsuda drawled. “Like a demon?”

Tanaka hummed, seemingly considering it. “No... That is not quite right.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, then,” Matsuda huffed, waving his hand dismissively. “But—I think I get what you’re saying. I just think it’s funny coming from you—and that you don’t understand.”

Tanaka’s stare blazed with an offense, and Matsuda paid no heed at all.

“How I regard creatures marked for death...” Matsuda snorted. “I’m a fucking doctor. Obviously, I treat them differently. It’s part of my fucking job.”

Although he’s referring to the cow, isn’t he? Seriously...

“I guess it’s weird,” he admitted. “With how shitty of an attitude I have. But I take my job seriously. If you can’t get something that simple, then your Evil All-Seeing Eye is pretty fucking lacking.”

“You...” Tanaka growled. “You’re truly impertinent. You wield your blade recklessly and foolishly. You and I both know—that it runs deeper than mere duty for you, Matsuda Yasuke.”

...so what if it does?

He supposes he should be impressed that Tanaka isn’t that fucking dense. That the animal freak is, in fact, a little perceptive.

Smiling mirthlessly, Matsuda reached out to pat the flinching other’s shoulder. He gripped him for just a moment.

“That’s all you need to know about me,” he murmured into Tanaka’s ear before pulling back. “I think we’re at enough of an understanding. Thanks for your time.” He gave a salute as he headed on his way. “We don’t need to talk again. We especially don’t need to duel. Have a wonderful fucking day.”

“One day,” Tanaka swore. “You will meet your cruel, disastrous end. That is the decree of the Tanaka Kingdom!” As Matsuda got further away, Tanaka boomed after him. “Mark my words, sharp-tongued FOOL! You are MARKED for des—!”

It was such a headache that Matsuda tuned him out. But as he found himself alone, he did wonder.

Marked for destruction? Or something else? Despite all that time, rather than growing close, that weirdo is now convinced that I’m hopeless. He might be right. Actually, I’d still consider us closer if he can recognize that. I still don’t really care. I don’t.

He walked on, moving forward because he had nowhere else to go.

Decree. What a fucking riot. If I do die, it won’t be because of an idiot like him. But whatever makes him feel better I suppose.

Matsuda shook his head, brushing the whole thing aside except...

If I die... It won’t be until I reach the very fucking pits. I won’t settle for anything less.

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 9

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

(#3 is the winner! And the results are...interesting)

Afterward - - Part 9

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

“I mean,” Gabriel says, shrugging, “I always assumed demons had some way of healing other demons, but if you-”

“Yes, yeah we’ve got ways,” Crowley says with a glare. “But it’s complicated, alright? Some of them only work in Hell. And we can’t exactly pop down for a visit.”

Aziraphale’s hand is gentle, a soothing touch on his shoulder. 

“We’ll find another way.”

“There is another way. Might be the best option that we’ve got, given the circumstances.”

“And ...?” Gabriel says, impatiently waving him on. “Come on. Get on with it.”

Aziraphale’s hand remains on Crowley’s shoulder, and at Gabriel’s tone, they share a commiserating look.

If Beelzebub didn’t have information on a rampaging Satan - and potentially hold the key to keeping him at bay, Crowley wouldn’t even be attempting to deal with Gabriel and his over-the-top dickery. 

But considering that a crazed Satan does in fact, pose a significant problem for everyone, Aziraphale included, Crowley is willing to deal. 

For now.

With a long, deep sigh, Crowley rolls his neck, and begins, “It’s a ritual. One of the ancient ones. Transfers a portion of one being’s life force to another.”

Gabriel, thin lips mercifully closed, is nodding.

“I’ll have to perform the ritual. So you,” Crowley says, nodding sharply at Gabriel, “will have to offer up a bit of angelic life.”

Silence swallows the room.

Gabriel opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. He tilts his head, blinking, and finally says, stiff and sharp, “Yeah, no. I’m not doing that.”

“Beelzebub is dying, you jackass,” Crowley hisses, gesturing at the burnt demon, small and sunk into Gabriel’s lavish couch. “You’ve got plenty of life to spare. Get the fuck over yourself.”

Beside him, Aziraphale has a hand on Beelzebub’s wrist. He chances a short glance at Gabriel before worriedly re-examining the fading demon. 

Arms folded across his chest like a shield, Gabriel shifts, looking between them.

“Gabriel,” Crowley demands.

Twitching in a distinctly uncomfortable manner, the archangel turns a quick circle. A muscle works in his jaw. Rubbing his hands over his arms, he shakes his head once.

“Transporting you all from that church was one thing. But giving up some of my holy energy to — to —” and here, Gabriel glances down at Beelzebub, and blinking, averts his gaze. “I’m an Archangel. It would be beyond blasphemy.”

“But Gabriel,” Aziraphale starts, then stops. Carefully placing Beelzebub’s hand on the couch, he looks up. “I know you’re not on the same side, but you two have worked together. In a sense. And I don’t know the full story, clearly, but Beelzebub trusted you to—”

“Yeah, well they shouldn’t have.”

“Obviously,” Crowley drawls, lips curling back over teeth.

“It can’t be angelic to let a being just die—”

“You—” and here Gabriel stops, pressing a fist against his lips. He hisses a breath through clenched teeth. “There are rules, Aziraphale. And you never got this, but there are the right ways of breaking the rules and the wrong ways. Using one’s own angelic life force to literally breathe life into a demon is the wrong way.”

“...but,” Aziraphale says, shaking his head, “either way, it’s breaking the rules—”

“Plausible deniability, Aziraphale,” Gabriel breathes, and the sound of it is the exhaustion of ages.

“You’re really going to let Beelzebub die on your couch,” Crowley says.

Violet eyes shutter, and Gabriel turns, staring fixedly at the floor. 

“My hands are tied.”

“We could make you,” Crowley says, deadly quiet.

“You could try.”

“Crowley, stop. We can’t fight here. If we’re, I mean - I assume Gabriel brought us to...?” Aziraphale halts, glancing at Gabriel for confirmation.

Arms folded, Gabriel gives a short nod.

Heaven.

It’s his second time returning to the above in the span of a few months, and Crowley feels as little this time as he did the first. And it’s - odd, considering that Heaven - or at least his expulsion from it, has been, for many centuries, a topic of particular fixation. His lack of attachment - feeling - anything - with regard to Heaven, now that he, again, stands upon it’s pristine floors, has Crowley thinking, in a vague, distracted sense, of the nature of home. 

It’s Aziraphale’s voice, soft and musing, which draws Crowley from his thoughts.

“Release too much power, and they’ll sense our presence here.”

“Gabriel wouldn’t want that either,” Crowley thinks aloud as he refocuses on the problem at hand. Gaze wandering to the twitching Archangel, he adds, “Imagine, being caught red-handed, harboring two demons and an angelic fugitive.” 

“It’s a moot point, because we especially do not want to be discovered, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “I don’t want to imagine what Heaven would do to us, let alone Beelzebub.” 

Pressing his lips in a thin line, Aziraphale nods once, apparently arriving at some conclusion.

“I’ll do it,” Aziraphale announces.

“You - um - what?”

“We need Beelzebub. At the very least, to find out what they know,” Aziraphale insists. “I’ll happily give up a portion of my life force to heal them.”

Crowley blinks, and there’s a stuttering rhythm in his ears, because Aziraphale was nearly d—

He can’t even think it.

“You’re an idiot,” Crowley says, tongue curling around the shape of an agitated hiss. “Look at you, still pale from your lassst guh - bloody gavotte with death. You don’t have any extra life to spare, Aziraphale.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, solemn and serious, “I know myself. I know my form. I will be fine.”

Shoulders hunching, Crowley roughly shakes his head, “No. No.” Heaving a sharp breath, he shakes his head again for good measure. “Better idea. How ‘bout we off Gabriel - consequences be damned - and give Beelzebub all his miserable life energy?”

“Dear,” Aziraphale says, as Gabriel calls out—

“Fuck you too, buddy.”

And Crowley is standing, Aziraphale’s hand on his wrist as Gabriel turns, sword re-emerging from the aether-

“You are,” a halting, tremulous voice wheezes, “the actual fucking worst. And I hate... all of you.”

Aziraphale is first to react. Hands fluttering, he drops back to his knees.

“Oh, oh dear. You’d better — oh you really shouldn’t move.”

Ignoring him, Beelzebub claws the couch, attempting to rise - and promptly falls back, raking deep gouges in the cushions on their way back down. 

Crowley watches the spectacle, and for Beelzebub’s benefit, lifts a single, unimpressed brow.

Baring their teeth, the demon lord manages a wheezing cough in place of a snarl.

“While you’re up,” Crowley says, conversational, “You’re in support of us killing Gabriel to feed you his life force, yeah? He’s not really in the giving mood, it seems.”

Beelzebub’s dark, slitted eyes shift in Gabriel’s direction. 

“...what did you honestly expect?” Beelzebub says, matter-of-fact. “Angels don’t go... go around helping demons. And demons don’t help angels.”

It’s an echo of Gabriel’s own words, but the Archangel determinedly refuses to meet Beelzebub’s gaze. Fingering the edges of his pressed coat, he dips his chin once in silent agreement.

“...we exchange in trades...,” Beelzebub says, their voice little more than a sigh, “...and I’ve got information to trade...if, if you assholes can keep me alive long enough to share it.”

“So we kill Gabriel-”

“Stop offering to kill Gabriel,” Beelzebub snaps, and across the room, the archangel’s shoulders stiffen. “Just,” Beelzebub groans, “...it would be...bit ambitious to ask for a bit of Hellfire, huh?”

“A bit,” Aziraphale says, wincing.

Crowley and Gabriel, in what must be the first time in...well - ever, seem to have the same thought, at the exact same time.

“Now hold on a sec—.”

“Um. About that.”

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

Two angels and a demon are TRYING to figure out how to save a friend complicated acquaintance, and they’ve all got different ideas of how to go about doing it...

Gabriel’s idea: steal borrow without, uh, permission, Heaven’s super secret stash of Hellfire, squirreled away after Aziraphale was supposed to be executed. It is well guarded at the best of times, and for reasons Gabriel refuses to talk about, Heaven is on high alert today...

Crowley’s idea: Get in touch with a reliable  mostly reliable contact from Hell. Crowley is sure that if he can get back down to the surface and - erm, pays his contact well enough - he’ll be able to get a flask of Hellfire, probably...

Aziraphale’s idea: Go through with the ritual and give up a portion of his life. Crowley is worried over nothing. Truthfully, Aziraphale feels fine. In fact, strangely enough, better than fine…

(AUTHOR’S NOTE - these are all possible plot threads that can and WILL be explored later, so even if it’s not picked this round, mysteries will likely be revisited as the story progresses)

Comment or reblog to vote :)

Read Part 10 Here

[beizhuo]

alright folks , i made this post last night about amending my carrd rules . & now , after calming somewhat down from getting sick to my stomach about it , i must now make one final update post about this to make people really & fully understand where i stand . why ? because i am , once again , having / needing to finely comb through the people i want to follow & interact with due to some very , VERY toxic behavior & terrible , childish individuals that think its real cute to stalk , harrass , steal , & gatekeep folks . 

understand that i will NOT be namedropping anybody in this post . this is not my intention . i am not out here to isolate folks or make people ‘ chose sides ’ . making people do that is absolutely horrible ! i do not give a damn who other people interact with . i do , however have extreme issues with theft ( amongst other things ) . i can draw a god damn line at theft ! 

harassment ? don’t care . you’re trolling , i can ignore you . gatekeeping . you’e petty and attention seeking im here for friends anyway . but actual literal theft - i can draw a line there . please get out & OFF MY BLOG if you are so unoriginal that you haveta steal from me or my friends !

please know that you can interact with those thieves & gatekeepers , i don’t care ! but understand that i will most likely softblock you because i genuinely do not want them to find me . no hard feelings . ( they have found my other 2 blogs , and i am tired of them finding me ! especially for baizhu ! i don’t even follow some of my friends here cause of this ! ) i am not even in the genshin community to begin with . my group ? we don’t do communities for toxic behavior and people being so exclusive to the point of driving people out & away . its distasteful and mean ! do you know that i have some friends that were cut off from communities entirely all because they were a dupe ? tHAT is the kind of dupe drama i fucking hate . along with theft . anyway . i will start from the beginning of my rules that i deem important .

DUPLICATES . ( AND MIMICRY / THEFT )

the irony that this is the first point . it is like it was a wonderful transition . anyway . this is actually having to deal with two rule points . and i want to group them together cause they are related .

myself & a few other people have come to find out that .... there is somebody AT THE VERY LEAST taking inspo from us . i will start with dupes .

my friend has a character and was WHOLLY mistaken for another mun . which is fine . that happens , but things took a turn for the worse when they were then shunned / cut off because they werent ‘ good enough ’ . do you know how HORRIBLE that is ? to be told that you aren’t good because you weren’t the mun that they wanted ? this is the type of shit i cannot stand with dupe drama . DO NOT EVER COMPARE DUPES WITH ONE ANOTHER !!! i mean it . 

i follow different childes ! and you know what i adore them both . they are both amazing ! 

sure i may have my mains / exclusives ( and im not inclined to interact with other blogs of that same character ) but i still like portrayals . i do , in fact , just READ threads sometimes . i don’t necessarily follow for interactions . like ffs man . i like variety . jesus christ .

going to mimicry / theft . you know ... i have fucking seen this with a couple of friends . there is a difference between coincidental similarities , however ! for myself & for my friends , we have SEEN inspo taken from us . im gonna say this really loud for people .

MIMICRY IS NOT FUCKING FLATTERY . 

do not take inspo from me . especially without credit . absolutely do NOT do it . you are very unoriginal for doing that shit . 

now , you like something i make / made ? you are inspired to want to make something ? fine , that’s okay , you can ALSO fucking ask me , you can also credit me . as you fucking should ! you can notify me and go , damn , i really like your style , do you mind if i use it in xyz ? sure , go right ahead . do it . im begging you , go ahead and do it IF YOU FUCKING ASK ME . god im so fucking angry about this , but this is some vile shit . and im angry .

i am angry and terrified cause i literally cannot get away from these people cause they seem to be wherever i go . i DO NOT DO COMMUNITIES BECAUSE OF THIS .

as a good friend said : it’s like they are a virus that you cannot get rid of .

thats what happens with attention seekers unfortunately , but for the sake of my safety & health , i will not have it on my blog or dash . if i see these people on my dash often , i will unfollow .

and it isn’t like a specific person , its a GROUP of people . which leads me to my next point .

DRAMA / CALLOUTS.

imagine having beef with an individual , and then going around and gatekeeping that individual and getting people to unfollow / block them . im not talking about , ‘ hey this person is vile because they ship incest ’ . i am talking about ‘ i had a disagreement with this person & they hurt my feelings >:/ they are mean and will hurt you . etc etc etc . ’ 

i do not give a flying fuck about somebodies issues with another person . so you guys don’t get along . not my problem . i have people that hate me . i have friends where i hate their friends . shit happens . i am probably absolute scum to some people lol . i get mistaken for other people sometimes . it’s fine , hate me cause you think im that person . that person is snowflake repellent anyway , go choke on your kool aide that you are drinking ig . 

okay sorry i am angry but still . people claim and cry about wanting to talk & communicate . but then . guess what . sometimes shitty people are like , so this person said this to me , and they are mean . IF YOU ARE THE PERSON THAT GOES ‘ OH MY GOD HOW DARE THEY ’ AND BLOCK THEM THEN YOU ARE THE PROBLEM . i will give an example . of using my two names that i have .

somebody goes to amphy and says ‘omg ghost said this , and im frustrated and angry with them cause what he said was uncalled for . ’ if amphy goes ‘ omg ghost is shitty ’ and then unfollows / blocks them without any other discussion , then thats an issue cause ghost has no idea wtf happen . amphy got involved in YOUR relationship with ghost even though ghost has been nothing but kind and sweet to you . you also don’t know if amphy is just victimising or being emotional either . so why they fuck would you believe somebody who is venting to you about it and then block somebody who did literally NOTHING to you .

i dont know if i explained that correctly but i will give you something more realistic , again without namedropping .

i have a few friends that hate one another . i’ve known all of them for years . but they all , i kid you not , they ALL fucking hate each other . there’s three of them . and they cannot stand each other . i just happen to be somebody who gets along with all of them . you bet your ass that at one point , they all came to talk mad shit about the others . what did i do ? i went , oh okay . well im sorry that you have issues with them . sounds like a bad experience , but i can’t do anything about that cause i am not you and i am not them . if you are gonna change my mind , it isn’t gonna happen , sorry !

i have had people shit talk people i have no idea who they are , and i just sit here just being a source for them to vent , but i never NEVER EVER act on anything i hear . why ? cause its petty drama and gossip . if you do that , then damn , sorry kiddo , get some help on that alright ? maybe be nicer . i dunno .

now . racism ? pedophilia ? incest ? HARMFUL SHIT ? that’s different . but again , theres a lot of miscommunication . i have people coming and pulling the cards like they are hot shit  and that isn’t fucking cute . THAT ISN’T CUTE GUYS . you are the problem if you try to victimize yourself cause of something YOU misinterpreted .

i have a friend that has this on their blog .

i am literally going off on a god damn tangent . anyway . :) 

fuck you if drink kool aide .

THERE ARE OTHER MENTAL DISORDERS! YOU ARE ABLEIST IS YOU ERASE THE OTHER (UN)COMMON ONES.

i know that autism is the ‘common’ one here . you are valid okay . but guess what . ADHD , BPD, DiD, and straight up depression and anxiety are also things as well ! there are MANY folks here that are also undiagnosed as well OR they lay on some sort of spectrum as well . I am once again not going to disclose my own things here cause again THAT IS PRIVATE INFO , but fuck you if you refuse to see other disabilities .

also there are physical disabilities as well btw .

if you are not understanding of any other disability , or you wanna mute / deafen other mental disorders , YOU ARE THE FUCKING PROBLEM .

end of story . 

treat other people how you want them to treat you and don’t you dare ever shove your baggage at them . thanks . 

please be more understanding that some people are not okay:tm: . 

i implore you to get help if you need help , but sometimes some people dont have to take your shit . and they most certainly do not need to sit and take your issues if they are not okay either . its toxic and very unhealthy behavior to expect others to help you . they can help you as best as they can , but you need to understand that everybody has their moments . do not guilttrip them . do not gaslight them . 

but also understand that sometimes , people are saying things cause they genuinely need help ! you can be there for them but as a friend , you need to also tell them your own boundaries as well and tell them that they need to seek professional help .

but also , if somebody refuses to get help , then that is on them . not on you . 

anyway another tangent , but back to the point . autism , while you need to understand is something you need to see and understand , is not the only mental disorder ! and you need to understand that some people suffer from really REALLY shitty things and are sometimes undiagnosed . i am really REALLY tired of depression , ADHD , BPD, and DiD getting brushed under the rug like they are not important . cause guess what , there are spectrums ! all mental health is important . fuck you if you disregard the other disorders , you are being ableist .

STOP HATE READING PEOPLE.

im really sick and tired of this . you don’t like something somebody said ? you can either : ask what they meant or block / unfollow them . 

DO NOT FUCKING STALK THEM EITHER . 

you have an obsession if you hover on their blog too .. do not do that . that is SO unhealthy for you . here is what a friend said on twitter . ( not name dropping them , just copy pasting them )

❛ i stg people need to fine a better hobby than to hate read a persons blog or profile. not a good look on you when you go and read what they post about just to get angry at something you think they said and then you go off spewing lies about it cause 'youre offended.'  

like you already hate them in the first place. you weren’t 'looking to see if they were a better person.' youre just looking to find another thing to hate about them. 

that is what hate reading is about. so you can read their posts and find just another reason to hate and laugh at how bad you think they are.

but it doesnt make you a better person. it just makes you a sad person with no life. stop hate reading people. grow tf up. go breathe on some plants or something idk.

i say this very loud and clear . if you hate read me , i live in your head rent free . not my problem . but it does become my problem if you begin to steal shit and start spewing lies about myself or my friends . grow up and move on with your life . sorry my life seems more interesting than you ig . idk .

anway this got long , and at this point i am going off on a tangent but !!!!

TL ; DR

read my rules ig . idk .

you can dm me for more info if you want . at this point i have blocked the problem blogs for myself. if you are curious you can ask . HOWEVER. i am not going to tell you to block or unfollow . why ? cause at the end of the day , it is MY beef . this are my issues . i am NOT here to gatekeep .

i will say that i will tell you IN private the for MY story . but keep in mind that it is MY story . not yours . not theirs . it is all about perception .

my perception is that they are scummy gatekeeping thieves . they gatekeep the people they dont like or are intimidated by . i am somebody who fucking bites and calls people out on their shit , because of this ? i make enemies . but my enemies are not yours . i dont care .  dont give a damn . i am intimidating to people who are cowards and i don’t care . 

if they feel bad when i call them out , if they try to go around and do damage control , then that means they are guilty .

and then you can ask yourself this : why are they reacting like that ?

i am once again going to bring up that other twitter user that i quoted before .

❛  you dont like hearing that because someone is holding a mirror up to you and it makes you uncomfortable because you know you . and you know the parts of you that are good . so in your heart you have to come up with a narrative that makes you feel better about the fact that somebody is asking your to confront the parts about yourself that you hate the most .

anyway . this got long . im so sorry for the long read . im so sorry i sounded hostile ad angry . im just volatile sometimes . im just really tired . and i dont need to come on this blog and have a panic attack . 

anyway . cheers loves ! stay happy , stay healthy . drink your fluids . take your meds !

[iraprince]

do u have any advice for forcing past 50 layers of self loathing in order to work on practicing art? i know i gotta Just Do It to get better and i've gotten a lot better in the past few months thru consistent practice!! but some days i sit down to do it and immediately get hit with a feeling of You Will Never Be Good Enough And That Makes You A Bad Person that i really struggle to get past :/ i rly resonate w your posts about mental illness/health so i thought i'd ask! hope you have a good week!

it’s hard! it’s fucking hard. it takes constant daily practice -- not just at art but practice at being kind to yourself -- and it takes a long time, at least in my experience.

the first and most important thing, which you’ve probably already heard a billion times and are sick of hearing bc it’s so much easier said than done, is to try your best to stop comparing yourself to others. constantly holding yourself up to artists who are more technically adept/more polished than yourself will poison ur heart and brain and make it so, so much harder for u to focus on ur own craft. if you really, REALLY can’t turn that comparison/jealousy/stress into inspiration rn, it may mean you just have to actually limit the amount of time u spend looking at work that creates that ache in you, yknow? and so the flip side of this advice is another piece of advice i’ve given before, which is that u should surround yourself w people who are kind of roughly in the same “stage” of their creative journey as u. connect w other artists who are struggling w their confidence, other artists who don’t have much of an audience, other artists who are still trying to get their technical level to where they want it -- people who are going through stuff you relate to personally, instead of just following artists who you feel are already “way better” than u so all u feel when u look at their stuff is “my stuff will never look like that.” if u already do, that’s fantastic! lean into your interactions w them, learn from each other, and remind yourself constantly that FAR more people are in your boat (where we all have stuff artwise that we’re insecure about and we’re all trying really hard to get better and get our stuff out there) vs like, the amount of artists who are just “Good Enough!” and have settled there and are just chillin is comparatively very very small. MOST people feel exactly the way you do.

i also have a thread i wrote on twitter about how to deal with and work around the discouragement of not being technically skilled enough to draw what’s in your head. tldr: while you are in stages where you’re not happy with your skill level (which are feelings that will fade, and then come back, over and over again, for as long as you draw), instead of giving up, try to be realistic AND proactive and change the internal monologue from “i’m not good enough to draw this :(” to “okay. i’ll just frustrate myself if i keep trying to draw plan A. what’s a plan B that’s more realistic with my skill level?”

another thing it took me forever to learn is that everything doesn’t have to be posted. a lot of times a piece i was in the middle of wouldn’t actually be AWFUL, but it wouldn’t be “good enough to post,” so i’d convince myself i hated it. i spent ages thinking of every single drawing i ever made in terms of “is this polished enough to post, if i post this will anyone like/retweet/reblog this, will this make me look like i’m shitty at drawing if i post it,” blah blah blah blah blah, and finally realizing that u can just. MAKE drawings that aren’t that good, and nobody EVER has to see them if u don’t want them to and that doesn’t mean the drawing was a waste of time, was a revelation for me tbh. and i still struggle w feeling like any drawing that i don’t post and get validation on is a “waste” or like, pointless, but i’m training myself out of that and it helps a lot. sort of connected to this, try your BEST not to scrap drawings halfway through when you don’t like how they’re coming out. really really try to push through and finish crappy drawings. nobody has to know, and you’ll progress faster by making yourself finish things instead of giving up on a string of a dozen half-drawn heads.

aaaaaand finally: when drawing stops being fun and starts being something you’re torturing yourself with, maybe it’s time to go do something else for a while. like, i think utilizing this advice effectively requires having a really honest and realistic self-dialogue, bc literally the last thing i said before this was “make yourself do things you don’t want to do” and i don’t want this advice to turn into “well every single time i get frustrated that means it’s time to give up on practice for the day,” obviously. but i mean there IS a line between gritting your teeth and pushing through dull/embarrassing/just not super fun practice for the greater good, vs torturing yourself banging your head against a wall for hours at something that’s not making you happy. sometimes if you hit a plateau or you just can’t find any joy or contentment in trying that just means you’re creatively depleted. you need to rest and go soak in some inspiration and just get away from your tablet/sketchbook for a while and that’s so normal. besides, you’re already doing fine: from the way you phrase this, you HAVE been consistently practicing, and it’s just that some days you’re tired and fed up and you can’t do it. there’s nothing weird about that! that’s how everyone is! so, you know: work hard, play hard, but be nice to yourself and cut yourself a little more slack. you’ll get there and it’s not a race.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

So, generally, I couldn’t leave this stuff on ending 1. So, ‘Something Begins’, or so called Ending 2, part kind of 1. Mostly unedited, still ‘a bad Witcher AU’. So it would seem it gets to be made into a proper thing.

Warnings: none (unless you count general creepiness or mention of hunting/hunting practices or personal angst).

*

It takes him closer to two decades to return even if he swore he wouldn't come back. The horse plods slowly along the road, the dirt muffling the sound of its shoes. Only the jingling of the harness and gear rises above the song of the cicadas in the dead summer air. The trail takes him through the fields of wheat just about losing their grayish-green tint to dirty yellow of fresh straw. Clusters of red and blue in the grain provide welcome relief from the monotony, as do small birds on a hunt, flitting in and out of the wheat.

For the whole day Gabriel barely passes or sees anyone, people probably busy with the festivities preceding the hard work of the harvest, not that he is bothered by it. Far from it, he's rather comfortable with drawing no attention even if the region is favorable to his kin. The voice calling him comes from behind and Gabriel looks over his shoulder to a man awkwardly chasing him, a big pack on his back and a walking stick in hand. He turns the horse around, waiting for him to catch up.

"Master witcher," the man stops to regain his breath.

"A noonwraith?" The fact the general populace is less likely to call him a mutant or devilspawn doesn't mean anyone's going to stop him for a chat. The season's right for the wraiths, too.

"No, no, not a thing like that, doesn't keep around, master witcher." The man has a skin like leather weathered by sun, grey peeking from under his cap, wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. "Have you come for you pay, master witcher?"

Ah. He hadn't really intended to check back on that, mostly forgot about it. Gabriel shakes his head. Nothing about it stirs his interest.

"No. Keep it."

The man nods, as if thinking something over, humming to himself.

"Then come with me, master witcher, spend the night, and the feast. Tomorrow's my youngest hair-cutting, and Mikheil's farewells, the boy's leaving the homestead."

"Your oldest?" Gabriel asks on a whim.

"No, no, the third oldest, the boy got into his head he's better off finding his luck on the road. Well-spoken too, didn't get that from me and my girl," the man explains with enthusiasm. "Family's farm's not for him."

"That's how kids are. He will come around."

"No, no, master witcher, there's no talking him out of anything, always does what he wants. Me and Lila, we thought of giving him to the druids. Some choice words he had, and the druids, they just said no, but Mikheil's got talent."

The man - Wernund, as Gabriel’s memory suddenly reminds him after almost eighteen years, curious what little tidbits emerge when not expected - continues on about his family, and, whether wanting or not, he learns ins and outs of the familial life on the farm. Stranger still, Wernund keeps to the horse's side, and Gabriel feels no need to hurry the mount out of its complacent tempo.

"...I know the naming is mine but Lila chose the name for Nielub, it's a good name, strong name. Woj. That boy will fight a bear barehanded if allowed."

"And the woods, how are they?"

The treeline, closer and definite, sways on the afternoon wind, greener than Gabriel recalls it to have been when he paid it a visit with Jack.

"Never better. I don't know what you did in there, master witcher, but a month, and it was like before."

"Only returned what had been taken from it. Gabriel," he adds. "It's my given name."

With a glance, he observes the plethora of mixed emotions on Wernund's face, waits for the offer of the stay to be rescinded, but to his surprise the man again nods to himself.

"So it would be you, master witcher. Must've had your reasons."

"Gabriel."

"Would be improper, master witcher." Gabriel chuckles at his headstrong resolution and the refusal to feel fright at being in the presence of the one hailed the Reaper. "And there, there is my home."

Wernund points at the buildings at the edge of the forest, almost directly on the no-one's land between the trees looming over the road and the swaying wheat. The farmyard, as a whole, is too big and ample for him to travel on foot - a house, a shed, and a stable, all separate. With the diminishing distance the activity in front of the house becomes obvious: two women sitting on the wooden bench - both plucking chickens, some down floating freely - one man chopping the wood, and a boy running with a stick with several colorful ribbons tied to it.

As they get closer, one of the women notices them - quickly says something - the rest of the way they pass under the scrutiny, and the boy, must be Nielub, running towards his father, the ribbons fluttering behind him. The boy is blond, as is the man leaning now on the axe.

The women, on the other hand, both have rich brown hair, though the older one is visibly greying in front and on her temples - where her locks are woven around polished copper rings glinting in the sun.

Gabriel reins in the horse and dismounts while the boy asks after the gifts.

"Lila!" Wernund sends the boy back to play, placating him with a wooden sword from his backpack propped against the wall. "Lila, we have a guest."

"I noticed," she huffs, returning to her work after giving her husband a lingering look. "Mojmira. Bring the pitcher."

Being observed - regarded with suspicion - never something he grew accustomed to even if it'd always been present in the background of his life, but now back of Gabriel's neck prickles with the question unasked and the weight of her eyes on him.

"I have no intention of taking..."

"Not important," Lila cuts him off, fingers deftly tearing out the feathers, her head tilted to the side hawkishly. "You must be the witcher, the one who rescued idiot husband of mine, I've seen you in my ken." Ah, one of those. Gabriel nods, smiling with the corner of his lips. "You have my thanks, for everything. There's place for you, and the horse, in the stable, clean, and tomorrow, the feast. You'll be staying."

Mojmira comes back from the house with a clay jug held in one hand, and a wooden cup she hands him, dark eyes flicking to his face.

"I see," Gabriel chuckles, raising the cup to his lips - the smell and the taste slightly sour, water with vinegar. "A counteroffer."

"Maybe." Lila throws feathers to the ground. "Fate allows for bargains, but it won't be scorned, not even by the likes of you, witcher."

He glances to Wernund standing several feet away, talking with his oldest, Adan, as he came to know on the way.

"Is your daughter the same?"

Mojmira, sitting again by the side of her mother, and back at work, giggles.

"All women in my line have their gifts."

"And your husband said you're not well-spoken."

"My husband, as much as I love him, is many things, but he had not been born and raised here. He doesn't need to know."

"I see. I'll be going to the forest but I commit myself to be back for the night."

"Fine by me," Lila nods and Gabriel leaves the cup on the bench. "And if you find Mikheil hunting rabbits there, send him home."

"You let your son..."

"You should know, witcher, better than anyone, that if the forest wants to give, it does, and if it doesn't want to, it doesn't."

"It also has a way of punishing those that take what they shouldn't," his tone is sharper than he intends it to, and Gabriel sighs, closing his eyes for a moment.

"That is why we never take what is not offered. If the rabbit springs from under your feet, is it not a gift?"

Gabriel prefers not to answer her knowing smile, instead he turns and leaves the horse grazing in the yard. With a heavy heart, he crosses the road and walks into the forest's shade, feeling her gaze on his back.

The woods are nothing like he remembers them, lush and green now. Neither a desolate and twisted place overgrown with thorns and full of bones, nor a dark nightmare of a child full of monsters. There is life in the trees, birds and insects singing. He spots a fox deeper in - it idly considers him before turning and disappearing in the bushes. Gabriel lets himself wander, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and fingers brushing against the spot under which the flower rests.

Maybe he should have visited years earlier, but it had never felt like a thing to do, the current situation more of an accident than anything else.

It's the smell of fresh blood that pulls him out of his thoughts, and he approaches carefully the small clearing. Two rabbits being bled hang by their hind legs from a low branch, next to them several fish with twine threaded under their gills, a bow and a quiver on the ground. A young man, judging by the posture, sits on the grass with his back to him, occupied with something in his lap. Blond, like the other sons of Wernund.

"Mikheil?"

"You're the worst at collecting your pay, you know?" The boy, springing to his feet, chuckles, and turns. "I was about to go look for you myself."

Gabriel freezes, faced with the impossibility of the image before him, his eyes drifting to the weasel swinging freely from the hands holding it.

"You hate..."

"Oh, yeah, I still do, I guess," Jack mutters, "but this is Lord Murders-A-Lot."

Younger, with places still left to fill out, awkward posture - the legs and arms a bit too long and bony, bits of baby fat waiting to disappear, hair not short enough, dissonances like a vision superimposed on something real.

"...and he murders a lot," slips from Gabriel's lips.

"Mostly chicks. I'm trying to wane him off murder," Jack moves his hands - the weasel appears to be content with being swung around, "and teach him to go after the eggs, but it's not working out. At least, the eggs don't scream at him they're being murdered, like the chicks do."

Gabriel takes a tentative step forward as Jack continues to speak.

"Voles, too. I've even seen him take down a rabbit once, he's an exceptional murder ribbon."

"I miss you," words barely a whisper.

"Well, you certainly didn't hurry then," Jack scoffs, before his eyes widen a bit. He crosses the distance between them - Gabriel cannot shift his gaze away from the weasel for some reason - and stops in front of him. "You're still thinking I'm not here."

"No, you're here, just..." A memory, an apparition, a vision? Not real, not physical, because Jack is dead.

"I sure hope I'm not whatever it is you're imagining me to be, Rhenaweddin." Jack moves, quick, his lips warm and chapped at the edges, with an elusive taste of something sweet and green between them. Gabriel grabs onto his arms to keep him in place before he slips away, again. "I'm really counting on that last growth spurt. Standing on my toes to kiss you, cub, it's going to get old fast."

"That's," Gabriel laughs, almost silent, contained - maybe the emotion has a hysterical flavor to it, "that's what you're worried about?"

"Small things to worry about are good things. Now," Jack puts Lord Murders-A-Lot on his shoulder and the weasel with no delay flattens itself around his neck, "what has my mother managed to rope you into?"

"A bargain. I might have traded..."

"Then you weren't listening, cub."

"Told to send you home." The tightness in his throat is making it hard for him to speak.

"Sneaky woman," Jack clicks his tongue with appreciation, stretching his neck out for a quick peck. "Well, best not to keep her waiting too long, then, she can be really bitchy at times."

Gabriel watches him turn, gather the bow and the quiver, pick the rabbits and the fish from the branch, as if it's the most common - the most reasonable - thing to do. His medallion remains motionless, the thought of having missed its movement earlier in the day troubles him.

"Are you coming, little cub?" Jack laughs, passing him, the weasel still on its perch, its eyes closed and nose twitching. "It feels somewhat strange calling you that when I'm shorter than you."

At that age, yes, Jack hadn't been the tallest, rapidly gaining height only later.

They both did, but it took more time for Jack to grow into his body - his agility strangely mismatched with his disproportionate limbs and bony hips. All paired up with a little cheeky grin like the one he wears now when he looks over his shoulder at Gabriel.

"I'm coming."

Rabbits and fish. Out hunting when they should be training, returning to the keep with the spoils they had not roasted already over the fire hidden in the cove, stomachs full, ready for the reprimand coming from Reinhardt.

It's a memory playing out again in front of Gabriel.

He should, probably, thank the forest for that glimpse, or hate it, deeply, for forcing him to remember and dwell on happier times, uncomplicated, when the only worry had been doing something stupid - which they both were good at, exceptionally so - and suffering the consequences. Broken bones would mend, and scrapes and cuts, sometimes burns and bites, they would heal.

Jack, leading the way, moves with the same kind of disjointed grace he had observed so many times then. Maybe, it is a chance to say proper goodbyes, and to put the ghosts to rest.

"Wait," Gabriel calls after him as Jack is about to cross the invisible boundary of the forest and walk onto the road - the homestead and the fields visible in glimpses between the trees - and the moment has to end.

"You really won't like mother when she's angry."

And just like that, he steps outside the woods, leaving Gabriel with his hand outstretched behind.

He waits for Jack to vanish, for the illusion to fall away from the boy - yet nothing happens, it's still the same painfully familiar silhouette cut against the darkening sky.

The fact he doesn't remember there being any houses this close to the forest does not assuage his uneasiness. Respect it, trust it, revere it, but do not come too close if not needed. The medallion lies dormant. Gabriel draws in a deep breath and follows Jack - not Jack.

The table is set - bread, butter, and white cheese, a pitcher in the centre, probably more water - lit by two torches on poles sticking out of the ground. Lila combs her fingers through Jack's hair but her eyes are on Gabriel.

"Rabbits and fish, as promised."

"Go inside and welcome your father, he's back from the town."

"Yes, mother."

Jack leaves the catch hanging on the hook by the door and disappears inside the house. Lila waits before speaking again.

"Did you find what you were looking for, witcher?"

"No." Gabriel holds her gaze.

[raven-n-tha-moonlight]

I knelt beside where he sat on the bunk, with my kit on the floor and the neat compartments open. My needle and thread pierced his skin, over and over, drawing droplets of blood. I dabbed the wound with more cotton and antiseptic, then gingerly smeared on the thick balm with my fingertips. The herbal mixture was smooth and fragrant, wafting to my nose, mildly calming my frayed nerves.

I examined my work, then grabbed the roll of bandages. “I don’t need that,” said Rhyne sharply.

I flinched. Then I drew myself up, and responded, not looking at him, “I’m afraid that’s not your choice. The wound won’t heal as quickly without it. You’ll get it off soon enough.”

“I said, I don’t need it, love.”

Grabbing his arm, I slapped the bandage on and replied, “I said, you don’t have a choice.” Then I wrapped it roughly around his arm, briefly wondering at the possible loss of circulation, then deciding if it really bothered him he could rip it off. Rhyne probably would either way. He disliked being babied. That part of him hadn’t been a lie.

He scrutinized me carefully, and I met his piercing dark eyes for a moment before I glanced away. I heard the laugh in his voice as he said, “Love, look at me.”

Refusing, I fiddled with my kit and began packing up. “The others will want to see you soon. I should go.”

Rhyne caught my hand as I stood. “Stay. I’ll be lonely without anyone here. Wait until they come.” It was his own damn fault he was lonely. Despite it, I decided I could tolerate his presence a while longer.

“Sit,” he invited, patting the spot beside him on the bunk. I remained kneeling, finished repacking my kit, and crossed my arms. He sighed, “Suit yourself,” and leaned back against the pillows, languidly tipping his head back and baring his throat. His uninjured arm cradled his head. I kept my eyes trained on his bland, unimpressive black shirt, to keep myself from dwelling on his lean, panther-like body, or his mass of raven-black hair that tickled his strong, muscular shoulders.

He began, “Why did you volunteer to help me? Any of the others could have.”

Flatly, I replied, “It wasn’t much of a choice, really. I could either let one of them suffer in the presence of an unfeeling prick, or suffer myself.”

“Really, love? That’s what you think of me?”

“Stop calling me that nickname. You don’t even know what love is.”

“I might, if you give me a chance.” He rose in a single, smooth motion and advanced on me.

I tripped over my kit in my haste to retreat. “I already gave you your chance. Every day, I gave you your chance, until Holly. You went over the line with her. I won’t ever forget what you did to her.”

“It was an accident, Veris. It was only good fun, a joke-“

“She wakes up screaming some nights, because of you,” I snapped. My pulse rose. I kept backing away. My sister with her dancing blue eyes and her soft, silken hair like caramel. Holly, my sister, who had laughed with me. My sister, who now sat listlessly on her bed some mornings, gazing blankly at nothing. Before, she would have gotten up early to admire the sunrise. My sister, who hated walking by herself anymore, especially at night. My sister, who now feared harmless insects.

“Then it’s her own fault, for taking the stunt too seriously. It wouldn’t have hurt her, if she hadn’t grabbed that burning log to defend herself. Royce worms hate fire. She should have known.” He came closer.

I yielded another step and shook my head in disbelief. “How can you blame Holly? She’s the victim here. You all shouldn’t have pulled that trick in the first place.”

Rhyne kept walking. My back hit the wall. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. He was a good three inches taller, and much broader. An uneasy feeling bubbled in my stomach, but I said evenly, “Leave me be.”

He finally stopped, when there was only a breath between us. He whispered, “You want me, love. You just don’t want to admit it.”

I glared at him, meeting his eyes for the first time, bearing the full force of his attention. “You have no idea what I want. You must have misinterpreted my disgust if you think I want you.”

Rhyne planted a hand beside my head with a thunk. He leaned in, his breath tickling my ear, as he murmured, “You will do as I say, love, or I might get angry. First rule of the game, don’t anger someone who has claws for nails.” He lowered his hand from the wall and unsheathed his black claws. They sprouted from his nail beds, curving as they went. He rested his hand against the wall once again, clicking his new claws against the plaster. “Now, I want you to take off your shirt.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Are you insane? Who do you think I am, Rhyne? I’m not your friend, and definitely not your girlfriend.”

His eyes flicked over me and down my body hungrily. My core grew stone cold, like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on me. He seized my chin in his non-clawed hand. “Do it, love, or I’ll rip it off you instead.”

“They’ll be coming back any minute,” I breathed, frantically. “Leave me alone.” I tried to push him away, but to no avail. His eyes were bright with dark mirth. Then he retracted his claws and two-handedly tore open my shirt. I screamed, and his big hand closed over my mouth. I bit him, hard enough to draw blood. He yelped, then shook out his hand and slapped me across the face. His hips dug into mine, pinning me to the wall. A hand circled my throat, and slightly squeezed. As I fought it, he said in my ear, “Stop fighting. You’ll be able to breathe if you behave.”

I went limp, really limp. My legs could have been noodles. He was not expecting that, because I fell to the floor. I crawled away, coughing, trying to rise. I felt a tight grip on my ankle, and I was yanked flat on my stomach. His heavy weight settled on top of me. “Love, listen. Just obey me, and you won’t be hurt.”

“I bet that’s what you told Holly, too, before you threw Royce worms at her. That she wouldn’t get hurt, if she did what you told her.” I got my elbows underneath me, but a solid weight pushed me down again. He said in my ear, “Why are you making this more difficult than it has to be, love? Just give in.”

I snarled, “Never!” I spotted my kit lying a few feet away. If I could just reach it…

“Fine,” he whined. “I must say though… if you don’t do as I say, I will make sure everyone knows it was you.”

I paused, horror blooming through me. “It wasn’t me,” I hissed. “You know that.”

“I can’t say I do, love. Things aren’t looking very hopeful for you. Or your sister, for that matter. New evidence has appeared that practically frames the two of you. I haven’t reported it yet, but I could.”

I stopped struggling. We were innocent. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take much to convince the courts we were guilty. What had he discovered? Was he bluffing? But what if he had actually found something he could frame us with? What if he could twist it into something believable?

Resignation flooded my body. “Okay. Just don’t tell anyone anything.”

“On my word,” said Rhyne, reasonably. He shifted his weight, and then he was off me. I sat up, my head throbbing.

I looked up at him bleakly. “Tell me what you want, Rhyne.”

He gazed down at me, then crouched in front of me. He pointed to his lips. “I want you to kiss me. A real kiss. Not just a peck.”

It wasn’t that bad, all things considered. Yet, I still had to hide my grimace. Nervously, I licked my lips. He waited intently, his eyes fixed on me. I settled myself for a moment, imagining he was Ohare. I tucked his long, black hair behind his ears, running my fingers through it. He ducked his head down to meet my lips. He smelled like licorice. His mouth was softer than I expected. He cradled my jaw with his hands and deepened the kiss. I closed my eyes, counting the seconds until it ended. He kissed rough, and a part of my core heated in response. Mostly, though, I hated it.

He pulled away, and I opened my eyes. His pupils were dilated. I quickly looked away. He stroked my face, running a thumb over my lips. “Good,” he purred. “Now, lie on your back and do it again, love.” I hesitated for a moment too long, and he unsheathed his claws slightly. They pricked my cheek, hard enough to draw blood. I laid back, and he moved over me, his legs framing mine, his hips digging into me. I trembled as he lowered himself to my lips. “Open for me,” he said against my mouth. I did, and closed my eyes. Pretend he’s Ohare. Pretend. Pretend. His tongue swiped along the center ridge of my mouth. He tasted like garlic. Maybe he ate some for lunch. These random thoughts spun inside my head as he kissed me.

I didn’t know where I would draw the line. What command would I refuse to obey? What would happen if I dared? Carefully, I put my hands on his shoulder blades. His lips left mine as he pulled back, and I could tell he was scrutinizing me. I kept my eyes closed, my expression one of relaxation as I traced the firm muscles on his back. Finally, he resumed kissing. He became more frenzied with every passing moment. Soon, there would be no stopping him.

I cracked open an eye. There was my kit. So close. Cautiously, I reached out and grabbed the handle. Then I brought my knee up, suddenly, viciously, in between his legs. He collapsed on me, and I swung my kit. It made contact with a dull thud, and I shoved him off. I battered him as I stood, then I ran.

I ran out, and left him on the floor.

I ran.

And ran.

I got as far as I could from that room, from him, before the sobs tore out of me.

(Thx for reading this! I am looking for feedback, and would really appreciate any advice more experienced writers have for me. Slow moments? Clunky wording? Confusing phrases you had to reread? Just let me know! It will help me become a better writer!)

[justalittlelitnerd]

By A Thread by Lucy Score

We weren’t touching. But it felt like the space between us was charged with something. It was acting like a defibrillator on my heart.

This book had everything I want in a romance: a sassy, non-damsel heroine and a hero with soft boi vibes (I am a complete sucker for assholes covering up soft, warm centers). 

Don’t let the office romance aspect dissuade you (it’s obviously a common, but controversial trope in romance b/c power dynamics and whatnot), this is not ~in my experience~ a conventional office romance. 

First, Ally only ends up working at Dominic’s company after he gets her fired and his mom (who’s also his boss at the magazine she also owns) makes the job offer in reparation.  

Second, in addition to the two characters being completely at odds from the first meeting (he got her fired after all), Dominic is staunchly against an office romance not only because of his own values and awareness of power dynamics but because of his father’s history of sexual harrassment and assault. When they eventually fall into bed together (because duh this is a romance) he immediately offers to quit his job so the power dynamics of the office wouldn’t be an issue. 

That being said Dominic is an overbearing, and at times straight up controlling, son of a bitch (sorry as Ally would say his mother is lovely) and it made me want to throat punch him sometimes, but at the same time so did Ally’s stubbornness and pride. 

Score has a talent though for balance because any time Dominic started to get out of control, Ally wouldn’t hesitate to go head to head with him and speak her mind and the honesty and directness was refreshing. 

The ending felt a little bit rushed because clearly Dominic was trying (although in ways that were grossly overbearing and were exactly what Ally didn’t want him to do) and she made it clear that she couldn’t forgive him and I wanted more of a conversation or thought process to why she finally did aside from “that’s what love is.” 

This book was fun and funny and sarcastic and their banter made the story flow and is definitely the main reason I would consider rereading this romance.

Keep reading for some top notch quotes!

It wasn’t out of the kindness of my heart. I had neither kindness nor a heart. I considered it atonement for being an asshole.

Clearly, she wasn’t intimidated by an asshole in Hugo Boss with a haircut that cost more than her entire outfit. I basked in her disdain. It was miles more comfortable for me than the terrified glances and “Right away, Mr. Russo”s I got in the hallways at work.

It had been too long since I’d squashed a disrespectful underling. I itched to do it now. She looked not only like she could take it but that she might even enjoy it.

“Fine. But if she poisons me, I’ll sue her and her entire family. Her great-grandchildren will feel my wrath.” My mother sighed theatrically. “Who hurt you, darling?” It was a joke. But we both knew the answer wasn’t funny.

I knew he felt it, too. That unexpected jolt. Like taking a shot of whiskey or sticking a finger in a light socket. Maybe both at the same time. For one moment of pure insanity, I wondered if he intended to take me over his knee and if I’d let him.

I’d assumed they’d all get used to me. Apparently I’d assumed incorrectly. I was the beast to my mother’s beauty. The monster to the heroine. When they looked at me, they saw my father.

Her tone was steely and anger all but crackled off her. I hoped she got the guy’s balls in the divorce.

“You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled once in a while,” she mused, fluttering her lashes. No wonder women hated it when men said that.

It was fucking cold. February was right around the corner, and if there was anything colder and damper than January in New York, it was fucking February. Of course, fashion didn’t heed below-freezing temperatures. No. Fashion made its own rules outside of time and space and temperature.

I, on the other hand, didn’t trust myself to survive even basic contact. Ally was only safe, my soul was only safe, as long as I didn’t touch her.

He was looming over me, but rather than threatening, it felt intimate, careful, almost safe. Like I wanted to be exactly here with exactly him.

Tell me the top five things you hate STAT. (This is the secret to finding out just how bad a person is in case you need it for interviewing future wives or human sacrifices.)

Somewhere along the line, she’d started talking to me like we were friends. As if that moment of honesty in the bar, those emails exchanged, had somehow made us friendly. And while I craved her next confession, I also couldn’t handle the intimacy. I was ripped down the middle. Torn between wanting to know everything there was to know about this woman and wanting to forget she existed.

I hated it when she walked away from me. It always felt like she took the light and heat with her. I added that to my Hate List.

Those blue eyes weren’t cold now. There was a victorious fire burning in them. And I was acutely aware that I was in immediate danger.

My heart was trying to blast its way out of my chest. I didn’t know where the organ had gotten actual sticks of dynamite, but that’s what was happening. My insides had turned to lava… or magma, whichever metaphor was most appropriate.

“Lots of people dance for money. Prima ballerinas, Jane Fonda, Laker Girls, back-up dancers, Rockettes. All women who make money by moving their bodies. There’s nothing remotely shameful about it,” Faith insisted. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. And anyone who tells you that you are is—” “Part of the patriarchy.”

I hoped to God security was up to the challenge tonight. Because if anyone laid a hand on her, one single finger on her, I was going to lose my shit.

I wondered if I was leaving a trail of body glitter behind me like I was a Questionable Life Choices Tinkerbell.

If mystery bothered him so much, this son of a bitch—wait, no. His mother was a lovely human being. This alphahole was going to suffer. I’d make sure of it.

I wanted to believe in my bones that he was doing this as some stupid mind game, that he got off on playing puppet master with my life. But deep down, I was worried that it was something much, much worse. Dominic Russo was trying to take care of me.

I was so pathetically happy that she was speaking to me in multisyllabic words I would have let her slap me across the face with the folder.

I walked back into the room feeling like Cinder-freaking-rella. If Cinderella’s fairy godmother had given her a sexy, skin-hugging gown the color of crimson or, as I liked to think of it, Dominic Russo’s crushed heart.

Everyone was hitting the open bar like it was last call, and those little appetizers were doing nothing to soak up the liquor. It was entertaining, but I had a feeling this is how bad things happened at office Christmas parties. Inhibitions lowered, tongues loosened, and shit went down.

Oh, boy. I’d heard rumors of Drunk Dominic. But they hadn’t prepared me for the reality of him. He was adorable… and in no way capable of functioning as creative director right now. I needed to get him home.

Damn it. My shattered broken heart was trying to knit itself back together just so it could fall for him all over again.

I hooked my pinky around his and tried not to fall in love with the idiot when he pressed his lips to our joined fingers.

Nights like these changed lives and were retold as stories for years to come. But I didn’t know what my story would be. Would it be the time the up-and-coming designer made me temporarily semi-famous? Or would it be the night I finally realized my heart belonged to a man I was never going to be with?

Tacos and home renovation supplies with an entrepreneur, a male exotic dancer, and a drag queen on her day off. Just another glamorous day in the life.

I spent the rest of the day on the couch, which delighted Brownie. We watched the entire first season of The Great British Baking Show and then three episodes of Queer Eye. I was inspired to order and to eat an entire sponge cake from the bakery three blocks over and pondered growing a beard. Then I pondered what Ally thought about beards. And the shame spiral began again.

“I’m not hiding this,” Dom said quietly. “I don’t think I could even if you asked me.” Okay, coming from Dominic Russo, maybe that was kind of a swoony thing to say. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was real. These feelings felt real.

“I don’t need to be saved.” Dalessandra and I blinked at each other as the words came out of both our mouths in unison.

I wanted to take care of her. I wanted to take her worries and concerns and problems and solve every last one of them so she could focus all of her attention on me. And Brownie of course. I wasn’t a completely selfish monster.

I didn’t want her drawing lines when I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to redraw them properly. She would live here. She would have anything and everything she needed. No one would ever take advantage of her or lay a hand on her ever again. End of fucking story. I was her Prince Fucking Charming.

“Dom, of course people are going to talk. Trying to avoid being a topic of conversation is a pretty lame way to live life. Sometimes, accepting the discomfort is how good things are earned.”

It was disconcerting to wake up one day and find myself… well. Here. Making plans for two instead of one. Looking forward to sharing things like beds and weekends and closet space. I’d dated before. But I’d never gotten this deep, this fast. I’d never made space in my home for a woman before. Change was happening, and I didn’t know how I felt about it.

Ally didn’t bitch-slap, but Faith did it like it was an Olympic sport and she was a gold medalist.

“Everyone has baggage, Russo. Most of us are just smart enough not to hurl full-sized suitcases at the people we love.”

But sometimes an inch might as well be a mile. And I didn’t know how to cross it. I didn’t know how to ask him for what I needed. Because I didn’t know what I needed.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 14]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

Warning: Nothing to mention.

Previous

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

I woke up to warmth that morning.

The kind of heart that makes you ball up tightly to greedily gain more. It starts from the outside and burrows within to warm the heart without being too intense that you want to stray away from the source. With a sleepy nonsensical mumble, I pushed myself deeper into the covers and felt them tighten around me like a cocoon. This is what divinity must feel like.

Against my will, the world slowly felt more real as the sleep slipped off of my subconscious. An odd feeling of being in my bed in Castle Town dissipated as the ground below felt more like a stone slab than a feather stuffed mattress. Then, the sheets around my waist loosened and the warmth slowly faded. My forehead creased in annoyance.

The sound of shifting reached my ears and I roused awake. From the makeshift bed on the ground, I rubbed my eyes and watched Link pack away our belongings. Golden crests cut into the horizon. There was less snow on the ground than the days prior and it gave me hope to remember the place we were heading towards.

“Good morning,” I said scratchily. My eyes were still adjusting, but Link being the first thing I saw today was still rewarding. I doubted I would ever get used to it. He took the blanket from the horse’s back and was folding it, his gaze more on me than the cloth.

Suddenly, I felt self-conscious under his quiet observing. His eyes were vacant, drawn in and thoughtful. I sat up. “Do you need help?”

Link seemed to snap out of his trance and looked away momentarily, “No. No, I’ve got just about everything. You can go back to sleep, it’s still early.”

I sharply gasped as I ripped the blanket from body and the morning chill robbed me of the rest of the heavenly warmth. My coat dangled from Link’s grasp and I tore it from him.

“Tired of the cold already?” He snickered.

I resented the comment, but gladly slipped the coat on. There wasn’t much said between up as we packed our gear and smoldered what was left of the fire. Link helped me onto the horse and paused. I looked at him questionably.

“Let me see your hand.”

I complied, putting mine neatly in his. The bandages were unbloodied this time and my wrist was less bruised. That is to say, it was still an ugly sight. The skin around it was brown and discolored, but it wasn’t as painful.

He tenderly moved my hand upward, bending my wrist and watching my reaction. I swallowed a wince. “We can probably remove the sutures soon. The cuts weren’t too deep. I only hope that the scars will heal if there are any.”

Link let go and took the reins. I examined it on my own, “Scars aren’t bad. Plenty of people have scars.”

The mare started forward as Link did. He looked back at me, an indistinguishable look on his face, “I’d prefer you not have any at all.”

“How boring,” I yawned. “When do you think we’ll be there?”

“A couple days’ time. Once we pass through Hyrule Field it should start getting warmer,” Link said, “We can probably pawn off the coats for extra money and get more suitable outfits for the climate.”

“Do you…” I paused, tracing the upside of my hand, “Do you suppose we could stop at the Temple of Time?”

There was a slight tremor in my voice and I covered it up with a cough.

“Hey,” he started. “I go wherever you go, right?”

Link grinned and I matched it. His eyes stayed on mine for a moment before focusing on the road. I watched him as he walked, resting my elbows on the saddle and my chin in my hands. His heavy coat was resting in his hands and with Link’s back to me, I studied him. He was thumbing something over in his left hand. “Have I ever told you how thankful I am for you?”

The blond man didn’t both turning, “Probably, but it doesn’t hurt to keep reminding me.”

“Well, I am. Very much so.”

His broad shoulders jolted up to symbolize a laugh. I had seen plenty of men. And though that statement wasn’t a proud one, it was true. Suitors were a commodity that wasn’t hard to come by. Father had many advisors that pushed out invitations to dukes, lords, and princes of neighboring kingdoms to socialize with their barren princess. All walks of life had passed through the castle gates and on all accounts it was an awkward affair. I hadn’t a clue who they were and many were decades my senior. Regardless, I felt like I had a decent grasp on the male sex. Due to this, I was sure that Link was objectively beautiful.

Objectively.

An objective statement for anyone with eyes and a male attraction.

A flush crept up my neck as I observed the muscles under his shirt move. What kind of scars does he have? I gulped down my urges and with a hardened will battened down my feelings into a place far removed from the present. This wasn’t… proper.

Right. Proper.

The ride was long and repeating and I constantly wondered how he knew the way. The trees blended into a seamless scenery. It was evident that not many liked to travel in the winter because it was rare we’d pass a couple traders in a day. I had long given up on veiling myself from others on the offset that they’d recognize me. Despite the attempt to comb my hair, it had long turned into a long-tangled mess that I tied up to the base of my head. Stray strands hung to frame my face and I let myself let go to the traveling conditions. Not that there was much of a choice.

Night had fallen and the air was warmer than ever before. The looming cliffs of The Great Plateau was just nearing, and you could see it in the horizon. Now, the sun had long set and Link had managed to kindle a fire.

It was dark now and the only light sources were the fire and the stars themselves. A bottle of alcohol sat beside us and I flinched as he poured it onto my fingers. “I’m sorry,” Link muttered. His eyes were just as intense as the smell. He held a pair of small tweezers in his hand and my hand was in his. Our legs were partially tangled together as he pulled me closer to gain a better look.

“Are you alright? You seem uncomfortable,” Link whispered, looking worried.

I shook my head slightly, “I’m nervous.”

“That’s normal. You’ll feel slight pressure and maybe a pinch. It shouldn’t be painful, Zel. I promise,” he switches his attention to the sutures. Goddesses, I hated the sight. It wasn’t pleasant to see bloodied reinforced thread sticking out of your skin.

The metal of the tweezers was cold against my skin and I watched Link’s face instead of the stitch being cut. He was focused, his face relaxed but his mouth drawn in a fine line. It wasn’t painful, at most uncomfortable when he pulled the suture free. Eventually, he switched to my pointer finger.

“Okay?” He looked up shortly.

I nodded, “Okay.”

His bowed head wasn’t far from mine and his hair hung in front of his face. As he clipped away at the threads, I reached up with my opposite hand and smoothed the hair back. It wasn’t long enough to tuck behind his ear, but this would do. Link looked up, his brow forming the question in his mind.

“I’m helping,” I said indignantly, keeping my hand steady on his head. It was difficult to distinguish if that was the true reason or if it was merely a chance to touch him. The excuse seemed to satisfy him and he went back to his work. It didn’t take long to finish.

“There. it’s not perfect,” he sighed and leisurely threw the excess bandages and the sutures into the fire. My hand dropped from his forehead. Thin pink lines dotted my fingers where the incisions were. “Looks fine to me,” I said.

“I still want you to see a doctor when we get closer to Gerudo Town. Maybe they’ll have something to lessen the scars and a proper brace for your wrist.” Link seemed to talk more to himself while he busied himself with accounting for what was in our small emergency kit, rummaging shortly before drawing it shut and placing it with the rest of our belongings.

I eyed the alcohol bottle, “What kind is that?”

He looked up at me, to the bottle and back with a raised eyebrow, “Some local liquor.” We had gotten it from a passing trader and apparently pure alcohol was difficult to come by, so it was the next best thing. I had never drunk straight liquor before nor anything close to it. The only types of alcohol I had associated myself with was ricewine and champagne.

“Ouch, oof,” I gave him a pained look, “Ow, my wrist. It hurts. Guess I need something to take the edge off.” I shrugged, watching him as I reached for the neck of the bottle. He looked lazily back with his head propped on his knee. Link looked amused, “To take the edge off? Where’d you hear that from?”

“None of your business,” I pursed my lips. In all honesty I wasn’t sure. Most likely my uncle.

He looked cheeky. “Why do you feel the need to make excuses to me?”

I frowned, “I don’t.”

The glass liquor bottle wasn’t too big and it was unlabeled. It was dark and the smell was just as strong. I brought the opening to my lips and lifted the bottle. Once the liquor touched my tongue, I wrenched it away and winced harshly as it burned in my mouth. With a strong gulp, I forced it down my throat with a vehement shake to my head.

“I hate it. I hate it,” tears formed in my eyes, “Hylia above, I hate it.”

Link laughed heartily and took the bottle. “Did it take the edge off?”

“Shush,” I glowered, wiping my eyes with my shirt. “I just wanted to try it.”

“The man probably just came from the Gerudo region. Drinks usually get stronger the closer you get,” he said, taking a generous swig. Link winced slightly, though not having much of the reaction as I had. “That’s pretty bad.”

“You talk like you have experience,” I said laying on my back to get a closer look at the stars. They were brighter tonight. The full moon was rising, casting a white glow on the sky. “Oh, yes,” he laughed breathily and followed by lying down beside me. I pushed down the happiness I felt as he continued to speak, “Years of diligent training for this moment.”

“Is that right?”

“Mmhm, this very moment.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “Could be worse.”

A series of giggles erupted from me and I held onto my stomach. Calming down only to smile at him. “You’re impossible.”

Link smiled back, his eyes looking for something. Then a flash of worry crossed him, “Is your wrist alright, though?”

“It’s fine, Link,” I smiled wider at his concern. “I was being dramatic.”

“Oh, good,” he let his head fall back to look at the sky. “Good.”

I grabbed the bottle from him and sat up slightly. The next sip wasn’t as bad because I knew what to expect, but it was still awful. The liquor burned like fire down to my stomach and laid back down.

“Hey, Link?”

He seemed to keep up in terms of drinking, “Hm.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Only if you want to tell me,” he coughed into his elbow.

“And you won’t freak out?”

Link turned to look at me and I met his eyes. “Depends.”

The need to talk filled my mind. To talk about things I wasn’t supposed to. His eyes were prying, already figuring out what I was going to say before my lips voiced it. Link always did that, and I wondered how right he tended to be. It felt… strangely intimate. My lungs filled with air and I slowly breathed out, “I… well, my father is convinced that there is a prophecy that a force from a thousand years ago will come back and soon.”

I watched his reaction and that indistinguishable look was back. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s all?”

“Is that all you wanted to say?”

“N-no.”

He rested his arms under his head and sat waiting, “I’m listening.”

I spoke slowly, nervously. My fingers squeezed down on my right palm. “Impa and Father are convinced that I have some kind of powers from the Goddess that could fight off whatever it is.”

“You?”

My voice came out meek, “Yes.”

“Do you believe that?” His face didn’t give away whatever he was thinking, which was annoying in this situation. It would be helpful to know if he thought I was speaking rationally or a raving lunatic.

“Maybe? I don’t know. It started at Mum’s funeral. They swore they saw light coming from my hand and… at that age who else was I supposed to believe? I was convinced, but ever since then there was nothing. They told me to pray, I did. They told me to study the ancient texts, I did. Eventually I gave up,” I spoke into the air, “It took up so much time that I forgot how to live properly. There’s been no goddess to speak to me. No calamity had happened. I just… this sounds crazy doesn’t it?”

“I pulled the Master Sword at seventeen,” Link said nonchalantly.

I bolted up, “You what?!” My head spun. I knew my tolerance was low, but this was unbelievable.

“How… what… how? Why don’t… where is it? Really?” My words flew from my mouth unintelligibly.

Link peered up, staring at me. A thin smile played on his lips at my reaction. “The King suggested it. They dropped me off at the Lost Woods with a torch and a couple days’ worth of food and left. And, well, I found it.”

“It’s real?” I breathed, sitting back down lamely.

“And rather bulky if you ask me.”

“Where is it? I mean, you never brought it with you.”

He grew uncomfortable and awkwardly laughed, “Under my bed at the castle.”

“Why didn’t I know about this? It’s a rather important detail, Link,” I laid back down on my side, now frustrated.

“I only know that they didn’t want it to be a public fiasco. I don’t know much about that,” he gazed at me, unfolding his arms so our eyesight was even. “I apologize, I should have told you.”

“You didn’t know to tell me,” I brought my heads up, grasping them together. “Do you think it’ll happen? That prophecy? I-I mean, this is a lot. If someone pulled the sword then that means there’s a reason. I’ve read it time and time again. Every time Hyrule faces some type of calamity that stupid sword appears.” And all this time I had convinced myself it was just a fable. From the prophecy to the sword to even the Triforce. I sunk further into my position in the grass, reeling.

“I have as much of a clue as you do. Do you want to know what I really think?” Link was closer than before and the smell of liquor was on his lips. I nodded slightly and he took my right hand gingerly. “I think that,” he placed my hand between his own, “you - Zelda, the princess of Hyrule – are strong, powerful, and undeniably resilient when it comes to what you believe in. If anyone had to rise to the occasion of protecting Hyrule, then I’m sure happy it’s you.”

His fingers traced a triangle on the upside of my palm, “Whether you have the help of Hylia or not.”

Then, he pressed his lips against my hand. My breath hitched. Link’s lips were chapped and warm. The doubt I felt for myself withered and all my thoughts were suddenly preoccupied with the man who laid next to me. And just as quick as it happened, he dropped my hand and left mumbling something about firewood. He left me alone with the ghost of his kiss.

[angstymarshmallow]

Downpour of Doubt - Seth x MC

[A little note: I’ve been sort of idly working on this on and off because I needed some more Seth in my life. It isn’t much, but thanks for reading if you do!]

[Summary: When Seth starts having doubts of his own capabilities as a comedian, Keegan (MC) makes it her mission to cheer him up].

[Word Count: 2776]

“That’s it!” Keegan declares, barging into Seth’s apartment after finding the front door unlocked.

Seth nearly jumps out his skin; clutching a hand to his chest as he waits for the rate of his heart to return to normal. “Christ Iowa!” He hisses, shooting a glare at the sound of her approach. “Give me a warning next time, will you?” He mutters darkly, “if you keep doing that we’re going to need a bell.”

“You’re the one always leaving your door unlocked.” She reminds him, rolling her eyes. “Never mind that.” Waving a hand dismissively, she gives him a pointed stare. “We’re going out.”

“We’re going out?” He echoes dimly. Moving to pause the movie he’s spent the last half an hour watching, he glances back up at her in time to meet the determined glint in her eyes.

“Yes! You’ve been stuck in here all day, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you barely leaving your apartment lately.”

“I’ve been busy with – ” at the sight of her raising her eyebrows, Seth switches gears. “…it’s just I’d rather bury myself under mountains of blankets right now than go outside for anything that isn’t junk food…or beer.” As though to emphasize his point, he grabs one of his blankets and pulls it over his head.

“Aww, c’mon Seth.”

“No.” There’s no mistaking the sudden amusement he hears inside her tone. “I’m glad one of us can find my circumstances so hilarious.” He grumbles.

There’s suddenly a slight dip in the sofa, and before Seth can protest he feels an abrupt tug of his blanket.

He tugs harder.

Keegan presses on. Curling her fingers around the soft fabric, she tugs enough until she’s able to scoot underneath the other half of the blanket. Her heart drops a little at the sight of him; his back turned towards her seconds before he shifts his weight a little to stare frustratingly at a spot near the bottom of his feet.

“Seth…” Her voice has grown soft, and Seth feels some of the tension in the air fizzle out when her breath tickles the back of his neck. “Don’t you remember how great your last set was?” Wrapping her arms around him, Keegan nuzzles into him despite his rigid posture. “You were so awesome,” she rubs soothing strokes over wiry back muscles. “And everyone loved you.”

Seth closes his eyes for a moment, allowing the cool touch of her fingers to wash over him. They take away some of his frustrations, his anxiety and it isn’t long before he’s leaning into her touch.

He doesn’t want to admit it at first but Iowa’s right. He remembers how nervous he was; the excitement that made nearly every cell in his body tremble with fervor until he started speaking. Until every word he uttered changed and the tension he once had in his shoulders, relaxed the more he spoke. The pub became alight, alive with smiles and the sound of laughter flooding his ears. He remembers the eyes of nearly every person in that room on him, their spark of content as he went over through well-delivered lines – and most importantly, he remembers his eyes colliding with hers and the smile she wore felt better than any form of encouragement he’d ever had.

Although these thoughts are comforting, they don’t make him forget his current predicament. The reason why he’s barely left his home since he started. He can’t push past his uneasiness every time he glances at his newest routine. Something about it isn’t right. Something about it isn’t him. And now that he has the Comedy Depot lined up – everything has to be perfect.

“That was then and this is now.” He mumbles shortly. But he doesn’t push her away, instead he leans enough until she shifts into the couch and splays her arms across his chest. Her legs trap him from moving. “And now no matter how much I run this stupid routine, it doesn’t feel good enough.” I don’t feel good enough. “Even Rocket hasn’t been here in weeks. That’s how I know it’s bad.”

There’s a moment pause where Seth fears she’s going to give up on him. It’s foolish because she never has before but he can’t help feeling this way. They’ve barely started seeing each other more seriously, and the fine line for him has already blurred. He just wants to shower himself one giant pity party - and only invite her so long as she doesn’t make fun of him for it.

He feels her fingers drift to his chin, coaxing him to look up at her. Her eyes stare down at him, and as beautiful as they are in their sympathetic state; what really catches his attention is the sincerity behind them. The burning light that makes him think it’s okay to rely on her.

“I’m going to tell you the same thing you told me months ago.” Keegan mutters, interrupting his thoughts.

Seth blinks at her.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day.” At his sudden frown, she chuckles lightly. “It’s okay to feel that way sometimes.” She rubs her thumb absently across his smooth chin, distracting him. “I would be kinda worried if you weren’t freaking out even a little bit.”

“I’m so glad we’re having this conversation -”

“And,” Keegan interjects, poking his cheek. “it’s normal to feel that way.” Her breath fans over him as soon as she sighs. “I get like that too on set, sometimes.” She admits. “I mean my co-stars are Victoria Fontaine and Matt Rodriguez?” She makes a helpless gesture in the air, “how can I not feel anything but inadequate sometimes when I’m surrounded by such talent?”

Seth makes a single noise of protest. He hates when she sells herself short. “But you’re you –”

“And you’re you.” She repeats, cupping his face. “And you’re good at that.”

“I don’t really see how that makes any sense – oww!”

She pinches his cheeks. “Stop interrupting me,” she chides. “And stop looking down at yourself too. You’re Seth Levine. Adorable geek. Hilarious comedian. Handsome gentlemen.” Her grin makes his stomach flutter, “I could go on and on but you get the idea.”

He smiles back, suddenly feeling more at ease than he has in weeks. “No, I really don’t. Please go on.”

Playfully, she flicks his ear. “I’m not going to feed your ego.”

“You mean the little one I have?”

She laughs. “There isn’t anything little about you.” She drops a meaningful glance down the length of his pants.

His cheeks grow hot.

She leans forward enough to press her lips to his forehead. “Now can we stop this little pity party and do something fun already?”

“Well, I don’t know about you. But this right here – being here with you, this is pretty much the highlight of my week. Definitely, the most fun I’ve had in awhile.”

Shaking her head, Keegan laughs against him. “Like I said, adorable geek.”

Before she’s able to straighten herself up again, his hands extends to hold her in place. Inclining his head forward, he closes the inches between them and kisses her. He expects the flutter in his stomach, his sudden chest expanding with the desire to switch their positions and pin her underneath him, but what he doesn’t expect is feeling her recede away from him.

“Not quite what I had in mind.” She says breathlessly.

He moves closer, “but something you’re definitely thinking about now.”

“Tempting.” Keegan reprimands him with a scowl, cheeks flushing as she untangles herself from his curious fingers. She ignores his pout as she helps to haul him on his feet. “But we’re going out for some fresh air.”

“Ah.” He pretends to think about it. “And I take it by we - attendance is necessary.”

Shoving him playfully, she laughs. “Yes. Staying inside here for so long isn’t good for you. You gotta have a bunch of screws loose by now. You need human contact. You need fresh air.”

“Outside is dangerous.” He complains, “it’s got traffic, lines ups and strangers that try to make small talk.”

“You love small talk.” She chides him.

“Only for good source material.” Suddenly grinning, Seth makes a show of drawing her attention back to him by pressing himself intimately closer to her. “You can’t tell me you aren’t the least bit interested in staying in with me.” As though for emphasis, he plants a string of kisses down her neck.

Keegan visibly shivers. Her eyes do a little quick once over at him before she takes everal several paces back. Nose wrinkling, she smirks. “Not even a little bit. Right now, it’s a hard pass for me.” She shoves him playfully, “now go shower before I change my mind and leave.”

Laughing, he holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Can I ask where?”

She jerks her chin in the direction of his hall. “Nope, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you now, would it?”

He stops for a moment. Backpedalling back to her and he whirls around. His mouth slides open then just as quickly shuts back.

“What?” She can’t help but ask before he disappeared completely down the hall.

“Nothing. I was just thinking my girlfriend’s sucha smartass.” He calls behind his shoulder.

“Oh, please you love it!” She yells back at him.

The only response is the sound of his door sliding open then closing as Keegan settles inside his couch, waiting for him to get back to her.

-

Seth runs his routine by Keegan with several inches between them. It isn’t nearly enough distance to stop them from reaching each out to one another every so often as though some unforeseeable force keeps pulling them back. Nor is it enough to pause the subtle glances that they exchange when they think the other one isn’t looking.

Although he never asks, he takes her hand; entwining their fingers together with familiar ease. Like little strains of threads that make each other whole – its comforting to keep her hand tucked inside his. He gives it an affectionate squeeze until they turn into another street. They idle in chit-chat and make a point of commenting on anything eye-catching as they reach the busier section of their city.

The street is cluttered with people at this time of the day. Amassed for its famous sightings of culture – with street performers dazzling crowds; they spend some time to join in Saturday afternoon festivities.

An hour later and they’ve nearly lost track of time. Seth’s hand tightens around Keegan as they fumble through downtown traffic. Shoulders brush by, slamming into them so quickly that Keegan swears if it isn’t for how closely they’ve kept together; she would’ve lost him in the crowd a long time ago. After stopping for street meat, they continued down a path blending into another neighbourhood as Seth points out familiar-looking buildings.

“Okay,” Keegan mumbles, interrupting him. “I see what you’re saying about your routine.” She takes a large bite of her gyro. “Now that I’ve got time to think about it.”

“Yeah?” He braces for her answer, sneaking in a glance.

“And it’s good.” She bumps his shoulder, “it’s really good. I got a few solid laughs,” she shakes her head. “Even the stories with me– how do you make them sound so funny?” she scrunches up her nose as he laughs. “I swear I’m not that hilarious.”

“Nah you really aren’t Iowa,” he shakes his head, grinning until she tries to pry her hand away. His tighten around hers, as he pulls her closer to his side. “But you definitely have your moments.”

“Nice save.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes.

Although at the corner of his eyes, he catches her smile before it disappears.

“S,o the Comedy Depot – and then the world?” She asks casually, bringing her free hand to point at him.

“Naturally. I figured I could take the world by storm at the rate I’m going.” He replies without missing a beat. “Shows across the state maybe then finally, world domination?”

Her smile wavers, “I think you’re missing a couple extra steps there.”

“I like to improvise.”

They stop by the front of a bench. Keegan pulls her hand away to stretch, yawning before wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Late night, yesterday? You seem a little tired.” His slight frown distracts her.

“Yeah, I was up running new lines.” She sighs, “I swear sometimes I almost miss Markus. Despite how sporadic he was - ”

“And crazy,” he intercedes, “you forgot to mention crazy.”

“And crazy,” she chuckles, “he made me laugh and he does have a certain…charism about him.”

“I think you’re being a little generous.” Seth leans forward, lips quirking into a smirk as he shakes his head. “Not saying he doesn’t have talent it’s just –”

“He’s hard to work with, yeah that’s what everyone says and they’re right. I guess…I’m mentioning because I do feel a little lost.” She admits, drawing his attention back to her with the flip of her hair. “I keep thinking if things had went down differently before –”

“No use in dwelling on the past right?” Seth interrupts abruptly. He doesn’t like talking about the past; he’s more of a in-the-moment kind of guy. Taking her hand into his, he gives it an affectionate squeeze. Staring into her eyes gets pretty hazardous for his health for awhile. Already, he feels the erratic racing of his heartbeat. “You’re amazing Keegan.” He mumbles seriously, “if anyone can figure this all out -you can.”

A smile lifts her cheeks as she closes the rest of the distance between them. “Thank you,” she murmurs back against his lips. “Thanks for believing in me.” She kisses him then, feeling his warmth spilling from him and into her own system; making her sigh in pleasure underneath her breath.

A soft drop of water hits her cheek, momentarily distracting her until he deepens the kiss. It’s all she can do but moan inside her throat as her arms loop around his neck.  

Another droplet of water, then another. Until Keegan can almost smell the fresh downpour descending from the sky. She doesn’t care and neither does Seth.

Their hands have tangled into each other’s hair – hers’ gripping his tighter than the nonexistence space now between them as Seth presses her against the bench. It isn’t long until the rain soaks them and soon they’ve reluctantly spring apart from each other.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, trapped inside a daze, before wrenching their gazes away to blink above them. The blue skies have rapidly been replaced by gray ones and the sound of thunder finally spurs them on their feet.

Squealing, Keegan helplessly holds up her free hand to cover her face as the rain continues to fall around them. She tugs Seth forward, “we’ve got to find shelter somewhere!” She grumbles. As the more time that passes, the more she thinks this rain isn’t going anywhere.

Together they race across the street; eyes scanning quickly for a sign of a shelter until they’ve found one near the closest transit stop. It doesn’t take long before Keegan starts giggling, as she keeps space with Seth’s long strides.

Seth laughs too, counting the sudden weather change as seriously bad timing. Once they’ve found a shelter high enough for them to huddle into, he rubs the cold out of her hands by placing them between his. “You neglected to mention that fresh air you were talking about came with a warning label.” He pokes his free hand absently above them.

Lips twisting into a smile, Keegan scoots closer until she’s able to do the same. Rubbing his hands with fervor between her fingers, she inhales his familiar musky scent. When she’s satisfied enough, she drops her head to his shoulder as his arm snakes around her waist.

Together, they watch the rain pouring around them in silence.

Usually, whenever the rain catches her at a disadvantage all Keegan thinks about is getting out of there as soon as possible. With her clothes soaked and nearly chilling as she shivers inside his arms, she should be more concerned about it. But she isn’t. This time she wants to spend as much time out here as possible, waiting it out with him. Smiling, she pulls his lips to meet hers. “Still worth it.” 

-  

[spacechip707]

I was just thinking the other day...if Seven was an agent, he would have scars and stuff from his field work, right? And I was wondering how MC would react when she saw them. Do you think you can write it for me? Can it included your signature fluff and kisses and all that too

That’s actually an interesting idea, and I think you’re definitely right. He would. I hope this is something along the lines of what you wanted! Enjoy~

Scars were inevitable. MC knew this. Whether internal or external, everyone had them. Ultimately, they were a gift to form stronger, brighter souls that could only be culminated from the rigorous trial called life.

But he had so many of them…and she was sure that wasn’t fair.

Saeyoung remained ignorant of her wandering eyes as he continued to sleep peacefully on the loveseat. She hadn’t meant to stare, really. She was just passing by when the glimpse of a white jagged line peaked out from underneath his tank top. The one scar led to another…and to another until MC was practically creating new constellations with the faded marks.Her fingers followed her intrigue, tracing the silvery skin.

She wondered if they were from his time at the agency…or from his childhood. Both experiences were riddled with sorrow and pain–emotionally and physically. For some reason, the thought made her heart clench. It really wasn’t fair.

She was too lost in her thoughts to notice the glimpse of gold peeking out from under Saeyoung’s closed lids until it was too late. His hands darted out, grabbing her middle and flipping her onto the couch. She let out a small cry, tensing until he sandwiched her between him and the back of the seat.

His laughter almost sounded diabolical, and she shoved him back for good measure. “Saeyoung, that wasn’t funny!” she complained, pressing a hand over her pounding heart.

“It was sort of funny,” he countered, wiggling his hips victoriously. He tapped his chin and narrowed his eyes at her. “But more importantly, I believe I caught a little creeper. Why were you staring at me?”

Her cheeks burned under his sharp gaze, and despite the smirk curling his lips, she couldn’t share in his buoyancy. She tucked her hands under her head and shimmied further back into the sofa. He only inched forward in response. “I-I wasn’t staring,” she mumbled, finding great interest in the couch threads.

“No?” Saeyoung said with a tilt of his head. He propped himself on one elbow so he loomed above her. “From my calculations, a pair of gorgeous eyes were looking at me for exactly thirty seconds. That’s staring, sweetie.”

MC faltered under his accusations again, this time choosing to hide her face completely in the cushions underneath her. She didn’t realize he was awake that whole time.

His chest vibrated against her shoulder with a few more throaty chuckles. He prodded her side sharply. “No need to be shy. You were just enthralled by my cute sleeping face, right? The cutest you’ve seen?”

“No,” she shot back, finally surfacing and anchoring an angry glare at her cheery boyfriend. “Actually, you drool.”

She used the collar of his shirt to wipe his chin for emphasis. His features scrunched together in recoil, and MC begrudgingly acknowledged the pleasurable twinge in her chest. He was very cute when he slept…and when he was awake. Dang it, she smiled just now, didn’t she?

Saeyoung huffed, returning his attention to her. His playfulness tapered off, and his lips assumed a solemn frown. “Okay, but you didn’t answer my question. Why were you staring?”

MC shrugged, unwilling to bring up the topic. Saeyoung had been more open about his feelings, his thoughts, and even some parts of his past. But his childhood and the agency were practically off limits. She understood, really. Neither held many pleasant memories, and she would rather not reopen healing wounds. “Does it matter why? I like looking at your face.”

He raised a brow, obviously not convinced by her flirty attempts. “That would be fine if you weren’t in such a mood because of it.”

“I’m not in a mood,” she rolled her eyes. She hesitated under his persistent scrutiny. He wasn’t one to give up easily. He was a hacker accustomed to getting whatever information he wanted with just a few clicks. To conceal something from him was nearly impossible with his tenacity “It’s just…I never noticed your scars before.”

As she dreaded, his face fell. “Oh,” was all he said.

“You have a lot of them.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. His lips parted, releasing a few silent breaths before he laid back down onto the couch. “But there’s nothing I can do about them. So, I try not to dwell on it.”

MC wanted to slap herself as the light in his eyes diminished. It was replaced by a stormy gaze directed at the ceiling and raging with hundreds of thoughts she couldn’t decipher. She watched as he seemed to sink further and further into the turmoil, his fingers drumming against his knee as a testament.

She swallowed hard, her hand wavering over his shoulder. Before she could draw him out of his brooding, his head snapped towards hers. That tempest behind those golden irises was now aimed at her, and her heart trembled in the midst of it. It wasn’t full of ire or bitterness…but rather something more complicated and melancholy. A quiet breath entered his lips before he spoke again. “Do they bother you?”

MC retracted at the question. She wrangled with it briefly, but she couldn’t decode its meaning. “What? Why would your scars bother me?”

There it was again…that sadness. It was a rare visitor in the bright red-head, but MC hated when it appeared. “It’s not normal to have so many of them,” he went on slowly. “MC, do you ever wish ended up with a normal man who isn’t messed up and came with less…baggage?”

She wasn’t sure what hurt more. His statement or the dismissive laugh that followed. She hoisted herself up so she could stare down at him and that stupid, self-deprecating face. For a long while, there was no sound except her increasingly heavy breathing. He didn’t turn away from her blazing glare. She gave him every opportunity to take it back, but he didn’t.  

“No, I don’t wish that,” she said, finally shattering the quiet. “You’re not messed up, Choi Saeyoung, and if I ever hear you say that again, I’ll–I’ll–” she ended with a groan.

She raked her fingers through her hair, trying to gather her tumult of emotions into a single stream of coherent thought. “I don’t hate your scars. I hate the people who gave them to you. I hate that you had to endure so many of them alone. But despite all that, you still ended up being one of the most amazing, caring people I know. That doesn’t sound messed up to me.”

She leaned back against the couch, her energy and breath spent from the sudden rush. She bit down on her tongue when tears stung her eyes. She dashed them away, only to have a few more leak from their edges.

The couch shifted as Saeyoung sat up and scooted towards her. His warm fingers met the hollow under her eyes, and the pad of his thumb brushed against the tiny drops. Suddenly, MC felt very embarrassed and self-aware of her outburst. With reluctance, she lifted her gaze to his face, surprised to find his cheeks just as damp as hers. “Why are you crying?” she spluttered.

“Because you’re crying!” he returned with a watery chuckle. He brought his other hand up to cup her face. “I’m sorry. I just doubt myself sometimes…and if I’m really the best for you.”

MC rested her forehead against his, her lashes fluttering against his cheekbone. “Don’t,” she replied vehemently. “And if that silly little brain of yours tries to tell you otherwise, remember that I think you are the absolute best man for me. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

His eyes crinkled as features split into his signature grin. “Oh, you’re being cheesy now.”

She shoved his shoulder lightly, not missing the redness on his ears. “Shut up, you dummy.”

He sighed, though his lips remained in a soft smile. “I’m glad my scars don’t bother you, but…I hate them. They remind me of what I was and who I was, and sometimes I wish I could reset my brain and forget them altogether.”

MC bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers trailing down the rugged stripe on his collarbone that started it all. “I wish I could heal them for you if they cause you that much pain.”

“You can’t,” he said matter-of-factly. He pulled away and inhaled deeply. “You’ve helped me come to terms with my past, but the scars stay the same. It’s not like you have magic.”

MC quirked her head to the side, a mischievous spark dancing through her veins. She wiggled her fingers in front of his face. “Are you sure? Haven’t you heard of the magic of kisses?”

She didn’t allow him to comprehend her words before she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his scar. His muscles tensed under her kiss, but he didn’t protest. She moved to his shoulder, where another lined his skin. Again, she brushed another kiss against it, this time eliciting a shudder. She continued her ministrations, pouring as much tenderness as she could into the soft caress of her lips. She understood how reality worked, but if she wondered if she wished hard enough, maybe they would actually disappear.

She finished on his cheek where the faintest of scratches hid on his reddened skin. She traced a finger down his jawline, and a small gasp escaped his mouth. He stared down at her with half-lidded eyes, and she swore she would die from the affection he adorned onto her. “They’re still there,” MC said with a click of her tongue. “I guess I don’t have magic after all. I’m sorry.”

Her words were weighted with something more than the light-hearted act. She hoped he felt it.

Saeyoung’s hands slid around her waist, his fingers drawing small circles on her side as he drew her closer to himself. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. His mouth barely brushed against hers, but she found herself irrationally breathless at the contact. “I think you’ve completely bewitched me.”

Just like that, the heavy atmosphere broke for good. For once, MC was glad for it.

“Now who’s being cheesy,” she snorted, still trying to subdue her racing heart.

He joined in her laughter, embracing her fully before tumbling to his side and dragging her with him. “Maybe because I’m sleepy. After all, there was a little creeper who interrupted my nap.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she conceded. She snuggled into the crook of his, finding the familiar comfort of his arms. “And, Saeyoung?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, already half asleep.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” she said. “Scars and all.”

His only response was to hold her a bit tighter. But in that simple gesture, he delivered an entire speech. He wanted someone to accept the parts of him even he couldn’t embrace yet. MC knew that too. And she would do so as many times as he would let her.

[inkpiss]

QUICK PEN BRAND PRIMER!

Buying your first (or second, or third) fountain pen is a pretty heavy decision when there are dozens of manufacturers to choose from and hundreds upon hundreds of models! For better or worse, there’s no single perfect pen for anyone - you’ll totally find plenty that scratch different itches. As of this post I rotate between around 5-7 for everyday carry and drawing!

This quick guide is meant to serve as a springboard for anyone who’s still not sure where to begin on homework - I’ll highlight the ups and downs to each company’s pens! While there are tons and tons of top 10 “beginner’s pens” lists out there, I found the lion’s share of them didn’t really offer much in terms of education, just a short list of handsome, inexpensive potential suitors. What I hope this does is give you a broader scope of each brand and what to expect in terms of overall performance and build, as well as some different options to look and grow into depending on your needs.

Just bear in mind that there are way, way more brands out there than what I’m covering in this post - my picks are ones I’m confident you’ll be able to find readily from online retailers!

My very first fountain pen (brush pens aside) was a charcoal black Lamy Safari ($30), and I’d still posit it as one of the best pens to buy if you’re new to the fold. All of Lamy’s entry-level pens follow the Safari in design, with the Safari itself and the Joy ($36) being made of ABS (the same stuff as Lego bricks), and the AL-Star ($38) and LX ($56) made of anodized aluminum. They’re about as stereotypically German as it gets - proudly engineered, few frills, robust and reliable, ready to get lots of work done.

What’s much more unique about them would be the section they all share - the part of the pen you grip. It has an ergonomic, triangular shape to it, such that folks who write with tripod grips will feel right at home holding the pen in the right position. If it works for you, you’ll probably find it to be the most comfortable writing instrument ever, something with which you could easily destroy a crossword puzzle book with no breaks. If you’re of the alternative gripping type or just prefer thinner pens, Lamy’s still got you covered! The Logo ($40) is another handsome option, a metal pen that’s comparable in width to a #2 pencil, and for a few dollars more you could upgrade to the matte-lacquered, gorgeous CP1 ($55).

While it’s a pretty common design choice for fountain pens to have replaceable nibs, Lamy’s solution is ingenious and unlike anything else on the market. All of their pens have the same style of shoulderless nib that’s tension fit to the feed, and can easily be slipped on or off. It’s convenient enough just for maintenance, but given how inexpensive they are, it’s also a breeze to swap between nibs if you have more than one. Spare nibs are easy to get a hold of for only 10-12 bucks, so you could buy yourself an EF Safari and maybe throw in a 1.1mm stub too, so you can have two options without having to buy two whole pens!

PROS: Swappable nibs, great section for FP newbies, durable as hell

CONS: So-so nib performance, annoying for alternative grips, samey models

GO LAMY IF: You want to try lots of different nib sizes on the cheap and can’t be fucked to keep track of how the nib is oriented on the paper

Hailing from Japan, Pilot’s been around for a while and has itself quite a spread in the fountain pen market. Covering everything from the disposable Varsity ($4) to the high-falutin’ adjustable Justus ($315+), there’s a lot to grow into with these guys.

Pilot sees off many a new fountain pen enthusiast’s maiden voyage with the Metropolitan ($15), which is the industry’s greatest example of daylight robbery. A pen with a metal body, included converter and a halfway decent nib? For fifteen bucks? They’re either taking a loss selling these bad boys or have a shady deal with some keebler elves because there ain’t anything else this polished and complete for the price. The Varsity ($3) is just about the cheapest worthwhile fountain pen money can buy, and is a great choice for anyone who wants to check out what they’re about without making a huge commitment. They’re built to be disposable, but you can jimmy out the nib and feed to eyedropper-fill it up again if you’re so attached! If you’re looking for an alternative to the Metro at this price range there’s also the Kakuno ($13), which is a nice, no-frills beginner pen. If you’ve got a bit more cash to spare, the Prera ($32-38) is definitely worth a look as well - it’s a really compact, pocketable pen with one of the most satisfying cap clicks known to man.

Special mention goes out to the Falcon ($150), which carries a hefty price tag but remains one of the most beloved pens for drawing due to its softer, springy gold nib. Though not advertised as such, with a bit of flexing you can get some very respectable line variation out of it - just make sure to be gentle enough, you wouldn’t want to spring a nib at that price! If you’re on the lookout for a next-level pen, there’s not a soul out there who’d regret a Falcon.

PROS: Fine grinds, a pen for every budget, great for low-grade paper

CONS: Westerners miss out on a lot of models, some are on the fragile side

GO PILOT IF: You prefer thinner, drier lines and have a sturdy pencil case

Another German manufacturer, Faber-Castell’s been around for a long time, to the tune of 250 years, and has a bit of a reputation now for being the go-to fine arts supply company. On top of things like paints and colored pencils they also crank out some fountain pens, albeit mostly out of a normal artist’s budget. There are two qualities that make Faber-Castell stand out: an eye for design, and some really nice nibs. The Loom ($40) is one of their more affordable offers and the best example of their ethic on the market - it’s got a really handsome, showy design, and the steel nib on it is jaw-dropping. It has a metal body with a bit of texture to it, so the section isn’t slippery, and feels nice and substantial with or without the cap posted. Just south of that in price is the WRITink ($28), which has a plastic body but still carries some flair of its own. The big schtick on this is that it’s supposed to be for students, with an eye-catching textured thumbprint motif, in case you’ve got a homeroom teacher to impress. While I’ve yet to grab one of these myself due to how new it is, the reviews so far have been warm so I thought it was worth a shoutout!

If you’re looking to dig a little deeper into your pockets and hold your pens farther back from the nib, I’d also recommend the Ambition ($70+) in a heartbeat. You can get it in different materials, from resin to pear and coconut wood, and feels as great in the hand as it looks. It has an extremely small section for cosmetic reasons, so it’ll probably be uncomfortable if you’re prone to gripping it as close to the tip as possible, but that’s really the only minus going on for this model. Great build, great nib, handsome as all fuck.

PROS: Superb steel nibs, unique and eye-catching designs

CONS: On the dry side, still need to buy converters on pricier pens, some models just kinda suck

GO FABER-CASTELL IF: You’re an Apple Tax kinda person

I don’t like to play favorites, but TWSBI is kinda my favorite. A bit of a younger company from Taiwan, they’re focused on cranking out really solid pens in the $30-60 dollar range. What sets them apart is their choice of making all their pens either piston or vacuum fillers, methods typically only seen in more expensive/premium fountain pens from other companies. This carries the advantage of a fill capacity waaaay larger than the typical cartridge/converter pens out there!

Also important to note, TWSBI’s pens are easy to disassemble and put back together, which is great for cleaning and really neat in general if you like to tinker and are curious about the inner workings of pens.

If I had to recommend two models, I’d go with the Eco and the Mini. The Eco ($30) is their least expensive model (short for ECOnomical) at 30 bucks and THE fountain pen I’d recommend to any newcomer because it’s so damn perfect. Huge ink capacity, sturdy, glassy-smooth nibs, and it’s pretty good-looking, to boot. The Mini ($50) is a more lilliputian iteration of their flagship Diamond 580, and it costs the same. So, it’s smaller and has a smaller capacity, why would anyone give a single dingle? Well, for one, it’s a perfect pocket pen, and two, the 580 isn’t exactly built to be posted while this one is. You can cram the cap of a 580 on its ass but it’s friction fit right on the plunger knob, meaning you might unscrew it and make a mess while capping and uncapping. The Mini has threads back there to screw the cap onto, so it’ll sit tight without fucking with the plumbing.

TWSBI doesn’t currently have a whole lot of models on the market right now, but they’re all about as worthwhile as the next. If you’re interested in something more unorthodox, you can always give their VAC700R or VAC Mini ($60-65) a spin. They’re vacuum fill pens, which fills the body by means of forming a vacuum for ink to rush into from the bottle. Not only is it neat, but it carries even more ink than its sister piston-fillers! The one rub to these models is that the company’s still hung up on a pain in the ass they consider a feature, which is that the pen, when the plunger is secured after a fill, prevents more ink from reaching the feed. While leaving the knob unsecured/open will remedy this, most owners would rather opt to remove the small stopper that causes the blockage. If using or losing that stopper ain’t a dealbreaker to you, go for it!

PROS: Generous flow, nibs are heavenly, great build quality

CONS: Can be hard to catch in stock due to demand, not great on shitty paper

GO TWSBI IF: You want a smooth and juicy pen and hate refilling

Another company from - you guessed it - Germany, Kaweco’s been around the block and they know exactly what they’re about: pocket pens. Nearly every Kaweco model wants to be a Tic-Tac when it grows up, most famous of which being the Sport ($20+). There are a LOT of permutations of the Sport, from the Classic (gold-colored steel nib and plastic body), to the Skyline (just like Classic but with a silver colored steel nib), and the Ice (translucent plastic body, silver nib). More expensive metal variants exist in the aluminum AL-Sport and Brass Sport, but they all share the same form factor, design, and optional metal clips. There’s also the Liliput ($52+), which has a similar size but more subdued, capsule design.

Kaweco’s little pens all take standard international short cartridges, but if you want any freedom whatsoever in your choice of ink, I’d highly recommend going for one of the plastic models. For one reason or another, they’re the only ones compatible with converters, of which neither are particularly great, but what’s great about the Sport is that it can totally go eyedropper. That means instead of using a cartridge or a converter, you fill the entire pen body up with your favorite ink, slap some silicone grease and an O-ring on the threads and close that bad boy up for some serious ink capacity. If you really wanna spring for one of the metal models, more power to you, you can still syringe-fill an empty short cart or stick with whatever options you get... The Sport’s mighty cute but I’d really recommend barking up a different brand’s tree for a metal body pen.

There’s a brand-new model from Kaweco coming out sometime in August called the Perkeo ($16), looks to be a sturdy, beginner-friendly deal. It’s also big enough to accept SI long cartridges and converters which should really open folks up to Kaweco’s game - as imperfect as the pens are, I can’t possibly overstate how slick and comfy Kaweco’s nibs are. It stands shoulder to shoulder with the likes of TWSBI and Faber Castell!

PROS: Itty bitty footprint, smooth nibs, the most pocketable pens overall

CONS: Smaller ink capacity, some models are cartridge-only, big hands beware

GO KAWECO IF: You want a nice, smooth pen as well as an inhalation hazard

When most newcomers think brush pens, they probably just have the Pentel Pocket Brush in mind. While the Pocket Brush ain’t the worst you can do, it’s cartridge only, feeds slowly and isn’t really made with longevity or pockets in mind. Other brands certainly produce brush pens of one kind or another, but when it comes to refillable, reusable ones, I don’t think there’s a brand more accessible and primo as Kuretake. Starting with the no.8 ($8-10) you get a lightweight but sturdy model with a synthetic tip, and for a few bucks more you can go for the 13 ($17+) which has a metal body. As far as I can tell the only differences between the 40 and 50 ($26-33) are cosmetic, but they both have sable hair tips as opposed to petroleum-based fibers. Which one of these is better really comes down to preference; synthetic tips are springier and stiffer, eager to snap back to their original shape, while sable brushes are softer and more relaxed.

One thing to note about Kuretake’s pens is that, while it ain’t recommended by the manufacturer, you can totally pop the protective cap off the pen’s tip, exposing the full length of the brush. I can’t vouch for the longevity of the pen once that’s done, but it’s fun to mess with on the 8 since there’s so little to lose. These pens are also unusual in that they don’t have their own proprietary converter and it doesn’t accept standard international - you actually need to grab a Platinum PLAT500 ($6-7) to fill up on your favorite ink.

PROS: Extremely affordable, light and comfy, better flow than its competitors

CONS: Just paying for body/design until the no. 40, which has a sable tip

GO KURETAKE IF: You want a brush pen that actually works

Okay, I’ll admit, compared to everyone else on the list Duke’s pretty hard to navigate. They’re a joint venture between a Chinese company (Shanghai G Crown Fountain Pens) and some unknown German R&D (some folks say Staedtler but I can’t confirm) that’s registered as a German LLC, and their availability seems to be pretty spotty in the west. Despite all this, they’re a bit of a hidden gem for fountain pen enthusiasts, offering some unique and robust models for a modest price. I personally got invested in Duke because they happen to carry some mighty fine fude-nibbed pens!

I’d better mention this out the gate, if you’re looking for Duke pens on the likes of Amazon and eBay, they most certainly are there, but the naming and availability of shit is all over the place. They don’t often go by their model names, instead being advertised by their descriptive features and nibs - whoever shills them seems to take the Etsy approach to advertising. Nonetheless, I’d highly recommend a quick image search of any of the below models to get a feel for what they look like, that way you can easily identify them when it’s time to go shopping. While their standard nibs are pretty nice, middle of the road affairs, I’d highly recommend gunning for their fude nibs, particularly the much larger one that’s almost a half-centimeter in length - you’ll know it when you see it. And it’s way more fun to use than you can imagine.

One other thing you should know before going sleuthing is that you might get burned on quality control with these things. They’re almost always sold through a third party and I’m not sure how your luck would turn out on returns/exchanges should your pen be off-kilter. I’ve gotten a 551 fude with absolute garbage feeding issues, something forumgoers have also complained about with some regularity. You might be able to fiddle with it for better results if you’re feeling frosty! On top of that, the standard international converters they include tend to be buttwater, but that’s an easy replacement for an inexpensive and potentially very worthwhile pen. Caveat emptor!

One of the better known models is the Duke 116 ($20-32), which given its prevalence might just be their flagship. It’s a good length, a little on the thinner side and comes in a shitload of finishes, most common of which being a black and burgundy rhombus pattern. I love this thing because it’s extremely sturdy and well-balanced for a lower-end fountain pen, and if you’re lucky you might just be able to find one with the larger fude nib advertised as an “emerald black barrel” with a calligraphy nib. 

The Duke 209 ($10-16), nib style be damned, might just be one of the best deals out there when it comes to fountain pens - it’s a full-metal body, compact little bastard and the best gamble I’ve ever taken on something yet to be extensively reviewed. It’s thin, lightweight and sturdy which is great for extended drawing sessions, though the metal section might get a bit slick if you’ve got ultra-oily hands. I can’t even knock it for the quality of the included converter, because it’s actually included with a pen in this price level. Step up your fucking game, Lamy and Faber-Castell! You can often find the 209 bundled with both a standard nib and the fude/calligraphy nib in one set, which is really nice. One thing to note is that the fude nib on the 209 is quite small, more in line with the likes of Sailor’s fare than the monster ski-jump you can find on the 116 and next model on deck. Still gives you a lot of variation, and might be the better choice if you’re looking for more control over your lines!

Last one I’d like to mention is the Duke 551 ($40-60), commonly found as the Compound Art or Confucius Fountain Pen. This is the model that really sold me on Duke because it’s fat, it’s gorgeous and the fude tip is enormous. If you’ve got bigger hands this’ll probably be a better fit for you than the 116 if you’ve got your sights on that nib. Only drawback I have is that it’s not really a pen you’ll wanna use posted, because the cap’s heavy and sits shallow and friction-fit on the back, which really throws off the balance. Other than that, it’s a sheer pleasure, and one of the easiest Duke models to get a hold of for westerners due to its developing reputation.

PROS: Best fude nibs on the market, sturdy build, great price for what you get

CONS: Quality control is apparently conducted by blind cave salamanders

GO DUKE IF: You’re willing to take a QA gamble for nibs you can’t get anywhere else

Last on the list has a bit of a steep cost hike, even on the lowest-end pens they produce, but I feel like their outstanding traits make a compelling case for a newbie with deeper pockets, or perhaps someone looking for their next step up from a beginner’s model. Karas Kustoms is an American machining company based in Arizona that manufactures things like phone cases, keychains and toys, but they’ve recently gained traction as a pen manufacturer.

As of this post they have two different models of interest, the Ink ($100-200) and the Fountain K ($80-130), the former being full-sized and the latter being a bit smaller, but both are made of the same machined materials. You can get ‘em in solid brass, copper or aluminum (raw or in a slick anodized finish), which explains their higher ticket price, but you’re getting a goddamn solid metal pen. You can whip one of these bastards against concrete for hours and all you’d have to show for it are a few scuffs. They’re built to survive, and in the case of the brass and copper models they’ll develop a nice patina over time as a bonus. Depending on where you do your shopping you can even mix and match the materials for the body, cap and section!

Really the only knock I can give Karas Kustoms is that they use Bock nibs in all their fountain pens, which I’ve personally had some trouble with in terms of overall QA. Still, they’re #6 nibs, which you can easily buy a replacement for if you don’t dig what comes standard. After popping a Jowo EF in my brass Ink it’s never left my pocket!

PROS: Will outlive you and your next of kin, highly customizable, industrial design

CONS: Heavy as balls, pricey, limited availability

GO KARAS KUSTOMS IF: Your art supplies are in danger of being run over by a semi

Like I said before, this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface on good companies out there, and someone’s probably gonna slap me for leaving out the likes of Jinhao, Noodler’s and so on. If anyone else out there has a particular favorite they’d like to shill, feel free to add it to the post!

As always, Inkpiss is happy to help, so get a hold of me if you’ve got any questions or grief to sling my way!

[issasdrarryficrecs]

Anonymous asked: Hi! Got any good (and possibly long) fics for someone who is new to drarry? Thanks!

Hi anon, I’m sorry this is late. I took a super long time to put together this very long list. These are my own favourites. I don’t know how many words is long for you so I’ve assumed you mean more than 10k. This is in alphabetic order instead of my usual order (shortest fic at the top). Also, my links are at the sides of the titles instead of the bottom. Are you ready? Let’s go!

19 years by shilo1364 [88k] Read on AO3

Summary:

19 years ago, something happened between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy - but the only one who remembers is Draco himself. He plans to carry the secret to his grave, but his careful plan is soon turned on its head. It’s bad enough that Draco is returning to Hogwarts as a professor, so soon after his divorce, even worse that his son Scorpius has befriended fellow first-year, Albus Potter. But when he realizes that Harry Potter, too, has returned to Hogwarts, newly-single, Draco fears for his sanity.

Meanwhile, first-years Albus and Scorpius navigate friendship, classes, and getting their idiot fathers together. They are joined by their mothers, Astoria and Ginny, retiring professor Minerva McGonagall, newly-minted professor Teddy Lupin, Headmaster Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, Lawyers Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger, a handful of scheming first-years, and the inimitable Luna Lovegood.

Against All Odds by [53k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Beauxbatons is hosting the first ever Quidditch Summer School for children from all over Europe, and Harry has promised to enroll Teddy as his birthday present. Meanwhile, Draco is stuck in his office, putting together the first ever Quidditch Summer School for children from all over Europe during, when he should be enjoying summer holidays.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound [149k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Annus Mirabilis by Ren [39k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry and Malfoy are trapped at Hogwarts around the time the school was founded. Stuck with a different way of doing magic, with no chocolate, and with each other, they have to find a way to work together if they want a chance to go home.

Between Ink And Blood by Candamira [18k] Read on AO3

Summary:

“Yes. Just – how did you know? I didn’t know myself that I want a tattoo until I saw the Hungarian Horntail,” Harry said. Druid shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, my magic sings to me and then I just know. It’s a druidic gift passed on from father to son since the early days, together with a message every male in my family gets as his first tattoo.” He showed Harry the inner side of his forearm. The dark green of the calligraphic writing stood starkly against the pallor of the skin: Be careful with the lines you draw because there is a secret world between ink and blood where they will come alive.

Black Truth by InferiorBeing [104k] Read on FFN

Summary:

And, with bated breath, Draco traced the silver line down one more step in the family tree. Draco Lucius Malfoy… the third full blooded Veriae in the Malfoy family… and future life mate of Harry Potter. 

Bond by AnnaFugazzi [173k] Read on AO3

Notes:

I started to write this before HBP came out, and crossed my fingers that HBP wouldn’t make it totally non-canon. No such luck, I’m afraid. This, therefore, is an AU story, where (SPOILER) still teaches (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn’t try to (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn’t succeed in (SPOILER), (SPOILER) never dated (SPOILER), and most importantly, (MAJOR ENDING SPOILERS) never happened.

the title tells the story for this one

Crossing Lines by Ren [47k] Read on AO3

Summary:

While investigating a ring of smugglers, the Aurors receive a tip saying that the European Express is being used to move contraband across state lines. To solve the case, Harry has to unmask the smugglers and find the hidden contraband before the luxury train reaches Bulgaria. Draco Malfoy is also on board… but that’s just coincidence, isn’t it?

Dear Diary by AWickedMemory (ReadyPlayerZero) [20k] Read on AO3

Summary:

// This can’t possibly go worse than the last time I kept a diary. //

After the war, Harry picks up a journal to write in… and it writes back. Luckily, it’s not a Horcrux on the other end this time.

Draco’s Boy by emphathic siren [186k] Read on FFN

Summary:

A mysterious little boy named Harry moves in next door to Draco Malfoy, and he’s determined to make him his friend and learn all of his secrets. Years later, he’s determined to make Harry more than a friend.

Exit Wounds by StarAndMoon (TheDarkestStar) [21k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry and Draco are placed in one hospital room and team up to investigate a murder.

Freudian Slip by jennavere [10k] Read here

Summary:

Two years after graduating from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy is still obsessed with Harry Potter. Fed up, his father makes him get therapy. 

Irresistible Potion by Rhysenn [123k] Read here

Summary:

Under the influence of a love potion, Draco learns that poison doesn’t always bring death – there are other ways to suffer and live. 

Malfoy Child by Vorabiza (Biza) [94k] Read on AO3

Summary:

A potions accident turns Draco into a four-year-old and Harry takes over his care for the next four months.

Mental by sara_holmes [186k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

Reparations by Saras_Girl [87k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.

Running on Air by eleventy7 [74k] Read on AO3 or FFN

Summary:

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Secrets by Vorabiza (Biza) [395k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Beginning with Draco’s unexpected arrival at the Dursleys, Harry’s summer after sixth year becomes filled with activity and many secrets. As his summer progresses, Harry generates several unexpected allies as he finds himself actively becoming the leader of the Light side.

Somebody to Love by khasael [31k] Read on AO3

Summary: 

Draco’s life after the war is quite different than it used to be. When he finds himself cursed, with little hope for lifting the spell, he sets out to make the most of the time he has left. Getting to know his Aunt Andromeda and his young cousin Teddy feels like a good thing to do, even if it can’t help him in the long run…or can it?

Talk to Me by Saras_Girl [15k] Read on AO3

Summary:

When the usual channels of communication are shut down, the most surprising people can find a way in. A strange little love story.

The Darklist by Cheryl Dyson [91k] Read on FFN

Summary:

When Draco Malfoy, wanted criminal, strolled into the Ministry to give himself up, he seemed destined for Azkaban until he offered to hand over information to avert an upcoming crime. Of course, he refused to divulge that knowledge to anyone but Harry Potter.

The Light More Beautiful by firethesound [81k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter’s help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn’t been enough to dim Draco’s obsession with him.

The LipLock Jinx by Cassis Luna [21k] Read on FFN

Summary:

It’s a jinx that renders the victim mute, unless he/she serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It’s just Harry’s luck that he’s in love with Draco.

The Thread Through the Labyrinth by mindabbles [11k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry was twenty-one the first time it happened; he was twenty-one and falling in love for the first time. It seems he’ll go back, travel through time, until he finds the anchor that keeps him here.

The Venice Job by nishizono [25k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood (faithwood) [21k] Read on AO3 or FFN

Summary:

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that’s ever so cross.

Two Sides of the Same Coin by noiselessheart [117k] Read on FFN

Summary:

Harry and Draco find out the hard way that the line between hate and love is a fine one, and that somewhere between the Battle of Hogwarts and being thrust back together as Hogwarts eighth years, they may have just crossed it.

What We Pretend We Can’t See by gyzym [131k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

[sadrien]

prince of cats

chapter five: to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss

on ao3 || on ffnet 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 

hey everyone, how was your week!

posting wise, we've passed the halfway point of what i currently have written (i have through ch9 written at the moment). i'll hopefully write most of the rest of the fic in august, just at the moment my productivity writing wise is down because i've been drawing a lot and listening to taz!

enjoy!

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      just letting u kno that i hate my boyfriend

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Thats a lie and you know it      Whats he making you do

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      >:(      hes making us go out to dinner with his moms

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Oh THIS dinner

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      yup

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      First of all I talked to Nino about it last time you brought it up and its just a normal dinner      His moms just want to spend time with you two From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      ur sure From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Absolutely      Alya you love Ninos moms      Theyve basically adopted you

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      ur right      im just tired      ninos really excited so i was worried im missing something or am gonna be surprised by something

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      As far as I can tell its just a normal dinner      No surprises just Nino being Nino      And the answer is to take a nap when you get home from work      Did you not sleep much last night?

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      nah i was working on a project      until like 3 cause i hate myself      nino had to drag me to bed

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Thank god for Nino

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      yeah he haaated me last night      speaking of cute boys tho

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Alya oh my god

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      im sorry uve been friends w adrien for how long now??      3 weeks??? more than a month?? literal years!?!!?!??!?!      u talk about him all the time when r we gonna meet him

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      Eventually!!!!!      I promise I just dont want you scaring him away

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      nino and i r great we dont scare ppl

From: fashion goddess To: the Most Beautiful      uh huh

From: the Most Beautiful To: fashion goddess      shut up      also get me his last name

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette puts down her sketch book. “Let’s go to the store.”

Adrien looks up from his laptop in surprise. “What?”

She’s gotten used to weekends with Adrien. He doesn’t expect her to look nice or even all that presentable, and she doesn’t expect him to, they just sit on the couch or in the kitchen and do their own thing. Adrien usually works, because he literally never stops working, and Marinette designs. She forces him to watch her favorite shows with her, even if it means that she has to explain to him who every single character is and the entire plot. In return, he’s managed to get her to watch some of his favorite movies. He randomly shows up throughout the week if he needs something from her kitchen because he always seems to be short something. Marinette is genuinely considering giving him a key to her apartment. Even if it’s just so he can steal from her fridge and cabinets.

“The store.” She pulls her hair up into a messy bun and grabs her purse off the back of her chair.

Adrien stares at her like she’s grown another head.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want, but if you need anything, you should.” She gestures toward the door.

“What do you need?” he asks, apparently having found his voice.

“Fabric,” she says, ticking things off on her fingers, “some thread, ribbon, watercolor paper, brush markers if they have any, and pizza.”

He laughs and runs his hands through his hair. “I do like pizza.”

Marinette picks up her keys. “So are you coming? Because if you aren’t I should probably kick you out.”

“What?” Adrien asks as he stands. “You don’t trust me?”

“You might steal my Jagged Stone poster,” she says with a shrug of her shoulder.

“Fair enough.” He pulls on his coat. “Show me the way.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette opts to walk to most of the stores. She asks Adrien if he minds and he just shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket, sending a few quick texts as they make their way down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

“Where are we going exactly?” Adrien asks, pulling the door open.

“Fabric store first,” Marinette says, stuffing her phone into her purse.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have fabric at work?”

“Yes, but you’re missing the point— turn here. I don’t have fabric at home. At work, I do stuff for the head designer and my boss. I have much more creative freedom when I’m at home.”

“Huh.” Adrien flips his phone over in his hand. “Interesting. I know nothing about fashion so…”

Marinette smiles. “I sort of figured.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know much about how any sort of normal jobs work. I’ve got it relatively easy.”

“Working from your apartment and living off of take out?” she asks innocently.

Adrien rolls his eyes. “Yes exactly.”

Marinette elbows him lightly. “You’re very lucky you have me to teach you how to bake.”

It’s a nice day, not too hot and not too cold, without too many people walking around the streets. She finds herself wishing that she had more free time to spend outside, that she still had a balcony like she did when she was growing up. She misses having time to herself, where she could garden and sit outside and sew. It’s too nice to be stuck inside all the time.

Adrien accuses her of taking the long way and she doesn’t defend herself.

She holds the door open for Adrien when they get to the store, letting the far too cold airconditioning billow out onto the sidewalk.

Adrien wanders around in a sort of daze as Marinette pulls out her sketchbook and meticulously looks for the exact shade of blue that she needs.

“You needed ribbon?” Adrien asks, suddenly popping out of nowhere.

Marinette squeaks and jumps back with a start, dropping her sketchbook in surprise.

“Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly before bending over to pick up her sketchbook. He hands it back to her, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She takes a few deep breaths before taking the sketchbook from him. “It’s fine, you just surprised me. Easy to do when I’m concentrating.”

“What are you looking for?” Adrien asks, leaning closer, tilting his head to look at the page she has her sketchbook flipped open to.

“A blue,” Marinette murmurs, pointing to a swatch of fabric she stole from work and taped onto the page. “I mean obviously I have a type of fabric in my mind, I’m just really desperate for this shade of blue because—” Well…she doesn’t actually have a reason. She’s just attached. And that’s silly.

Adrien hums to himself. “Okay,” he says after a moment. And then he vanishes into another aisle.  

Marinette stares at the space he was occupying for a long moment before shrugging and moving on. She decides she’ll find the blue later and starts looking for white lining. She pulls a bolt from the shelf, feeling the fabric between her fingers. It’s a little heavier than she would like, but if she can’t find anything else, she can make it work.

Adrien steps out from around the corner. “Would this work?” he asks, holding out a bolt of blue fabric.

Marinette blinks and takes it from him, running her fingers over the satin-like fabric. “This is…this is perfect, actually.”

He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “I have a lot of experience with lots of types of fabrics.” He ignores the confused look Marinette gives him. She has questions, but mostly she’s just glad she doesn’t have to rethink the entire color scheme of this outfit.

Adrien watches over her shoulder as she chooses ribbon and nods as she rambles on about what she’s making. He doesn’t look like he understands what she’s saying to him, but he’s listening and that’s enough.

Marinette estimates how much fabric she needs and Adrien hums to himself as they get the fabric cut and check out.

“What did you think?” Marinette asks as he pushes the door open for her.

Adrien blinks in the bright sunlight and glances down the street before looking back to Marinette. “It was nice,” he says. “Overwhelming, but strangely calming.”

Marinette laughs. “That sounds about right.”

“Where to next?” Adrien asks with a tilt of his head.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Know anything about art?” Marinette asks as she pulls open the door to the art store.

“Hardly,” Adrien says with a crooked smile. “I don’t know anything about most creative things. I know music and that’s kind of where my creative talents end.”

“Music?” Marinette asks. He’s never mentioned anything about music before, though he hasn’t mentioned many hobbies or talents in general.

“Piano,” he specifies. “Took lessons for years, my parents insisted.”

Marinette leads him toward the markers and paints. “So you must be pretty good, huh?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Nowhere as good as my father would like me to be, but I’m passable.”

She rolls her eyes. “So that means you’re fantastic.”

“It really doesn’t,” Adrien says with a laugh. “But thanks for your faith in me.”

Marinette studies the brush markers, trying to decide what brand to get and how much money she’s willing to shell out today. Adrien amuses himself by uncapping some of the markers and trying out the testing markers while she Googles reviews on the internet. He’s flipping through an anatomy book when she decides on a set of markers and moves on to paper. She’s running low.

Marinette wanders further down the aisle where the sketchbooks and papers are. She feels someone’s eyes on her, but when she looks up, she sees a worker at the entrance. Marinette picks up a pack of watercolor paper and hums to herself. She still isn’t sure if she likes this paper, but she has very few options she can afford.

Adrien holds up a copic marker. “Why is this seven euros?”

She blinks at him. “Because it is?”

He squints at it. “It’s just a marker?”

“It’s a copic marker,” she says, like that will explain everything. Judging by the expression on his face, it doesn’t help at all. Marinette takes the marker from him and puts it back with the others. “It’s alcohol based and fancy, that’s why it’s expensive.”

Adrien looks at the case of copics in wonder. “Why would you spend so much on a marker?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette says. Adrien raises his eyebrows and she just shrugs. “I don’t usually use them. I don’t need nice markers and I don’t exactly have a lot of money to be spending on things I don’t need.”

“Fair enough,” he murmurs. He narrows his eyes at the copic. “That better be one magical marker if I’m paying seven euros for it.”

Marinette snorts. “Lucky for you, you’re not.”

Adrien gives her a lopsided smile. “Yeah, that’s true. I’m no Picasso. I think the best I can do is a stick figure.”

She elbows him lightly. “I’m sure you draw beautiful stick figures.”

Adrien laughs and for that moment, Marinette’s world gets a little brighter and her heart starts to sing.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Have you ever had pizza here?” Marinette asks as her and Adrien wait in line to order.

“Mostly I just get whatever will deliver,” he admits.

“You don’t leave the apartment much, do you?” she teases.

Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t usually need to.”

“Do you know what you want or do you just want the same as me?”

“Let’s go with the latter.”

Marinette orders her usual and pays before Adrien can offer, rejecting it when it does come. “My treat,” she says with a smile.

They sit in a booth by the window with their pizza and bags.

“Careful, it’s hot—” Marinette warns, just as Adrien burns his tongue.

“Ahhhh—” He sticks his tongue out and makes a pained expression.

She hides her smile behind her slice, but Adrien catches it and glares at her. She just shrugs. “I tried to warn you.” As she picks up her slice, someone catches her eye.

They’re watching her and Adrien out of the corner of their eye. They make eye contact with her and quickly go back to whatever they were doing on their phone. Adrien hisses in pain, bringing Marinette’s attention back to their table. “That was a mistake.”

Marinette opens her mouth to reply. The strange feeling of someone’s eyes on her passes through her and makes her freeze up and she looks back to the person who was watching them. They’re packing up their things and heading out the door.

“What is it?” Adrien asks.

Marinette shakes her head. “Sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew. I was wrong.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Been there, done that. I’ve walked up to people thinking I knew them before. I did not.” She winces. “It was incredibly embarrassing.”

“I can imagine,” she says, taking a careful bite of her pizza.

Adrien eyes her. “Am I going to burn my face off this time?”

Marinette snorts and lowers her slice. “I think you’re okay now.”

“If I die, my blood is on your hands,” he says seriously.

She rolls her eyes. “Pizza isn’t going to kill you, I promise.”  

✦ ✦ ✦

Adrien trails behind Marinette on the stairs, writing a quick email and carrying one of her bags.

“Come in for a minute?” Marinette asks as she pulls out her keys.

“Hm?” Adrien asks. He glances up from his phone. “Oh! Oh yeah, sure. I left my laptop on your table, anyway.”

She shakes her head as she unlocks her apartment. “You have to have more of your stuff at my apartment than your own.”

“It’s called minimalism,” Adrien says seriously.

Marinette frowns as the door swings open. She glances over her shoulder to Adrien. “I didn’t leave the TV on, did I?”

Adrien shakes his head. “We didn’t have it—”

“Hey!” Alya shouts from the couch.

“—on…” He trails off and hangs back by the door.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s one of my friends. Trust me, I regret letting her have a key to this place,” she stage whispers. She shuts the door once Adrien has stepped inside after a bit of hesitation. She leaves her bags on the table before joining Alya, and apparently Nino, in front of the TV.

Nino pauses whatever show they’re watching and returns to the Netflix home screen.

Marinette crosses her arms and leans over the back of the couch. “Why are you in my house?”

“Apartment,” Nino corrects lightly.

Adrien snorts from where he’s standing awkwardly in the kitchen. He puts Marinette’s bags down on the counter and closes his laptop before holding it to his chest.

“I’ve got a present,” Alya sings, holding up a box.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Is this payment for breaking and entering?”

“It’s not breaking if you have the key,” Nino points out. He continues to flip through Netflix. “Can’t argue the entering though.”

Alya smiles brightly at Adrien, but Marinette doesn’t miss the way Alya’s eyes sweep over him, taking in as many details as she can. “Hey, stranger!”

Adrien lifts a hand awkwardly, still hanging back by the door.

Nino leans back and nods at Adrien. “Yo, join the party.”

“I should—” Adrien gestures to the door.

Alya jumps up from the couch and hops of the back. She grabs Marinette’s arm as she breezes by, dragging her over to Adrien.

“Alya,” Marinette hisses, attempting to dig her heels into the ground as Alya pulls her along.

“I’m Alya!” she announces, holding out her hand to Adrien. “Marinette’s best friend.”

Adrien hesitates for a long moment before he shakes Alya’s hand. “Adrien. Marinette’s…” his gaze slides to Marinette before snapping back to Alya. “Her neighbor.”

Marinette tries to keep her blush from burning too brightly.

Alya shakes his hand eagerly. “Great to meet you!”

“Nino!” he shouts from the couch. “But I was working all day and I’m tired so sorry, dude, I’m staying put.”  

“It’s fine,” Adrien promises. “I really should be getting back. Plagg needs to be fed.”

Marinette nods and pulls away from Alya. “Yeah, of course! Let me just— I’ll show you out.” Alya puts the box into Marinette’s hands winks. Marinette gives her a little shove toward the couch as Adrien pulls open the door.

“You didn’t have to show me out,” Adrien insists as Marinette quickly closes the door once they’re in the hallway. She leans against it so Alya can’t look out the peephole. “I’m sure I won’t get lost on the way home.” He gives her a small smile.

“I wanted the chance to apologize for…them.” Marinette waves at the door behind her. “Mostly Alya, but both of them. They can be a lot.”

“They seem nice,” Adrien says, and Marinette still can’t read him well enough to know if he’s being sincere or not. “What did they get you?” He gestures to the box Marinette is awkwardly holding.

“Pastries. They’re from my parents’ bakery,” Marinette says quickly. “Tom and Sabine’s— they’re my parents. That’s me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of Tom and Sabine.” She swallows and glances down at her feet. That was a little too much rambling.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Adrien repeats softly. “You have a beautiful name.” He’s smiling when Marinette looks up at him.

She bites her lip. “Th-thank you. What about you, what’s your last name?”

“Kersey,” Adrien says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. “Adrien Kersey.”

“A nice name,” Marinette says, running it over in her mind. Alya will kill her if she forgets it, but Marinette is fairly certain it’s burned into her brain forever.

“Thanks, my parents chose it,” Adrien jokes. “I’m just stuck with it.” He pushes open his door. “You’ll have to take me to your parents’ bakery sometime. I bet it’s great.”

“Sounds good,” Marinette murmurs as Adrien lifts a hand and disappears into his apartment. When the door clicks shut behind him, she sags against her own door and lets out a sigh.

She really doesn’t know how to handle this boy.

Alya and Nino are staring at her when she reenters the apartment. Marinette feels her face burn as she closes and locks the door.

“Not a word,” she says, putting the box from the bakery down on the kitchen counter.

Nino mimes zipping his lips shut.

“No words?” Alya asks. “Are you sure? Because I have so many words.”

“Yeah, he’s hot,” Nino says.

Marinette glares at him. “Thanks for not saying anything.”

“Alright, now that we are saying things,” Alya says, twisting around on the couch, “where were you? You don’t leave the house without us.”

“I leave the house!” Marinette protests.

Nino raises his eyebrows. “To have fun?”

Marinette turns away to put her keys back.

“Oooo,” Alya drawls. “Silent treatment.”

“It wasn’t fun, anyway,” Marinette says. “I had errands to run.”

“That you decided to run with a cute boy,” Alya points out.

“That sounds like fun to me,” Nino muses.

Marinette glances over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side here?”

Alya gives her an offended look. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“I’ve known him longer.”

“Touché, Dupain-Cheng,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

Marinette sighs. “Speaking of last names…”

“You got it!” Alya shouts, jumping up from the couch. Nino tries to shush her, and she grabs a pillow and covers his face with it. “Tell me tell me tell me— I want to Facebook stalk him.”

Nino pulls the pillow away. “Who uses Facebook anymore?”

Alya turns to Marinette with wide eyes. “Is he secretly a wine mom?”

Marinette stares at her for a long moment. “Why are we friends.”

Alya throws the pillow across the room.

Marinette bats it away and says, “If you want Adrien’s last name, maybe you shouldn’t be throwing things at me.”

“She has a point, babe,” Nino agrees.

Alya sticks her tongue out at him before patting the cushion next to her eagerly. “Come on, Mar! I’ve waited a literal month for this.”

“Hm…” Marinette taps a finger against her lips. “Maybe I should keep you waiting.”

“Marinette!”

“Fine!” She drops down between Alya and the arm of the couch. “His last name is Kersey.”

Alya yanks her phone out of her pocket and starts typing rapidly.

Nino leans forward to look Marinette in the eye. “How long do you think she’s going to be at this?”

“A long time,” Marinette admits.

“Wanna see what Disney movies are on Netflix?” he asks, picking the remote back up. “We put some takeout in your fridge for later tonight.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marinette says. “I need to do a lot of nothing before work tomorrow.”

Nino types in Disney and starts scrolling through the results. “Are Zoé and Dorian still arguing about that thing?”

“If you’re talking about that jacket thing from a few weeks ago, they’re over that. If you’re talking about fake leather, they spent like an hour ‘debating’ that on Friday.”

“Fake leather,” Nino says in wonder. “Why were they debating that? I thought this collection was all like…dresses and stuff. Flowy soft things. What does fake leather have to do with that?”

“Nothing.”

Nino stops clicking through movies for a second. “I don’t understand you people.”

Marinette sighs and sinks against the back of the couch, pulling a pillow to her chest. “Neither do I,” she murmurs.