#thread: sunset dramatics

[viviennevermillion]

When you faint because of the heat

notes: new theme. i am speed. set during tamashina-mina and yasamina silk events. there's also no translation out yet at the point of writing this so I apologize if I accidentally fuck something up, i'm piecing this event story together from twitter threads and japanese-speaking mutuals exposing themselves to my annoying questions. varying lengths again because what is consistency?

contains: character x gn!reader, established relationship

characters included: leona, jamil, malleus, lilia

warnings: spoilers for new event, heatstroke

dark content creators & consumers dni

Leona may have acted like he wasn't very keen on going home and bringing anyone from Night Raven College along, but he did care a lot about his homeland and he was feeling a little proud that he got to show it to you. He just wished he wasn't the loathed second prince while doing that. The others? It didn't matter to him if they enjoyed their trip. But you were his significant other and he wanted you to have a good time. So if he already had to go back to the Sunset Savannah? He might as well bring you along. He didn't want to admit it but you brightened up every moment at least enough for it to be tolerable for him. And even though he felt like the trip was going to be quite the hassle, he was looking forward to it at least a little bit in the aspect that he'd get to spend some time with you in his homeland. Maybe he'd even show you the palace. The others could wait outside.

You wandered the plaza with Leona and the others, sneaking your hand into his at one point. "Careful, y/n~", Leona teased and looked at you with his signature smirk, "the people of Sunset Savannah still don't know I have a significant other, we don't want anyone from the royal guard to tackle you for your affection now, do we? They might throw you in jail and then you'll never get to see me again." You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend. "If you weren't the prince, I'd dunk you in the fountain." "So violent, huh?", he said with an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh, "drowning in the fountain built to commemorate my beloved nephew would be a fitting end for me, huh?" You poked his side. "I'd be foolish to believe I could get rid of you by drowning you in a fountain", you joked and now Leona took your hand in his for a moment and squeezed it gently, still smirking at you.

"Could you people stop flirting for two seconds?", Vil looked at you both with a disappointed expression. "This is their version of flirting?", Lilia put a finger to his chin in confusion. "It is and I hate it", Vil replied dryly.

All of you noticed that it had become even hotter in the plaza and none of you were really dressed for the occasion. When Jack fainted, Leona was shocked and needed a moment to process what was happening. "Y/n, could you hand me the water you packed? Y/n...?", Leona turned around to see you unconscious in Vil's arms after he had caught you. "Oh for fucks sake", Leona held his head.

He made his way towards you. "Move, prickly queen", he hissed at Vil and picked you up from the ground bridal style. Vil stared at him like "tf did you just call me?"

"This really isn't the time to get jealous, you know?", Vil sighed and Leona carried you to the shade as the others helped bring Jack there. They could see Leona seemed a little distressed over you fainting though. He put you down on a bench and sat next to you, waiting for you to regain consciousness before he helped you drink some water.

"Ah shit, how are we supposed to win if y'all die on me like a starving gazelle with three broken legs?", Leona growled and rubbed the back of his head. Despite his annoyed expression, anyone who knew him well enough could tell he was worried about the two of you.

"Do you think you two can walk with us or should I call the corpse wagon?", Leona asked about your condition, ignoring Vil's sarcastic commentary of how charming he was yet again.

At the hotel he has you sitting sideways on his lap and resting against his chest. His tail is wrapped around your waist and he holds your cheek with one hand before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He looks up at Vil and Lilia smirking at him in a teasing way and Kalim letting out an "aw" sound.

"Fuck you starin' at?", Leona commented dryly. "I'm sorry", Kalim apologized and looked to the ground.

Jamil was glad you were coming along because not only would he get to show his homeland to you but you would always cheer him up and help him relax when he was feeling too stressed with his responsibilities. When he joined you in the evening after a long day of running after Kalim, you'd sometimes massage his shoulders or kiss the tension away. He'd need that today, he mused. He'd make sure to show you all of his favorite things about the Scalding Sands in return.

What he wasn't expecting was for you to faint from the heat. If anyone was an expert in keeping people safe and comfortable, it was Jamil. He had warned you about the harsh desert heat. Repeatedly. Yet it had still happened.

So now that you had fainted despite him making sure you're hydrated and otherwise protected from the sun, the only thing that was left for him to do was to make sure you'd get back on your feet as soon as possible.

It wouldn't be Jamil if he didn't bring a first-aid kit so he uses anything in there that could possibly help you.

He ignores Kalims worried commentary of the situation and makes sure you're provided with the best possible support.

Kalim orders food for you specifically so you get your energy back.

Jamil has an arm wrapped around you and makes sure you drink enough water. When the food arrives, you enjoy the exquisite meal. "Out of all things, you had to order a gourmet lunch that's more expensive than a street food vendor's entire shop?", Jamil stares at Kalim with his typical half-lidded expression, "you know a wet burger would have been much cheaper and been here earlier right?" You immediately stop eating, still having a bite in your mouth while staring at your boyfriend in shock upon the realization of what Kalim had ordered for you. "Just eat it now, Kalim is just like that", Jamil sighs, gesturing for you not to worry about the cost.

Jamil presses a kiss to your forehead and holds your hand as you continue your trip, urging you to take things slow for now. He stays by your side and keeps you safe. Once you're wearing the outfit Kalim's family had specifically prepared for his friends, Jamil at least doesn't worry anymore about you not being dressed appropriately for the desert climate. "You look beautiful", he squeezes your hand and presses a kiss to your lips, relieved you're safe and seem to be doing well.

Malleus is so hyped when he not only gets to go on a trip to the Scalding Sands without his retainers but gets to be with you on top of it all. It's like Halloween and Birthdays and International Gargoyle Day (something he may or may not have made up) in one.

If he's waiting for three hours in front of the dark mirror before the trip out of sheer excitement you can bet you're waiting with him. "They're not going to forget about us, we don't have to get up at 4am for this, Mal-", you protested as he dragged you out of bed to get ready for the trip.

He wants to share every moment with you. The trip has barely begun and he already feels like these are going to be memories he'd treasure forever.

When you faint because of the heat, he's super worried. He catches you and holds you in his arms with a panicked expression. So terrified he's losing you for a moment. "Viper, y/n is dying", he calls out with noticeable fear in his shaking voice. The people around you are raising an eyebrow and staring at your group. "They're not dying", Jamil corrects Malleus hastily and tries to signal to the concerned spectators that you were going to be fine, "they've just fainted from the heat. Let's get them somewhere in the shade and provide them with water."

Malleus nods and water droplets start forming from thin air everywhere around you. "Not with magic", Jamil gestures wildly and is happy to see the car Kalim called arrive, "we brought bottled water. No. more. magic." Jamil is so stressed out already, he's glad when you wake up again because that makes him avoid more fun surprises from their royal guest out of worry.

The thing is that Malleus getting into a relationship with anyone is not something to be taken lightly and could have a huge impact on the political landscape of Briar Valley so until you're sure you actually want to rule over his kingdom with Malleus, your relationship unfortunately has to stay a secret. Which means none of your classmates except for Lilia, Silver and Sebek are actually aware you two are an item.

"You're all seeing this right? This is not a mirage?", Cater whispers audibly with a shocked expression while in the limousine. The reason for his bafflement is Malleus gently holding you in his arms while you were resting and recovering from your heatstroke. Malleus holds Twisted Wonderland's equivalent of a Capri Sun, letting you drink from the straw while he had an arm wrapped around you. There was still worry in his voice and he would have loved to be alone with you right now to give you some affection in order to cheer you up.

He stays super close to you throughout the rest of your trip to make sure you'll be okay because you really did a number on his poor inexperienced heart.

He's simultaneously so relieved you're okay that he's even more affectionate than usual. He shares one of those melons with you and says it's so your love lasts forever. ❤️

Lilia was so excited to take you on this trip. The last time he visited the capital of Sunset Savannah, it hadn't been urbanized yet so he was looking forward to exploring the modern metropolis with you and being able to provide you with some stories and trivia about the past during the trip.

Lilia himself is pretty sensitive to the sun and he definitely warned you about the heat.

Nevertheless, you faint early on in the trip due to a heatstroke. Did I not pay enough attention to them?, Lilia asks himself as he carries you to the shade.

He thinks it's unlikely anything too bad is going to happen to you but he's still worried. He holds you in his arms the whole time until you wake up. He gently rubs your wrist with his thumb and kisses your forehead gently. You come to your senses not long after, your eyes flickering open and looking into the face of your lover who is giving you a soft smile. True love's kiss, Lilia mused and chuckles.

"We were quite worried about you, dear", he pats your head, hugs you and Kalim hands him the water bottle. Lilia helps you drink if your hand is shaking and you struggle to hold the bottle on your own.

He raised Silver and one overgrown dragon fae, he knows how to take care of someone, so you're in good hands unless he brings up his cooking. Then it's time to hit the bricks.

Lilia has an arm wrapped around you all the way back to the hotel, so you have some support if you're still low on energy or feeling a little dizzy.

He makes sure you get something to eat and drink enough water once you're back at the hotel.

He holds you for a while and kisses your lips gently. "Don't scare me like this again, okay?", he chuckles as you nuzzle his neck and hug him back.

He'd let the medics do a check-up and he'd be really happy if you're in the condition to continue exploring the capital with him and the others but if not he vows to take note of everything that might interest you and show it to you before you go back to Night Raven College.

[anonymous-dentist]

As promised, at long last!!, here's the Spiderbit Spideypool au!! :D

-

The sun sets over Quesadilla City, breathing its last for the day.

Similarly, the guy at Cellbit's feet is also breathing his last. He's got a machete stuck through his windpipe cutting off his air, and that's probably what's making him choke. It's either that, or it's the gloved hand choking him right beneath his chin, or it's the thumb- his own- lodged in the back of his throat.

Once upon a time, this dude was one of the Federation's finest insurance sales representatives. He, just like every other disgusting piece of shit on the Federation's payroll, made a living off of scamming widows and orphans and puppies and whoever into selling their souls for mediocre insurance policies that just so happen to never apply. He has a list on his Notes app filled with all the people he's fucked over, and there's one name right at the bottom of the list that single-handedly made him a target.

Sometimes Cellbit really loves his job.

"What?" Cellbit taunts, leaning in real close to the asshole's face. He removes his hand from the man's throat and slowly moves it up to the man's mouth. He pries the man's lips open and pinches his slimy, blood-covered tongue between his pointer finger and thumb.

Smiling beneath his mask, Cellbit tilts his head just slightly- just enough to be noticeable in the dying light of the sunset- and he asks in a low, mocking voice, "Cat got your tongue?"

He laughs at the way the man's eyes widen in sheer terror.

The asshole's hand twitches; his phone, with the Notes app open, is just inches away from his trembling, spindly fingers. It's focused at the bottom of the list, and the name there:

Roier Brown

Roier is a very wealthy man with a dead son and a good-for-nothing husband. Well. He used to be a wealthy man, but then the Avengers smashed his house in with his son in it and he lost everything in the lawsuits that followed. Hence the cheap, terrible, scam insurance. It's all he can afford.

Personally speaking, Cellbit is of the opinion that Roier deserves better. But since he can't afford better on his crummy journalist salary, Cellbit torturing and murdering the man that scammed Roier out of his hard-earned money is just going to have to do.

Cellbit clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You should know better than to try that."

'WOW, WHAT AN IDIOT!!' Voice A laughs.

'show him who's in charge around here' Voice B orders, and Cellbit lives to serve.

He twists his machete, slow.

The man gurgles at him, pale in the face and very much on death's door.

(Unfortunately for him, Cellbit has met Death himself, and She's a very nice woman. This man won't get a chance to see the Other Side, not if She has anything to say about it.)

They're on top of the roof of an abandoned gas station somewhere towards the Favela, so it really isn't surprising when there's a very annoyed whoosh of air and the soft thumping of someone landing on the roof behind Cellbit's back and tripping over his own webbing.

'SPIDER-MAN!!!' Voice A exclaims.

'my hero <3' says Voice B with all the adoration in the world.

"Shut up," Cellbit annoyedly mutters; this is his conversation with Spider-Man, thank you!

The man's eyes brighten, hopeful. Hah! As if Spider-Man would help someone like him.

On cue, a sticky thread of webbing attaches itself to the handle of Cellbit's machete just above his fingers. A tug, and the machete is yanked from the man's throat, finishing him off with one last bloodthirsty shink!!!

'finally'

Cellbit stands up and twirls dramatically, hands flying to his cheeks. His eyes, and the white eyeholes of his mask, widen in put-on shock and horror.

"Spider-Man!" he gasps. "You just killed that man!"

Spider-Man, of course, is not amused. His eyeholes narrow. Arms crossed, hip cocked... oh, he's angry.

'UH-OH!!!'

Cellbit tries not to wince at Voice A's terrified screech. Instead, he clears his throat and drops his hands to his sides, swinging them until they end up behind his back. He clasps his hands together, shrinking into himself even though he really knows that this won't work.

"Deadpool," Spider-Man coolly says.

"Spider-Man."

"What did I say about murdering people."

"...Not to do it without you?"

"Then what the fuck is this, culero?"

Spider-Man gestures towards the corpse with both of his hands... and with the machete, still loosely held in his webs over by the body. It scrapes across the roof, scuffing it up and kicking sparks up and making Cellbit actually visibly flinch.

'our baby...'

'HE NEEDS TO PAY!!!!!'

Choked, Cellbit says, "He's- it's fine."

Spider-Man, of course, knows that Cellbit isn't talking to him, so he continues his angry rant, slipping into Spanish that Cellbit only halfway pays attention to. But can you blame him? Spider-Man's suit is skin-tight, and Cellbit is a very weak man.

'HE IS FORGIVEN!!'

'our angel...'

"Muy guapo," Cellbit agrees. He sighs dreamily as Spider-Man paces around the rooftop ranting at the top of his lungs, uncaring of prying eyes. Why should he care? Anybody stupid enough to spy on Deadpool is as good as dead, everybody knows this.

Suddenly, Spider-Man rounds on him and points an accusing finger.

"And!" he snaps, back in English for the sake of poor Voice B. "You missed dinner, you piece of shit!"

Okay, this Cellbit does feel sorry about.

His eyeholes droop sadly. His shoulders sag, and he scuffs the toe of his boot against the roof.

"Desculpe, guapito," he says, and he really means it.

Spider-Man points for just a second longer before relaxing and slumping to the ground by the dead man. He picks up the man's phone, sees the name at the bottom of the list, and lets out a long, drawn-out sigh before groaning loudly and flopping onto his back on the rooftop. He holds the phone above his face, scrolling up through the list.

Cellbit takes a seat opposite him. Out of respect for the deceased, he takes one of the man's hands and covers the gaping, bleeding, rotting hole in his neck with it.

'that should make the reporters happy' Voice B comments.

'BUT IT'LL MAKE CUCURUCHO PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSED!!!' Voice A cackles, way too excited over something that's probably actually going to give Cellbit a bigger headache than he already has thanks to his voices being annoying little shits today.

"Cucurucho won't find this guy until it's too late," he tells the voices.

A pause.

"It's already too late," he adds. "So they'll just find him later."

"If they find him," Spider-Man counters. He carelessly tosses the phone to the side and drops his hands onto his chest, watching the sun set above him. "Man, I wanted to kill this guy."

Cellbit frowns. "I didn't think you'd mind..."

"Nah, don't worry about it. It's fine. Just let me get the next one, okay?"

There are countless Federation employees. Some are agents, like the mysterious new "Agent Jabberjaw" wreaking havoc by the docks. Others are white collars, like the dead man by Cellbit's knee. And others are heroes, like the Avengers.

'i hate those guys...'

'THEY LITERALLY SUCK'

'i miss bobby...'

Voice B breaks down into sobs, and Voice A starts shouting for them to shut up and stop crying because crying can't bring the dead back to life but revenge will so they're going to get revenge obviously and Roier's gonna be right there with them and he's gonna get to choke Cucurucho with-

"Gatinho," Spider-Man says, pulling Cellbit out of his head, "help me clean up the body before the cops get here. You're supposed to be retired, remember, pendejo?"

Cellbit rolls his eyes. "I'm doing them a favor."

And Spider-Man rolls his own eyes: "I know, but they don't."

Of course they don't. The Avengers, under Cucurucho's instructions no doubt, labeled Deadpool a villain years ago back when Cellbit was more active. And then he met the love of his life and he retired from mercenary-ing to try and build a real home life for the first time in his (memorable) life.

And then Bobby died, and not even a superhuman healing factor could keep Cellbit's then-boyfriend from almost dying in the ambulance.

"Maybe we should do it out of costume," Cellbit muses.

He looks down at his costume with a small, thoughtful frown. He designed it years ago for easy movement and easier repair, but he's also gotten older. He can stab a guy, sure, but it's a little too hard to raise his arms above the shoulders for Cellbit's tastes.

Spider-Man raises a teasing eyebrow; Cellbit can't see his face, but he knows him enough to know exactly what his face is doing at all times.

"You know that I'm naked under here, right?" he asks.

The voices stop shouting at each other long enough to start giving very detailed descriptions of what they think Spider-Man looks like under his suit.

Very detailed descriptions.

"Uh," Cellbit says, voice cracking, "or we can just do it now!"

"What, you don't want to see me naked?"

'is he offering????'

'I HOPE HE IS!!'

"We get to see him naked all the time," Cellbit says, though he also knows that Spider-Man has never seen him naked. (As it turns out, Spider-Man sleeps naked, and he chose not to mention this until the honeymoon.)

Spider-Man's eyeholes crinkle in amusement. "Well, if they want to see me naked..."

He makes a grand motion with his arms before reaching for the hidden zipper on the back of his costume.

'yes!!!!'

'OH MY GOD YESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

Cellbit flushes the same shade of red as his costume and covers his eyes with his hands. He likes Spider-Man's body, but he does not want him stripping on a roof for just anybody to see.

Spider-Man laughs. "Calma, calma, I'm teasing you, gatinho! Una broma!"

Cellbit peeks out between his fingers and sees, indeed, a fully-clothed Spider-Man.

"I knew that," he tells him. The voices call him an idiot, and so he repeats it louder: "I knew that! I knew it was a joke!"

"Ah-huh," Spider-Man says, not believing him whatsoever.

He stretches his arms above his head, groans, and hops to his feet. He stretches again, cracking his neck and shoulders.

"Guess dinner tonight is takeout," he comments.

Cellbit wrinkles his nose. "He tastes bad."

"You haven't bitten him yet, have you?"

Spider-Man sounds mildly disappointed; if anyone heard him talking like this, he'd be labeled as a villain by the end of the week. But, then again, he and Deadpool have been known for their... unique relationship since before Deadpool's retirement. They tease. They joke.

Cellbit shifts uncomfortably. "Well... no."

They have dinner together every night.

"Then how do you know he tastes bad, eh?"

Spider-Man reaches across the corpse and lightly baps Cellbit on the back of the head disapprovingly.

"We're taking him," Spider-Man tells him. Of course, Cellbit doesn't argue. How could he?

So Cellbit stands, and he goes to get the man's phone from where Spider-Man had thrown it earlier. Behind him, Spider-Man picks the man up from off of the roof and slings him over his shoulder.

God, he's strong...

'STRONG AND SMART AND HANDSOME AND BEAUTIFUL AND KIND AND'

'and generous and muscular and sweet and caring and'

...and perfect.

If Cellbit didn't know any better, he'd say that he may, in fact, have a bit of a crush on Spider-Man.

And isn't that funny?

(Roier slips into bed shortly after Cellbit does. Fresh out of the shower, he smells like Cellbit's body wash: vaguely mango-y.

He curls around Cellbit's body like a quotation mark, slotting in behind him perfectly. He holds Cellbit close, eyelashes fluttering against the back of Cellbit's head.

"You were right," he admits, words muttered into Cellbit's hair. "He tasted horrible. I brushed my teeth, like, a million times, what the fuck?"

"I told you," Cellbit says. He squeaks as he gets a pinch to his side for his troubles, ouch. "Hey!"

'do it again...'

'DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?'

"Let me pick next time," Roier says. "My turn."

"Fine."

As if Cellbit could ever tell his husband no. He deserves everything and more... though all Cellbit can offer is killings in his honor. That's all he can give, but Roier deserves more. But it's what Cellbit can provide, and so it will be what he gives him.

Cellbit can't die. He's tried, and Death has sent him back to the world of the living with a tired sigh every time. Immortality is cool and all, but...

But Roier almost died in that ambulance. Bobby did die in the house. Richarlyson could die in the next great Avengers battle. Pepito...

Once upon a time, Spider-Man was a hero. But then his son died, not that anybody outside of a select few knew that, and he stopped working with the Avengers entirely.

Blood is crusted on Spider-Man's suit, hung in the secret panel in the bedroom closet right next to Deadpool's suit.

Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, yeah, but his home life is something entirely different.

"Stop thinking," Roier orders. "I'm trying to sleep."

Cellbit smiles into his pillow. "I'll try."

It's the least he can do.)

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆 ✩࿐

pairings: kazuha, wanderer, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, mutual pining, cuddling in kazu and scara's, a bit of a confession in kazuha’s, tranquil beach scenery with kazu, scara is in his wanderer era, you travel with the wanderer, watching fireworks with xiao

summary: under the cover of an enchanting night, romance blossoms.

a/n: i love mutual pining. also, the idea of xiao and scara being soft towards only the reader makes me melt. anyway, i hope you enjoy reading!

Tonight, waves lap at the shore, ebbing and flowing in a steady rhythm, creating a repetitive beat — a baseline for nature’s songs. The sea reflects the darkening skies above, displays of vivid blue and violet lined with subtle shades of rose gold. Sand shifts as you walk barefoot along the shoreline with your closest friend, each grain absorbing the remnants of daytime warmth.

“KAZUHA, hurry up!” you yell, rushing ahead despite the resistance of the miniature dunes beneath you. Playful giggles fill the air as you run and Kazuha chases after you, trying his best to ensure that you remain within his sight.

“Ah, wait!” he calls back, following after you.

Although your legs carry you far, you eventually begin to pant, and your body feels far too heavy to continue on. In a single motion, you dramatically fall to the ground, thankful for the sand below acting as padding. You crash, but fortunately, you’re not injured.

Seconds later, Kazuha catches up. He stands above you, gazing down at your breathless face and smiling softly. Embers of adoration ignite in crimson eyes reminiscent of autumn leaves, burning brightly as he offers a hand to you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing one of your hands firmly. In one swift motion, he pulls you to your feet, and you nod.

“I’m fine,” you manage to say between gasps for air. You’re still tired, and you suppose you should have conserved some energy instead of attempting to run at the speed of light. However, you know you’ll recover eventually.

Kazuha stares at you for a second, irises mirroring shades of sunset flickering over your each and every feature before he shakes his head.

“You look like you need a rest,” he tells you.

He sits down on the sand and pats the spot next to him, gesturing for you to take a seat next to him. You do as he instructs, and soon enough, you find yourself on the ground beside Kazuha, your shoulders nearly touching.

You glance over at him, admiring the way his snow white hair, highlighted by the dying crepuscule, billows in the sea breeze. Autumnal pools of molten rubies fill with small flecks of gold as he keeps his gaze fixated upon the tranquil sea before you. But nothing rivals the smile that comes to adorn his features — full of wonder, an encapsulation of the sun’s brilliance and the moon’s serenity.

Ethereal. That’s the word that comes to mind while you stare at the beautiful boy next to you, and yet, you fear it’s still not enough to describe him.

He’s perfect. His allure rivals that of the panoramic scenery before you.

You wish you could stay in the moment forever — or at the very least, permanently etch every last detail of today into your memory.

Soon enough, the last threads of warmth are pulled from the earth with the disappearance of the sun, and a chill begins to radiate as the cold light of the moon overtakes the sky. Every hint of marigold, coral, and canary completely vanishes. In their place, a deeper midnight blue ebbs into the heavens. As the wind passes by, you feel a slight shiver run down your spine.

And your discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you cold, my dearest?” Kazuha asks you.

The term of endearment causes a warmth to rise to your cheeks. Although affectionate words aren’t rare with Kazuha, your friend is making it sound as though the two of you are a couple.

However, your embarrassment fades as another gust of glacial fervor drifts by to steal the heat from your face, you force yourself to nod. You know that even if you lie, Kazuha will be able to see right through you. You’ve been friends for a while now, and given Kazuha’s attunement to nature, it’s nearly impossible to deceive him.

The wandering samurai wraps an arm around you, igniting a warmth akin to the caress of golden sunrays. His embrace is so warm… so comforting…

You feel your eyelids becoming heavy, and your head involuntarily falls to Kazuha’s shoulder. Slumber begins to overtake you. Tendrils of tantalization pull you deeper into a realm of oneiric euphoria, blurring out the waking world in the process.

But through it all, thoughts of the boy beside you, the one who embodies transient autumns in both looks in personality, never leave your mind.

Just as you feel yourself falling into a plane of enchanting fantasies, you hear six soft words spoken in tandem, whispered by a voice more delicate than the marine zephyrs surrounding you.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Wow, you’re really bad at this,” the WANDERER huffs. “At this rate, we’ll freeze to death.”

You can feel the Wanderer’s indigo gaze, a flawless mimic of the night sky, piercing into the depths of your soul, scrutinizing your every move. At the moment, the only illumination is provided by phantasmagoric stars dotting a canvas of murky navy and violet, but it seems to be enough for him to make out your silhouette against the surrounding shadows.

You sigh, tangible frustration permeating the otherwise serene evening air as you exhale.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I guess I’m just tired or something.”

For a few seconds, a defeaning silence fills the atmosphere, transforming the ambience into one of awkwardness.

And then you feel the Wanderer sit down beside you.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “You’re clearly exhausted and in no state to be starting a fire.” For some reason, his tone of voice is far less pointed than usual, changing from an embodiment of everwinter storms to something more akin to a honeyed warmth — a tranquil portrait of summer’s joys.

You open your mouth to apologize again, but before you can speak, you hear grass rustling as the Wanderer stands up. Your gaze follows his barely-visible figure as he walks a short distance from where you’re sitting back to the small tent you set up earlier. He rummages around for a second before returning and draping a blanket around your shoulders.

“Don’t bother thanking me,” he says, sitting back down next to you.

Your traveling companion looks up at the star-speckled sky, and you swear you can see galaxies full of vibrant magenta and ocean blue reflected in his irises.

“Aren’t you cold too?” you ask, breaking the fragile, short-lived silence into fragments with words that echo in the midnight air, seemingly amplified in the midst of a peaceful moment.

The Wanderer simply shakes his head in response.

“There’s no need to worry about me,” he says.

And yet you still can’t help but feel guilty. You’re nice and cozy underneath the protection of a velvety blanket, safe from the frigid fingers of encroaching night. Meanwhile, the Wanderer is left to fend for himself.

What if you just share the blanket?

The idea is certainly tempting, but you’re a little too scared to follow through with it. Throughout your time with the Wanderer, you’ve gotten the feeling that he’s rather unfond of touch. After all, with his snarky attitude and unfriendly demeanor, he’s the antithesis of a cuddly person.

However, as you shift to sit in a more comfortable position, your fingers accidentally brush against his, causing you to flinch.

He’s cold. Incredibly cold.

And yet not a shiver runs down his spine.

Is he pretending to be alright for your sake?

The mere thought is enough to send another wave of warmth through your body, and suddenly, you feel less alone in the midst of enigmatic darkness. You realize that although he doesn’t outright show it, the Wanderer cares about you. Your heart flutters with the delicacy of a butterfly’s iridescent wings.

“You’re looking out for me,” you whisper under your breath. A small smile dances across your lips, and you decide to take a risk, jumping off a ledge of certainty and into an abyss filled with unknown feelings and fragile bonds.

With one swift movement, you take the end of the blanket closer to the Wanderer and wrap it around his shoulders. Now you’re sharing, and you can feel him pressing up against you. You swear you can feel the tempo of your heartbeat intensifying, each thump resounding in rapid succession.

To your surprise, the Wanderer doesn’t try to push you away. Instead, he scoots towards you.

“You don’t mind this?” you ask him, anticipating his response with bated breath.

For a second, silence fills the night, sending your mind into a polarizing frenzy and your heart into a panic. However, when the Wanderer speaks, you feel the tension leave your body.

“I don’t…” he starts, pausing briefly to consider his next words. Perhaps the surrounding darkness gives him courage, or perhaps he simply can’t suppress his feelings anymore because his next words are entirely unexpected, “but only because it’s you.”

Petals of red and gold bloom into voids of darkness, illuminating endless night in a display of phosphorescent flowers. But the sky isn’t the only thing that undergoes a stunning metamorphosis due to the luminous grace of the fireworks painting the shadows. In the edges of your vision, borders frayed from staring at the breathtaking sight before you for far too long, you catch an spark blaze alight within the honeyed amber of XIAO’s eyes. A subtle smile graces his features.

It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there.

You turn your attention to the beautiful boy beside you, absolutely captivated by the grin adorning his face. Displays of happiness from Xiao are rare, occurrences rivaling the convergence of sun and moon — a total eclipse. Your heart beats erratically, creating an exhilarating backing for a nocturne composed of the crackling of fireworks.

“You’re smiling,” you whisper.

Xiao grunts dismissively.

“Nonsense,” he says, wiping all traces of childish wonder and carefree bliss from his face. “The foolish antics of humans mean nothing to the Adepti.”

You feel the corners of your lips turn down. It’s almost like Xiao’s mood is infectious at the moment. When he’s smiling, you’re smiling, and when the euphoria fades from his expression, a certain lightness seems to vanish from the atmosphere.

“Oh, I see.” Your voice comes out meek, dulled by the immense disappointment filling your heart.

You want nothing more than to see Xiao happy. Throughout your time together, you’ve grown to care about him — admittedly a little bit more than platonically — and yet despite your concerns, you feel like Xiao doesn’t share the same sentiments. Xiao doesn’t quite care about his joy as much as you do. He’s far more content with protecting you, and although his actions never fail to cause giddiness to overwhelm you, you can’t help but want to see him smile for once.

Perhaps he’s scared of shattering the cold and distant image he’s crafted, despite the fact that you already know it’s all a fragile illusion formed from jagged shards of the most delicate crystal. Deep down, you know Xiao is caring and warm, akin to a flawless summer day, complete with golden rays of sunlight beaming down at you and a honeyed caress.

It seems that Xiao has noticed the negativity radiating off of you because as you avert your gaze, staring at the wooden floor of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, you hear Xiao’s voice once again.

“Wait,” he interjects, cutting through the thick silence with a singular pointed word, sharper than a dagger constructed from the toughest of diamonds. “I… should explain myself,” he mumbles.

Although you look up once more to make eye contact with Xiao, you’re unsuccessful. Now he’s the one avoiding your stare, and he looks nothing short of endearingly shy. Gilded lamplight illuminates his features, making the sunset blush dawning on his cheeks all the more apparent to you.

“I wasn’t…” Xiao manages before pausing once more. “I wasn’t only smiling because of the fireworks,” he forces himself to say.

His words pique your interest. Although the rest of the night is exceptionally beautiful, the various acrylic hues burgeoning across a canvas painted a dark obsidian shade are the most noteworthy sights of the evening. When you try to think of anything that even closely parallels their beauty, nothing comes to mind.

“I felt at peace,” he says, his voice softening, “because you were beside me.”

You inhale sharply. The air feels far too electrifying at the moment, shocking you with an unexpected elation. You didn’t expect Xiao to be so forward, and yet, here he is, more or less telling you how much you mean to him. Many words remain unspoken, but you already know Xiao well enough to understand the weight of that one sentence.

As you glance over to the adeptus once more, a grin dances across your face. Aureate galaxies meet your gaze, sparkling with the subtlest hints of adoration.

The blush across Xiao’s cheeks only intensifies as the corners of his lips turn up once again in a shy smile.

It’s luminous. His expression, a true embodiment of equanimity and contentment, turns even the most breathtaking of fireworks more vibrant and the brightest of stars more radiant.

It’s at that moment that an epiphany strikes.

Contrary to what you had believed just moments prior, there’s one thing that rivals the stunning nature of the rainbow-infused pyrotechnics before you: the soft grin adorning Xiao’s features, accentuating each part of his face with a light brighter than that of an imploding supernova.

thank you for reading! i have a few more drafts that are close to finished, so i might post again soon (no promises though because i tend to procrastinate on my writing).

[jorenilee]

Got curious and looked into why the colors were so off in the book and from what I can tell... they just color picked from the art. Which is SO funny, because all of the art absolutely has lighting changes and dramatic moods etc. Ivypool is literally bathed in a sunset/sunrise and Bluestar is like, in a bright moonlight... and they just COLOR PICKED...

Ridiculous. RIDICULOUS HOW'D THEY FUCK UP THAT BAD HAHA

THIS IS THE BAFFLING PART TO ME because they 100% hired someone who A. has no damn idea what a warriors cats is and B. doesn't know how to colour pick??

Like I dont even know WHERE they're getting these colours. Clear sky is 99% just gray and somehow they threaded the needle and nailed the gleaming shine on his forehead aka the SUN.

I think the funniest part of this is where they just. Mix the cats up. They did not hire someone familiar with the series cuz they just read the names left to right. When runningnose has his Running Nose In the Art

Also this ones the funniest and sums up the whole thing because not only did they switch Dappled Pelt and Cloud Spots (hilarious because their names describe What they Look like), but incorrectly picked both of their wrong colours. How do you look at that man and think hm yeah slate blue

I'm left utterly flabbergasted because like. Im so genuinely confused about how it got approved like this. The average 11yo who read only the first series would probably do a better job

[djdangerlove]

Found this in the bottom of my drafts and thought why not...

Buck opens the passenger door and takes a moment to memorize the way amber rays of sunset fall across his best friend’s face, highlighting faint little marks and scars telling a story in smooth, tanned skin. Eddie is beautiful in the raw sense of the word, effortless on the surface and artfully sculpted by the world beneath.

Buck reaches out with slightly calloused fingers brushing against a stubbled jawline, thumb tracing the curve of a fever colored cheek. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You’re home,” Buck says with a gentle tap of his fingers. Eddie shivers into wakefulness, smearing drool down Buck’s open palm that he doesn’t retract fast enough. 

“I think,” the older man starts, but clears his throat when it comes out too close to a Kermit the Frog impersonation. “I think that doctor gave me a horse tranquilizer. I’m so tired.”

He blinks up at Buck, one eye a fraction of a second behind the other and makes no move to get out of the jeep so Buck reaches across his lap and unbuckles his seatbelt all while explaining with an amused chuckle, “They gave you a steroid shot and in case no one has ever told you before, you’re dramatic when you have a sinus infection.” 

More awake now, Eddie scowls at Buck while slowly sliding out of the car. “Yeah? Well, what’s your daily excuse then?” 

Buck shuts the door and falls into a snail’s pace shuffle towards the front porch of the house beside his best friend. “I guess you could say that a childhood with emotionally neglectful parents-“

“Cut it out,” the side of Eddie’s face struggles to choose between amusement or sympathy so it ripples adorably with both. “You’re not guilt tripping me into losing this…whatever this is.”

“I don’t have to,” Buck says, moving to unlock the door when they finally reach it. “You’re gonna fall asleep as soon as you lay down and probably forget this entire conversation.” 

“I’m not going to forget that I love a dramatic dork or that your parents are assholes who should have loved you better,” Eddie replies while dropping haphazardly onto the couch, coughing into the dead silence that suddenly fills the living room. 

Buck hovers between the back of the couch and the kitchen, unsure of what to say or how to say it so he drops the bag of supplies near Eddie’s hip and offers a quiet, “I’m going to go make some soup.”

“Buck-“

“You’re doing a lot of talking for someone who wanted me to buy four packs of throat lozenges,” Buck stops in the entry way of the kitchen to offer a reassuring grin at Eddie peeking up over the back of the couch, nervous, fever-bright eyes blinking back at him under rumpled hair across his forehead. “I think I remember how Pepa made her famous soup for Chris last time so just rest while I fix it for us, okay?” 

Eddie rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, but nods all the same. 

————

“I may have put too much cumin. No, I definitely did, but with the way your nose is stuffed up it shouldn’t make a difference in taste for you,” Buck winces at him from across the table. “Please just don’t tell Pepa I messed up her recipe.” 

Eddie tilts his head, ignoring the painful pressure in his face to enjoy the way Buck tenses worriedly. “I won’t if you delete that picture you took of me asleep in the car.” 

“Wha-“ Buck starts around a slurp of soup and hurries to catch it with his napkin before it can drip onto his shirt. The liquid still manages to soak into the pink cotton threads and he blots at it with a frown. “How did you know about that? You were dead to the world!”

Eddie’s face oozes into a smile, relieved that they can fall back into easy banter as if he hadn’t overstepped before. “I didn’t. Not for sure, but I figured you were looking for blackmail because of the infamous collection I have of you. A crime of opportunity.”

Buck scoffs and pulls out his phone to set the picture as his lock screen before turning it around to show Eddie. “Pepa adores me. I’m not worried.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Buck,” Eddie warns even though both of them are grinning. “When I’m not two seconds away from falling asleep I’ll get you back for this. I have plenty of ammo.” 

“Okay, G.I. Joe,” Buck mocks with a salute before standing up from the table. “Let’s get you back to the couch before you fall asleep in the soup and another crime of opportunity happens.”

If Eddie minds the hovering, he doesn’t say as Buck walks with him to the couch and fluffs some of the pillows. Eddie leans his head against the back of the couch when he sits and closes his eyes, listening to Buck move around the house for a few minutes before he feels him hover once more. 

“You’re going to hurt your neck like that,” Buck says from where he’s standing behind the couch looking down at Eddie. 

“It’s helping with the sinus pressure, honestly.”

“I know of a better way, hang on.” 

Eddie hears Buck move away and down the hall towards the bathroom and pries his eyes back open when he feels his tall shadow cast over him once again. 

“Here,” Buck murmurs, holding up a warm, damp washcloth. “Close your eyes, okay? This will help.”

Eddie does so, trusting Buck with whatever he’s about to do and feels himself lower into the couch with relief as the heat from the washcloth fights against the tightness in his face when his friend gently drapes it across the bridge of his nose. 

“Wow, I almost feel bad for all the times I sent one of those photos of you drooling like a baby in the group chat now,” Eddie says, smiling up at Buck standing over him even if it’s obscured by the towel. 

“Uh huh. Sure.” Buck lifts the towel to refold it and place it across Eddie forehead. 

“I do,” the sick man says, grin slipping as his words begin to sound more serious. “But not as sorry as I am for…overstepping earlier. I-“

“Hey, no. Don’t do that,” Buck says as he moves around to stand between the coffee table and the couch to straighten up the medicine and tissues and make sure the tv remote is within reach. “You didn’t overstep.”

“Buck, I-“

Buck fumbles with the remote, thumbing over the buttons with an audible soft tap, voice barely carrying over it. “My parents are assholes and…I wish they had loved me better.” 

“They should have,” Eddie leaves no room for argument, picking his head up making the washcloth fall into his lap. 

Buck nods, agreement more so that they can move on rather than fully believing it. “And maybe…maybe I am a dramatic dork.”

“I said-“

“And if you… if you love me then… I’m okay with that,” Buck says, chancing a glance at Eddie and smiling when the other man grins back. “Really okay with it.” 

“Good,” Eddie nods and for a moment they are caught in a standstill of staring at each other as the axis of their friendship begins to shift towards something else. The moment however is broken by Eddie coughing into his elbow. “But maybe we wait until I’m feeling better?” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Buck agrees, going back to straightening up and picking up Eddie’s discarded tissues. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie scrunches his nose and holds his hand out like he has the energy to get up and throw them away himself. 

“I know I don’t,” Buck says, pausing just behind the couch to lean over and place his first kiss to the crown of Eddie’s head. “But I think it’s a thing people do when they love somebody.”

[amuseoffyre]

Had 2x01 playing while I was working in another room and made me realise exactly how much is going on in Stede's noggin.

The dramatic look of the thing on a beach when he was meant to meet Ed on a beach when they escaped the naval academy

His pirate-wear being pristine and clean and ridiculously over-the-top with massive collar, massive billowing sleeves, and massive cuffs on his boots. Methinks the man is overcompensating with the aesthetics

The anger towards Izzy and holding him accountable with the desire for revenge. Likewise, running him through the way Izzy once did to him (something something stabbing as penis metaphor something something)

"I didn't make you leave him. You did that on your own" - Stede's guilt rearing its ugly head, his own fears put into the mouth of another person (just like they were in 1x02 with Nigel and in 1x04 in his delirium)

The wishful sprint along the beach with Ed coming to meet him, an idealised version of how he wants it all to go, lit by a romantic sunset

"So you're not mad? We're good?" - his fear that Ed will be angry with him and that he's done permanent damage

"I knew you'd fine me, babe/love" repeated - even in his sleep, his brain doesn't know how to compute what Ed could/might say to him. It's like a default track playing. He wants to find Ed, so in his dreams, Ed assures him "You've found me"

"Love the beard" - ohhhh the layers in that one. Especially when Ed's own beard is back and full and thick again and one of their last conversations was "can't be Blackbeard without your black beard". Stede ramping up the beardness of both of them despite the fact he has always been cleanshaven, subconsciously thinking he has to be more like this to be an equal partner to Ed.

Not even a dozen lines and so many layers and threads and subconscious mess piled into that man's head.

[dramalets]

2024 watch list part 4

3 will be free - Like I’ve found with all Jojo’s stuff this is a superb concept that feels somewhat too big for what it had to be constrained too. Which means it gets a little lost in the finer details. The big picture however? Sublime. The performances pulled out of the whole cast are top tier and the commentary on poverty, feminism and trans politics are superbly weaved through. 4/5 (28/5/24)

Living with him - A soft, cosy little delight of a thing. Kazuhito and Ryota’s journey to love is a slow, gentle one with very little dramatics just a lot of not using their words. Very sweet little watch. 3 ½ /5 (30/5/24)

Only Boo! - I didn’t hate this but I also wasn’t raving about it. I thought the young pups did a great job with their first series and I liked this conceptually a lot. It just needed something a little more. 3/5 (23/6/24))

Marahuyo Project - Stunning. Going to be thinking about this one for a long while and it’ll definitely be something I revisit. 5/5 (30/6/24)

We Are - Honestly I was excited for this one right out the gate. I loved all the pairings and I know what great work P'New can do with a solid ensemble cast. This delivered every single week for me and I'll be rewatching it forever. If you enjoy strong slice of life with queer platonic friendships then you'll love this. 5/5 (17/7/24)

I told sunset about you -This just wasn’t for me. If we were going on acting alone then it would be a five but we’re not so it’s a three. I don’t like melodrama for all the reasons that make this some people’s favourite. Silly twists and overlong shots of snotty crying faces are just not my thing. 3/5 (20/7/24)

Wandee Goodday - I loved elements of this and other stuff got a little lost. Its bones were good but it started threads it didn’t tie and some things were frustrating. Overall though I had a great time watching this and I thought the things this show did well, particularly found family and LGBTQIA+ issues, it did very very well. 3 ½/5 (20/7/24)

The man who defies the world of BL (s3) - The main issues I had with this were the same ones I had for first two seasons. Too short and ending on cliff hangers in infuriating. This is still firmly a ‘it’s for you or it’s not’ show and it really is for me. 4/5 (23/7/24)

The Boyfriend - Japan’s first gay dating show. This was incredibly lovely and very cute. The edit was a lot and would have liked to have seen more of their day to day in the house. But I did have fun with this and, as with most reality shows, there was a lot of fun in picking it apart with friends. 3/5 (30/7/24)

The Boy Foretold by The Stars - This is a Filipino movie. Filipino stuff often hits for me and this hit. It’s sweet and romantic and, as I often find with Fillo stuff, it manages to blend religion and being young and gay in an interesting way. Definitely a good pick if you want something sweet. 4/5 (6/9/24)

Knock Knock, Boys! - I think the trailer for this made it seem like it was going to be a sex fest and it’s really not that. It’s just a really nice friends to lovers. This was also really trying new things with the way it talked openly about sex. Super enjoyable and I fell in love with the whole cast. 4/5 (8/9/24)

Love Sea - FortPeat are lovely because they always are. The writing stinks and there’s barely a ghost of a story. You like MAME or you don’t and I’m a hater. The first three episodes are good enough but it loses what little plot it had after that. 2 ½/5 (12/9/24)

[fuckmeyer]

I’m certain this is over 500 words but I am dying to hear more about all of this. I genuinely tried to cut but I could not make up my mind - silk tie anon (still workshopping the name here, not sure I want to be know for Edward’s clothing/buns all that bad):

Edward had threaded one hand through my hair and was mindlessly curling strands around his finger, sweeping them off my shoulder, bringing them to his lips. My nails traced mindless patterns on his other hand wrapped around my waist.

The intimacy and burn of his fingers on my skin made me remember with striking emotion how much I missed him touching me, how starved I was.

We breathed in unison. Every other moment, a faint static would pulse down my body. At first, I thought it was him flinching, but it was rhythmic and soft. Like was responding to me. Like our bodies were syncing up. In a good way.

I sighed. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”

He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips.

“Em’s obsessed with carbon-neutral cabins now,” said Edward. “I should ask him to build us one.”

I could practically hear the smile on him.

Usually, I would balk and respond along the lines of No way, Jose.

Cactus Bella would’ve, anyway.

“That’d be nice,” I said. Edward hmm’d in response, just as surprised by my reaction as I was. “We could watch the sunset every night. It’d have to have a tiny art studio, though. With a view.”

“Yes. Art studio in the attic, recording studio in the basement.”

“And a library.”

“The rest of the house is a library. Every room has at least one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.”

“And we could decorate and hang up pictures. And we’d never pay rent.”

“And I would make tea for you every morning and dinner for you every night. We would stay there for weeks at a time.”

“Months.”

“Years.”

“Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoed. It sounded off.

The sun dropped into the horizon.

“Twilight, again,” I remembered him saying at prom. “No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end….”

At prom, it had sounded romantic.

Here, it haunted me.

We didn’t speak. Only dying birdsongs and classical music filled the silence.

Before he could wallow in his forever comment, I asked, “So what's on the menu for tonight?” gesturing with my head to the tiny stereo. “Wagner, to celebrate my being done reading that freak Nietzsche?”

“Hah hah. As if this was remotely Wagnerian.” For a moment he tensed underneath me; his faltering chuckle returned. “I was wondering when you’d say something. What do you think?”

It was the smoothest-sounding music I’d ever heard—that’s what I thought. Every note was correct and on key and on beat and every instrument played with exact preciseness. It felt more like the whole song was just one fluid, resonating harmonic note to the next. A dream. A fantasy.

What set it apart were the colors. They jumped off the track. Purples and orangey-yellows, mostly, but the piano sounded like the greenest grass Forks had ever grown.

“Unedited thoughts only,” he warned me.

“You know what it reminds me of?” I said, patting his knee. “Debussy. With a little Emile Pandolfi zhuzh to it. Or like if Rachmaninov woke up one day and decided to write something a little more understated.”

“Classical influences with modern touches.”

“Exactly.”

“Dramatic?”

“In good way. Y’know? Not so cloying and loud.”

“Calmer.”

“Yeah. Less struggle. If that makes sense.”

“Interesting.” He tried keeping an even face but his eyes lit up. He nuzzled his face into my collar. “But the real question: do you like it?”

“Hell yeah. That’s my biased opinion. You know I like your recs.”

“Except Bobby Vinton.”

“Fifties trash,” I said with a dismissive shrug, “what can you say?”

“I’d say your taste in men is better than your taste in music, and that’s not saying much.”

His voice was jovial—and false.

—No, not false.

Shaken with a sheepish nervousness. Embarrassment?

I laid back against his chest. Puzzle pieces assembled in my head, so loud and clear I would assume he could hear me coming to my conclusions.

Edward was nervous.

All night, he’d been nervous.

The good kind of nervous.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

Laying against him, I could feel excitement coursing through him.

“Hm?”

“There’s a speech you’re not telling me,” I said. Edward broke into a smile but looked down so I wouldn’t see it. The anticipation he carried with him felt like live wires on my skin. “You’re dying to say it. Mhm. Something overwrought. Or some super nerdy, esoteric lecture, I bet. Yeah. The blues speech. The classical music. There’s a theme going on here.” He laughed. “Tell me. Who’s this dead guy and why do I care?”

“The tongue on you.” His lips kissed my temple, tickled the shell of my ear when he spoke. “That dead guy is me, thank you very much.”

“Huh?” I whipped around to face him with an open-mouthed smile. “No way.”

“Yes, way. Wrote and performed.”

“This? Really? You wrote this? Really?” As I talked, I moved to straddle him, my hands on his shoulders, the side of his neck. Brassy golds and jewel-toned purples swirled through the music drifting between us. “That’s so cool!”

This, like everything else about Edward, seemed otherworldly in its grace and beauty. It felt like listening to the future of music—refined to an even higher degree of perfection.

Of course this was his.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

Now my hands played nervously with the locks of his hair that sat at the nape of his neck. “No, it’s just, you said you hadn't written anything since the 70s, and the colors are just—I mean it’s perfect, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but, just—wow."

"Eloquent as always."

"This is amazing work. Wow!” It felt like I radiated so much joy, my cheeks burned. “Congratulations, oh my god. It’s great. It’s brilliant. I take back all the ‘dead guy, don’t care’ stuff. Lecture me up.”

“You assume I have more to say?”

I snickered, raking my hand through his hair and pulling on it. He purred. “Six words? You? Please,” I said, and he laughed. “What d’you got for me? Historical context? Music theory? Behind-the-scenes anecdote? You gotta unedit, y’know.”

Getting Edward to share any of his compositions had been, up until now, impossible. He had informed me several times he hadn’t written anything since the 1970s. Any time I’d ask, he’d just come up with some medley of songs by others, or he’d improvise.

“It’s a lullaby.” Beat. “Your lullaby.” Another beat. “I wrote it for you.”

I blinked. Stilled.

“For me?” My hand fell back to his chest, leaving his hair a wild, sculpted mess. Edward watched my face fall and eyes drift toward the speaker; his brows knit. “A lullaby? For me?”

Edward laughed, nervous, and pressed a button on the stereo.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to me.

Instruments jumped into that first note, springing to life with a harmonized breathlessness that reminded me of sky blue, lavender, spots of gold, and brown. An overwhelming, bright, vibrant first measure calmed into a languid, inquisitive piano.

Oftentimes, a song would have competing colors, for better or for worse. Anything I wanted to paint would require several relistenings and a full-on moodboard before the oil would ever hit the canvas.

Art supplies were expensive—you had to be sure of your vision.

But this. This was gorgeous. Like it had been written with the intention of being ready for the canvas.

For me.

“It’s been in my mind for a while now. At first, they were just bits of melodies you’ve given me from our time together. The happy, sunny times.”

“Like a tapestry of little memories?” I joked, voice thick with emotion.

“In the middle of the night, if you start tossing, I hum it to you. I think you like it. It calms you down.” He grinned. “You stop trying to kick me, anyway.”

“Which memories did you use?”

“G-minor, when you first spoke to me—that was the first measure. The first night I stayed over. Picking wild blackberries for you on the way to the meadow. And— Do you remember the second time we took the truck to that forest a couple miles north of Goat Rocks?” I frowned. “In July? We played Nickel Nock in the truckbed? You were asking about the—"

“Fireflies,” we finished in unison. I laughed. “Duh!” I told him it’d been the first time I’d seen one in person. Edward turned off the lamp and caught one for me in his hands just so I could see it up close. I smiled wide. “The little chimes in background. Is that them? The fireflies?”

“Perceptive.”

Tears threatened to spill over; I wiped one away from the corner with my thumb.

hey Silk Buns anon, you can choose your own nickname as far as i'm concerned. i love you

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 3: DATE - DVD COMMENTARY

[i haven't read this chapter since i posted it lmao OOP-]

Edward had threaded one hand through my hair and was mindlessly curling strands around his finger, sweeping them off my shoulder, bringing them to his lips. My nails traced mindless patterns on his other hand wrapped around my waist.

The intimacy and burn of his fingers on my skin made me remember with striking emotion how much I missed him touching me, how starved I was.

We breathed in unison [ok but fr breathing in unison w/ ur partner is relaxing as fuck]. Every other moment, a faint static would pulse down my body. At first, I thought it was him flinching, but it was rhythmic and soft. Like was responding to me. Like our bodies were syncing up. In a good way.

[it's wild how many hints i dropped about the mating bond. i was resolved to put it in the fic because it was an unexplored part of smeyer's lore & an interesting creative challenge (much like imprinting, although that's more about fixing mistakes than fleshing out a concept). but i didn't have the mechanics of mating hammered out at all. details like this are fun to come back to because they ended up fitting perfectly.]

I sighed. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”

He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips.

“Em’s obsessed with carbon-neutral cabins now,” said Edward. “I should ask him to build us one.” [something something By Starlight Chapter 9: Envoy]

I could practically hear the smile on him.

Usually, I would balk and respond along the lines of No way, Jose.

Cactus Bella would’ve, anyway. [Cactus Bella should have come back]

“That’d be nice,” I said. Edward hmm’d in response, just as surprised by my reaction as I was. “We could watch the sunset every night. It’d have to have a tiny art studio, though. With a view.” [this would be in the attic]

“Yes. Art studio in the attic [HEY!!!!], recording studio in the basement.”

“And a library.” [i picture them having a tiny cabin with a loft, lots of plants, artwork, cozy chairs, one of those little roller ladders for their library, & tons of windows that overlook the forest below. i'm projecting my own desires btw]

“The rest of the house is a library. Every room has at least one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.” [get you a fanfic Edward Cullen who says "YES, AND"!!!]

“And we could decorate and hang up pictures. And we’d never pay rent.” [i can't imagine how much Bella hates dealing with landlords. from her describing her experiences delivering Renee's late rent to telling Phil to pay rent early to "get the landlord off Renee's back" to her doing DIY plumbing repairs, it feels like she does everything in her power to avoid getting a landlord in her hair. honestly, mood.]

“And I would make tea for you every morning and dinner for you every night. We would stay there for weeks at a time.”

“Months.”

“Years.”

“Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoed. It sounded off.

The sun dropped into the horizon.

“Twilight, again,” I remembered him saying at prom. “No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end….”

[so interesting, this shift we see in Edward by the end of Come Nightfall/beginning of By Starlight. in ITA he insists there is an end to all things (especially the self). contrast this with BS Chapter 1: Ultimatum where he insists Bella isn't terminal. he's able to rationalize that he can't keep Bella, but the more he falls in love with her, the less he wants to stand by his assertion that there is an end to all things...]

At prom, it had sounded romantic.

Here, it haunted me.

We didn’t speak. Only dying birdsongs and classical music filled the silence.

Before he could wallow in his forever comment, I asked, “So what's on the menu for tonight?” gesturing with my head to the tiny stereo. “Wagner, to celebrate my being done reading that freak Nietzsche?” [i was reading The Gay Science at the time. sadly, the book does not cover homosexuality]

“Hah hah. As if this was remotely Wagnerian.” For a moment he tensed underneath me; his faltering chuckle returned. “I was wondering when you’d say something. What do you think?”

It was the smoothest-sounding music I’d ever heard—that’s what I thought. Every note was correct and on key and on beat and every instrument played with exact preciseness. It felt more like the whole song was just one fluid, resonating harmonic note to the next. A dream. A fantasy.

[in the early stages of drafting these fics, i list bullet points of things that i think would be cool to write. at the climax of New Moon, instead of exposing himself to humans, i thought it'd be fun if Edward had turned Bella's lullaby into an anti-Volturi operatic work that he would play throughout Volterra on St Marcus' Day. not all ideas are good ideas]

What set it apart were the colors. They jumped off the track. Purples and orangey-yellows, mostly, but the piano sounded like the greenest grass Forks had ever grown. [Bella has chromesthesia. light spoilers?, this comes back later]

“Unedited thoughts only,” he warned me.

“You know what it reminds me of?” I said, patting his knee. “Debussy. With a little Emile Pandolfi zhuzh to it. Or like if Rachmaninov woke up one day and decided to write something a little more understated.”

“Classical influences with modern touches.”

“Exactly.”

“Dramatic?”

“In good way. Y’know? Not so cloying and loud.”

“Calmer.”

“Yeah. Less struggle. If that makes sense.”

“Interesting.” He tried keeping an even face but his eyes lit up. He nuzzled his face into my collar. “But the real question: do you like it?”

“Hell yeah. That’s my biased opinion. You know I like your recs.”

“Except Bobby Vinton.” [deleted a whole scene about Bella and Edward arguing over how much Bobby Vinton sucks, so this was my compromise]

“Fifties trash,” I said with a dismissive shrug, “what can you say?” [SO true bestie]

“I’d say your taste in men is better than your taste in music, and that’s not saying much.” [HEY!]

His voice was jovial—and false.

—No, not false.

Shaken with a sheepish nervousness. Embarrassment?

I laid back against his chest. Puzzle pieces assembled in my head, so loud and clear I would assume he could hear me coming to my conclusions.

Edward was nervous.

All night, he’d been nervous.

The good kind of nervous.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

Laying against him, I could feel excitement coursing through him.

“Hm?”

“There’s a speech you’re not telling me,” I said. Edward broke into a smile but looked down so I wouldn’t see it. The anticipation he carried with him felt like live wires on my skin. “You’re dying to say it. Mhm. Something overwrought. Or some super nerdy, esoteric lecture, I bet. Yeah. The blues speech. The classical music. There’s a theme going on here.” He laughed. “Tell me. Who’s this dead guy and why do I care?” [this Eleanor Shellstrop-ass line]

“The tongue on you.” His lips kissed my temple, tickled the shell of my ear when he spoke. “That dead guy is me, thank you very much.”

“Huh?” I whipped around to face him with an open-mouthed smile. “No way.”

“Yes, way. Wrote and performed.”

“This? Really? You wrote this? Really?” As I talked, I moved to straddle him, my hands on his shoulders, the side of his neck. Brassy golds and jewel-toned purples swirled through the music drifting between us. “That’s so cool!”

This, like everything else about Edward, seemed otherworldly in its grace and beauty. It felt like listening to the future of music—refined to an even higher degree of perfection.

Of course this was his.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

Now my hands played nervously with the locks of his hair that sat at the nape of his neck. “No, it’s just, you said you hadn't written anything since the 70s, and the colors are just—I mean it’s perfect, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but, just—wow." [Edward likely doesn't know she has synesthesia, considering how much of herself she's hidden from him pre-breakup.]

"Eloquent as always."

"This is amazing work. Wow!” It felt like I radiated so much joy, my cheeks burned. “Congratulations, oh my god. It’s great. It’s brilliant. I take back all the ‘dead guy, don’t care’ stuff. Lecture me up.”

“You assume I have more to say?”

I snickered, raking my hand through his hair and pulling on it. He purred. “Six words? You? Please,” I said, and he laughed. “What d’you got for me? Historical context? Music theory? Behind-the-scenes anecdote? You gotta unedit, y’know.” [it's crazy to go back to these earlier scenes and hear this Bella talk. there's such a stark difference imo between pre- & post-breakup Bella. in By Starlight, she's sounds more mature, somber, careful with her words, closer to canon. i can def see why readers abandon these works lmao]

Getting Edward to share any of his compositions had been, up until now, impossible. He had informed me several times he hadn’t written anything since the 1970s. Any time I’d ask, he’d just come up with some medley of songs by others, or he’d improvise.

“It’s a lullaby.” Beat. “Your lullaby.” Another beat. “I wrote it for you.”

I blinked. Stilled.

“For me?” My hand fell back to his chest, leaving his hair a wild, sculpted mess. Edward watched my face fall and eyes drift toward the speaker; his brows knit. “A lullaby? For me?”

Edward laughed, nervous, and pressed a button on the stereo.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to me.

Instruments jumped into that first note, springing to life with a harmonized breathlessness that reminded me of sky blue, lavender, spots of gold, and brown. An overwhelming, bright, vibrant first measure calmed into a languid, inquisitive piano.

Oftentimes, a song would have competing colors, for better or for worse. Anything I wanted to paint would require several relistenings and a full-on moodboard before the oil would ever hit the canvas.

Art supplies were expensive—you had to be sure of your vision.

But this. This was gorgeous. Like it had been written with the intention of being ready for the canvas.

For me.

“It’s been in my mind for a while now. At first, they were just bits of melodies you’ve given me from our time together. The happy, sunny times.”

“Like a tapestry of little memories?” I joked, voice thick with emotion.

“In the middle of the night, if you start tossing, I hum it to you. I think you like it. It calms you down.” He grinned. “You stop trying to kick me, anyway.”

“Which memories did you use?”

“G-minor, when you first spoke to me—that was the first measure. The first night I stayed over. Picking wild blackberries for you on the way to the meadow. [i've always thought this Edward had some crow-ass behavior going on. like he'll just show up at Bella's window with a handful of berries or a shiny pebble or a tiny flower and be like, "i come bearing gifts (caw)"] And— Do you remember the second time we took the truck to that forest a couple miles north of Goat Rocks?” I frowned. “In July? We played Nickel Nock in the truckbed? You were asking about the—"

“Fireflies,” we finished in unison. I laughed. “Duh!” I told him it’d been the first time I’d seen one in person. Edward turned off the lamp and caught one for me in his hands just so I could see it up close. I smiled wide. “The little chimes in background [WINDCHIMES BAYBEEE]. Is that them? The fireflies?”

“Perceptive.”

Tears threatened to spill over; I wiped one away from the corner with my thumb.

send me 500 words of my fanfic & i will give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet

[cleave-and-plough]

you're the most normal girl i know

WAKABA ARC LET'S GO

i've really been loving utena thus far, and these two episodes somehow find a new height. this show fucking rules. how do they do it?

right from the intro it's clear something special is going to happen, as the typical prelude is replaced with a version centering wakaba. much like with utena, she awaits the arrival of her prince, and yet it's a little hollow - no conversation, no promise, no ring - she simply waits. in the meantime, she has her prince surrogate, utena, to dote upon, and the two enjoy another picnic on the lawn until they're approached by tatsuya, the auspicious onion prince.

wakaba's childhood friend and ostensible defender, tatsuya has come to confess to utena, who gently rebuffs him. wakaba stirs up and cautions utena against him, slowly revealing that she has a special place in her heart for him - a fond memory that has grown fainter by the year. hearing wakaba call him a prince, utena infers what's going on and sagely advises her friend to consider the role of fate in all this. wakaba disagrees as a lamppost suddenly illuminates the scene - a happy coincidence.

meanwhile, the student council members discuss their own desires and longing, which remain constant and unfulfilled. miki thinks of anthy whenever he plays the piano, touga remains the sun in nanami's sky, and though her name doesn't escape juri's lips, shiori echoes in her musing on one's inability to choose who they love. this prolonged, unrequited pining atmosphere will return…

utena seeks advice from her weekly akio session, wondering what to do about wakaba and tatsuya, who she feels aren't being honest with each other. akio posits that people's hearts are "veiled with thin silk" and that it's impossible to read their true desires. utena takes this at face value, unaware of how relevant his words are, sitting innocently across from anthy. akio's advice so far has made an interesting contrast to the silhouettes - while the silhouettes seem to obliquely hint at the episode's dramatic thread (prompting utena's skepticism), akio is more straight-to-the-point, and utena usually sees his words as wise guidance (when she can understand his metaphors). there's something to be said here about the voice of a male authority figure taking precedence over the shadowy plays of the feminine silhouettes, especially given akio's apparent menace. the silhouettes seem to grasp at something, possibly as misguided as the teenagers they accompany and often seem to be peers of. what is a tire, anyway?

utena, beleagueredly sipping her tea with a sage air, parrots akio's advice, prompting wakaba to confess her true feelings for tatsuya, which she continues to deny. utena's words do have the desired effect on tatsuya, and he pursues wakaba to a picturesque hill overlooking a burnt orange sunset. he asks wakaba to be honest with him, and there's a smooth bit of animation as wakaba kicks the ground, saying "i'm always honest." typically, the more fluid animations happen during the duels, so it's always intriguing to me to see when they're used otherwise - here, it seems like a potent emphasis of her flustered ambivalence. the rug is pulled and wakaba realizes she needs to embrace her prince, leaving tatsuya in the lurch. fortunately, they say the memorial hall can give guidance to those lost and confused…

just as tatsuya has re-entered wakaba's life too late, he enters the hall without an appointment, begging to be counseled. souji welcomes him, and tatsuya pours forth his anxieties - his love for wakaba, his grief that she doesn't return it, his anger that someone else will take his place and tarnish her, and his eternal hope that love will prevail and bring her back to him. and for the first time, the black rose rejects an interviewee. there's so much to wonder about here: souji claims tatsuya is a truly good person and that this is no place for him. something about how calculated souji is makes me feel like he wouldn't lie unnecessarily, but i also wonder if he simply sees tatsuya as a poor candidate for a duelist, especially when compared to saionji. tatsuya's rant isn't exactly free of incel sentiment, though i'm open to the thought that the elevator provokes a certain raw, unfiltered psyche vomit that doesn't necessarily define the interviewee. maybe it's tatsuya's lingering belief that wakaba will return to him that disqualifies him - he's heartbroken but not hopeless in the way that the other black rose duelists have been.

returning to wakaba, i truly thought she would run into utena's arms, but the fact that she used "him" to describe her prince did plant a seed of doubt in my mind. how naive i was. the ending of this episode was the shock of my life.

unable to wait, i continued. the warm, hazy light from the sunset returns and suffuses the air of this episode, gently accompanying wakaba as she descends into the town to shop and then returns to her dorm, to saionji. what a contrast to the other episodes - in place of miki's golden memories, nanami's noir imagination, and juri's preserved photographs, wakaba floats in a heavenly summer aura. her reality has become better than her dreams, and though her fate seems bent towards sorrow, for these few days, weeks, she has attained what every other character longs for. she has found her shining thing, her miracle.

removed from the influence of touga, the council, and ohtori, saionji has become remarkably docile and emotional, tearfully thanking wakaba for hiding him after his expulsion. stripped of the pressures and rituals of the school, he has a chance to reforge himself, exchanging his kendo sword for a whittling knife and paint. yet, his uniform hangs on the wall, a reminder of all he lost and might regain.

wakaba is in bloom. in an arc of secrets, hers is one to treasure, and in keeping it, she has become, for the first time, special. she excels at school, at sports, and though she loses touch with her friends, she can go home every day to her prince, acting out a quaint domestic life not unlike anthy and utena. utena knows something's changed, and consults her advisor, akio, who spins a tale of two kinds of people: those with special destinies, like utena, and those without, like wakaba. the latter, he explains, may become special - but only temporarily. utena is confused by akio's words, which he cites as proof of her specialness, but it all certainly smacks of any number of hierarchical -isms and -archies. that said, he may be right that utena's uncertainty at her own "specialness" is a component of her success - her humility, chivalry, and nobility are the rare qualities that bring her good fortune, popularity, and victory, while her rivals, such as touga, who see themselves as superior to others, consign themselves to defeat. it of course remains to be seen how akio's ostensible sense of superiority will affect his fate.

meanwhile, saionji presents the leaf clip to wakaba, and she sheds a tear. "it's perfect," she says. her life can soar no higher.

leaving only one direction.

as wakaba cheerfully recounts the goings-on of the council, she just so happens to omit one of their members, prompting saionji to ask the fateful question: "how is anthy doing?" and so an unignorable crack forms in wakaba's perfect life. touga's cruel words from long ago echo: "your feelings will betray you as deeply as you feel them." saionji hasn't let go of his feelings for anthy, and wakaba fears she can't compete with her, relegating her back to obscurity and unspecialness. as her heart begins to cloud, souji strikes.

"no secret escapes the notice of the black rose circle," he tells saionji, once again bringing the arc's themes into stark relief and following it up with another knockout line: "how will you escape this purgatory?" i thought, "of course!" the lovesick pining, the endless fealty to end of the world, wakaba's earlier comments that nothing ever happens at ohtori - all reflections of the purgatorial nature of the show's world. everyone is waiting, unchanging - saionji waits to return to school, tsuwabuki waits to grow up, utena and wakaba wait for their princes, juri waits for a miracle, miki waits for his shining thing to return, nanami waits for touga to reciprocate her love, and touga now waits for a resurrection. what is high school but the long wait before "adulthood" - a wait that we fear may be both far too short and unending? in this atmosphere, the duels stand out as rare moments of action, as characters finally move to seize their desires. and all along, the prince's castle hangs in the stars above, while the fires of the memorial hall's incinerator burn below.

i can't wait to finish the show and read what other people have made of it - i feel i'm barely scratching the surfaces with moments like this.

souji's moves are keen as a razor, and he dangles exactly the right bait for saionji: the reversal of his expulsion. "i'll need something of yours," he says, rich with dramatic irony. everything falls into place. anthy wears the leaf clip in front of wakaba, shattering her into pieces. she returns home and seizes the sword from saionji with frightening speed and violence. utena ascends to the arena and is rendered speechless. "utena, the sword!" anthy pleads, but utena can't raise it against her closest friend. wakaba delivers some truly heartrending plaints (huge props to her VA), cursing utena and the school's elites for trampling her life into the dirt. all she wanted was what they want - love, and a place in the sun. so utena provides as best she can, reassuring wakaba of her love for her, and yet… and yet… "i'll save you."

because she needs saving. just as utena once saw herself as anthy's savior, she now sees herself as the savior of wakaba. and, as nobly as she means this, it creates a distinction, a hierarchy between them. and so it's utena who makes the calls. wakaba's rose is cut. saionji returns to ohtori, rumors swirling about whether he'll try to rejoin the student council, his star once more ascendant among the school. and wakaba goes home to an empty room.

just like normal.

stray thoughts:

the silhouettes discuss purchasing tires and fox weddings, a legend i remember from akira kurosawa's dreams collection. been meaning to rewatch that sometime soon, i think i'd get a lot more out of it now.

hard to think of something scummier than akio telling anthy "i hope you find your own prince soon."

love that wakaba's home life with saionji is so funny - him scampering away to hide and then wiggling out from under the bed like some kind of giant insect, and meanwhile she's pretending to be a religious devotee to cover for him.

interesting that saionji frames his return to school as like, being part of a mission to space. "launch!" maybe he'd been spending time with akio before this? ever since akio's fixation on the stars was introduced, i've wondered if the show will somehow eventually go to space, continually expanding in scope a la gurren lagann.

anthy's cries to utena to draw the sword reminded me of another of my favorite desperate shouts: "chan! we need fire! bring the fire!" from the tunnel fight scene in snowpiercer (happens at 3:10 in the clip)

thought about the beast asking the woodsman "are you really ready to go back to that empty house?" in over the garden wall when wakaba got home at the end.

[nomniki]

eternity with you ━━ hwang hyunjin ⟡ spending the summer festival with hyunjin and falling a little more in love with him

genre﹒fluff word count﹒1918 warnings﹒a little angst ig? bc u don’t think u have a chance w jinnie but it’s ok!!

an﹒this was not supposed to be this long i got SOOOO carried away but i luv this n i rly hope u guys like it it’s so cute and dramatic and UGH this is probably one of my favourite things i’ve written it’s just 1.9k words of appreciating how pretty hyunjin is and being in love with him…real and pt. 3 of my genshin au

a canvas of ever changing colours spread out before you, vast and infinitely beautiful in a way you couldn’t hope to accurately describe. sunsets were ethereal in inazuma. you hoped hyunjin would arrive in time to see it, capture the moment with his kamera and recreate its beauty tenfold in one of his otherworldly paintings.

as though you’d summoned him by the mere thought, you heard a scuffle on the other side of the wall. one of his sandals came into view, eliciting a laugh at the huffs and whines of exertion you heard as he pulled himself up. his chest heaved when he planted himself at the top, dolled up in indigo and midnight blue robes that complimented his blond hair, glowing a warm orange in the dying sunlight.

the sunset paled in comparison to hyunjin, who looked nothing short of angelic, a feat only he could manage after scaling a wall. the look in his eyes when he spotted you was one you tucked away into the crevices of your chest, cradled it somewhere hidden and close to your heart, a place where all things concerning hyunjin belonged.

“yn!”

he exclaimed, giggling brightly. you were embarrassed to realise you were staring, so you waved up to him meekly. when he was safely planted on his feet, wobbly but upright, hyunjin tugged you towards him into a hug. you returned it earnestly, hoping distantly that the suns filtered light would disguise the blush on your cheeks.

“you won’t believe how difficult it was to escape that dreadful place,” he whined, hand searching for yours. “my mother truly is the worst.”

“but you made it, so let’s enjoy the festival as much as we possibly can.”

getting to spend the summer festival with hyunjin was a fever dream you hoped never to wake from. his hand never left your own, pulling away to wipe the sweat off of your hand was deemed a task that took too long in hyunjin’s eyes and he chased you, settled only when your fingers were interlocked again. even when it was inconvenient, hyunjin insisted you stay by his side, joined at the hand for every moment.

“hyunjin, let me go, you can’t even hold your food properly!”

though you spoke sternly, your voice was laced with fondness unmistakable to hyunjin, who knew the intricacies of your mannerisms better than he knew himself. he let you go with a pout that was soothed as you shared one of your skewers with him, loaded with tricolour dango that made his mouth water.

the sun settled below the horizon and sprinkled stars across the sky, one’s you believed looked so much prettier reflected in hyunjin’s eyes. lanterns were strung above your heads, hyunjin brushed them with his fingertips, mouth wide in awe. his emotions were so raw, so visible on his pretty features that the moment felt distinctly intimate. for as long as you'd known him, hyunjin had been an honest boy, and as the years passed and maturity spun its fine threads into his handsome face, it was nice to see that hadn't changed. for the sake of your weak heart, you averted your gaze. it was a stark reminder that however close hyunjin remained, no matter the lack of contact between you, he was never truly in reach. he was like the moon, desirable and admirable but you could never truly have him.

before you could fall victim to those melancholy thoughts, you were being tugged through the crowds, your heart pounding along to the rhythm of hyunjin’s melodious laughter. clearly in the few moments that had passed while you were lost in your own head, you had missed something crucial, but you would have followed hyunjin anywhere. running after him, through the bustling crowds and between the festival stalls was no exception. shouts floated through the air behind you, barely distinguishable from the buzz of noise. you were intimately familiar with the bellows of the inazuman guards, this wasn’t your first escapade with the runaway eldest son of the yashiro commission.

after a few dizzying minutes of running, hand held so tightly onto hyunjin your knuckles ached, you slowed to a stop. you’d entered a thicket of trees and it seemed celestia had set you up. hyunjin sparkled beneath the fragments of moonlight filtering through the canopy of leaves, entranced by the glittering water ahead of you while it seemed sinful to take your eyes off of him.

the sound of your breathing was much too loud, interrupting the peace you’d discovered. cold water lapped at your feet as you stepped into its shallow depths, hyunjin at your side and giggling all the while.

“that never gets old.”

“says you!”

very quickly the appeal of the cool water dwindled to uncomfortableness and you settled in the undergrowth, content to let the residual heat from the evening dry your skin. wordlessly, hyunjin pulled your legs over his lap, fretting and fiddling with your gifted robes in interest.

“i never told you how pretty you looked tonight.”

something ached deep in your chest, a thrum of discomfort through your body alongside the hoard of butterflies waking in your gut.

you laughed the compliment off a little awkwardly, “i don’t think i need to tell you how pretty you look, jinnie. you always look pretty.”

your teasing tone was a poor excuse to hide the genuine nature of your words. it was almost ironic how you praised hyunjin’s honesty, his openness and his empathy, but you could not afford him the same courtesy, hiding behind feeble words in hopes he would never know the true extent of your feelings for him.

“you’re thinking too loud, penny for your thoughts?”

you huffed, “you rich people don’t carry pennies.”

he hid his face in your knees, mumbling, “it’s just a phrase, shut up.”

a quiet sigh left you and you tipped your head up to the stars.

“when we were at that one stall, what did you wish for?”

hyunjin asked suddenly.

“your wishes won’t come true if you tell them to other people,” you muttered, almost petulantly.

the pause that followed was pregnant with unspoken words you couldn’t bring yourself to say, it wouldn’t be fair to him. how could you possibly tell him that you wished he would look at you with the adoration he directed towards faceless nobodies going about their daily lives in the streets? how could you tell him that you had wished that there was a future in which he loved you in the same manner you loved him, body and soul, so wholeheartedly that sometimes it felt like you couldn’t breathe without him.

you were too egalitarian to admit your love to someone who doesn’t love you back the same amount. you think hyunjin is the opposite. he will love someone and make them his home, even if they don't think of him enough to leave the lights on. it brings a slight frown to your face, hyunjin put out so much love into the world and all you wished is that he would pour a little of that into you. fill the empty cavities in your chest with his soft hands and softer lips, fill your ears with nothing but his voice and his laughter. how selfish.

the silence had stretched on too long, tense and hyunjin felt the stiffness in your limbs where they rested under his palms. he puffed out his cheeks, drumming his fingers thoughtfully and oblivious to the way it made your heart drop into your stomach.

“well, i wished that i could spend eternity with you. truthfully, i don’t think there will ever be enough time, not ever, that i feel like i’ve spent enough at your side. i guess eternity’s a start though.”

for all his perceptiveness, it seemed hyunjin had no idea he was breaking your heart. a lump was forming in your throat, traitorous tears in your eyes that you prayed to the archon wouldn’t fall in front of him. you swayed, pushing him playfully.

“all that time spent around the archons fanatic worshippers is starting to get to you,” your voice wobbled, unsteady, “eternity, huh?”

the glance you spared at him was a mistake, you froze under his honest gaze.

“we have shared eighteen long years steeped in love and tenderness so deeply rooted in our beings that it has branded our very souls. i spend my every sleeping moment dreaming up all manner of ways in which i can show my love for you, and every waking moment calculating the soonest possible opportunity in which i can see you again. i want us to be entwined for all eternity, tied together in a tree of knots that will forever hold our memories on its aged branches. if you’ll have me, i’ll spend our eternity proving that i am worthy of you.”

cotton filled your head and it seemed your brain had funnelled out through your ears, leaving you devoid of any coherent thought. the archon had betrayed you, and silent tears traced the slope of your cheek.

“worthy of me? hyunjin, i’ve spent my whole life hoping that one day i might be worthy of you.”

his thumbs brushed over the apples of your cheeks, eyes fluttering shut at the delicate touch. the care with which he treated you, with which he always treated you, was dizzying. the expected press of his lips against yours did nothing to prepare you for the phenomenon itself, your breath punched out of your lungs when you kissed. hwang hyunjin, the sole love and light of your life, who’d spent his entire lifetime existing as the one thing you could never truly have, was kissing you.

each kiss left you a little more breathless, all your nerves standing on end and electricity pulsing through your veins. you were getting worked up with each brush of your skin, each point of content bursting with sparks, even through the veil of fabric. you kissed him back ferociously, imbuing more passion into the calculated movement of your lips than you had for any other menial endeavour in your life.

you kissed him until your lungs burnt and your lips ached under the ministrations of his teeth, terrified that when you opened your eyes you would realise that it had all been the culmination of an exceedingly vivid hallucination.

hyunjin pressed a kiss to your nose, scattering them across the expanse of your face that made it scrunch under the ticklish sensation.

“will you? will you have me?” he asked breathlessly, not ceasing in his task to plaster every stretch of your skin in kisses, deposit his love on every available inch until you were positively drowning in it.

“yes, yes, jinnie, one hundred thousand yes’.”

his toothy smile was infectious, you grinned in turn. you spoke sweet nothings against his clammy skin in electric brushes of your lips. you kissed again and wondered what you possibly could’ve done to deserve to have hyunjin. to belong to him, for him equally to be yours, to love and be loved by the object of your utmost adoration. he squeezed your hands, and that was enough. it was enough to quell your doubtful thoughts and immerse you again wholly in hyunjin and you, greedily, made another wish.

in accordance with his wishes, those of which you had spent your life accommodating to thus far and planned to do forever on afterwards, you wished that you could spent eternity with hyunjin.

✦ to my masterlist

[touloserlautrec]

ooohh i must know about this "give me a Sol TV show" playlist, please and thank!

Thanks for asking, K! (This is for the playlist tag game)

This playlist is the most self-indulgent nonsense I probably have? I mean, we all have that daydream, right? The head-movie reel playing in your brain of the TV show version of your WIP. This playlist is a compilation of dramatic songs that could accompany epic scenes, opening sequences, and season finales if Sunset were a show.

Here are a few highlights:

Needle and Thread -Psapp (opening sequence)

Future Foe Scenarios -Silversun Pickups

Your World Will Fail -Les Friction

The World Ender -Lord Huron

Run Boy Run -Woodkid

100 Acres of Sycamore -Fionn Regan

[monstersohmy]

Cryptids and Human Sexuality: A Study By Dr. Nina Ferris

Chapter Two: The Faun

Pairing: M!Faun x F!Human

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Word count: 3600

Warnings: p in v, oral (f! recieving), edging

At the location. Will be offline for a few days. You know what to do if you don’t hear from me. 

Nina fired off the email to some trusted colleagues before hopping in the tiny cab that sped along to the next location: a valley village at the end of a bumpy road that threaded through rolling foothills. 

On approach, much of it could be seen from the window. Beyond quaint, it was made up of modest homes that eventually clustered into the town center, looking very much like something from a game. Nina chuckled at the idea of someone saying It’s dangerous to go alone! Take this! before she hiked toward the target. 

Nina acquired a paper map; one that could not be bought in a shop. This one had to be found in possession of an old woman who’d drawn it expertly by hand with a clear path to the research goal: a creature midway up the mountain peeking above the tree line near the forest’s center. The location was certain but the nature of the cryptid was not. Some stories described a leafy green entity while others described something more . . . swampy and fang-y. The cryptids from the beach were taloned and far from soft, but had been a relatively safe experience compared to the stories. Surely, this would be similar.

This entire expedition gave Nina pause and not only from the foggy info on the cryptid. There had been something like a scavenger hunt just to find the old woman who’d demanded the solution to a riddle of all things!

“Are you serious?” Nina asked.

“Of course not, girl. Give me fifty, plus another twenty for interrupting the cooking. Stew won’t stir itself,” the old woman laughed, raspy and chill. “And no Venmo. Cash.”

Nina handed over seventy in cash and took the map. The old woman held on a bit longer than necessary, eyes darting between it and the curious researcher’s face before relenting. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Nina said, examining the map as she turned to leave. Beautiful work reminiscent of the antique maps; the only thing missing was Here There Be Dragons written in dramatic script. This must go in the book! She took out the spiral notebook and jotted a reminder to discuss permissions and credit the woman for her work. Perhaps an interview? Maybe try to trick the stew recipe out of her? After all, it smelled divine. Those last words were deeply underlined. 

“Storm’s coming. Might want to rethink it if you want to make it back here,” the old woman called. 

Not a single cloud marred the bright blue sky. What the fuck was this woman on about?

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” Nina replied. However, the aroma coming from the little house was enticing. “How much for a thermos of stew to go?”

*

All roads stopped at the village, so the expedition continued on foot out of the valley and over the foothills that became rockier as the journey climbed higher. Exhausted and panting, Nina finally reached the crest to look upon her destination: a forest huddling tightly at the edge of a pale green plain scarred by a glossy, slate colored stream. 

She sat for a rest and a few bites of the stew, still hot in the thermos, doing a few rough sketches of the location. It was still a good walk to the treeline, but it would be reached before sunset. However, the old woman had been right: there was a storm stirring.

Dark gray crept forward and would overtake the forest sometime in the night. Time was of the essence: it was possible to make it a good way beyond the trees and pop up the tent just before the storm attacked if she moved fast. 

Between the physical exhaustion and upcoming lack of sleep due to the storm, Nina would be useless tomorrow and would have to focus on sketches and basic descriptions of the area. It would add at least a day to the expedition.

*

Moss blanketed everything: ground, rocks, trees, and roots. The trees themselves grew so thickly that the canopy filtered out the sunlight and reduced the blue sky to flecks between the leaves. They grew more gnarled as Nina picked her way through, searching for a place flat enough to set up the tent. The storm was nigh; a slight breeze rustled leaves as the air cooled. Critters were already scampering to shelter. 

Finally, Nina found a spot with just enough room for the tent. It was on the rockier side, but there would be no sleep tonight anyway. With a resigned sigh, she fished out the tent strapped to the bottom of her pack, popping it up just in time for the light mist that was the storm’s harbinger to begin drifting down. Thunder rolled in the distance. This was going to be a difficult night. 

“That is uncivilized.” 

The voice had a lilting accent dusted with mild disgust and was not remotely like the stories described. Nina turned to see the suspicious face, lean yet well toned bare arms and torso of a man above the legs and hooves of a goat. Sandy hair curled over his forehead and around the short horns that curved back from above his ears. 

A faun.  

A faun was not on the agenda for this research trip. Perhaps she should return, though? There were so many varied depictions of fauns and this one managed to look like none of them and all of them at the same time. Stunning.

“What exactly is uncivilized?” Nina’s tone came off more annoyed than intended. Although, she was very annoyed. After all, she’d put in a lot of effort to find a suitable spot to set up camp; one that disturbed as little of the forest as possible. 

He rolled his eyes, head dipping forward to indicate the tent.

“It’ll get me through the night. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded curtly and deftly trotted away between the mossy trees.

*

The storm was still a bit away, but the wind was already howling and shaking the tent. Thunder rolled loud and steady in the distance. Nina sat with legs drawn up, head against her knees, slightly rocking. This was going to be a long and frightening night. 

A hand batted against the tent, making her yelp in alarm. 

“This storm is going to be violent.” That lilting accent called. “You’ll not be safe out here.”

“What do you suggest I do, then?” Nina shouted to be heard over the ripping wind and trying to conceal the fear. 

A long pause. There was just enough moonlight streaming through the tent that she could see the faun’s head dropping, considering. 

“Come to my home. It’s not far.”

Nina didn’t have to be told twice. She scrambled out of the tent and threw on the pack. 

“We must move quickly,” he said, bounding off, weaving his way through the dense, slippery roots that breached the ground. She struggled to keep up, weighed down by the pack and trying to be mindful of the terrain. Rain began falling, quickly becoming a blinding wall. A flickering yellow light lay ahead and she carefully moved toward it, fearful of tripping and getting injured. Being waterlogged was preferable to being broken. 

Suddenly, Nina’s pack was torn away and she was lifted from the ground, caught between two arms with wet skin against her cheek. In a few moments, the air was warm and dry and smelled of a fireplace and fresh bread. 

Those arms carefully deposited her on a knotted rug near the fire. The cottage muffled the raging sounds of the storm and sturdy walls blocked the piercing wind. Sleep came easily as that elegant voice drifted down.

“Uncivilized.”

*

Nina woke up on her back in front of the fireplace. The left side of her body was hot and dry, the other still soggy and chilled.

“I brought your pack inside. I do hope anything important was stowed in the middle. Everything else is soaked, I’m afraid.”

She sat up, blinking and taking in the cozy cottage. White washed walls, slate floor. A heavy wood table sat before a rustic log frame sofa covered in quilts and afghans. And books. Books stacked everywhere with unknown letters adorning the spines and covers. Instinctively, Nina reached for the nearest tome.

“Don’t. Touch. Anything. Not while you’re dripping rainwater,” the faun sternly ordered. He pointed to a neatly folded towel and robe aside the hearth. “Towel off, change, and leave your clothes to dry by the fire. I’ll prepare a plate and tea. I will, of course, be turned away for your privacy.”

As directed, Nina shed her wet jeans, flannel, and t-shirt and laid them out before toweling off and shrugging into the warm robe.

“Alright,” she called. “I’m decent.”

The faun’s hooves clicked on the slate floor while he carried a tray stocked with cheese, crusty bread, a squat teapot, and two mugs. He poured and nodded, indicating it was time to drink.

”Thank you,” She sipped, relishing the warmth and liking the woodsy flavor tinted with something floral and some other warm spice. “This . . . I’m not a tea person but . . . this is . . . what kind of tea is this?”

“It’s made from what I gather. Never quite the same brew.”

“It’s– I like it,” Nina said, briefly wanting to ask about specifics and deciding against it. In this unplanned part of the chapter, she would simply say tea. Not for practical purposes. It just felt right to keep it close. Keep it hers. 

“Who are you and what are you doing out here?” he asked, voice laced with suspicion. “I saw you taking notes.”

“I’m Dr. Nina Ferris and I’m studying . . .,” she went on to describe the work, face heating. Nina choked. This was only her second expedition for the study and the cryptids at that beach hadn’t asked her reasons for being there. She hadn’t considered that any of the subjects would ask. Suddenly, she felt very guilty about using the term subjects and felt embarrassed to talk about her work. 

“None of the stories from this area mentioned a faun,” she said at the end, removing her glasses and wiping them clean as she’d done so many times while trying to stall. Also trying to avoid his gaze. 

“If you’re here for the creature in the caves, please don’t continue,” he said lowly. “No one comes back.”

“That’s what the stories say.” Nina wavered. She should have saved this expedition for last, as it was the scariest. 

“Humans,” the faun huffed, shaking his head in resigned disappointment. 

An entirely too close thunderclap pierced Nina’s ears, forcing a wince. Then another which brought her knees up. Nina regularly and recklessly forged her way through any obstacle but thunder always made her a scared little girl who wanted to hide in the cabinet under the sink. 

“It’s alright. It’s just thunder,” he said softly. 

The faun shifted across the sofa so he could take this strange human woman who seemed fearless about pursuing the creature but was terrorized by thunder, under his arm and possibly help her feel safe. 

When humans traversed the woods, he usually kept to the shadows and left them to their own devices even when they wandered too far and too deep. However, this Nina woman had been so careful while picking her way through the trees and bushes and flowers, trying not to disturb them, gently running fingers along the moss that covered everything. While running from the storm, her steps were deliberate and she skirted around a thicket of larkspur even though it took her briefly off the path. She should have some warmth and comfort.

Nina lay her head on his shoulder and sighed at the feel of the enveloping arm and the faun’s bare chest against her cheek. 

“What’s your name?” she whispered, cringing at another thunderclap. 

“Silas.”

*

Silas held Nina through every furious thunder strike. Eventually, her wincing and shivering at the sounds became gasps, then nothing at all until she drifted off.

The faun considered this strange woman peacefully sleeping against his chest. She was unlike any human he’d encountered. Kind and considerate where the others blundered about, not caring about the destruction left behind. A curious nature. She’d seemed so excited about the books piled about. Looking down, he took in the soft curve of her cheek and a lock of wavy blue hair that had fallen across her forehead. 

This Dr. Nina Ferris was rather pretty and he wanted her.

She stirred and absently brushed her lips against his chest, sending a sharp wave rolling between his legs. Maybe . . .?

Nina woke with a start, realizing what she’d done. 

“I’m sorry!” she blurted, pulling away. “I didn’t mean– not that you’re not– you certainly are–”

“It’s alright,” he interrupted. His eyes went askance, voice shy. “Actually, I wondered, would you like to . . . conduct your research in a . . . closer. . .  way?” 

Silas seemed to lead a lovely life of brewing his teas and studying his books. Putting him in hers would bring attention and draw other humans to gawk and trample the forest he tended, shattering his peace. She couldn’t do that. He was beautiful and kind; she had to see that he stayed that way. 

“Closer? Yes.” Nina rose, went to the pack leaning against the door, and detached the dry bag clipped to it. From within, she took out the notebook containing her handwritten observations of this expedition, ripped them out, and threw them in the fire. “Not for research, though.”

“Why?” he asked, bewhildered. 

“Because I don’t want you to be disturbed by other nosy humans.” It was Nina’s turn to look away unsurely. “I want to keep you a secret.”

He was immediately hard, cock rising long and thick from the hair covering his goat-like legs. In a flurry, Nina shed the robe and rushed to straddle him, lips diving into his. Silas tasted like warm spiced tea. He grasped her hair, guiding her to arch back and place her breasts front and center for his mouth to explore. 

Her body was soft and supple in his hands; the body of a woman who enjoyed the delights of life. Silas brushed his lips across her nipple with the slightest flick of his tongue, smiling at the whine he’d drawn from her and the twitch of his cock at the sound. 

Feeling bold, he turned attention to her other nipple and nipped with his teeth. The moan was high pitched and breathy. 

“I’ve never been with a human,” he panted, lips still sucking at her breast. Then, almost imperceptibly, “like you.”

“I’ve never been with a faun,” Nina responded with a smile, crashing back into his mouth in a sloppy, desperate kiss. Hungrily, she ground against him, brushing her folds along his length until she was pulsing with desire and his head had fallen back, hands gripping the globes of her ass. 

“Are you sure?” she quietly asked.

Silas nodded. 

She grasped what he had for her and dragged the tip through the slick that had been gathering since seeing those stacks of books. Lord, she loved a literary person. 

He let out the sweetest gasp at the touch then she lowered down, inch by delicious inch, as his hands slid up to clutch her shoulders and pull her tight against him. She moved so slowly, partly to have time to adjust to stretching around his cock and partly to savor the vision of Silas’ head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open while he struggled to resist throwing her to the floor in front of the fire and relentlessly ram into her. 

Finally he bottomed out with a mutual gasp. Nina’s face buried in his neck while adjusting to the feeling of his cock along her walls and the goat legs between her thighs. Gingerly, she pushed up nearly to the head and sank back down with a whine. Silas grasped her by the hair, yanking her mouth to his. Nina began bouncing, arching away to be caught by his hands digging into her sides while he nipped at her beasts, hips rutting up to meet hers. 

He slid one hand up to rest between her shoulders while the other drifted down to her sensitive bud, thumb lightly circling. Nina moaned ragged and long, bouncing harder and faster yet he would not increase pressure and pace to meet hers. She shifted to try and each time he pulled his thumb back to continue the barest whisper of a touch until she was near tears from the need to be released. 

“Please,” she whined. “Silas, please. I want–”

He pressed hard, immediately sending sharp, crackling pleasure through her body accompanied by wild cries that rivaled the raging storm. Silas pulled her flush against his chest as her climax began to recede. Just before it cleared, his embrace became immobilizing as he rutted up to chase his own release, fingers digging into her hip and shoulder as he discovered it with a deep groan into her cheek.

When his hold loosened, Nina fully collapsed to rest her head on his shoulder while he absently stroked her back. She swiftly fell asleep. 

*

In the morning, Nina woke to the sensation of being lifted and moved. Instinctively, her arms and legs wrapped around Silas while his hands supportively curled under her thighs, friction feathering the pearl between them, while he carried her to the small bedroom dominated by a large, sturdy bed. With a deep sigh and lazy <grind>, she nipped at his bare shoulder, grinning at <the feel of> his cock rising again.

“Greedy, aren’t you?” he teased. 

“Not really. I just see no point in denying one’s wants.”

Silas pried her limbs away to throw her on the featherbed and, in contrast to the erudite faun who collected books and made tea, shoved her legs apart, leering at her fluttering hole. He ran a finger down along her soft thigh to <the apex> where it barely brushed the <bundle of nerves> and continued further, tracing patterns on the curve of her belly, nimble fingers pebbling nipples. All the while, Nina whimpered and writhed, breathing one word: please

He’d indulge her desire, but not yet. This human woman was very receptive and, unlike others who’d blundered through the wood, hadn’t <hemmed and hawed>, wringing hands and talking in circles to rationalize wanting to fuck a cryptid. Eventually, many gave in to their desire for a single tumble, but felt guilty after. An uncivilized response.

Dr. Nina Ferris was decisive, unashamed, and enthusiastic. Such an enjoyable departure! He paid close attention to every response. Every quiver and high-pitched breath. Every instance of fingernails marking his skin. Perhaps he would document her in his journals. The thought curved his lips in a smile and light chuckle against her breast. 

“What’s funny?” Nina asked, anxiety blooming in her eyes. 

“We’re not so different,” he murmured. “I saw your interest in my books. I wrote some of them, you know.”

She gasped and grinded against his cock. All he had to do now was say he was also an artist and she’d explode immediately. 

He worked down along her abdomen, delivering little nips along the way just hard enough to leave marks that would linger for a few days until his lips met her apex and <brushed> against the sensitive bud. Featherlight, his tongue flicked at it, eliciting a shudder that became a steady quake as he continued with relentlessly slow kitten licks holding her just at the precipice. 

“Silas . . . please,” she groaned through clenched teeth. “Let . . . me–”

Abruptly he pulled away and stood, looking down with a devious grin and glinting eyes.

“Are you serious? Wha– what are you doing?”

“Giving you a reason to return,” he chuckled.

Seething, Nina got up and went about dressing and gathering her things for the upcoming trek. The day was clear and crisp. So long as the rain soaked trails were minded, she would make it to the caves by early afternoon. The faun tucked a packet of bread and cheese in the pack then walked her out. 

“Nina, please.” Silas grabbed her hand and squeezed with surprising and uncomfortable strength, tugging her away from the path leading to the caves near the mountaintop. “Please don’t go up there.”

She gazed at the beautiful face beneath the horns and floppy curls glinting in the sunbeams that cut through the trees. A face that held a true visage of concern and worry. He’d lived in this wood for who knows how long and knew its secrets. Perhaps, his warning should be heeded. 

“Alright. I won’t,” she acquiesced. “For now. Depending on how the rest of the research goes, I may need to come back to–”

Silas shut her up with a kiss. 

“Well, then, Dr. Nina Ferris. Next time you come through I must do everything in my power to prevent you from leaving.”

*

Back at the village, Nina went about arranging transport back to civilization. Before the car left, she returned to the old woman who’d sold her the map to ask questions about the local legends. Ever the hustler, she demanded a fee for her time and interrupted cooking. At least this time, Nina was invited in and given a cup of tea while the interview was conducted.

“I see you met Silas,” the old woman noted at its conclusion.

“What? How did you–”

“You’re glowing.” She winked. “Real slut, that one.”

[elisela]

tell your secrets stallison, college au, friends to lovers day 13: secret

“Tell me a secret,” Allison says. “It feels like a good night for those.”

It’s just past midnight and uncomfortably hot in the still night, stars twinkling above them as they lay back on the hood of Stiles’ Jeep. She’d insisted on putting a blanket between them and the metal, and every time she moves she feels herself slip down another half-inch. 

“I was the one that ate your Cheetos last week,” he says, and she grins up at the endless sky. 

“I already knew that, it doesn’t count.”

“Does too, you only suspected. You also accused Danny.”

“Well, I knew it was one of you, but fine.” There’s a loose thread on the hem of her tank top and she wraps it around her fingernail before unwinding it slowly. Ask me, she thinks. In the dark, she might find the courage to be honest. But Stiles falls silent for once in his life, fingers brushing the outside of her thigh every time he fidgets, never noticing the way it makes her shiver. “We should probably go back. Twenty-one or not, you know Dad’s still one of those ‘as long as you live in my house’ people and he hates if I’m out too late.”

“Ten more minutes,” Stiles says. “We still haven’t seen any shooting stars.”

She rolls her head to study him in the weak light of the moon, but doesn’t protest. She could always use another chance for a wish.

--

Stiles comes around to her side of the booth the second Scott and Kira leave, sighing loudly. “That’s a new low, even for us,” he says, stealing her cup and taking a long drink. She pokes him in the stomach in retaliation. “Especially for you, though.”

She doesn’t care. She hadn’t wanted to date Scott anyway, it doesn’t matter to her that he left with Stiles’ date. Anyone who’s seen Scott and Kira interact could have predicted it would happen sooner or later. “Maybe you should stop trying to set me up with your nerdy friends, then.”

He throws his head back and groans. “Scott’s the least nerdy of all of us.”

“I’m the least nerdy of all your friends,” she corrects, and he laughs.

“Yeah, but I can’t set you up with you.”

“I don’t want to be set up!” she says, wrestling her cup away from him and finishing what remains. There’s a pout on his face; she wants to lean over and kiss him. “Tell me a secret,” she says instead. 

Stiles fingers drum on the booth for a moment. “You remember that party you had in junior year?”

Allison hates this story. “Of course I remember it, you didn’t stop talking about how you lost your virginity in my guest room for months.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “I stole the condom from your Dad’s nightstand.”

She throws a french fry in his face. “That’s disgusting.”

He snaps his teeth but it hits him square in the nose. “Your turn, Ally-bee.”

“I used to fantasize about your dad,” she lies, and he mimes gagging, slapping at her leg. “When he’d come over in uniform to pick you up—” she breaks into giggles as he gives up slapping to make sure stop and digs his fingers into her ribs instead, pressing so close that all she’d have to do is turn her cheek to kiss him. “Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop!”

---

“Can you believe we graduate tomorrow?”

Allison picks a piece of confetti off her skirt. “At least you have grad school,” she says, letting it fall from her hand and onto the ground. “I have to start being a real adult.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just tell your dad you want a business degree and he’ll throw more money at you.” She kicks gently at his ankle, and he grins. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I want to go up to the lookout for one more sunset before we leave this place.”

“Stop being so dramatic, you’re leaving the school, not the town,” she laughs. “You’re even staying in the same apartment.”

“Are you coming with me or not?” he asks, but he’s already pulling her up like he knows she’d never say no. 

Stiles keeps the music on while they drive, and she watches out the window, catching glimpses of their younger selves in every place they pass. The taco trunk they’d go to every time they got too drunk on fraternity row, the mini-mart across from her freshman dorm where they’d stock up on snacks for study sessions. The coffee shop they’d loved in high school, the bowling alley they’d gone to every Saturday night in middle school, the library where they’d met as children. She’s so caught up in her memories that she hardly notices when they reach the lookout and Stiles pulls his backpack out of the back of the Jeep.

“Follow me,” he says, leading her to a small trail cut into the bushes. She grasps his hand when he reaches back even though he’s the clumsier of the two, and soon enough he cuts off the trail, pulling her along until the trees part and they reach a small clearing on top of a bluff. “Cool, huh? Danny told me how to find it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says, taking the blanket he’d pulled out of his backpack and shaking it out before letting it float to the ground. When he sits down next to her there’s a bottle of sparkling wine and two plastic cups in his hands. Stiles is surprisingly quiet, so she offers up the one thing that’s been weighing on her mind. “Dad asked how I’d feel about working in the New York office instead of here.”

“What’d you say?”

She shrugs, studying the way the pink streaks of clouds fade into soft peach near the horizon so she doesn’t look at his face and get her hopes up. “Told him I’d think about it.” They drink the wine while they talk, and Allison tries to draw it out in case it really is the last time, but she’s still finished just before the sun slips under the horizon. By the time the sky is dark they’ve shifted so they’re lying on their backs, ignoring the lights of the city spread out below them.

“Tell me a secret,” she says, playing with one of the strings on the hoodie he’d given her when she’d shivered.

“I’m in love with you.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she rolls her head to look at him. He’s looking back at her, eyes a little too wide, more still than she’s ever seen him. She breathes out; there are only inches between them, and she reaches out her hand to cross the distance. “You’re in love with me?”

His hand closes over hers, pulling gently, arm coming up around her when she tilts into his space. “Can’t eat, can’t sleep, follow you across the country if I need to kinda love,” he says. “You just say the word. But if—”

She kisses him. Drops his hand and cups his cheek instead, fitting their mouths together like she has so many times in her daydreams. It’s so much sweeter than she’d ever imagined. “Yes,” she says, pulling back just enough to get the words out but not so far their lips aren’t brushing together. “To all of it. Everything. I’m in love with you too.”

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I posted 382 times in 2022

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#vader throwing a birthday party where he kidnaps all of luke’s friends to in order to get them to sing happy birthday and fill in the blanks

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i think discussion of the prequel trilogy is really hampered when you consider the pt a stand-alone piece. it’s not! it’s only half the story. anakin skywalker’s story doesn’t end on mustafar; neither does obi-wan’s, and padmé’s influence lives far beyond on her death. the original trilogy is fait accompli. the main characters' story arcs in the pt work so because it was directly reverse engineered from the ot.

most, if not all, of the questions the ot brings up both mechanical as well as thematic (what happened to the jedi order? what about the twins' mom? what was the galaxy like before the empire? what caused anakin's fall?) are answered in the pt. equally, all of what appear to be loose threads at the end of the pt (what is the future of the jedi order, who is the best of the jedi? luke. what is the cure to the dark side? love, connection, it's how luke saves anakin. will the galaxy ever get better? yes, luke and leia are leaving the galaxy better than their parents left it) are answered in the ot.

you can't divorce the prequel trilogy from the fact that it is a tragedy. nothing about rotj would be triumphant if there was nothing for luke to redeem anakin from or anything left to fix. it's also, by definition, a prequel, so the characters are never going to entirely succeed, and that's their tragedy and dramatically ironic end. padmé never gets to reform the republic (she's murdered by the republic's killer); obi-wan doesn't get to see anakin defeat the sith (anakin destroys the order and joins the sith); and anakin never gets to free the slaves (instead he becomes one, again). who's at fault, here, for the state of the galaxy at the end of rots? everyone and no one. there's more blame to be assigned to some than others (palpatine, for one; anakin, who's doing the murdering) but these characters are not real people actually on trial at the hague. all the pt characters all have to have made irreversible mistakes in someway, by demand of fate and plot, wherein every single character's decision––especially those made with the best intentions––will doom them in some horrific, completely unforeseeable manner.

and all of this would be an understandable end to a tragedy. but the last scenes of rots, like fortinbras arriving to find horatio, do provide hope and luke and leia's existence begin to transition the story to the classical hero's journey. the two trilogies are fundamentally intertwined, spiritual sisters and spiritual antitheses, and it's only the original trilogy that can provide answers and solutions to the pt's problems. parts of obi-wan, padmé, and anakin's characters fundamentally could not be resolved without the characters of the ot. and there's real beauty to it! the relief, the comfort, the hope you feel when binary sunset plays at the end of rots is what makes the ot's triumph so much more emotional in light of the pt's dark tragedy.

403 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

#4

ok but if we're going to lean into the "jedi as space catholics" as they r developed re: the prequels i want go full fucking historical catholic. i want a famous jedi who lived up on a pillar for 37 years. im goin whole hog on a jedi who bricked herself into wall in the temple to achieve spiritual enlightenment. FLAGELLANTS. litcherally all of thomas à becket, up to and including selling his blood as a souvenir. alright but jedi pilgrimage? jedi whose cloaks are covered in a million different tiny pilgrimage badges from all over the galaxy? meanwhile other jedi writing screeds about how veneration vis a vis an object is sacrilegious & bastardization of meditation? i want NOTHING more than to read a jedi summa theologica. "how many midicholrians can fit on the head of a pin?" is considered with absolutely unironic dead seriousness. it would be so, so boring and completely atrocious. i want it ALL

441 notes - Posted April 8, 2022

#3

i am a little mystified by the persistent idea that the jedi order has “mindhealers” that were, like, psychologists with magic emotional powers. i can’t find any mention of this outside fanfic? where did it come from?? why did it come from??? i mean. logically. would the jedi still be Like That ™ if they had any sort of psychology, counseling, and/or psychiatric help. really

514 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

#2

luke’s scene in rotj where he throws down his lightsaber and says, “I’ll never turn to the dark side. you failed, your highness. i am a jedi, like my father before me,” makes me more and more emotional each time i see it. it’s such a triumph and it’s such a brave stand—not only because luke is literally facing down death with no real expectations of escaping the death star ii, which on its own has such impact—but because he is more or less declaring himself a heretic. the only two jedi left alive do not believe vader can be saved. vader himself believes he is far past saving. palpatine is so poised for victory, so assured in his complete control over not only luke’s fall but also his control over vader, that he is happy to torture luke in front of vader, absolutely convinced that vader will do nothing to stop it. in light of the prequel trilogy, it’s made even more powerful: the jedi disavowed having children as an extension of attachments, a matter of course for the old jedi order. but when luke is in his moment of greatest need, he calls out to his father, and his father answers. ultimately, it’s their forbidden familial relationship that defines them as jedi—luke is becomes a jedi in honor of his father, and his father turns back from the dark side (a feat thought impossible until that very instance) and recalls the jedi knight anakin skywalker, all for his son. and that’s all in defiance of what the jedi were told to be, what obi-wan and yoda believed, what palpatine never thought possible! luke redefines what a jedi is when he throws down his weapon. he trusts in the power of his connection to his father, their attachment to each other, and when he does that? luke skywalker topples the empire.

710 notes - Posted September 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

vader: i am your father

luke: [screaming in horror after his arm was cut off by vader] NO!!!! NO!!!!! NO!!!!!!

vader, an empath: so im sensing that u want us to rule the galaxy as father and son

5,233 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sunset-a-story]

⛳ and ⏸️ for the plot ask game, if you please.

Thanks for the ask! :)

⛳️Talk through a plothole that you’re struggling with. 

So 25 babies were generated that were all supposed to have the knack of Probability Manipulation. A backup knack was coded into each of them because they've never been able to generate Probability Manips so chances were high that would fail, in which case the backup knack would take over.

Three of the babies ended up with a knack that was NOT the intended backup knack and no one can figure out why. I have the knack pair for Alex and Anise set. All good.

Scott? pjtinfswhasfksndfjh I am struggling. The knack he didn't end up having will ~be important~ later to address a spoiler that really needs addressing except I haven't figured out how it will interact with this spoiler. I'd love to just figure it out later but his backup knack is explicitly named in the first arc so I don't want to just throw a placeholder knack in here and then retcon it when I get my shit together.

I'm beating myself at chess right now but not in the way that I enjoy.

⏸Describe the plot of a WIP you abandoned or put on the backburner and what about it wasn’t working. 

Okay. I'm exposing my level of obsession here, but I'm going to answer honestly.

I don't have a WIP that I've abandoned that I can remember. We've been working on Sunset exclusively for something like 16 years now.

It was mostly a lot of brainstorming, outlining, working things out, note-carding, putting random drabbles or strings of scenes down, reworking or ditching them for a while, and flip-flopping with whether it was a graphic novel, set of novels, or a serial. I really put my head down and started writing it 6 years ago. We've got about 880 pages of beta-ready stuff (arc 1 & 2) and probably another 300 pages in draft 1 as I'm slogging through this complicated arc 3.

But I haven't written anything else in any of that time. It was Sunset or nothing. This beast of too many threads slowly crashing into each other is our obsession. It's the subject of nearly all my partner's art. It's got its teeth in us and it's not letting go until it's finished. Someone I love once called it our life's work and while that sounds pretty dramatic I also don't think he was wrong.

So, yeah. That probably says some positive things and some negative things about me/us and our sanity but that's my honest answer.

Thanks again!

(creator of the ask game: @kjscottwrites)

[abigail-nicole]

tgcf liveread 2

archiving the twitter thread I made when I first read Heaven Official's Blessing, Tian Guan Ci Fu, one of the most delightful reading experiences of my life, in March of 2020 (this post from 3/26/20):

Chapter 30 starting with some STRAIGHT HUALIAN ROMANCE

"the two were just staring at each other, grinning"

just BROS HANGING OUT IN BED TOGETHER

Yall Ghost City is so cool & creepy & gruesome???? I can’t wait to see what the donghua does with this???? The animation will be INCREDIBLE

I’m sitting on my roof reading & when Shi Qingxuan said “Ghost City is Hua Cheng’s territory” I cackled so loudly someone down on the street looked up at me

“There’s a path for you in Heaven, but you refuse to take it, and instead, chose to barge into Hell. What shall we do with you?”

Hua Cheng slouching behind the curtain is like ALL THE LIFE GOALS OF SEXY

Hua Cheng watching Xie Lian roll into his casino like “honey did you think I wouldn’t notice you”

Hua Cheng, to all the bouncers: if you see the Crown Prince of Xian Le THAT IS MY BOYFRIEND AND BE NICE TO HIM. also BRING HIM TO ME BY WHATEVER FLIMSY EXCUSE NECESSARY

IM SO INTO THIS I CANT STOP YELLING TO THE CAT SITTING NEXT TO ME ON MY ROOFTOP CAN YOU BELIEVE HE HAS THE EYEPATCH NOW??? CAN YOU CAT WEVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!!!!!!

cat & I enjoying the sunset While I Yell ABOUT THE CASINO LORD HUA CHENG

gentlemen I know you’re in love but EVERYONE IS STARING AT YOU

the sheer SEXUAL TENSION OF THIS SCENE

Oh good people in-scene are literally fainting because the sexual tension is too strong

Xie Lian: oh no all I can bet is my lunch leftovers which is this half eaten bun Hua Cheng: thank god my boyfriend hasn’t changed & always carries trash around in his pockets

this Dramatic Bitch I Love Him

Did I say Xie Lian was a himbo? I was wrong. Lang Qianqiu is the REAL himbo around here

The Two Himbos Win Out: we can’t lie to a friend that breaks bro code

oh my gOD IM LOSING IT

Okay let’s stop & talk about this personally & narratively

As an obligate extrovert who needs to be around 2-6 (but no more) people at all times to be happy: SAME, HUA CHENG, SAME

Narratively: if Hua Cheng our a flashing neon sign around his neck that said SINGLE it could not be more obvious than this comment (which was immediately preceded with “I never go to brothels”)

Hua Cheng, in this scene: I DON’T SLEEP AROUND, I’M SINGLE AS FUCK, CAN I MOVE INTO YOUR TINY APARTMENT SHRINE

and thank god the reaction from Xie Lian is “omg please move in with me immediately, we’ll share a pillowless bamboo mat and eat trash” and Hua Cheng is so happy

why is Hua Cheng so sexy ughhhhhh

this is a hell of an image

Noooooo don’t keep secrets from each other nooooooooooooooo

Jun Wu: don’t touch the scimitar no matter what

Xie Lian:

Jun Wu: don’t touch the scimitar no matter what

Xie Lian:

Xie Lian: is the scimitar his penis

Dad:

Xie Lian:

Nooooo why are they keeping secrets from each other is so stressful

Nooooooooo THIS IS GAY PANIC FROM XIE LIAN

AHHHHHHH THIS BOOK IS HITTING EVERY SINGLE HIGH NOTE

I had to read Hua Cheng’s lines here out loud in the sexiest voice I could think of bc threatening someone for your significant other is Sexy

Omg I Love E-Ming as much as Ruoye im sorry i was ever scared of this cute little pup if a sword

oh!!!! Soft!!!!! he is a Soft!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh i should’ve quit after.... so many parts ago I have to work tomorrow BUT i couldn’t leave if Hualian were Upset At Each Other now that theyre holding hands i can finally sleep

Okay I’ll resume tmrw with ch 49 in #tgcf, #heavensofficialblessing, this delightful delightful charming delicious piece of fiction please tune in anytime you like for a read along at https://sakhyulations.com/novel/heaven-officials-blessing/

(Full resources for mxtx translations at https://google.com/amp/s/thelostintern.tumblr.com/post/181315156804/mxtx-translations-masterpost/amp…)

archive note 2022: please buy official licensed publications of Heaven Official's Blessing, published by Seven Seas publishing, available where all major novels are sold!!!!!