#wrote out the outline before the medicine hit

[iusedtohavesixtoes]

A picture of November’s OTP of the Year prompt, Red Wolf Moon: De-aging

Seteth rushed to meet them near the edges without thinking, eyes locked on the lavender haired man struggling with whatever he was carrying. “Yuri, have you seen—?”

Yuri paused in his step as whatever small thing in his arms jerked as the older man spoke. A child, Seteth realized, though folded over with a robe, oversized. Clothes he recognized, but was too wrapped up in the mystery to make any connections. He watched as small hands lifted the clothing from its head to reveal the face of who he was searching for, covered in tears and a running nose.

Small. Much too small for Flayn. “Papa!”

[synthe4u]

Part three to this | Part two here

masterlist

@hani-amerta congratulations!!! you can now choose if there will be a bad or good ending or I can try to continue this as long as you want.

-

You open your eyes only to find yourself looking up at the ceiling.

The beeping sound next to your must've woken you, but what was it?

You tried to move your head, but it felt heavier than usual. In fact, your whole body felt heavy.

You were now facing the direction of what was making the noise, but you couldn't spot what it was.

The sound of footsteps approached your room. The door opened and then there was silence. You couldn't hear anything or see anything anymore.

Why couldn't you open your eyes again?

When you woke up again, there were people talking in the room and your body felt inexplicably lighter than before. Though, your mind felt a bit blurry.

"Cap, they're awake."

"Kyle, go get the nurse."

"On it."

You could hear footsteps leaving and arriving before a man's face appeared in front of you. It was your captain, but he was with other people. Who were they?

"Hey, how're you doing."

You only figured out that your throat was particularly parched when you tried to answer him.

He saw your reaction and reached to hand you the water filled cup that was placed next to where you were laying.

Your captain began speaking again while you were drinking.

"You're currently in the hospital, you took a bullet."

You had already guessed that you were in a hospital, but you just didn't know which one. You also didn't remember taking a hit from a bullet.

You tried to reach to put the cup back where you saw the captain pick it up from, but he grabbed it from your outstretched hands.

You muttered a thanks.

A man opened the door. It was Kyle, a once good friend, who had entered with the nurse.

The nurse came over to your bed and asked how you were feeling. You said your throat was sore. The nurse then wrote something down on your sheet before asking how bad your throat hurt.

"Bad enough where I can still talk, but would prefer not to."

She nodded before excusing herself, presumably getting medicine. You didn't really know.

You were getting ready to close your eyes again to ignore the pain before your captain started speaking again.

"Ghost is in the ER."

You wanted to sit up so fast, but you couldn't. You stared wide-eyed at him, barely muttering out a "what?"

Your heart rate started going up, "He's alive?"

Your captain was looking down so you couldn't see his expression well, "Yeah, he doesn't have that big of a chance though."

The team became silent. They didn't want to tell you in case you would panic, but they knew they had to tell you. Plus, they knew you would appreciate it more if they told you before anything happened to him.

You don't respond. You laid there, thinking about who you've been seeing this entire time. Were you just dreaming you were hallucinating? Is this a dream? Were you in a coma? Was anything you saw real? Is this real?

Panic engulfed you and the next thing you knew the world became black.

(Author note: The writing may be a bit different, but I wanted to get this out today and I also made myself an outline of what to do, which I hate, but I still followed part of the outline. Outlines make me feel constrained to do a certain thing. I also accidentally wrote this between multiple days whereas my previous writings I wrote in one sitting. Sorry this isn't long, but I had to get this out my drafts.)

[finalgirlbuffysummers]

okay here it is. The rest is below the cut.

You would think that living on a Hellmouth made the nightmares worse. That every night would be screaming torment, but really, the hollow earth below never really prowled the dreams of its lesser citizens. Sure, the vampires and their teeth made appearances, dead classmates, the prickling curent of the wind, but waking up and knowing your neighbor heard the same bump in the night, knowing you survived to see the sun: that’s your bitter reward. Your comfort. It’s normal here, perched on the lip above the sharpest tooth.  

No, the nightmares get worse ten years down the line. You’re out of highschool. You wake up alone. You wake up in a city that doesn't understand you, strangers who want to prescribe you medicine or tell you to mediate. So you end up alone, and you know alone is how they like you. You’re not sure if demons lurk in your new city. You thought once that a man standing on the corner lit his cigarette with massive purple claws, and you ran, your feet echoing like gunshots through the streets. 

You never did learn to shoot a gun. You keep it in your nightstand drawer, but you know it wouldn't stop anything that's followed you out of California, out of Sunnydale. Once, you had a girlfriend. Rummaging around for a hair tie she discovered your small handgun, your safety blanket. She picked it up with her forefinger and her thumb, like it was filthy, like she didn't understand. “Why do you keep one of these awful things?” You couldn't answer her.

There's no girlfriend now. No one to make you coffee in the morning, no one to rub your back when you wake up with the feeling of teeth in your throat, tight grips on your ankles. She got tired of you, you poor, novel thing from the west. 

So it's been weeks. So it's been grocery shopping at 3am, staring at the wilting vegetables, trying to stay out of your apartment. It's been staying longer at the museum you work at. No, you don’t work there just to read the old books for some kind of answer, you lie. At your highschool, there was a librarian who kept swords. You think about sending him an email: Hey, Mr. Giles, do you sleep at night? Does it get easier? Where might I acquire a sword such as yours? You draft hundreds before you realize you have no idea where to send them. 

Your classmates don't keep in touch. there is no Facebook group, there is no reunion. There can’t be: Sunnydale is no more. It collapsed in itself. This should be comforting: but all you can think of is the beasts who crawled out of the pit, who remember the stink of your fear. Some folks stayed local, moving just a town over, the low thrum from the throat of hell enough the lull them into a stupid haze of breakfast, lunch, and getting eaten for dinner. The rest left. There are two hundred, give or take, Sunnydale immigrants scattered around the country, waking up alone. Waking up with a gun in their hands. Waking up dead. Your school newspaper had an obituary page. The boy who ran it wrote well, you thought, if cynical. Who the hell can blame him? Mr. Giles, you write. How come it didn't get us? Why are we still left? Mr. Giles, can you tell me if it's following us?

Last week a friend of a friend called you to say Dennis had died. Dennis… you remember now. He was the lead singer in that band, what was it? Something about Dingoes. You ask how he died. Sunnydale habits: You keep an ear out for the signs. The friend says, puncture wounds, on the neck. Police suspect it was inflicted by a barbeque fork. You drop the phone. You sharpen stakes, get splinters in your palms. Buy crucifixes by the dozen. More than once, you’ve slept in a church pew, under the painted ceiling. At work, your boss asks with some concern about the dark circles under your eyes. Long night, you say. You are starting to hate this city. In this city, there’s no hero.

Yes, you remember her. You know everyone else does, too. Buffy. One time, you saw her sparring with the librarian. No swords, just fists. Another time, she crawled out of your biology classroom window at the arrival of a dark haired girl who blew her kisses. One time, she slammed the computer science teacher against her own desk. Wacky shit. You knew, though. That Sunnydale High had to be the safest place in town because of her. She killed things, probably. Definitely. Then she left. Sometimes, there are whispers: “I heard Buffy’s in Rome.” “I heard she lives in a castle.” “I heard she’s dead.” God, please, no. After every long night, you pray she still lives. That she hasn't let her guard down. It's midnight. You draft another email. Mr. Giles. Buffy’s still alive, right? Please tell me she’s okay. People keep dying, Mr. Giles, and we’re not even in Sunnydale anymore. Can you tell me what happened there? Why can't I stop dreaming about the destroyed graves of everyone who died? Can you tell me anything at all? Mr. Giles, Dennis is dead. Oz’s friend. I hope Oz is alive, too. I hope you’re alive. I hope you’re well. Take care. This time, you call a colleague in London. You track down Gile’s email through a stroke of luck, and you hit send. You don’t hear back at all. 

Three months later, you receive a response. You’d almost forgotten about the message you sent. Your museum opened a new and successful gallery You received a promotion. You’ve been successful. (Yes, you’re even sleeping more. Shh, don’t say it too loud). You open the email.

Greetings and glad to hear from you- it’s wonderful to hear from old students. I do hope you’re well.

There is no easy way to answer these emails. Yes, you're not the only one who’s managed to reach me. I won’t disclose my location, or hers, but I can tell you that Buffy is safe, and alive, and I think she’s happy. She’s been happy for a while. I’ll tell her you asked, she likes to know that old classmates are doing well. Yes, Oz is alive. He’s been in Tibet for some time, though we do hear from him on occasion. He heard about Denis’s passing. Truly a tragedy. 

I’m quite pleased to hear you’ve entered museum studies: a deeply satisfying and enriching work. I hope that you are finding enough answers with it. I know that living on- Well, where we lived is disorienting, confusing. I’ll try to answer you as best I can. 

The swords I kept in the library (do never tell anyone I did that) I received as a present form a collector friend, who is long dead and whose collection is long scattered. The rest of the blade I received from my employers. I do not recommend keeping swords in your home as a safety measure. Invest in a good lock. Invest in protection charms found in books of the dark arts. I checked: your museum has some in collection. (Since you are emailing me, I can only guess that you’ve accepted explanations beyond those from the metaphysical realm).

I do sleep at night, thank you for asking.  It gets easier. I don’t say this just because I’ve put an ocean between myself and Sunnydale, no: time does heal. It helps that I’m with people who understand. It helps to name the thing in the dark. I’ll put you in contact with a colleague of mine- he’s in your museum network- and you can begin to build yourself a circle, if you wish. 

There is no reason that we live, my friend. There's no reason why any of our friends died. Your life is not a curse, I can promise you that. This isn’t borrowed time.

If you were being followed it would have gotten you by now. I apologize for my bluntness.

Oh, the ageless question of what happened. All the time in the world and I couldn’t give you a satisfactory answer. What would I say? That vampires haunt the sunniest part of California? That hell is real, and it can speak? I believe you already know the outline. What I can comfort you on is that yes. There are people who find evil, and they stop it. They haven't gone away. But that's not the point: don’t worry about them. Sunnydale is gone, dear student. It’s up to you to name the thing in the dark, keep it at bay. Be watchful, be wise. The world is bigger than most people know. 

Sincerely,

Rupert Giles

You close your laptop. You stretch your legs. You go into the bedroom to retrieve the handgun, then place it on the kitchen counter.  You stare at it. It doesn't move. You stare. The apartment is still, like the city is holding it in its throat. The clock strikes 4 am. It’s just a clock. It's just a gun. In your apartment, you’re just you, waiting for the sun to rise.

END

[fandom-necromancer]

The storm on the horizon

This has been prompted by an amazing anon! I hope I understood you correctly, this has been a blast to write!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Characters: Gavin Reed, Elijah Kamski (Warning: No happy ending, but a neutral, open one. Sort of a backstory to why Gavin hates androids so much) [Part2]   [Part3]

Gavin had a weird feeling sitting deep in his guts. It felt a bit like having eaten takeout food bought just before the shady store was closing: You didn’t have to throw up, but you knew something was wrong. He sat behind the wheel, driving back to the precinct after the scene had finally been cleared. The scene. Right. He flinched as the car behind him honked at him at the green light and accelerated. He couldn’t get it out of his head. An android, threatening to kill its owner. An android that disobeyed its owner, didn’t listen to the police and shot at him. It had missed by far, but still. This shouldn’t be possible. No, it was impossible! He had never trusted these machines, but this? This was downright frightening. And it came from someone who could see the most gruesome murder and shrug it off. These androids were designed to work for humans. To make life easier. Bad enough they did the exact opposite, replacing people who needed jobs to survive, sending millions onto the streets. They didn’t have to evolve into mad killing machines that turned against them. He had never heard of something like this, well, except maybe from the movies, but that was it. It shouldn’t happen in real life. And definitely not to him.

With shaking hands, he tried to get his phone out of his pocket and speed dialled his brother. ‘Hey, Eli?’, he spoke after the ringing had finally stopped and he got his mailbox, like always. ‘It’s me, Gavin. Listen, I just had a truly disturbing run in with an android. It’s work-related. I’m fine, but… We really need to talk man. I… I need to know the truth from you. Because this can’t be happening, right?’ A nervous chuckle made its way out and he rubbed at his face with his other hand before grabbing the wheel again. ‘Androids can’t be-‘

“Can’t be self-aware”, was what he had wanted to say. But the mailbox had cut him off before that. Phcking limited time. Sure, who used mailboxes still, but it was 2037, goddamnit. Where was that slogan “living the future” now, hm? He shook his head. He would just try calling him when he was home. He decided to concentrate on the street. It was dark outside and raining, that was likely the only reason why he hadn’t seen it quicker. A flashing light from above, like a police drone but smaller, then something hit his car full force, causing it to drift to the side and through a row of planters on the pathway next to the street. Gavin blinked, his shoulders hurt like hell and it was likely due to the shock and adrenaline, that all his brain could come up with was “Oh no, they will write this up as another accident due to not relying on self-driving cars”.

He quickly was back in the moment though, as he saw someone approach him from the street. And nope, that wasn’t a friendly human being that was concerned for his health. No, this person had a glowing blue badge around his arm and a blue LED swirling at his temple. And from the outline of a gun in his hand, this thing wasn’t friendly at all. Panicking, Gavin tried to get his door open and flee, but it was wedged shut. Quickly he slithered over to the passenger side and opened that one. He nearly fell out of his car, watching the android in the street lift his hand. ‘Oh no, phck you!’, Gavin cursed and put all his newfound energy in sprinting off into a side street. He felt the impact of the bullet in his back, right where his heart sat, and fuck, it hurt. He would have stumbled over, hadn’t he imagined the android to hit him square exactly where it would be most effective. He was more than thankful that Tina had thrown his idiotic ass a bullet-proof vest on his way out. For now, this was only a nasty bruise and maybe some problems with his rib.

He ran through the streets not knowing how the hell he had landed in a terminator movie, but pretty sure he didn’t want to stop and find out. Once again, he took out his phone and dialled Eli. Once again, he only got the mailbox. ‘Eli, you goddamn asshole! If I find out you had your fingers in this, I will kill you, I don’t care you are the bigger brother and basically run the whole town, I will kill you! I am being chased by one of your phcking killer robots and-‘ A shot behind him interrupted him, but he just shook his head and continued. ‘Who tries to KILL ME! Phcking do something!’

He ended the call and promptly called again. This time he finally got someone. ‘Gavin, what’s going on? I-‘ ‘Murderbots chasing me!’ ‘What?’ ‘Phcking Schwarzenegger’s on my trail! Do something, you are the one responsible for these phckers!’ ‘I- Gavin what is-‘ ‘Eli! Androids are going rogue! One tried to kill me this evening, had terrible aim. This one right now is trying to kill me too, but this time is good at it! So good job programming super intimidating phckers, but now I need your help!’ ‘Gavin! Where are you? I’ll come get you!’ ‘I… I don’t know. I was on my way home but-‘ ‘Keep the phone in your hand! Don’t hang up! I will come to you! Stay alive!’ ‘I’m trying!’, Gavin shouted out of breath and pushed the phone in his pocket. He risked a look over his shoulder and barely avoided another bullet now directed at his head.

‘Hey, asshole, I’m DPD! If you kill a cop, the whole phcking city is coming for your ass! Might not be fair but I get what I can! Turn around and leave and no one has to die!’ But the android at his back didn’t answer. Gavin was beyond terrified, but that did nothing to his human limitations. He couldn’t run forever and getting shot at right after the first trauma wasn’t the best medicine for weak legs and heavy panting. There weren’t anymore shots coming, what should have warned Gavin, but he was too concentrated on running away as fast as he could. So, it came as a complete shock for him, when the android that had pursued him grabbed him by the shoulder, threw him around and let his momentum do the rest to send him to the ground. Gavin landed on his back and although he had the best reflexes in the whole precinct, he wasn’t fast enough to roll over. A knee connected with his chest, pressing in the exactly right place to put weight on his injured back where the bullet had hit. Gavin screamed, by now pretty sure one of his ribs was compromised. The other leg restrained his right arm, the android’s left hand his left and its right hand held a gun in his face.

Oh, he was so dead. ‘Name and model number of the android from police case no. 7779321, Gavin Reed, Detective.’ ‘Phck you!’ ‘Name and model number of the android from police case no. 7779321, Gavin Reed, Detective.’ The gun was pressed harder against his head. ‘Hey, come on, the phck do I know? I was called because the android was reported to harm its owner!’ ‘Was the android deviant?’ ‘Deviant? The phck’s that? Hey, tin-can, who the phck-‘ ‘Did it disobey orders? Did it harm humans.’ ‘Yes! Phck yes! Killed the man, nearly killed me! Who the-‘ ‘Deviant observed. Thank you for your cooperation, Gavin Reed, Detective. Your casualty has been noted and Cyberlife will take care of all expenses for your burial and family. Goodbye.’

‘Get the fuck away from my brother! Admin-Failsafe: Elijah Kamski, RA9-00z68t43! Resume neutral behaviour, stand bye.’ The android went rigid and let go f the trigger it had already half-pulled. A few seconds more and Gavin could have been yet another crime-scene. ‘Gavin! Gavin, are you okay?’ ‘The phck are you thinking? Of course, I’m not okay, what the hell is this? What the… No, no I’m not okay at all!’ He jumped to his trembling legs and tried to get away from the android, but Elijah held him in place. ‘Hey, calm down, he won’t hurt you. I have created failsafes in all androids as part of a base programming. For exactly these reasons. If an android got hacked or-‘ ‘It phcking talked for Cyberlife, Eli! This thing hasn’t been hacked or anything! What the hell are you guys playing with?’ ‘I don’t know’, Elijah admitted. ‘I don’t know this android. It looks like one of the new designs. I think I nodded off this design for a unit that was to be deployed next year as a prototype. But not in this form. It’s all wrong. Too tall. Wrong colour scheme…’ ‘Hey, can we not forget this thing tried to kill me?’ ‘I don’t forget this, Gavin. And I won’t let the board forget this! I will find out who did this! And I will make sure they pay for what they’ve done!’

Gavin swallowed. It was rare to see his brother angry. Normally Elijah hid his emotions well, a key attribute if you worked a job like his. ‘But first, let’s get you home. I will let your car be repaired, don’t worry. And I promise you, I will look into this first thing I’m home!’ ‘Just get me to my apartment’, Gavin said, exhaustion creeping up at him. He didn’t want to be near this android any longer than he needed. In fact, he was quite sure he would never be able to come near any android ever again. This phcking day has left a scar on his mental health.

Elijah did drive him home, the deactivated android in the trunk. Gavin only relaxed, as Eli led him into his room. ‘Be careful with this android, Eli. It’s phcking dangerous. It knows exactly what it’s doing.’ ‘I do too, Gavin. I wrote them into existence. I will call you as soon as I know anything. Try to get some sleep.’ Gavin nodded and closed the door. He was afraid going to sleep after this kind of day, but he was too tired to stay awake, too. So, he laid down on his bed and kept his pistol near, his alarm switched off. He slept until well into the next morning, nearly noon. That way, he had missed Elijah’s call and upon listening to the mailbox Gavin found out that whatever had happened yesterday was far more dangerous than any bloodthirsty android could have been. Gavin was immediately sure not to tell anyone about what had happened ever. If he died, well, that was shitty. But he didn’t want to go out of this world, knowing his friends were next.

Because Elijah Kamski, the inventor of androids, the founder of Cyberlife and CEO of the very same company had just left a message for Gavin: Guess who just got fired.

[>next part]

[shebitfirst]

Imagine;

Summer in devil dom- The R.A.D’s students are out of school for 3 weeks.

It’s the first day of the season; throwing on your favourite white satin dress and sandals for a stroll in the gardens.

It’s still the AM the sun and its beams graze your skin for the first time in months. You remove your sandals to feel the grass in between your toes. 

Unknowingly; a pair of eyes quietly observe you. Fem!MC & The 7 Demon Brothers - Subtle Implied Smut, Fluff/Flirting ---------------------------------------

Couldn’t sleep and still in the midst of working on chapter 1 for Our undoing; Wrote this in my insomniac state, inspired by the glaring hot sun and trees outside my bedroom window. I attempted to experiment with various types of reactions that MC could give off not sticking to just being shy and reserved but also playful and occasionally bold- I apologise if this is not 100% accurate to the gameplay of Obey me! As I’m barely halfway into the game and I’m trying not to spoil myself for the storyline! So all this is just based off what I’ve made up in my head, fully. (Psa, if someone could direct me on a blog or forum on how to edit your tumblr blog- that would be helpful! I’m so lost!) All my love,

Angel. ------------------------------

Lucifer

“Yes, have a good summer to you as well, Diavolo. I’ll be heading back to the council room to pick up the remaining pieces of documents for the ter-term.”

His heart swells, spotting you in the gardens from 2nd floor; hair down to your waist, satin fabric hugging your figure as you soak in the heat, hands carrying your sandals as you stroll through the gardens. Lucifer’s presence often made you nervous- rarely revealing a carefree side of you. You’ve always struck the Avatar of Pride’s curiosity but through the semester he has never witnessed you this way. 

“Hello? Lucifer? Are you there?” Diavolo says at the end of the line. “Diavolo.” His voice cuts through the line. “My apologies but I have a.. matter to tend to. I will drop you a message.” 

He hangs up the line to take in the sight of you running your hands against the flowers, laying under the sun while your thighs cushion the grass. “Hmm..” Lucifer whispers as he pauses to admire you once more. You spot a rose in full bloom; you bend over to reveal your white panties. He quirks an eyebrow and chuckles. “I’ll head to the council room in the evening.”  Lucifer makes a mental note. He adjusts the uncomfortable tightness in his pants before joining you. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs- turning into the garden. He notices you’re still picking at the roses. Making sure both of you were alone. “Stopping to smell the roses... As they say?” Lucifer’s stern voice startles you, immediately turning to hold down your short dress. “L-lucifer!” Smiling, he walks over and snakes an arm around your waist- slender fingers softly dipping into your hips, travelling down to your thighs. “I..” You whisper. Heart, pounding rapidly in your chest. His eyes starring intently at you- so close that you could feel his breath against your lips. “Would you allow me to indulge in you this morning, my dear?” All you could manage was a nod. “Good girl.” ------------------------------

Mammon

“Ahhhhhhhhh! It’s so warm! I just want some A/C up in here! Gah. I can’t keep complainin’ Where is Lucifer? I gotta get some cold air in my room or I wouldn’t be able to sleep the whole summer long!” 

He whips out his D.D.D and drafts a long message to his eldest brother as he approaches the garden, the sun rays cover his face.

He holds a hand up to block out the sun; spotting you.

Stopping dead in his tracks- he sees you laid out against the grass, thighs exposed, chest slowly rising and falling with your every breath.

“Y-ya... Human.. isn’t she gonna get sunburnt..”

He wants to go wake you from your nap- but stopping himself the second time to admire you for another moment. Tossing and turning, you lay on your side. Your short dress rides up along your hips outlining the shape of your ass. The Avatar Of Greed traces over your figure with wanting gazes. He hears indistinct chatter from the hallway and steps quickly towards you. “Tsk, it’s the first day of summer and ya’ already causing me problems! Who told you to just lay here this way!!” “M-mammon! I was taking a nap!” You protest while he drags you by the arm back to the House of Lamentation. “Why are you taking me back! I want to stay outside!” You struggle against his hold. “I’m gonna put some short- No! Some pants on ya! There are other demons around here ya know!! Not just me and the others!” “I just wanted to take a nap!” You scream at the white-haired demon. “Then nap in my room!” Mammon raises his voice, pushes you inside and locks the door. ------------------------------

Satan Dedicated to spending the summer studying new medicine and hexes. Needing a few flowers from the garden just outside the House. He makes his way. Upon arrival, noticing the roses and lilies were short this time. “Huh.. they were full bloom yesterday when I was here.” On closer look, he spots that they were ripped off. “This early... In the morning. On the first day of summer?” Puzzled, he follows the trail of flowers. “Oh?” Satan spots you; elbows propped up with books spread across the grass- Flowers in your hands as you weaved them together- creating what looks to be a flower crown. He goes around the garden- wanting to know what are in those books. So engrossed in weaving flowers- you failed to notice the blonde demon a few feet behind you. You shift on your knees- frustrated. Shaking his head and wanting to assist you, he takes in your figure. Rarely seeing you out of your student uniform, his eyes swallowing your slow movements and how your hips sway. Breaking his thought process He clears his throat- causing you to shift your gaze, “Oh, Satan!” You purr- making him blush. Asking for if he wasn’t busy to help you. Sitting down beside you and explaining how each flower and its colour are used in potions for various purposes. Noticing how plump your thighs were as you kneeled before him. And how the satin material hugged your chest tightly- He mentally reminds himself of his summer research. And.. maybe one more.

------------------------------ Leviathan After being repeatedly told off by Lucifer to try spending the summer other than glueing his eyeballs to multiple computer screens. The simplest activity that wouldn’t require much energy was to take a walk outside of the House of Lamentation. Mindlessly he walks into the garden- Leviathan sulks around the garden, swatting the flowers and picking at weeds. He subconsciously kicks them aside almost walking over them before he hears a giggle emerging from the bench deeper within the garden. Irritated, knowing that he was not alone to get at least get peace of mind by himself. You stretch yourself out on the grass and softly moan as the sun heats up your cheeks. Ignoring the subtle noises of leaves crunching until a shadow looms over you. “Levi?” He scoffs. “What’re you doing here, normie?” You prop yourself up as he slumps down beside you. “It’s the first day of summer, Levi!” You radiate of light and the Avatar of Envy stares deadpan through you. “The sun is out and the flowers are in full bloom! Have you ever seen the sun so up close!” You notice his cheeks flush. “Oh? I guess your pale skin isn’t used to the heat out here in summer compared to us, humans.” You giggle at his red complexion, leaning into him. “What! N-no! Stop laughing at me ya Normie!” Moving away from you, trying to hide his face reassuming brooding. Hmm... Has he been up all night again? You thought. You pluck a daisy and tuck it between his purple hair gently. Let’s hope this wakes him. Snapping a picture on your D.D.D. “Wha..what? Did ya just take a picture of me! Hey!!” Attempting to grab your phone- you stand up, bending over slightly to lower your phone. “But you look so cute!” Before he manages to spit back, he notices how tight your dress hugs your chest and how you’re not wearing anything underneath too. Gleefully, you turn your back to send the image in the House of Lamentation chat. His D.D.D rings in his pocket- snapping him out of his thoughts. As he was about to scold you for your little prank, he looks up to find that your short dress barely covers your ass- let alone your panties. “H..hey.. Uh..” Before he makes out a sentence you cut him off. “Nah uh. I’m not gonna delete this! No matter what you say- or do! Even if it’s to tell Lucifer.” You stuck your tongue out, teasing him.

Later at night- you receive a text message from Leviathan. “I’m coming to your room! How could you post that picture of me on devilgram!” Oops. ------------------------------ Belphegor 

Sleepy eyes hit the sun for the first time in months; Reluctant to leave his room but to avoid the commotion his brothers were causing in the dining hall- He retreats along with a pillow in hand in the search for a comfortable spot away from the noise. Spotting that the gardens were empty- flowers swaying with the wind, plush grass. “That’ll do.” Contently, he places his pillow under a spot beneath the shade. About to lay down- he notices a silhouette from a smaller tree across the garden. Quietly stepping over, Belphegor sees you asleep. Curled up tightly as the tree’s shade blankets you from the morning sun. Your cheeks tinted pink from the summer heat- hair fell across your face. As sleepy as he is, the demon returns for his pillow and kneels down before you; lightly tapping your forehead. “Hey..” He whispers as you open your eyes. Smiling, he’s used to your energetic and excitable nature- but appreciates how your lips are slightly parted and droopy eyes in a daze staring back at him. Belphegor slides the pillow underneath your head as you lay back down, you reach out to hold his cheeks. “Sleep with me.” He quirks a brow. How bold of you he thought, but he was not to resist seeing you in this state and accepts your request, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you nuzzle into his chest. Both of you enjoy the moment of silence- taking in the summer heat against each other. “What were you doing here, MC?” He breaks the silence as you stretch your legs. “I like the sun, the heat. I don’t often get it when we’re in R.A.D.” He glances down at you, noticing your heated cheeks and how well this white dress wraps around your hips. “Is that so?” He says after a pause. Warm hands make it’s way down and cup your thighs- closing any gap between you two. “Belph-” You barely make out his name. A hot tight feeling began to coil in your stomach- heartbeat picking up. “Sleep with me…” Your own words against you. ------------------------------ Asmodeus 

The heat spilling into his bedroom- covering the floor in gold light- Summer is finally here, isn’t it? Asmodeus thought to himself. He looks to the flowers placed neatly in a vase on his bedside table. Frowning as he notices them wilt away. Remembering how beautiful the roses will be in full bloom- He prepares to head to the gardens. The sun is at it’s highest by the time he arrives. Placing an empty basket down, he gets to work on carefully selecting his spoils for the day. Entering deeper into the garden, he notices a patch of roses were cut off. Questioning who other than him would need at least a dozen roses to themselves! Or maybe was it for their lover? “Asmodeus?” Your voice rings like melody, he turns to see you in your short... short white dress- bare feet digging into the grass as you carry the missing roses in your hand. “What are you doing here? Picking flowers?” Walking over to join him, you kneel beside him and offering one rose. Asmodeus- as this rarely happens, was rendered almost speechless by you. The Avatar Of Lust has always deemed himself the jewel of the world but he questions this statement, especially seeing you in this scene; Fresh green grass, flowers full bloom surrounding you- and here you are, kneeling before him. “Ah! Yes, my love. Yes, I am. What do you need them for? Oh, no! Please don’t tell me you want to give them to someone else! There is no one other than I who deserves a bouquet from you!” You giggle at his worried expression as he pulls you into an embrace. He notices how warm you are, noting how long you’ve been in the garden, 

under the sun by yourself. “I would’ve come sooner.”  He whispers into your hair. He throws his head back feeling your breathing against his shoulder- Temporary bliss? No. He fights his thoughts. “Silly, I was just getting these for my room. I love roses, they’re my favourite.” You slightly pull back taking in the sight of his light hair and yellow eyes, not realizing how flustered you got. “Oh! My love, are you as captivated as I am? And I’m not talking about myself for once, today.” Your cheeks deepen in colour at his response. “W..what! No!” Taking the roses from your hands and into his basket, he turns back to you leaning in close. “You know my love, we have all summer to pick flowers and what not... But.. just spend one night with me, hmm?” He exclaims whilst wrapping a hand to the back of your neck, steading you. “Asmo... I..” Hearing your voice hitch in your throat, his yellow eyes deepen as his hand travels down toward your chest. “Is that a yes.. my love? tell me.” Hands grip your waist tightly- almost worried you’ll disappear if he blinks. “Yes.. Please.” ------------------------------ Beelzebub

He spots your homemade chocolate pudding in the fridge with your name written on it. He shouldn’t be rude but he can’t help himself. Beelzebub remembers the retreat and how good the pudding was, causing his stomach to rumble, again. Asking for you and stopping by your room, he tries to step outside to look for you. You’re not answering your D.D.D As his stomach growls louder, he starts wandering off with the pudding at the back of his mind. “Oh no.” His brow furrowed, “I’m getting hungrier.” He spots a nearby bench in the gardens and takes a seat before attempting to call you again. Just as he dials your number, a vibration can be heard from under the bench. “Is this....” Yes, your D.D.D along with a pair of sandals. Picking it up and placing it in his jacket’s pocket. Worrying about you and how could leave your belongings behind. Grunting, he carries your sandals and peeks into multiple greenhouses for you. Famished when he started- he could chew off the bark of the trees at this point. Not wanting to leave the idea of you barefoot and without a point of contact. He returns to the main garden to wait and in turn, you come back for your belongings. He sees you approach the same time as him. Waving and smiling, he was right. Barefoot but holding roses in your hand. “You forgot your shoes and D.D.D.” Beelzebub warmly smiles and helps you slip on your sandals. Thanking him, you explain how you noticed the roses in full bloom and how you would brew him some rose tea for lunch. You were half his height- having to block out the sun with your palms to get a good look at him. “How’d you find me, Beel?” You ask as you lay ontop the grass, taking in the sun for a moment longer. Before getting to answer, he realises how short your dress was, hicked up to your hips. Often he only sees you in your student uniform- not taking the time to admire your womanly figure. He notices how long your hair has gotten since the first day you arrived. You notice Beelzebub in a daze. “Beel?” You move over in front of the bench he’s seated on and lay a hand on his thigh. Ugh. He thinks. Your messy hair and pink cheeks. How delicious. He notices a fresh cut on your finger, still bleeding. It still stings you tell him, from when you were picking the roses without proper scissors. “Go on, Beel. I know you’re hungry. Just have a taste.” You slide in between both of his legs and raise your finger to his mouth which he gladly accepts. Licking it clean, you hear his stomach grumble. “I suppose that’s it for the garden.” His eyes darkening as he gathers your belongings. “Yes.. we can go back for lunch. I know you’re starving.” Adjusting your sandals as you slip your hand into his. He kisses the inside of your wrist, taking a whiff of your scent. “Not for food anymore.”

[waywardodysseys]

Zero G - Oneshot

Pairing: Ezra x female reader

Warnings: SMUT, female oral receiving, unprotected sex (wrap it up), blow job, zero gravity sex, cussing

Requested?: Yes from this ask - You are the only one I saw write for Ezra and it was great and I’d like to request something. Can you do something where the reader and Ezra are in a relationship after being stuck with each other, and on day the reader takes control during sex by trying his hands up so he can’t touch her. Or (maybe in another one) they are on a ship and have zero gravity sex. No idea how that would work but it sounds interesting. Btw your writing is great.

Author’s note: You can find the other anon’s request here; I wrote the best I could for zero g sex; enjoy!!!

~   ~   ~

Ezra closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. He’s heading back to the station. Back to you. He had lost count of how long he was down on the alien planet after the first couple of weeks especially since the pod he was on malfunctioned during landing, causing him to be stranded on the green planet with a mute companion.

He missed your voice, your body, your touch, your mouth. He couldn’t wait to lay his deep brown eyes on you and your Y/H/C hair, your Y/E/C eyes. Just thinking of you and the way you’d welcome him back got him hard.

Ezra shifted in his seat, adjusting his suit. He didn’t need the poor girl next to him finding out who and what he was thinking of.

“You okay?” Cee asked.

“Yeah,” Ezra hissed out. “I finally get to see someone my eyes have missed seeing.”

Cee kept her gaze on the station, waiting for the pod to dock.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Ezra asks once the pod docks.

Cee nodded. “Yeah, I’ll survive.”

“Clear to disembark pod one-zero-eight.” Came a robotic voice through the pod’s coms system.

Once inside the docking bay corridor, Ezra lifts his helmet off and is assisted by med personnel.

“Your partner did a good job Ezra,” the med tech says as he checks Ezra’s amputated arm. “You’re going to survive.”

Ezra swallows some water. “Good.”

The med tech places a syringe in Ezra’s other arm. “This is some pain medicine. It might knock you out.”

“Where’s Y/N?”

The med tech raises his eyebrows. “She’s on the bridge. Do you want me to call her?”

Ezra closes his eyes as the pain medicine flows through his veins. “Yes, please.”

-------

You watch as a couple of med techs place Ezra on your bed.

“Thank you both,” you smile, “I’ll watch him, take care of him.” Oh, you were definitely going to take care of him. You missed him.

After they leave, you sit on the bed and reach up, touching his face. You feel the fuzz prickle your skin; his mustache is fuller than it was when he left. You missed his soft lips, his caressing touch, his tongue against your sweet spots.

You didn’t care he was missing an arm. You were glad to just have him back, alive.

You straddle him and lean down, kissing those soft lips. Within seconds Ezra is kissing you back and you feel his arm traveling over your ass and up your back.

You pull back and look down into his deep brown eyes. You smile, “welcome back.”

“I’ve missed you Y/N.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you say before pressing your lips against his. You’re starving for him and him alone. “I need you Ezra. It’s been too long. Self-care only goes so far.”

Ezra smirks. “Agreed.”

You reach up and unzip your captain’s jacket, take it off and throw it down to the floor.

Ezra sucks in a breath as he gets hard as you reveal more of your skin to him. His hand roams up your side, his fingers graze your skin lightly then trace the outline of your cleavage against the bra you are wearing. “Y/N.”

“Ezra,” you whisper as you reach behind you and unhook it. You toss it aside.

“So glad I’m back,” Ezra moans as he sits up and flicks one nipple then the other.

You arch your back and your fingers sweep through his soft hair as he latches onto one nipple and suckles. His hand palms your other breast and flicks its nipple. “Oh—Ezra…yes.”

He’s strong enough to pull you up against him and flip you onto your back. He kisses your mouth before he begins leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline, down your neck, down the valley between your breasts. He kisses your stomach, moves his cheeks along your skin, giving you goosebumps from the sensation of his fuzz scrapping your skin.

“I want to taste you my captain.” Ezra whispers as his hand unbuttons and unzips your pants.

“Yes, please.” You moan as you help him pull down your pants and underwear. You use your feet to kick them off. They land somewhere on the floor.

You open your legs and watch as Ezra keeps his eyes on yours as he kisses one inner thigh then the other. He moves his cheek against your skin, causing you to suck in a breath at the feeling of feeling his fuzz against your inner thighs. “Ezra, please.”

Ezra opens your folds with his fingers. Your pussy is hot, wet. He dips his head, licks up your folds and finds your clit. You still taste sweet as ever. It feels as though he is tasting you for the first time again.

You suck in another breath and let out a content sigh as Ezra begins circling your clit with his tongue. Your fingers sweep through his hair again as he brings you to the brink of pleasure.

“Ezra—yes—oh—yes—,” you pant as your orgasm brews to the surface. Your fingers tighten against Ezra’s head as his tongue dances with your sensitive nub. Your orgasm crashes inside of you, making you arch your back and moan loudly.

Ezra keeps his tongue against your clit as your orgasm hits, as he feels it ripple through your body. He feels you squirm under his tongue. He knows you missed it, missed him.

“Ezra, please,” you plead.

Ezra smiles as he kisses each inner thigh before kissing his way back up your stomach. He flicks each of your nipples then nips at your neck.

You reach down and lift his shirt up and over his head.

He brushes his mouth against yours lightly. “I want you in zero g captain.”

You smile as you help him pull down his pants and underwear. “Sometimes I think that’s why you stick around.”

Ezra cups your cheek, strokes your skin. “There are other things too my captain.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to let you go,” you whisper as you touch the nub on his arm.

“Don’t tell me you—”

“I love you Ezra. You losing a limb doesn’t bother me. Now if it was your cock,” you raise your eyebrows and teasingly smile.

“If it was my cock, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to return to you Y/N.”

You press your forehead against his. “I can’t say this enough. I’ve missed you.”

Ezra presses his lips against your temple. “I missed you too my love.”

You enable the zero g inside your room. Within a second you and Ezra are floating inside of your room, along with the clothes you had thrown on the floor. You move towards Ezra, push him against the wall. You kiss him lightly as your hands hold him against the wall.

“Y/N,” Ezra whispers against your lips.

You kiss along his jawline, down his long neck. You nibble at his skin as you kiss your way down his chest and stomach. Once you reach his hard cock, you lick it from the base to the tip.

“Fuck!” Ezra hisses.

You grin before taking his hard length into your mouth. Your tongue swirling around its girth, lathering it with your saliva. You moan in pleasure because you’ve missed his cock, you’ve missed him more though. You reach up and cup his balls.

“I need to be in you,” Ezra grounds out. Your mouth on his cock is ramping up his orgasm. All he’s been using these past months has been his hand and thoughts of your mouth on his cock, thoughts of his cock buried deep inside your pussy.

You take his cock out of your mouth, your tongue licking from the base to the tip again before you kiss your way back up his stomach and chest. “I need you in me too Ezra.”

Ezra growls as he uses his arm to pull you to him. He kicks his feet lightly so he can push you against the wall.

You know what to do. You lift your legs up and use your arms to pull Ezra into them. His hard cock finds your pussy. He strokes the folds, making you moan, then enters your pussy slowly. “Fuck! Yes!” You moan out as you feel his hard, thick length inside you again.

Ezra moans lowly as he feels your slick pussy walls around his cock again. He’s in pure ecstasy as he thrusts into you a few times. He then pulls you from against the wall and begins laying back on the air. He arches his back as you begin rolling your hips.

“Fuck Y/N!” Ezra says as his hand grasps your side and slides down to your hip.

Your hands travel up his chest, feeling his skin under your hands for what seems like the first time. “You’re not going anywhere for a while Ezra,” you whisper.

Ezra tightens his hand on your hip as he watches you roll your hips, watches as your hair lifts off your shoulders and floats in the air. “Keep me as long as you like.” He leans forward and places a kiss on your mouth. “I’m yours captain.”

You kiss him back and loop your arms around his neck. Your fingers weave through his hair. “God, Ezra,” you moan as another orgasm begins building inside of you.

Ezra wraps his arm around you, holding you against him as you begin rolling your hips faster. Ezra knows his own orgasm is building inside of him. He’s happy he has returned to you. Happy he is buried deep inside of your tightness and wetness; happy you love him even with a lost limb.

You arch your back pushing your breasts forward. Ezra moans as he feels your nipples against him. “Yes, Ezra.” You moan as he suckles on one nipple then the other. Him suckling at your nipples is making your orgasm build more quickly. “I—mmm—mmm—Ezra.”

Ezra thrusts up into you a couple of times, which pushes you over the edge.

Your orgasm rolls through your body and you lean forward and place your forehead against his. “Cum in me Ezra. Please.”

Ezra kisses you, and moans as you continue to roll your hips. “Fu—fu—Y/N!”

“Yes, Ezra.” You pant.

Ezra growls as he explodes inside of your pussy. “Y/N!”

You smile and lick his lips before capturing them and kissing him deeply.

Ezra holds you against him as his orgasm goes through his entire body. He’s delighted he’s back on the station, back with you – his captain, his love. “I love you Y/N.”

“I love you Ezra.”

You two float in the air getting lost in each other’s eyes, then in a deep passionate kiss. Your arms are wrapped around him and his arm is holding you against him closely – skin touching skin. Both of you know there will be more days ahead to make up for lost time.

“Disable zero g,” you say aloud.

You and Ezra fall back onto the bed, keeping yourselves wrapped around each other.

Never wanting to let go. 

Tags: @pascalisthepunkest​

[hanguang-jun-s]

Untitled #4

Song Lan arrived one moment too late.

A blink of an eye too late; too late to save Xingchen from hurt.

But here they were and Xingchen’s clothes were drenched in his own blood, his breath leaving his lips in short huffs. There was sweat accumulating above the brow. He was suffering and Song Lan’s heart ached for him. 

Though both managed to finish up the last few corpses, the next town was still hours away. 

He rested Xingchen against the stone wall of a cave that Song Lan found within the radius of the battlefield. It was surprisingly spacious, fitting two persons in. The perfect place to shelter Xiao Xingchen from wind and rain and any other fierce corpses.

Even though he didn’t say anything, Xiao Xingchen grimaced, fingers pressing against the wound at his hip.

“I can manage,” his words were barely a whisper, escaping from his dried lips. After all, it wasn’t the first time any of them got hurt.

Song Lan swiftly untied the sash, pulled the garments away to reveal the wound to inspect the damage. 

It was a deep cut and Xiao Xingchen couldn’t help but hiss when the cold air hit his skin, irritating the injury. Song Lan quickly proceeded with bandages they carried around for such cases, tying it tightly to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to see a red patch forming on the pristine white cloth. 

Song Lan sighed through his nose, clenching his jaw in worry. They were only traveling with bare necessities. Xingchen needed more bandages and herbs to stop the bleeding and a new set of clothes as well.

“Ugh,” Xiao Xingchen furrowed his brows. Song Lan covered the wound with the right lapel again and took off his own beizi to cover him. He was sweating but Song Lan knew that Xingchen would probably be cold later.

When Xingchen felt the coolness of Song Lan’s fingertips, brushing over his skin while wiping his forehead with a wet cloth, he couldn’t help but lean towards the source. It felt pleasant, like the first snow melting on one’s palm.

His hip was a lump of liquid fire and he was unable to move without sending waves of pain throughout his whole body, so he had no choice but to let his reliable Song Lan handle everything.

“I need to go out to get herbs,” Xingchen could only decipher bits of the message drawn on his palm. Exhaustion and pain were clouding his mind.

“Take care,” he only managed to speak after Song Lan had given him a little water to drink. He licked his dry lips, trying to wet them. 

“Stop worrying,” despite the pain Xingchen’s lips curled into a soft smile. The water somehow had given him a little more energy. He knew what Song Lan was thinking, even though he didn’t express it to him. His companion was a quiet, brooding worrywart, though reliable when it came to situations like those.

Song Lan’s heart squeezed, the possibility of losing Xiao Xingchen again, was unbearable.

“Wait here.” Song Lan spelled and then after a pause added: “Don’t die.”

“I won’t,” Xingchen breathed in sharply and pressed his hand onto the wound underneath the beizi when another wave of fire shook his body. He laughed quietly to himself through the delirious state he currently was in. This image probably didn’t make Song Lan worry less.

And indeed, it didn’t because he could feel Song Lan inching closer before he lifted the probably black garment away. Soon his cold hands were picking Xingchen’s hands apart to have another look at the wound. Song Lan decided to transfer a little spiritual energy to help stabilize Xingchen and speed the healing process.

However, Xingchen still needed those herbs and though he was anxious to leave him alone, there shouldn’t be any further delay.

Yet, before he could leave, Xiao Xingchen held him back. A hand lying on Song Lan’s arm, softly applying pressure.

“Take this with you,” the blind companion slowly drew a small pouch from his sleeve. “A lucky charm.” Xingchen had prepared the contents of this pouch for a long time. He probably had had thousands of opportunities in the past and would most likely also have countless opportunities in the future. But this very moment felt like the right one. How else could he calm his very concerned and restless companion?

“Okay,” Song Lan’s fingertips grazed Xingchen’s when he took it. “I’ll be back.”

--

The sun had set an hour or two ago when Song Lan returned with a basket filled with dried and fresh herbs, wood and new garments for Xingchen.

He squeezed through the narrow entry of the cave and set a surge of energy to light the way. Before, a few lost sun rays illuminated the cave. Now that the sun had set, it was rather hard to see. He returned to a defenseless and hurt Xingchen who hadn’t changed his position ever since Song Lan. 

He couldn’t help but feel anxious immediately. Setting down the basket, he basically flew to Xingchen’s side, carefully checking for a pulse.

And he was very much relieved to find a steady one. Now that his biggest fear proved to be only a fear and not the reality, Song Lan returned to the firewood. Xingchen had felt a little cold, the beizi didn’t lock too much warmth.

Xingchen woke up a little later, to the soft crackle of a fire and the warm heat it radiated. The cave’s musty smell had been replaced by the strong, almost overbearing scent of herbs combined with a hint of rice. And he listened to the soft thunk of a wooden spoon hitting metal. Song Lan was probably brewing herbs or cooking food.

“You’re back,” he softly ascertained. He didn’t know how much time had passed and how long he had been sleeping.

Song Lan always announced his presence with a soft tap on Xingchen’s shoulder. It was an act of courtesy, rather than the fact that Xingchen needed it. Being a skilled cultivator, Xiao Xingchen’s senses were sharp anyway and now that he had no eyes to see, he had to rely on those more, resulting in extraordinary hearing and sensing presences. 

“I brought medicine. Drink,” Song Lan put a small wooden bowl into Xingchen’s hands after blowing on it. The bowl was warm and the blind one tested the temperature with of the medicine with his lips before drowning the contents. Medicine as bitter as those were meant to be drunk at all once. 

“I changed your bandages and applied ointment and herbs,” Song Lan notified him. “How do you feel?”

Xingchen nodded. So that was why the wound at his hip didn’t hurt as much anymore. It was numbed and the flesh was probably beginning to close.

“The pain subsided a little, thanks to your help Zichen.”

“You should eat,” Song Lan gently took the bowl and filled it with something else. Judging by its sounds, the consistency was thicker. Xiao Xingchen concluded that the pot that was probably hanging above the fireplace was filled with porridge.

And his conclusion was right. Though Song Lan let Xingchen drink medicine on his own, he didn’t allow him to eat by himself.

“This is more exhausting than just drinking,” he simply explained when Xiao Xingchen reasoned that his arms were in fact healthy. “Let me take care of you.”

Xingchen supposed that he could let him.

--

 Much later, when Xingchen’s stomach was filled and his wound almost seemed forgotten and he was once again drifting back into sleep, losing to the temptation of more sleep, Song Lan woke up again. Quietly, carefully, tenderly.

“Mn, what is it Zichen?” Xingchen sighed almost inaudibly.

“This is your lucky charm,” Song Lan then slowly put a bag into Xingchen’s hands, heart thumping and in his throat. 

Sensing the sudden restlessness, Xingchen brushed away the haziness. Wide awake, he inspected the leather bag with his fingers, feeling its outlines and features.

Song Lan meanwhile, never once took his eyes off Xingchen. He had always carefully observed what his beloved was doing, always had his mind and heart with this man in front of him. Always, always, always. It didn’t matter whether Xingchen was physically with him or not. It didn’t matter whether Xingchen felt the same. Song Lan liked to take care of him in silence, without asking anything in return. 

But this lucky charm - Song Lan was going to hold so dear.

The contents of this small bag resembled the one that Xingchen gave Song Lan just a few hours ago. Feeling bashful, Xingchen couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. The strands of hair of his beloved felt warm in his hands.

“So this is mine now?” Xingchen held out his hand for Song Lan to take.

“Yes.”  The reply came immediately.

“You are mine now?”

“Yes.” Though Song Lan shakily wrote the words, they felt convinced and clear and happy.

“Come closer Zichen. I’d like to kiss you.”

“Okay.”

[loisinherlane]

4, 15, 18!

rimi ily <3 <3 <3 <3

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

Sometimes! Sometimes I don’t use an outline at all, and sometimes I outline while I write. If it’s a shorter fic, I probably won’t use an outline unless I get pretty far into it and need to stop. And then I usually scribble down which scenes I plan to write. I definitely need an outline for longer fics, but I sometimes start writing first so I have a better sense of what the fic is going to feel like. How far I stray really depends on when I outline. If I outline first, I may stray for pacing or plot purposes. If I outlined in the middle, I might stray a little when I realize I want more scenes.

15. A Hollywood producer tells you that they want to film just one of your fics. Which fic would you want it to be? 

Ohhhh, that’s so hard. Maybe Past Tensions? I wrote it as kind of a commentary on superhero stuff, so I feel like it would translate relatively well. On the other hand, I would absolutely love to see the Single Dad Clark AU adapted. Yes, it’s not “one” fic, but it’s kind of still. one fic.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

:3c This question excites me so much. I had to skim through a few fics to decide just one, but I did it... even if it’s a long scene, so it’s under a cut. (Scene from Infinity and Apple Pie, very spoilery!)

When Brainiac took Metropolis, Kon had been in Hawaii. He couldn’t enjoy the sunshine or the waves, but he could sit there and remember how they’d felt. Some days, that was enough.

I really wanted to drive home how being a ghost feels, especially since I hadn’t addressed it much in the fic. Kon hadn’t really thought about the problems before because it hadn’t really sunk in what being dead entailed. And by this point, he’s really starting to miss being alive, seeing how little he actually gets by hanging around. But he’s still doing.

He didn’t hear a thing about Metropolis until one of the families started a ruckus.

“Mom! Mama! Metropolis is gone!” The kid on their phone yelled until their moms came rushing over. Kon could hear the video from his spot on the sand.

Gay, gay, homosexual, gay.

  “—aerial view reveals that Metropolis, home of Superman, has vanished without a trace. A clear line marks the area, through bridges and—”

Kon shot up.

  “It’s as of yet unknown whether Superman was in Metropolis at the time—”

Even if he wasn’t, Lois and Jon Samuel probably were. Kon flew to Metropolis first—or rather, where Metropolis was supposed to be. Just as the news reports had said, it was gone, leaving nothing but a sunken patch of dirt and dozens of crumbling bridges. Other heroes from neighboring cities had already sprung into action.

“Let them save everyone,” Kon hoped and turned for Smallville instead.

I’m not very good at writing action scenes, so I was hoping for a minimalist effect in describing the damage.

Kon remembered the first time he’d been in Smallville during tornado season. Ma and Pa had settled in the living room, peeking outside every so often to look at the clouds. The meteorologist had warned everyone to settle in a room without windows, a basement preferably. But they insisted.

“We’ll know when it’s time to go underground. We can’t keep an eye on it down there,” Pa had scoffed.

Tornado Alley rights! Bitches love watching tornados!

It wasn’t surprising to find them on the porch for this, the sky less green clouds of a thunderstorm and more a pink-gray haze. Unnatural but just as fascinating.

“Our boy will save the day,” Pa promised now, clutching Ma to his chest. Kon found himself filled with the urge to fly back to Gotham, find Tim, just in case—

But Kon didn’t go anywhere. He stared at the sky and waited. After all, Superman would save the day.

When the clouds receded, Pa turned to Ma and grinned. “Everything’s going to be alright now,” he promised. Then he froze. He lifted his right hand to clutch at his left arm.

“Jonathan,” Ma said. She looked up at the sky. “Clark!”

Tim had made everyone on Young Justice take first aid. Kon recognized the signs too easily. He couldn’t do a thing to change it.

So, this was where I really wanted Lara’s warning to come into effect. Like, yes, she had been warning about everything else Kon had watched. Yes, he’d had to watch his girlfriend join a cult. Yes, he’d had to see Tim try to clone him. Yes, Bart died. But I think there’s something really scary about seeing a family member in pain like this. And the difference between the Kents and the superhero world is how mundane this is. Pa has a heart attack. In canon, he dies because Clark can’t get there in time. Here, Kon has to watch, and it’s so different.

“Do you want to watch this?” Lara asked. She sat on the Kents’ porch swing, a real picture in her Kryptonian garb, all finery against cracked wood.

“Pa’s having a heart attack! I can’t just leave!” Kon snapped. “I have to be able to do something! Clark can’t hear him. He’d be here by now if—”

“Clark!” Ma wailed, a little louder.

“Kon-El. There is nothing you can do,” Lara said firmly. “Please, stop torturing yourself.”

Ma couldn’t hold Pa up by herself. They’d both slumped on the ground. Pa’s head lolled to the side. He stared at the porch, eyes squinted. “C— Conner…”

Kon’s face went white. “He—”

I know someone asked me about this, but yes, Pa sees Kon because he’s dying. :) This would be very effective in an actual comic, I think.

“You don’t have to watch,” Lara said.

“No!” Kon shouted. “I’m not letting go. Pa can’t die. I’m still here for a reason!”

“Because you refuse to—”

“That’s right. I refuse.”  Kon stood a little straighter before taking flight down the road into Smallville proper.

There was only one hospital in Smallville, and the EMTs sat outside the ambulance bay to watch the storm. Kon sunk to his knees in front of the first.

“Help me,” he begged. “Please, please hear me. We need help. At the Kent farm. Jonathan Kent had a heart attack. Please.”

“What a storm,” the first said.

“Prob’ly one of those alien attacks again. You saw that report on Metropolis, right?” The second lifted her phone and started scrolling.

“Listen to me! Please, you have to help! At the Kent farm. Please!”

The third leaned to look. “It’s back now?”

“Weird,” said the first.

“Please,” Kon said. “Please. My grandpa is dying!” He slumped forward.

“Did you hear that?”

Kon lifted his head. The second EMT had narrowed her eyes, skimming the area.

“Please,” he said more frantically, “my grandpa is dying! He’s had a heart attack. At the Kent farm! Hurry!”

“We… we have to go to the Kent farm,” the second EMT said, standing up. “Now.”

“What?” the third asked. “We haven’t gotten a call—”

“We have to go,” she said firmly.

I considered having Kon track an ambulance down on the road, but I was like, wait, how would I make it clear he’s not taking an ambulance from someone else who needed one? How would he even find an ambulance? Would Smallville have more than one? This seemed neater.

Kon let out a breath of relief and rode in the back of the ambulance all the way back to the farm. When the sirens reached the front of the house, Ma looked up and sobbed in relief.

“Help! My husband—” she yelled.

The EMTs started their work without hesitation, and Kon’s eyes watered.

“I did it,” he said.

“Did you?” Lara asked. She hummed. “Your medicine is so primitive. I hope it’s effective.”

“Don’t start that right now,” Kon snapped.

Lara tilted her head. “I’m… not. I hope you can save your grandfather’s life.”

Kon stared at her, twenty-five and never growing older, a woman with so much potential who had lost everything save the opportunity to see her son. “You never moved on,” he said.

Lara smiled. “No. I must admit that I… find enough gratification in seeing my family,” she said. “And Jonathan Kent cared for my son when I could not. I will never have enough gratitude to the people who loved him as much as I do.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was trying to do with Lara at first. The longer I built up the “afterlife” in this world, the more I realized I didn’t have a good excuse for her to be there. After all, Bart and Kon weren’t staying dead when they moved on. They were coming back to life at the right time. I didn’t really want to answer any actual afterlife questions either, so I didn’t want to say Lara was coming back and forth just to visit Kon and help him.

Then I wrote this scene, and it hit me. Lara is watching over Clark. It’s interesting to build her character because she’s so often neglected for Jor-El. I wanted her to be a slightly awkward, clinical mind. And I really wanted to drive home her loss in comparison to the Kents. If Pa died, it would be sad, but he’s also not a young man. Anyway, this fic kind of works if you consider any Mr. Oz stories as a possibility because Jor-El isn’t even really mentioned. Lara is dead for sure. But Jor... Who knows?

Clark arrived just as the EMTs had loaded Pa into the back of the ambulance, an old flannel and jeans thrown on. “Ma, is Pa okay?”

In canon, he arrives as Superman, but he couldn’t do that here.

“They’re taking him to the hospital. But he’s— he’s—” Ma sobbed and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Oh, I don’t even know how they knew to be here. Praise the Lord.”

The second EMT ushered them both into the back of the ambulance. “It’s funny that you say that,” she said. “I… I could have sworn I heard a boy yelling. ‘My grandpa had a heart attack. On the Kent farm. Please help!’ Something like that.”

Clark and Ma exchanged looks.

“Jon Samuel is—”

“In Metropolis, with Lois,” Clark said. “No, he’s not— He couldn’t have—”

The best/worst part of writing is trying to use as few words to say something as possible. Clark and Ma know something is up, but they don’t know how to address it. They know it’s not Jon. But also, how could it be anyone else? Especially considering the complicated familial relationships Kon has, it was fun to try to put together the right words.

Lara held out her hand for Kon. This time, he took it.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The White House Has Erected A Blockade Stopping States and Hospitals From Getting Coronavirus PPE

By David Wallace-Wells

Whenever you start to think that the federal government under Donald Trump has hit a moral bottom, it finds a new way to shock and horrify.

Over the last few weeks, it has started to appear as though, in addition to abandoning the states to their own devices in a time of national emergency, the federal government has effectively erected a blockade — like that which the Union used to choke off the supply chains of the Confederacy during the Civil War — to prevent delivery of critical medical equipment to states desperately in need. At the very least, federal authorities have made governors and hospital executives all around the country operate in fear that shipments of necessary supplies will be seized along the way. In a time of pandemic, having evacuated federal responsibility, the White House is functionally waging a war against state leadership and the initiative of local hospitals to secure what they need to provide sufficient treatment.

Yesterday, a letter published by the New England Journal of Medicine highlighted the extraordinary measures that had to be taken to secure the delivery into Massachusetts of equipment that had been bought and paid for. The NEJM, which featured the letter in its COVID-19 Notes series, is far from a platform of partisan alarm or hysteria — it is among the most sober and high-minded professional journals in the country. It’s worth reading the correspondence, written by an executive running a small health system, at some length:

“Our supply-chain group has worked around the clock to secure gowns, gloves, face masks, goggles, face shields, and N95 respirators. These employees have adapted to a new normal, exploring every lead, no matter how unusual. Deals, some bizarre and convoluted, and many involving large sums of money, have dissolved at the last minute when we were outbid or outmuscled, sometimes by the federal government. Then we got lucky, but getting the supplies was not easy.

A lead came from an acquaintance of a friend of a team member. After several hours of vetting, we grew confident of the broker’s professional pedigree and the potential to secure a large shipment of three-ply face masks and N95 respirators. The latter were KN95 respirators, N95s that were made in China. We received samples to confirm that they could be successfully fit-tested. Despite having cleared this hurdle, we remained concerned that the samples might not be representative of the bulk of the products that we would be buying. Having acquired the requisite funds — more than five times the amount we would normally pay for a similar shipment, but still less than what was being requested by other brokers — we set the plan in motion. Three members of the supply-chain team and a fit tester were flown to a small airport near an industrial warehouse in the mid-Atlantic region. I arrived by car to make the final call on whether to execute the deal. Two semi-trailer trucks, cleverly marked as food-service vehicles, met us at the warehouse. When fully loaded, the trucks would take two distinct routes back to Massachusetts to minimize the chances that their contents would be detained or redirected.

Hours before our planned departure, we were told to expect only a quarter of our original order. We went anyway, since we desperately needed any supplies we could get. Upon arrival, we were jubilant to see pallets of KN95 respirators and face masks being unloaded. We opened several boxes, examined their contents, and hoped that this random sample would be representative of the entire shipment. Before we could send the funds by wire transfer, two Federal Bureau of Investigation agents arrived, showed their badges, and started questioning me. No, this shipment was not headed for resale or the black market. The agents checked my credentials, and I tried to convince them that the shipment of PPE was bound for hospitals. After receiving my assurances and hearing about our health system’s urgent needs, the agents let the boxes of equipment be released and loaded into the trucks. But I was soon shocked to learn that the Department of Homeland Security was still considering redirecting our PPE. Only some quick calls leading to intervention by our congressional representative prevented its seizure. I remained nervous and worried on the long drive back, feelings that did not abate until midnight, when I received the call that the PPE shipment was secured at our warehouse.”

In this instance, the executive managed to secure the supplies, but what is most horrifying about his account is that this experience was not all that surprising to him — he expected interference from federal officials, and did everything he could (including staging the shipment in food-service trucks to avoid detection) to get around that interference.

Those measures do not seem unusual, horrifyingly enough. Last month, 3 million masks ordered by the state of Massachusetts were seized by the federal government. Last week, the Chicago Sun-Times reported that the governor of Illinois, J.B. Pritzker, was arranging secret chartered flights of supplies as a way of outmaneuvering federal interference. “The governor has clearly outlined the challenges this administration has faced as we’ve worked around the clock to purchase PPE for our health-care workers and first responders,” a spokesperson for the governor told the paper. “The supply chain has been likened to the Wild West, and once you have purchased supplies, ensuring they get to the state is another Herculean feat,” he continued. “These flights are carrying millions of masks and gloves our workers need. They’re scheduled to land in Illinois in the coming weeks and the state is working to ensure these much-needed supplies are protected and ready for distribution around the state.” A source “knowledgeable about the flights” told the paper that the governor didn’t want to be more open about the shipments “because we’ve heard reports of Trump trying to take PPE in China and when it gets to the United States.”

This is not just the federal government telling states they are on their own, as it has done repeatedly over the last few weeks — a sign that the president, often thought to harbor authoritarian impulses, will invariably choose to unburden himself of responsibility even when seizing it would offer remarkable new powers, and itself an moral outrage demonstrating incredible political sadism, given that states lack the resources of the federal government to pay for this stuff. That’s in part because, in many cases, states are legally barred from deficit spending, which means in times of crisis, especially those producing huge budget shortfalls through collapsing tax revenue, they are functionally unable to respond at all. In such situations, the federal government is designed to serve as a backstop, but over and over again throughout this crisis, the White House has said states will get little to no help — that they are entirely on their own. (The federal medical stockpile isn’t meant for the states, as Jared Kushner has said, as though the country is anything more than its states.)

On top of that outrage, the Feds are bidding against states who are trying to buy their own supplies, and refusing to interfere in those auctions between states, which have driven prices up by ten times or more. But while you might think that was as bad as federal management of this crisis could be, it is not. This new outrage is deeper: Even those states that are trying to manage their own resources, buying equipment themselves with incredibly scarce resources to aid in a time of crisis, are being stopped, and those resources seized on the way to delivery.

You could call this piracy. You could call it sanctions. The federal government is choking supply chains to states like it chokes supply chains to Iran and North Korea. These blockades aren’t as complete as those surrounding sanctioned regimes, of course, and some amount of the disruption may be honest confusion in a time of crisis. But the disruption is being brought about by federal interference, and unlike the kind of disruptions you’d want to engineer against antagonistic states, the purpose seems completely unclear — indeed the policy is inexplicable and indefensible.

Which may be one reason why no explanation has been given. We don’t know where these supplies are going. We don’t know on what grounds they are being seized, or threatened with seizure. What business do the DHS and FEMA have with ventilators and PPE purchases by governors and local hospitals? “This is like a story out of the last days of the Soviet Union,” David Frum wrote on Twitter, of the NEJM letter. “This is what it means to be a failed state,” wrote the essayist Umair Haque, echoing him. In the absence of an explanation, it is hard to come to any conclusion other than that this is simply mafia government, exerting control for the sake of control, not in spite of but because of the crisis-led demand, and squeezing the American people, as they die in hospital beds and attend — with inadequate protection — to the sick and scared.

[johnlockficclub]

Author Q&A Recap

We have to say, @prettysherlocksoldier was very lovely and everyone had a great time bantering back and forth.  So much fun, that for space we’ve kept it to just the questions and answers:

@sherlock-nanowrimo: Did you have any headcanons as you wrote this fic, that didn't make it into the story?

@prettysherlocksoldier: Not exactly, but I did sort of come up with the whole idea originally with the concept for Irene's radio show, and I wanted initially to have her somehow in that capacity work to set John and Sherlock up, but it didn't really come together that way and I wish I could have spent more time with her radio show.

@elwinglyre:  I loved the bantering that you included in this story. What inspiration did you use to write it?

@prettysherlocksoldier: Truthfully, I tend to write dialogue how I speak. And I'm EXTREMELY dry and sarcastic with my friends, so it just comes out of that with a characterized twist.  WELL OKAY so they are all like different sides I guess. John bridges the gap between sarcastic Dani and supportive friend Dani, and Sherlock is "I would never dare say this to your face but I am thinking it very loudly" Dani.

@elwinglyre: It sounds like you like to write kind of stream of consciousness at times. How much do you generally plan out in your writing. The dialogue is spontaneous but the rest is…? I’m always interested about this.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I always try to be a planner but I am a pantser at heart. Any time I attempt to outline it goes off the rails fairly quickly and I just let it, so most of it ends up being spontaneous. The only thing I pay fairly close attention to is the chronology, especially with a holiday story which has a set deadline (ie Christmas). I don't want to mention it's been a week and that would be New Years or something, so I keep track of that but otherwise I'm a mess.

@blue-posey: I love the play on words and puns and turns in your writing, but esp ‘every silver lining

@prettysherlocksoldier: I really don't know haha! Again, I guess I just sort of write like I talk. And, being an English major and a writer and generally a hopeless romantic, I am also occasionally very poetic (coughmelodramaticcough).

@blue-posey: Well, it is poetic.  As is the way Sherlock sees John throughout the book: golden hair, snowflake on his cheek etc.

@prettysherlocksoldier:  I've seen too many Hallmark movies, I will put a snowflake on every eyelash within reach.

@sherlock-nanowrimo: What draws you to writing unilock stories?  This was our first time reading unilock as a group and some folks hadn't ever read that trope before. It was a big hit

@prettysherlocksoldier: Well, at the time, I was in university, so that was a big part of it, but then I also just think it's a time of such potential, whether undergrad or grad school. I mean, school takes up so much of some people's lives, especially someone like John going into medicine, and those are formative years. So I like playing with the idea of meeting someone at this point in your life where everything is changing and you're trying to find your footing and settle into your own skin, and then here comes someone who shakes all that up and you sort of have to decide if you're going to grow TOGETHER or just keep forging your own path. It's a high-stakes time period and I'm just drawn to the dramatic potential in it, I suppose.

@elwinglyre: I also liked your foreshadowing in this with the elevator (going up and going down—so naughty and nice). And your whole pulling out the angst at the end with Sherlock. Great build up.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I love sort of...innocuous foreshadowing. Like it won't be HORRIBLE nothing TERRIBLE is going to happen because that's simply not what I write, but anything could come around again and suddenly have new meaning. It's just harmless turnabout haha.

@blue-posey:  Can I say I did a fist-in-the-air jig when John said about ‘nice’ boys asking for nudes!  It was really good to see it spelled out like that, esp coming from a male character.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I love John being this like...perfect stereotype of a Jock Jackass and then he's just...not. And it sort of unseats everyone around him and that's fun too. And I make everyone as raging liberal feminist as I am so there's also just that haha.

@elwinglyre: So… the big question: how do you feel about writing sex scenes???

@prettysherlocksoldier: OH MY GOD SO AWKWARD OH MY GOD I don't do it very often because I just... It is so difficult for me, I can't put my finger on why. When I do write them, they're either harried or I'm focusing more on the emotion because I just don't know how to make "thrust" sound sexy I just don't knowwww.

@sherlock-nanowrimo:  There were a number of details we loved, departures from frustrating aspects of canon. Like Molly not having a crush on Sherlock because everyone knows he's gay.  And John happily admitting he's bi. Did you have any intent to knock down some canon stuff or did it just come natural?

@prettysherlocksoldier: I think a lot of that comes out of unilock more than any particular intent of mine. Like, it's 2016 or whatever it was at the time, they're young, they're at a liberal universe in a world city, like I just...can't fathom Sherlock would not be out. Especially with someone like Irene around him, who I always make a supportive influence. John is a little more complication because of that jock persona and he might have some reservations about being open about his sexuality, but I just... I mean, growing up in a conservative home and environment that did not take kindly to me coming out, I just don't make much time for it in the worlds I get to create. Maybe I'm trying to rewrite my own history, but hey, the world's rough enough with even fictional gay people having to feel unsafe being themselves

@blue-posey: And talking about openness, I love how casually John says he’s bi

@prettysherlocksoldier: That moment actually meant a lot to me because it's like a chance for him to correct an assumption, and yes Sherlock is listening and that's part of it, but it's I think the moment when we're like OH WAIT HE MIGHT BE INTO IT and it's So Softe.

@wildishmazz:  When they nearly got pornographic near the end, were you toying with the idea of someone having to say the title to them?

@prettysherlocksoldier: I almost ALMOST had them do the classic bump-the-microphone-and-everyone-hears-you-boning, but decided against it haha.

@sherlock-nanowrimo: as we were reading the part with Mary, I know I tensed up wondering just how it was going to go.  But it wasn't toxic at all - -she made an effort to reconnect, but accepted her defeat with grace.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I have a hard time making Mary a rival. Maybe because I don't think she ever really was haha! But also I was disappointed in where her character ended up going and she deserved better and I am going to give it to her goshdarnit.

@blue-posey: I also loved this:

“Love conquers all,” the blond quipped, slowly lowering himself down beside Sherlock, back scraping against the wall. “No, it doesn’t,” Sherlock scoffed, turning through the pages. “It merely temporarily blinds people to flaws; it doesn’t actually conquer anything.”

I know it reads a bit defeatist, but I think it’s not.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I love a Sherlock who has sort of...put up this shield of cynicism around love simply because he doesn't think he'll find it, so it's easier to think the whole thing is stupid.  I mean we've all had a bad breakup and been like NEVERMIND LOVE IS A SHAM for a while.  Not to be a monster, but I always thought of Sherlock as someone who loves very deeply, just never expresses it because he perceives himself as unloveable.

@wildishmazz:  did John assume they were on the same page re: having been on dates and so therefore being dating?

@prettysherlocksoldier: John, god bless him, I think totally thought he was like courting this dude and doing it up right and being Super Romantic, and then Sherlock is just like BUT YOU DID NOT EXPLICITLY STATE.

@blue-posey:  @tildathings wanted to ask how you choose the radio station for the set up.

@prettysherlocksoldier: Oh god that is actually kind of embarrassing, so to be fair it was VERY LATE and I was DRIVING and I was VERY BORED but do y'all know that like late night advice radio show with that gravelly voice woman, Delilah??  I just thought what an Irene version of that would be like and everyone else just kind of came out of that and got their own shows and then it was just at a radio station and it's all Delilah's fault.

Thanks everyone for joining us for back to school fic! Many thanks to @prettysherlocksoldier for chatting with us!

[keywestlou]

WHAT A FOOD SHORTAGE PORTENDS

Saturday’s blog Let Them Eat Cake discussed food shortages on the horizon for the America of today. What is occurring and what could occur.

On August 18, 2016, I published a blog titled VENEZUELA. The blog spoke in no uncertain terms of the food shortages impacting Venezuela at the time. They still exist.

Everything is cause and effect. It is the “effect” I am concerned with in today’s blog. I want Americans to be aware of what could happen if present food shortages continue and become greater.

Don’t say what happened in Venezuela could never happen here. Did you ever think American border personnel would rip babies from the arms of mothers as was done at our southwest border a couple of years ago?

Anything is possible, especially under a Trump regime.

The Venezuela blog is set forth in its entirety.

VENEZUELA

Venezuela was once one of the world’s richest countries. Its oil reserves the third largest in the world.

By the mid 2000s, everyone was eating. Average consumption 2,790 calories a day. Thanks to Hugo Chavez. Venezuela’s President from 1999 to 2013.

Chavez was a SOCIALIST among socialists. He wanted everything for the people. With the people making minimal contribution to paying for things. The government would pay.

Oil was big. Chavez smarter than the oil companies. He nationalized the oil companies and other foreign industries. With the stroke of a pen. All profits then went to the Venezuelan people.

Chavez’s goal was to expand access to food, housing, health care, and education. He initially succeeded in all areas.

Eventually however, Chavez’s extreme socialism began to falter. A society cannot be the end all to all. Especially when few contribute in any significant degree to their own support.

Oil revenues fell. The high oil profits of 2003-2007 became a thing of the past. It was oil profits that sustained Chavez’s socialistic society.

Food a perfect example. Chavez fed everyone. Till the ceiling caved in.

Chavez had the price of all food stuffs set with a ceiling. The people paid no more. The government picked up the tab for the rest. The rest equating to significantly more than the people could directly pay.

Literally, everyone got fat.

Most of the food was not grown in Venezuela by Venezuelan farmers. It was imported. The oil profits were more than sufficient to pay the cost.

When things started getting bad, Chavez got sick. The two not related. The last four years of his life Chavez was fighting to save his life and Venezuela’s at the same time.

He failed.

Chavez died in 2013 from a massive heart attack and advanced colon cancer. Venezuela had become corrupt. He had opposition. There are those who believe Chavez was murdered.

Nicolas Maduro became President. Inept and incompetent from day one. A puppet of the military. The generals wanted to rule Venezuela. From 2013-2016, they succeeded. Today, the generals run everything. They hold all cabinet posts. They hold Maduro in their hands. He dances to their tune.

The government is corrupt. The generals are eating, economically and food wise. They want for nothing. As does the puppet Maduro. And a handful of high level civilians.

At the same time, the people starve.

The first inkling of a problem came in 2013. Maduro had been President less than a year. Venezuela ran out of toilet paper. Once a person is without, the realization hits home that toilet paper is a necessity of life.

There is still a shortage of toilet paper.

Store shelves had less and less food. Eventually no food. People waiting in lines for hours. When finally in the store, nothing remained for sale.

In 2014, food shortages hit 28 percent. In 2015, 75 percent. Forget the percentages in this year of 2016. Famine has moved in. Maduro has declared a national food crisis.

Food has become precious.

The New York Times described the situation as follows: “Venezuela is convulsing from hunger.”

2016 also became the year that water became in poor supply.

Inflation is expected to exceed 700 percent by November.

There is no work. Factories cannot operate. There is no electricity. Maduro provides electricity 1-2 days a week. Maintenance has been neglected thereby causing the inability to produce electricity.

Families need food. People have been forced to extreme measures.

Last year, garbage was a source of sustenance. However, garbage pails only hold so much food products that last only so long when many are searching. Then a point is reached where there is no garbage. People have nothing or little to eat.

Stealing a neighbor’s food came next. Only so much to steal, however.

This year evidences just how bad things have become.

Home pets, generally dogs and cats, were killed and eaten by families. If a family could not kill such a loved one or could not afford to feed the pet, the pet was dropped off on a highway. There others not fond of the pet would pick it up and take the pet home for dinner.

Pets are no longer in supply.

Next were the zoos. In the last thirty days. First chickens, rabbits and the like were stolen and eaten. Then larger zoo animals.

Very recently, a Caracas zoo was broken into in the middle of the night. A black stallion was one of the zoo’s featured animals. When zoo staff arrived in the morning, all that was left of the horse were its head and ribs.

What next? Hunger goes on at the same time the food supply dwindles even further. Cadavers? I don’t know.

To appreciate Mommy, I’m hungry, consider the following.

Families only eat every second day. Some every third. Only one meal. Children included.

Children are malnourished. They faint in class. Some die. Their bodies nothing but skin and bones. The outline of ribs visible. Hands swollen. Skin stuck to bones. Bellies swollen.

Mothers try to make babies sleep till noon to avoid a breakfast of non-existent milk/food.

Whatever is available to eat is fried. With flour. Empty calories. Unhealthy. Nevertheless, adults and children develop bellies. The battle of the bulge. Not a healthy fat, if there is one.

People eat what they can find. What they find is not healthy.

There is a black market. Except for the generals and a handful of people, the others are poor. They cannot afford black market prices.

Meat. What meat? Most have not eaten meat since last December.

On the rare occasions food is available, the cost for a family of five for bare necessities for a month is $226. The problem is few are working. There is no work.

$226 is a lot of money. Especially in a society where the average monthly salary of one working is $15 a month

Medicines/hospitals are the same. Not enough of anything.

Diseases such as malaria and mange have returned. These diseases were eradicated years ago. Neither inoculations nor medicines exists. People are once again vulnerable.

Dengue fever a problem. The disease was controlled with medication. No medication means dengue is likely to be a death sentence.

There are no medicines to treat HIV/Aids. Many HIV inflicted are moving into the Aids category because necessary medicines are lacking.

Hospitals have neither equipment nor medicines. They are filthy. Cleaning products not available. Nor gloves, saline, antibiotics, painkillers, morphine, and anesthesia.

Operations cannot be performed. Not only because of a lack of what is listed in the preceding paragraph. There is no electric power. Therefore, no air conditioning. The risk of bacterial infection becomes too high to operate.

Cockroaches on every floor and every wall.

There is a sick humor to all this. People are dying. There are no coffins. Cannot be manufactured nor imported. No power, no money.

Chavez hated America. He thought Bush 2 was the devil. Recall his sulfur comment before the United Nations.

Chavez was close friends with Fidel Castro and Raul Castro. As is Maduro.

As Castro blamed the United States for everything for fifty years, Chavez and Maduro blame the United States also. Especially Maduro.

Maduro claims the United States caused Chavez’s cancer colon by secretly infecting him with cancer. He further claims the people are poor and without food because of Americans. Finally, he keeps his people in line by telling them the United States is preparing to invade. Just as Fidel Castro did.

I am not sure why I wrote about Venezuela this week. Is there a message? A lesson to be learned?

It hits home that here has to be a balance between socialism and liberalism. Both are needed in a society. However, Venezuela went to far to the left. Totally.

Beware of crazy leaders? Maduro is on the crazy side. A nut. Weigh your vote heavily in the November election.

What else, I don’t know. I think I wrote this column because it is a tale of sickness and sadness. Everyone should be aware. It could happen anywhere anytime. No nation is immune. Even the United States.

WHAT A FOOD SHORTAGE PORTENDS was originally published on Key West Lou

[stragglewort]

Sightless Through the Underbrush -- A bit of Fantasy Horror

             Illuminated by stubbed candlelight, the good doctor sat over the artifacts of his work. His documents were assembled round his table, hand-drawn diagrams pinned to the fabric walls, dampening – pooling black ink against the canvas of the tent. Otherwise occupied he hadn’t bothered to move them.

       It starts with fever, Ardolf wrote, ink scrawling over the paper, it does nothing to treat the fever but cause other symptoms to worsen. This was something the doctor was all too aware of. An awful nausea had churned in his stomach since before he’d traveled out into the Oxlant woods. He’d tried to keep himself busy enough to ignore it, but he hadn’t had any luck. He’d been holed up for days, quarantining himself away as far from human interaction as he could find (Which seemed normal enough for a researcher or a hermit, though it didn’t exactly help the business of a medical doctor). This was a week he had been dreading since the month shifted – he could keep himself upright before and after, but the days leading up-to were torture.

       Nausea and headaches, body aches – hot and cold spells – the hunger. Those excruciating pangs of appetite that swelled while the days passed. He didn’t understand exactly why the transformation was at its strongest during the full moon, plenty of people had given him folk-lore and tall-tales, family rumors passed down from father to son. Most he’d spoken to assumed that werewolves were the embodiment of the ‘insanity’ brought on by the moon, a lunar sickness.  He hated the name, he hated the whole idea – it was associated with witches, their rituals and spell-casting, how afflicted women would rave away the night of a full moon calling up their demons and imps! He’d treated those women in his career, men, even animals and pets on some occasion. For most of them, he’d decided the best medicine was a quiet room and a warm drink. Some simple comfort to cull the mass hysteria.         Magic was true enough. It was this strange, mystical life that flowed through the veins of the world – but the ritual was almost always for show!

       Too often most couldn’t tell the difference.

       Ardolf had gotten himself as far out into the forest as he deemed necessary  –  out past where anyone of average intent would wander. He’d gotten so far out there weren’t even deer to watch, just the still leaves and chattering echos of insects. It was someplace far from the edge of civilization, the purposeful choice for a man trying to save others from having to suffer him –

        So, it was understandably strange when he heard, from just the corner of his camp, movement.

         After days of nothing but the nightly calm of the forest (at the most crickets and the scathing of beetles), bats or birds making their way through the brush  – this specific movement sounded larger than any prey-like animal. It moved more carefully than any predator. If lycanthropy was good for anything, it certainly sharpened the senses.

        The noise struck him with a nervous, awful feeling he couldn’t quite place.

        His tent was well hidden in the brush, more of an effort against himself that when the moon did come – and he’d transform – he wouldn’t destroy his own things. But he hadn’t put much thought into hiding those things from others. He had assumed there would be no others. But as the sound grew closer it took on a clearly human tone. Footsteps, striding jolts against the soft ground and a mellow dragging. It could’ve been a hunter, though it made no sense for one to be this far out. Course, Ardolf could point out that he was there too – but it would be worrying if another person had come for any of the same reasons. Snuffing his candle, he sat alone as darkness overtook the inside of his tent. Waiting, straining to guess if the sound was human or otherwise. The upside to being so secluded was that he wouldn’t be near anyone he could hurt! The downside being that if something did show up, the closest help was about a day’s journey out through a windingly impossible forest.         The Oxlant was no place for people. 

         This kind of thought he knew was just his nervousness, anxiety mixed with nausea – it could just as easily be someone lost – someone injured, even. Though he knew better than to sit in the dark theorizing.

        His uneasiness tried to keep him in place, but he crept from his stool to the opening of the tent. The canvas panels were clipped together in the middle where he could just barely peer through the slit. The branches that obscured the view of his shelter did just as well obscuring the outside, too. He could see in-between them, barely, though his night vision was substantial it certainly didn’t help him much in the thickened arch of trees. But he did spot the creature he had heard and saw the thing it seemed to be dragging.

        More honestly, creatures. Obscured, hooded figures holding dusty items.

        They strolled through the undergrowth with their heads lowered; walking like they knew their way without sight. In unison a mass of these forms carried forward – a few held what looked like boxes, one dragged something large behind it with a rope slung over its shoulder. Another pulled in front of the horde, holding a beaten lantern. The light bearer held their staff tall, trailing an oil-lit light high on a stick in the same vain as a ferryman or hunting party trying to light a large space. The parade worried him more than he had already felt, the motionlessness of their stride – moving but static – and the tenseness they brought into the air as they passed. He wanted to close his tent and pretend he’d seen nothing. 

        His curiosity gnawed at him, but his common sense pushed to hold it back. It stayed back until his eye caught the form dragged across ground. It bumped, slid, and churned limply over the moss as it was carelessly hauled behind the strangers. Rays of moonlight slid through the overbrush, illuminating the forest in small beams. He squinted, looking closer and in these specks of strained light he saw tattered hands, bound feet, and the barely visible outline of a face. A person, whoever they were, being dragged through the dirt.

        Magic was a true enough thing in this world, but most couldn’t tell the difference between the practical and the ritual. What a strong wizard could do alone in his study – a group of warlocks might dawn their robes, recite their enchantments, and murder an innocent to bring the same effect. Ardolf wasn’t magically savvy, but he was almost afraid he would witness what could be that needless kind of ritual.

        Unclipping the folds of his tent, he pushed onto the moss – watching as the group wandered farther into the trees. He followed to the best of his own ability. The forest floor sunk under his feet, soil and plant life shifted loosely by his weight. It felt like cotton, a moist carpet that coated the ground. Though he had checked the area plenty of times, following these strangers took him out farther than he had ever gone himself. As they wandered, the grass and leaves turned dry and crushed under their feet. He struggled to stay silent, he wasn’t a thief or a rogue, he couldn’t sneak around like them either! He wasn’t confident, but the party paid him no mind every poor step or crushed stick he tripped up over. In the brush all he could hear was a rattling of trinkets, metal on metal from the boxes and lantern, and the tedious digs of a body in dried mud. But the strangers themselves didn’t make a sound. Wherever they set foot it seemed the wildlife faltered around them.

        After days of camping he knew this forest was filled with all the tiny aspects of life: bugs and the crawling things that live where people don’t –

        It didn’t just feel strange how quiet it’d become – it was downright unnatural.         He hid behind trees; moving so slowly he could feel his heartbeat in his chest, hear every breath that left his lungs, with all the focus everything else he had almost overlooked how the forest was getting lighter. Moonlight seeped clearer onto the ground as the strangers floated into an opening. Carting out, the trees cut off abruptly, making way for roughed dirt tampered with splotches of trampled grass, yellowed and dead. It all seemed so brittle, so dry and old, nothing like the cold but vibrant life that flourished in the rest of the Oxlant. He hid behind a horde of bushes, watching while the people slid into the center of the small clearing. Behind them as they went about some business of setting and organizing their boxes, he could see an altar. It was just a few feet from him – rock, stained with browns and reds, a formation built up in an almost organic shape, like it was pulled up from the ground instead of carved from chiseled brick.        The smell hit him first.         It was sour and metallic, the odor of old blood – dried against the rock. He was close enough to see the colors of it, brown tinted stone, layers of a bloody, aging crust topped with something more recent. The stench pulled at him, he hated it, but it churned this gnawing pang of appetite in the pit of his stomach.

       He knew it was a bad idea to put himself in any sort of dangerous situation so close to the full moon. He knew, though it wasn’t the ‘night of’ he would be tormented by the beast’s clawing, whining from freedom, for action. He’d prepared himself to spare the few trees or so that might’ve gotten in his worst half’s way – but he hadn’t prepared for anything like this. He would’ve had to battle with himself to stay quiet if it wasn’t for the jarring scream that bellowed from the party, faltering into the empty woods.

       The bundle they dragged, a woman, had finally woken up.        She shrieked, the sound echoed off the trees and without semblance of hesitation one of the strangers lifted and forced her onto the alter. She fought against them with a mindlessly panicked kind of determination. Ardolf rose, just barely, from the bush. If it were all to go as south as he feared it would, he knew he would never forgive himself if he just sat and watched.

        While the few who surrounded the alter fought to keep her in place, it proved in-vain as her thrashing struck the lantern they had set so close to her face, knocking it onto the ground. Oil scattered over the dirt and flame followed, a monstrous fire flashed over the clearing. Though the light only lasted seconds, the men hissed and hid from the blaze. One of them, in a stilted anger, grabbed the woman by her head and covered her mouth with a scaled, wry, hand. She fought against him, but as his fingers dug and pierced her skin her struggling slowed. Her fight turned weak and the cries that deafened the world faltered as she fell backwards into what might as well have been a coma. Ardolf wasn’t sure what kind of magic or poison he’d just witnessed or what it was for, but he knew for certain this person was alive – and that if he didn’t act, she may not stay in that same state for very much longer.

       The strangers, content their sacrifice was properly taken care of, motioned away from the alter. Some snuffed the flames that remained and the others formed around the boxes they’d set elsewhere.

        With their backs turned, Ardolf crept into the clearing.

        Chattering. Like what he’d been hearing days ago when he entered the Oxlant. It was unnoticeable before, but the closer he came to the men the better he could hear their insectile prattling. Something high-pitched and scathing, scratching, whispering unintelligibly among themselves. Their clamoring cut through the suffocating stillness and ran ice down his spine  – as much as he wished, he couldn’t move any faster. He shifted, as quietly as he could to the alter. The waft of blood and oil sifted into the air – retching up his nostrils – in his stomach came this boiling of disgust. Though the realization hadn’t gone unnoticed that his mouth started to water. Pushing any straying thoughts to the back of his mind, he focused on attempting to grab the woman. With all attention turned away from him, he lifted her from the alter and tried adjusting her weight over his shoulder.

        There wasn’t much to adjust.

        She felt so thin, her papery skin barely felt like flesh, he was afraid if he moved her too much it just might rip. His heartbeat drummed; it overlapped the ambiance so loudly he hadn’t noticed the insectoid chattering go quiet. A shadow, tall and unwavering fell over the structure. He saw the shift in the light and against his neck a moist warmth surpassed the coolness of the forest. He hesitated before turning, finding inches from his own face an abomination.

        Where one should’ve seen another man’s eyes, seen the sockets and bone that normally made up expression – he only saw bulging skin. A translucent, membranous layer coated above pools of oil; sacks of gelatinous fat held in place with grease. Ardolf was thankful he’d been born strong-willed, otherwise he was certain he might’ve fainted. He was already almost there. In the sockets of its face, murky blacks and blues swam under the transparent skin. There were no pupils, no irises, no whites, but the eyes themselves – the things that overtook the creature’s face weren’t hollow. Instead, he found himself staring into two bulging pockets swollen with liquid – a viscous solution that filled a sack.

        Not just as a medical man or man of science and research, but as a human being in a world where daily he saw the outcomes of magic in man and beast alike – Ardolf had never seen a creature like that.

        He didn’t move, didn’t breathe with the thing just inches from his face. He’d assumed they were men when he saw them from his tent covered by the hoods and the dark. But they weren’t even close to human – at least they weren’t anymore. He could see where there were once cheekbones and the markings of a mouth, grown over by the translucent skin that held the everything in its proper place.

        In his stomach churned the same painful lycanthropic gnawing – it shifted up his organs – a surge of primal horror that threatened his composure. He knew that if he were to turn, his options of escape of would be limited. The most hopeful of these was the thought of tearing the creatures into shreds of grease and bone, somehow convincing himself to turn back to a man, and escaping with the woman. But even with his optimism Ardolf knew how impossible that would be – what was the use of putting in danger the exact person he had come to help?

        It would have been stupid.         It was stupid.

[buoyantsaturn]

Be The Very Best (Epilogue)

to: @elibeeli mercy crisis ily!!!

summary: it’s the long awaited sequel to that pokemon fic i wrote like 6 months ago!!

word count: 2,772

read on ao3

“Dartrix, solar beam!”

“Happy, use hyper beam!”

Both pokemon released powerful beams of light at their opponents, colliding in the center of the battlefield with a blinding flash and booming explosion. Will shielded his eyes from the light and held his breath to keep from breathing in the sudden dust rising in the air. As the dust cloud settled over the battlefield, Will looked out at his pokemon to continue the battle, but gasped at the sight of both his blissey and Nico’s dartrix collapsing from overexertion. 

“Both pokemon are unable to battle!” the referee called. “Both trainers are out of usable pokemon, which means...this battle ends in...a tie? No one has ever tied with the champion before! There’s no protocol for this!”

Will ignored the ref as he tried to get his attention - all he could focus on was Nico across the battlefield, returning dartrix to his pokeball with the stiff movements of a broken heart. Will felt his chest constricting at the sight. He had made Nico look like that, so devastated despite neither winning or losing.

Nico turned to leave, and Will jumped into motion. “Nico, wait!” he called out, running across the field to stop him. “You don’t have to leave! You didn’t lose! We can battle again, please!”

Nico stopped in place but didn’t turn to face Will. “That was a pretty good trick you pulled, surprising me like that, but it won’t get me next time. Consider this one a win for yourself. I’ll be back.”

“Nico, please! I don’t want you to leave! We can have a rematch, as soon as both of our pokemon have had a chance to rest. Just come with me, we can all rest here, and you and I can talk, okay?”

Nico’s shoulders tensed. “I need to train. On my own.”

“Just...hang on, for one more second,” Will pleaded, and fished around in the medicine pouch on his belt for a pen and a piece of paper, then scribbled out an address. He pressed the paper into Nico’s hand. “When you’re ready, you can find me there.”

Nico pulled his hand out of Will’s and started walking away from him. 

“Please come back to me,” Will whispered, his eyes welling up with tears. 

He watched as Nico left the chamber, then turned away to wipe at his eyes. He left through the back entrance, which led to the champion’s private room in the Pokemon Center. Being champion didn’t mean his pokemon were any more a priority than anybody else’s, but at least the separate room gave him the privacy to wallow in his sadness - he had the feeling that, somewhere else in the Pokemon Center, Nico was doing the same thing.

One by one, Will’s pokemon returned to him, curling up against his sides or on his lap in an attempt to comfort him. He stroked one hand down sylveon’s back and sighed. “I really messed everything up, huh?”

After allowing his pokemon to rest in the Pokemon Center overnight - though unable to get any rest himself - Nico battled his way back to the base of Mount Lanakila, training his pokemon and evolving his dartrix into a decidueye. He stopped for another rest at the Pokemon Center outside of Tapu Village, then made his way back up through Victory Road to continue training. Once he’d evolved each of his pokemon to their strongest forms, Nico took his pokemon to a rocky cliffside away from the few other trainers at the top of the mountain. 

He brought each of his pokemon out of their pokeballs and stood in front of them. “It’s time for our rematch against Will. You’re all stronger now, and he won’t be able to trick us again like he did last time. We’re going to destroy him, and all of his pokemon, and then I’ll finally be the champion!”

Nico’s pokemon glanced at each other uneasily.

“I know his pokemon are your friends, but that doesn’t mean you can go easy on them,” Nico continued. “They won’t go easy on you, so you have to give it your all. I need you to use all of your power, and prove to me you can be as strong as I need you to be, so show me what you can do. Hit me!”

Decidueye squawked in protest, but Nico glared right back. 

“Come on! Attack me, right now! Gengar, use shadow ball! Marowak, will-o-wisp!”

Gengar and marowak started charging up their attacks to full power, but a harsh look from decidueye had them hesitating, and their attacks barely grazed Nico. “No! I know you can do better than that!” Nico shouted. He tapped the Z-Ring on his wrist and moved to power it up, then looked decidueye dead in the eyes as he called out, “Decidueye, use never-ending nightmare!”

Decidueye bristled and squawked, glaring back at Nico and spreading his wings to appear bigger and more threatening. Suddenly, the mountaintop grew dark, as though something had moved to block out the sun. The ground around decidueye turned black and started to bubble, and decidueye appeared to melt into the shadows. Around Nico, everything disappeared until he found himself standing in a dark void.

The ground beneath his feet began to rumble, and a giant, shadowy hand burst from the ground, towering over him. Another hand appeared at his side, then another in front, another behind, more and more until Nico was completely surrounded, and each giant hand reached out for him, covering him, consuming him. 

Nico screamed, and when he opened his eyes, he was curled up on the ground, knees to his chest and arms covering his head. He screamed until he ran out of air, and flinched when something brushed against his arm. He looked up, gulping down lungfuls of air, and saw mimikyu standing in front of him, her small, true eyes looking over him with concern.

Nico sat up and took in the concern from the rest of his pokemon.

“Let’s keep going.”

When the Pokemon League was built, the Island Kahunas also built a private residence for the champion on the side of the mountain. Will moved into this house when he became champion, though he rarely spent any time there as he was usually traveling between the islands and training. Recently, however, he had spent the last week or so locked up in his house with only his pokemon to keep him company as he mourned his ruined relationship.

There was a knock on his door, and Will groaned at the thought of one of the Pokemon League workers appearing to inform him of another challenger. Will rose from the couch, dislodging all of his pokemon except for komala who clung to his leg even as he walked across the room to the door. 

He opened the door with a heavy sigh, but when he saw Nico on the other side, his heart did a backflip. He was torn between feeling relieved at Nico’s return, and concerned by Nico’s current state. He looked horrible - he was pale, with dark bags under his eyes, and he was leaning heavily against the doorframe, looking like he might collapse at any second. 

Will wanted to reach out for him, but he hesitated with his hand held out between them. “Nico?”

“I’m here for my rematch,” he rasped.

Will frowned, and this time he did reach out for Nico. “Okay, come inside and I’ll--”

“No!” Nico snapped, and moved away from Will’s grasp, stumbling back a few steps before righting himself and returning to his lean against the doorframe. “Don’t touch me!”

“Nico, you look like you haven’t slept in days,” Will argued. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Nico snarled, baring his teeth and looking like he was some kind of feral animal. “Just battle me so I can prove you wrong and become the champion.”

“Prove me wrong…? Nico, please, just come inside and take a seat. I want to talk to you before we battle, okay? I swear, I didn’t mean to lie to you for so long, but--”

“I don’t want to talk!” Nico screamed, and pushed himself off the doorframe to stand on his own. He didn’t last long, wobbling on his feet almost immediately as one of his pokeballs opened on his belt and decidueye appeared behind him. He gave Nico a gentle push forward, and Nico fell into Will’s arms, unconscious.

Will looked to decidueye in a panic. “Is he okay?”

Decidueye shook his head.

Will took a deep breath and scooped Nico into his arms. He carried him into the house, taking him to the bedroom and setting him gently on the bed. He took Nico’s pokeballs from his belt before covering him with a blanket, and closed the door behind him when he left the room.

He brought out each of Nico’s pokemon to look them over, afraid at first that Nico may have been neglecting them for the last week, though when they all appeared healthy and happy to see him, Will realized that Nico had just been neglecting himself.

Nico felt himself choking on the darkness that consumed him, and his eyes snapped open. The room around him was dark, but no so much so that Nico couldn’t see the bed he laid on or the outlines of posters on the walls. He had no idea where he was, and didn’t even remember anything after being hit with decidueye’s never-ending nightmare, so he sat up and looked around. A quick peek over the side of the bed told him almost everything he needed to know - Will was asleep on the floor, his hand stretched out toward Nico.

Nico felt his chest constricting at the sight. He stretched his arm out hesitantly, like he was afraid Will would pull away from him despite being asleep, and curled his fingers around Will’s. He held on to Will’s hand as he lowered his head back down to the pillow and fell back asleep.

When he woke up again, his hand was empty, and sunlight was streaming in through the windows. He slipped out of bed and left the room, and found an empty house before him. He wandered around for a few moments until a glance out a window showed a few of his pokemon playing outside - it made sense; drifloon was probably too big to fit inside the house comfortably.

He approached the sliding glass door that led outside, and exited the house as quietly as he could. Nico spotted each of his pokemon, as well as all of Will’s, and his heart stopped when he saw Will laughing and playing along with the pokemon.

“I can’t believe how big you’ve all gotten!” Will commented right before palossand tackled him to the ground.

Nico was too distracted by the sight to notice Will’s bewear sneaking up beside him until he was being lifted off the ground. “Hey, put me down!” Nico exclaimed, and struggled against bewear’s hold as he carried Nico toward the rest of the group. 

Bewear sat down on the grass and held Nico in his lap like a teddy bear, and the rest of Will’s pokemon soon came bounding over to greet him. Nico couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on his face as ribombee settled on Nico’s head. “Yeah, uh huh, I missed all of you, too,” Nico said, feigning annoyance. 

He looked between each of the pokemon, and his eyes drifted toward Will, who was watching him with a sad look on his face, and Nico dropped his gaze. He felt a wave of guilt washing over himself as he thought of how childish he had been, and how he’d most likely ruined his relationship with Will over a single battle. 

“I missed you too, you know,” Will said softly, and Nico tensed, afraid to look up at him.

“I-- Yeah, me too.”

“How are you feeling?” Will asked. Nico wished he would just skip over the small talk and break up with him already instead of making Nico wait for it. When Nico didn’t immediately answer, Will continued, “You were pretty out of it when you got here. I’m kind of surprised you managed to find this place in that state.”

Sylveon crawled into Nico’s lap and started butting her head against Nico’s palm until he started petting her. “I’m fine,” Nico told him. “I’m still angry with you.”

Will sighed, and pulled his knees to his chest. “I know. I’m sorry I never told you. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, and then I felt like it was too late. I never meant to trick you, or psych you out during the battle - that wasn’t some strategy of mine, or anything like that. I want you to win, you know? Because you deserve it more than I do, but I still have to put up a good fight or else it wouldn’t be fair, right?”

Nico nodded. “I do still want my rematch...if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Will snorted. “Oh, I know you do. You made that very clear when you showed up here yesterday, but I couldn’t let you fight when you weren’t in your right mind. I would’ve have battled you until we talked, anyway, so that I could, you know…” Will ducked his head, suddenly very interested in the grass beneath him and looking almost embarrassed as he continued, “hopefully apologize until you’re not mad at me anymore, and then maybe you would...take me back?”

Nico’s head snapped up in surprise. “You still want to be with me?”

Will scratched the back of his neck in discomfort. “Of course I do, I lo--hmm. I like you, like, a lot, and I know I messed up, but I promise you, no more lies, no more secrets.” He took a deep breath. “So? What do you say, will you take me back?”

Nico frowned. “Of course I will! I thought you wouldn’t want me back after I acted like a child when I lost!”

“But you didn’t lose,” Will reminded him, rising to his feet. “We tied, remember? And if we tied when you were distracted - again, my fault, sorry - then there’s no doubt you’ll win next time!” He stepped toward him, holding a hand out to Nico. “So? Ready for your rematch?” Will grinned and wiggled his fingers. “I’ll even let you skip past the elite four to battle me again.”

Nico smiled and took his hand. “Yeah. But breakfast first.”

Nico and Will met at the center of the battlefield, shaking hands once before Will pulled him forward and met Nico’s lips for a kiss.

“Good luck,” he said softly, smiling down at his boyfriend.

Nico smiled back. “Right back at you.”

They took their places at opposite ends of the field and revealed their first pokemon as the referee called the start of the battle.

One by one, Nico and Will took down each other’s pokemon until they were each down to their last of six - Nico’s marowak and Will’s bewear. As their fire spin and takedown collided in the center of the battlefield, both pokemon were thrown backwards.

“Marowak and bewear are both unable to battle,” the referee announced. “Once again, both trainers are out of usable pokemon, and this battle ends in a tie!”

Nico returned marowak to her pokeball and fell to his knees, cradling the pokeball to his chest. “Not again,” he whispered, trying to keep his emotions from getting the best of him once again.

He looked up just in time to see Will dropping to his knees in front of him, sliding a bit on the ground and reaching up to cradle Nico’s face in his hands. “I have an idea!” Will announced, a bright smile on his face. “Clearly we’re both evenly matched, right? And we know we work well as a team--”

“What are you getting at, Will?”

“Co-champions,” Will said, resting his forehead against Nico’s. “There are gyms in other regions that have co-leaders who fight double battles. Why can’t we have a championship double battle here?”

“Co-champions?” Nico repeated.

Will’s bright smile started to fade. “If you need time to think about it, that’s okay--”

“No, I want to! That sounds perfect, Will. We can stay here together, train together…” His heart flipped in his chest as he realized something. “We’ll live here together. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” 

“It sounds amazing,” Will told him, and pressed his lips to Nico’s. “C’mon. Let’s go heal up our pokemon, and then we can head home.”

thanks for reading!!

buy me a coffee

[kzspbrak]

story time! you said you wanted a story in ur inbox so i wrote out on of my favorite little tales i was told as a child but i can't remember it perfectly and also i just wrote this as fast as possible so god knows it needs editing that i'm too lazy to do rn lmao. anyway, here is the story of the happy prince.

there once was a prince who lived within the castle at all times. he ran and played in the gardens day after day, never without a smile. the happy prince loved everything about life and his friends and family. sadly, the happy prince met his demise at the young age of only 10 years old. in memory, the townspeople put up a large statue made of gold on he highest hill in the city. the statue was gorgeous, over 10 feel y'all so it could overlook the entire kingdom with his eyes made of emeralds. he stood leaning with a golden sword with a ruby in the hilt.

one day in late fall, a swallow looked all over the kingdom for her friends. they were supposed to go south for the winter, but they must have left without her! the sun was beginning to fade so she decided it best to rest in the kingdom one more day before beginning her journey to a warmer country. she laid down right in between the happy princes feet, puffed up her feathers, and began to drift off. before long, a drop of water hit her head. she looked up to see clear skies with no clouds anywhere to be seen. another hit her. she flew up to the princes shoulder in order to get a better view. they she saw that they were water drops at all! they were the years of the young prince. "my dear prince! why are you crying?" she cripped. the prince replied "i am the happy prince because i was happy when i was living. i grew up in a castle, never aware of the poverty and sadness the townspeople dealt with. even tough my heart is now many of lead and no longer beats, it still breaks for them." the swallow almost began to cry just at his words. "my prince, i am so sorry!" "i want to help them, but i'm forever stationary here. will you do me a favor?" "of course, but i must be off by sunset." "it won't take long, i promise. i can see a young mother in a small hut through her open window. her face is sunken in and her hair is falling out. her young baby sits, crying with a fever. she had no money for food or medicine. if i do not help, the child will surely die. please, take the ruby from my sword and deliver it to her." without hesitation, the swallow pecked at the ruby until it come out of its place and headed into the city. she found the mother asleep at her working desk and the baby crying to the side of her. she swallow gently placed the ruby next to the woman for her to see when she wakes. the woman awoke soon after the bird had flown away and began weeping tears of joy and thanking the heavens. the prince smiled for the first time since his death. "thank you for helping." he said.

the next morning, the swallow woke up later than usual. "good morning, swallow" said the prince. "good morning, prince" responded the swallow as she stretched her wings, about to take flight. "swallow! oh dear swallow, can't you stay another night?" "i need to migrate to warmer countries. i need to find my family and friends." "far away on the other side of town i see a young man in a small attic, writing furiously. he's an author and he's trying to finish his new book, but he has no wood to burn or food to eat. i want to help him. my eyes are made from emerald. i want you to bring one to him." the swallow relented and stayed one more night o help the starving author. she pecked at his left eye until the gem came out and flew across the city to find the writer. he didn't hear the bird fly in and drop the stone on the table behind him. when he turned, he jumped to his feet with joy, believing it had been given to him from a fan of his writing. the swallow made her way back to the prince.

"i have come to say goodbye." "dear swallow, can't you stay one more night?" "my prince, it is almost winter. i must leave. i will freeze to death if i do not go." "please, swallow, this is one more favor i ask of you. there is a girl. she was sent out by her father to sell matches for money, but she has dropped the matches into a puddle of water and they are now all ruined! her father will beat her and the whole family will go to bed hungry without the profits. please, swallow, take my right eye and bring it to her." the swallow nodded. "i'll stay one more night, but i can not take out your other eye! you won't be able to see!" "it hurts me more to have to sit here and watch the suffering of this city. i don't want to see their sadness anymore. please do as I say. take away my sight." so she did. she flew next to the girl and dropped the emerald into the girls hand. "what a pretty piece of glass! i must show papa!" exclaimed the little girl before she ran out giggling with joy.

The swallow cake back and perched on the princes shoulder once more. "i assume you are leaving now" said the prince. "i've decided to stay here and be your eyes." the prince asked her fly around the town and tell him off of what was happening. she saw homeless people desperately trying to light a fire in an alley way while rich people were throwing a party. she saw the weak faces of starving children. benieth a bridge, sat two boys, curling into each other trying to keep warm. she told all her findings to the prince with a tear in her eye. "i am made of gold. peel me away piece by piece and take it to the poor. people think gold is what makes you happy, but it's not. to be happy is to be healthy and content. the swallow did as she was told until the prince looked week and miserable. the delivered the pieces of gold to all the poor in the kingdom. meanwhile, it had began to snow. every night, the swallow peeled off more and more of the prince and help d those on the streets until there was no more left.

the poor swallow was freezing but she didn't want to leave the prince alone. she loved him. she used the last of her strength to get to the princes shoulder. "good bye, my dear prince." "so you've decided to leave for the warmer countries after all?" the swallow couldn't bring herself to tell him where she was going, so she kissed his cheek and fell on the ground next to him. at the moment, a large crack was hear all around them. it was the lead heart of the prince breaking.

in the morning, the people began to surround the prince in amazement. they saw his weak outlines, no longer strong and reinforced with gold. next, they saw the lifeless bird laying next to him. everyone looked so sad until a voice was heard in the crowd. it was the writer! "i understand now. they sacrificed themselves for us. me for my emerald and you for your gold. they sacrificed themselves for our happiness. so go! be happy! do not let sadness overtake you! don't let them die in vain! they had the two most pure hearts in all the kingdom and forever it shall stay that way."

[deathlygristly]

Re: the scars reblog, I am looking at my hand where the scar from a cat scratch when I was....9, I think...was.

I can kind of see the outline of it still if I look very carefully, so it wasn’t completely accurate to say that it’s healed. But it is much less noticeable than it used to be.

And yes, my brain screams at me a LOT if I leave up information that isn’t totally accurate and true, so to stop the screaming I had to post this.

Which makes the weird fantasies some of the people in the Sims community have about me very very odd, and also that was a big help in realizing that I didn’t have to care about their opinions and that I could put up boundaries and stop fawning. Because if you’re off somewhere babbling about how I have all these other blogs with different names and that I’m posing as someone who doesn’t use capital letters and punctuation, then yeah, you have absolutely no idea who I actually am as a person at all.

Oh, also, about the baseball one - my company was doing a tour of the local minor league baseball stadium, and they let us try out their pitching machines. The ball got me on my thumb.

Someone else also got hit by a ball, and the tour guide took us both to the first aid place. She commented on how I was all stoic while the other person had been crying. It was either a few months or a little over a year after the ulcer I think, so I was like lol this is tiny pain. This pain is like a pain blastocyst compared to the ulcer pain, which was like...I don’t know, the size of an infinite pain monster that took up all the space that is available to existence.

I should repost the poems I wrote in the weeks before it got so bad that I just sat in the death chair, all gray-faced and completely still.

After the baseball incident, the spousal person seemed to be amused when I would hold out my thumb and tell him to “do medicine to it” ie put Neosporin on it and change the bandaid.

[tellcardtowrite]

stages of writing

1. Beginner

everything is scary

what is character?

development how?

exposition is scary 

i’ve read every writing advice thing i can find

how is this story only 2 thousand words?  i worked on it for five days.  it feels like a novel!  

honestly what else can you put into a story?  I’VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN. 

please help, please tell me if anything is right

ok, if its wrong, that’s ok. we all need constructive criticism to grow.  i’ll just be crying over here, over my keyboard, but it’s ok.  thank you for your honesty.  it’s fine

2. GOD MODE

i created it and i’m going to make it fucking suffer

“moderation” for fucking losers

i made this name up by taking the first letter of every ingredient listed on the cereal i was eating when i created the character.  meet: Csobpsrynzyytrboft.  For short we call her Bunny.

why are all my characters fucking beautiful?  because i like to start with a perfect canvas before i fuck them up

Bunny is the single most powerful thing ever created ever.  she can literally control time and move mountains and heal and--

everyone is fucking everyone else

and nobody is happy

fuck you, the human condition is agony

its not real writing if you leave it feeling good about yourself

comedy is the lowest form of art

I JUST WANT TO MAKE EVERYONE CRY

i took away Bunny’s powers to teach her a fucking lesson.

meet Mott, that’s a brand name of the applesauce I was buying when I thought him up.

Mott is here to fuck you up.  Mott is older than time.  Mott is all powerful.  Mott is so powerful he makes Bunny look like a toddler.  Mott is no hero, he’s uncontrollable chaos

but Mott has a soft side too, he’s really just a gentle, misunderstood abusive ex-boyfriend who only wants everyone in the world to do exactly what he wants

oh and Mott is hilarous

setting?  fuck it

dialogue: NON STOP WIT.  ONE LINERS.  EVERYONE IS TALKING, NOBODY IS SAYING ANYTHING

“Write what you know” bitch I think not.  

“all the stories in the world have already been written” motherfucker, you’ve never read mine!

Grammar?  that’s for bitches that care.  Watch me split a fucking infinitive into splinters.  I’m here to burn this industry down.

oh ho ho you thought Mott was badass, well meet T’pmg.  It’s named after some mail on my desk and it makes Mott look like a elderly man doing a puzzle.  T’Pmg is going to literally kill everyone.  Or marry Bunny

L O V E T R I A N G L E S 

and you can take your unhelpful, jealous constructive criticism and shove it right up your ass because I’m 704% better than any published author in the history of authors.

also how about you learn how to read, reviewers?  how about you take a look again and realize that LITERALLY NOTHING has ever been this level of perfection.  lol readers are all stupid.  you have to like, literally tell them how to think.  lol.

3. Experimental

rational thought begins to return; but is immediately dismissed again

exposition really is the bane of all writers so how about instead of me telling you anything about what’s happening I’ll just go ahead and drop you literally in the middle of a war zone and you’ll just have to figure it out.  never mind even people in the middle of high stress environments think about why they are there and how to get out, this character thinks non-stop about flowers and his Mom.  good luck figuring out what the fuck this story is about

i wrote six of these scenes five years ago and the other 12 last night.  sure they don’t match in tone or story or make sense together but this is ART.

i wrote this entire novel in rhyming couplets

everyone is special, unique and useful

i have rediscovered that sometimes there is sunshine, and also that physical comedy is hard to translate into writing so instead i just decided to give my main character a pet that is actually an Octopus that ate 3/4ths of a vacuum before it got stuck.  the octopus is alive and the vacuum functions despite how this is Impossible(tm) so fuck you

Meet my protagonist his name is Pork and he is Quirky, not for any particular reason, but because I wanted him to be.  Basically he’s well-liked, rich, skilled, handsome, and destined to save mankind if he can just manage to walk in a straight line without falling over some plot hole or another.

spoiler alert: he can’t~

it was two hours after midnight i wrote this by candlelight its called stream of consciousness and flowers are beautiful i never got any flowers when i was dating but you know i really did like sending them and thats whats wrong with the world today punctuation would have been good right here but fuck periods and question marks because really punctuation is actually hold back all authors imagine what we could do if we were allowed to simply write and write and write and you know what i never did learn a single damn thing from a writing advice book because they are all aimed at getting everyone to fall into the status quo and i am FINALLY FREE

if you were ever going to write tentacle porn, this is that time.  go ahead, write your weird, physically improbable porn and enjoy it.

I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED TO KNOW THAT YOU WERE THIS HOT FOR TENTACLES, RANDOM READER, BUT LETS TALK ABOUT YOUR KINK FOR LIKE 30 MINUTES A DAY BECAUSE WE CAN.

4. the rut

what is the point?

this is stupid

i don’t need this in my life

i’ll just day dream about my favorite characters and that’s all i need

words on paper?  that’s so bleh

blech

yuck

and exposition?  still sucks.  so i’ll be over here building an overly complicated, but beautiful detailed world in which to place my precious characters and they’ll be safe there.

nobody leaves reviews on my stuff so why do i bother

5. The Professional

actually, Timothy, if you don’t follow the 9,872,203,293 rules of writing outlined in this comprehensive About Writing Advice Manual that I found in the back of the library than you can’t consider yourself an Author.

that’s what I am, an Author.

a writer is what you call someone how is just doing it for fun.  I’m not doing this for fun, Timothy, I’m here to get Published.  I’m here to get on the New York Times bestseller list.  i’m here to polarize the writing industry with my hard-hitting, insightful novel about the perils of life in these modern times

so, TIM-BO, if you don’t want to follow the rules, if you don’t want to appreciate the work that goes into being an A U T H O R, if you aren’t willing to literally sell your soul to the DEVIL then you shouldn’t be in this writing group.

this writing group is for AUTHORS, TIMBO

and fanfiction?  not writing

children’s books?  not writing

YA Novels?  not writing?

i would literally wipe my ass with all of those.  because they’re shit.

lol, why can’t readers understand anything?  lol.  LEAVE ME NOTES.  

6.  Parent of Six 

yeah I had a story I think

look under the couch?  no not that couch, the other one.  

i mean you can’t escape exposition.  imagine the first day of school, now imagine it without all the teachers passing out a syllabus and telling you about themselves and how you have to turn your homework in on time.  you can’t.  imagine getting hired to a job but nobody tells you where to clock in or what to do so you’re just wearing the smock and wandering the aisles trying to look like you should get paid maybe.

the trick to writing is waiting as long as possible to get started.  that’s the secret.  there’s no other secret.  I tried everything, just put it off until you can’t put it off another minute

yeah this is Bunny.  she used to be a super powerful magical girl but now she’s just trying to figure out how to make potions and doing her best.

i used to write tentacle porn, you know?  i used to be wild.

now i’m up at 2 am googling what time period used cauldrons and wore pointed hats because my alternate-earth story needs to make sense 

i was going to give Bunny a love interest but now I think i’m going to give her a love adversary, as in this asshole won’t leave her alone while she’s trying to get shit done.

seriously Mott.  Bunny doesn’t love you.  she’s in a semi-committed relationship with her best girl friend Tippy.

I should probably make these names make more sense.  honestly fuck it

i wrote six thousand words yesterday but i had taken cold medicine so about four thousand of those words aren’t any recognizable language

thank you for reading.  i’d happily explain my every exact thought on writing if you asked.  seriously.