#The way this man broke through my art block

[ekk0klo]

"One eye on the clock one eye on the mirror"

#this took so long to make #he is everything to me #The way this man broke through my art block #EKKOdraws #My art #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #Hazbin hotel

[palmofafreezinghand]

Aww, I miss you, lovely! I've been gone for a minute myself. Give me something sweet with Edward and Esme, or maybe Esme's pov of the Ephraim confrontation 💕

Thank you for the prompt! I miss you too, I hope you're doing well 💖

2007. 

After months of chaos, dozens of strangers in her house, and the ever constant threat of death looming over her family’s head Esme was savoring the first quiet moments back in her studio. No sooner had she laid a rough underpainting when a familiar footfall made its way down the hall and eventually stopped in front of her door. 

He did not knock, he never did, but instead walked into the room as if it was his own. He slumped into the loveseat — too big for the room but a requirement of him and his father —  slinging his legs over the armrest. 

“I’ve missed you,” Edward sighed. 

She raised her brow, eyes focused on her canvas.  ‘I do not believe I went anywhere.’ 

“I can not hear you,” he said, tapping his temple. “Bella,” he smiled like a fool whenever he said her name, “is practicing her restraint, she wanted to test blocking the voice I know the best.” 

“Is that not Carlisle?” She asked, noting how the shuffling of papers downstairs halted when she mentioned his name. Nosy or besotted, she was unsure which. 

“It appears I know what he is going to think before he does.” 

Her eyes rolled before she could think better of it. The two were too similar for their own good. 

“So I am second fiddle,” she said, attempting to feign annoyance. She knew better than to tease him, but he made it far too easy. 

“Think of it as you’re the person I know better than almost anyone else in the world.” 

“Mhm.” 

They fell into comfortable silence. Edward began leafing through a decade old copy of Architect Digest. Esme began mixing her color palette, something light and peaceful, a slow introduction back to painting. She would not let her art get tainted by the turbulence, the fear, the anger… 

“You truly can’t hear my thoughts?” 

“No.” 

‘You can not hear this?’ 

“If you are asking me if I can hear you the answer is no.” 

‘How did you know what I was asking?’ 

“I know you, Esme,” he grinned, that knowing smile he had worn since the day they met eighty years prior. 

She set down her palette and turned on her stool to look at him fully. ‘I enjoy jazz.’ His face did not change. She narrowed her eyes. ‘I think that sleeveless shirt you wear is ridiculous.’ Nothing. ‘Carlisle and I were the ones who broke your baby grand in 1948, we let Emmett take the blame.’ That clinched it. This revelation would have caused a civil war in their house, and yet nothing. Besides a slightly amused smile. 

“You can’t hear me,” she breathed. 

“You are too stubborn for your own good.” 

She scoffed, he beamed. “I am the stubborn one!” 

“Your husband is close behind.” 

“This is rich,” she laughed to herself. 

It was an odd feeling, being completely alone in her own brain while he was sitting across from her. The only time her brain had ever belonged to her alone were years she wished to never relive. She could think of anything at all. 

The latest bodice ripper she was reading. 

Their fight of 1927. 

The whispered sweet nothings Carlisle said in the privacy of their bedroom. Or his office. Or most recently the garden shed. 

“Please, stop thinking of Carlisle in the nude,” Edward groaned lightheartedly. 

“You said you couldn’t hear me!” 

“I can see your face,” he grimaced. 

“You are such a prude for a man who’s had a child,” she laughed, unable to deny his accusation. 

She returned her attention back to her paints, letting her thoughts roam, now with a few restrictions. 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me a man,” Edward said quietly after a minute or two. 

“No it isn’t.” The palette knife cut a dollop of prussian blue, then crimson, mixing the two in a pool of titanium white, mix. 

“Yes,” he nodded, “it is.” 

The three colors were now a well blended lavender. “I… it is not the… I feel as if… I must have thought it before…if not…” 

As she tried to formulate her thoughts, it dawned on her that in eighty six years she had never had to tell him how she felt, about anything. He had always known, was constantly piecing together her thoughts before she did. How was the first time she was expected to verbalize her feelings now? Was she supposed to tell him how much fatherhood had changed him, had fundamentally changed their relationship, how she could never view him as she once did?

Crimson, cadmium yellow slapped onto the palette with a smidgen too much force, six parts titanium white. 

“I know, Esme. We don’t have to do this, I know.” 

‘Thank you,’ she thought. She knew he couldn’t hear her. Yet something by the way he smiled and nodded, turning his attention back to the article he had read dozens of times before, told her maybe he just knew.

#edward cullen #esme cullen #my stories #thank you for the prompt sorry this isn't pure sweetness but every time i tried to write just them this conversation kept bugging me

[the-fiction-witch]

I know who you are...

Media The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet + Spooky

The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson! Yes you read that right, this concept I saw on posted by this amazing angel @afirewiel (Original Post) I fell in love with this concept immediately, thank you so much for letting me do this! I hope you guys all like it!!

The Night hung low over London, with thick storm clouds blocking out the stars, snow fluttering down from the clouds settled on the dirty streets. The light danced across the cobblestones as it flooded out the windows of the local pub that sat beside the river Thames,  within the pub people danced, drank and laughed unaware of what was occurring outside of it. Just out of sight down an undersized alley littered with boxes and broken bottles, stood a woman.

She was youthful with a head of light brown straggly hair, her face dirty, her body small and sunken, bound tight in many grey layers. She had a tattoo across her arm a mark known to many police officers that meant she had been caught for prostitution and let go so they knew if she was found again she would be hung. But that was not the most notable thing about her. 

That was the baby swaddled in her arms in a damp old cloth, the baby cried and whined from the cold and the dark. The baby couldn't have been any older than a few days, two weeks if it was a day. She held the child close to her as she watched people pass her by. 

Once the coast was clear, she began slow steps out of the alley crossing the snowy cobblestones with her bare feet towards the river. She seemed frightened but strong as if fighting her emotions back. She reached the edge of the stone pathway and gazed down for a moment at the dark murky water below. As she looked she broke a moment and let out a whine of sadness before she fixed herself again. 

She took a step back and lowered herself to her knees, she set down the baby in its swaddled blanket and unwrapped the cover exposing the naked baby boy to the cold, he whined and cried louder at the cold, he seemed desperate for her comfort but she would not give it. 

She wiped away a tear "I am so sorry my darling," She kissed his little head before she got to her feet, she pulled up her hood concealing her face before she scampered away and disappeared into the night. 

The boy's cry filled the air and echoed through a hollow London on this cold snowy night. His little body shivered, but all of this was hidden by the dark, the falling snow and the loud pub. 

A gentle sound began to be heard, that of water shifting and moving as if something was making its way out of the murky depths. A hand came over the stone as a creature human at its highest and serpent at its lowest slithered out of the water and climbed the stone, hair slimy and snakeskin-like, it sniffled the child and looked joyous which only caused the baby to cry more frightened of this creature. The Scylla wrapped its snake-like tail around the child and tried to drag it back to the water with her -

Suddenly the door to the pub opened, and light flooded out, The Scylla panicked abandoned the child and slithered back into the water to prevent discovery. 

The man staggered out drunk as a mule, Beer bottle in hand. He was dirty, and grimy, perhaps his late twenties or early thirties but he seemed far older, "Alright Alright, you bastardly lot!" He cheered to those who remained inside before he shut the door. He began to walk and sip his beer as he went but he stopped as he heard the baby's cries. He staggered over only just avoiding a fall into the river himself kneeling at the baby's feet. "'ello there... what are you doin' out here then?" He asked as he looked at the child, he seemed to fight a war in his head before he looked to the murky river. He sighed and looked to the clouded sky, "Alright, I knows it. I ain't apologizin' because we both know I'd do it again tomorrow. and it's you who give me this nature so... its as much your issue as it is mine." He said, Before he wrapped the boy up in the swaddle and lifted him up in his arms which seemed to silence the boy, "I've done some terrible awful in this life, but I'm askin' humble like... Watch over this one." He said to the clouds before he turned his attention back to the little boy, "Come on then, let's get you warm." he said as he took the baby with him to an old battered attic where many boys slept, and a woman sat working on some sewing. In a moth-eaten dress with a mess of red hair. 

"What ya got there Fagin?"

"Found him, Down by old Jack's," He said as he handed her the baby,

"What just laid there?" She asked as she cradled the boy, 

"Yep, laid in the snow." He said, as he went and sat on his bed,

"Why would anyone do that to such a sweet little boy?" She asked slowly as she let the baby sleep on her, 

"He was by the water Nancy." He said fear in his voice,

She seemed taken aback by those words as if they froze her more than any snow could. "Well, then he's a very lucky boy you found him." She nodded, "I take it no name or note then?"

"Course not."

"well... What do we call him then?"

"Baby."

"Fagin." She glared, "He was outside Old Jack's pub?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll call him Jack then." She said,

"Jack What?"

"I don't know."

"He was close to the dock? Dockson? Dockland? Dockins?"

"You can't call a kid Dockins,"

"Well, you think him up a name you're so smart,"

"...Humm, Dawkins?"

"Jack Dawkins, Alright." He nodded, "come on let's get some damn sleep." he said almost immediately he passed out leaving Nancy alone with Jack, 

"You're a very lucky boy Jack, luckier than most. I wonder who your father was..." She muttered, 

I finished up my work for the day and headed up to my room with a yawn, as soon as I opened the door I saw Fagin as he tried to make a break for it out my window.

"Are you breaking out?" I asked him,

"Just tryin' to scope the place out, get a feel for it."

"You know where on the second floor?"

"Yes, I realise that now." He sighed, "That's why I'm tryna get back in." 

"Well go on then," 

"I think my back's seized up, my hip, maybe my knee." He said sheepishly, "Alright, you try bein' in irons for four months, let's see how limber you are."

I rolled my eyes and helped him back in, even cracked his back for him, "There better?" 

"Thanks, Dodge." He said as he sat on my bed, 

"Off," I told him as I forced him off my bed, so I could get changed. 

"Where you off to?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"Why?"

"Becuase normally I'd relax after work here but... you're here."

"So you're going to go walking in the woods?"

"Yes, I am."

"And what happens if you get jumped? or bounced? or worse?"

I rolled my eyes again as I changed, "This isn't London Fagin, and I am not six. No monsters and creatures are hiding around every corner waiting to bloody get me." 

"How'd you know?"

"Becuase I've been here a good while and not once have I ever seen anything concerning." 

"That's because you don't look hard enough." 

"I'm going out, stay off my bed, and out of my wardrobe," I warned him, as I took my jacket and headed out.

I didn't dislike a walk in the woods every now and then, and with him here I just needed some space every so often, I'd be stressed to all hell with him, and all this thievery business. He always said I was born for it but I hated it, I just want to work, to help people. That felt far more like my purpose. I did glance over my shoulder a few times as I got deeper into the woods, just out of habit, when you're stealing you get good at checking behind you, and Fagin had convinced me ever since I was young that monsters were always out to get you. I didn't believe him now of course as I am grown but... part of me still, couldn't help it. Until one glace I saw someone.

I froze up as I fully turned, there in the woods stood a woman.

She wore a dress of a fiery red with black flowers across the fabric, she wore black velvet gloves and a matching cape the good up over her face but I could have sworn I saw, she faced away at first with a symbol I didn't know on her cloak, but she turned to me and I could have sworn I saw purple eyes looking at me from the darkness of her hood.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I know who you are..." Her voice spoke like a ghostly echo of another time and place as if she wasn't really here, I froze up concerned this woman knew of my past.

"Do you? Well, I barely know who I am so I don't know how you do." I began as I tried to step back to put a space between us but her words stopped my feet.

"Jack Dawkins." She smiled wickedly, 

"Doctor, Dawkins." I corrected,

"Hummm... Your father would be proud."

"My- what do you know about my father?"

"I know your father well."

"Who are you? How do you know these-"

"You have been hiding an awful long time." She said pulling back her hood to reveal a head of sweet Y/c/h Hair, she was beautiful but ghostly.

"What do you know?"

"I know-"

"Tell me. Now." I demanded,

She smiled "You are Jack Dawkins, but neither of your parents named you. Your mother left you for dead outside a pub in London, raised by a crook, and betrayed by him, given a new life for skills you inherited, now you have built this life away from your past." She explained stepping slowly closer, "But your past... is coming back for you."

"How- How do you know all that?"

"I know everything." 

"Everything?"

"It would seem I know even more than you," she smiled wickedly,

"Tell me what you know,"

"You'd never believe me."

"Tell me." I demanded, "Please?" 

"Your father Is Hermes."

"Hermes?"

"Hermes. God of boundaries, roads, travellers, thieves, athletes, shepherds, commerce, speed, cunning, wit, politics, diplomacy, messaging, and humour," she explained,

"That- That's Insane! You're nuts!"

"You really believe your skills with thievery, your quick fingers came from anywhere but the gods."

"If... I was to believe this, what I'm a god?"

"Demigod. You're mother... Melody Sandringham, a whore on London's streets. Your father was there on business from Zeus and 'happened' upon your mother."

"My- My mother was a whore?"

"A very good one. Nine months later you entered this realm."

"Then- Then- if I was a... demi god why would she have abandoned me?" 

"Because she didn't. she meant to kill you. There are many monsters in this world who feast on the blood of demigods, the gods have long disrespected the monsters of this world and they enjoy taking their children." She explained, "That night she left you exposed so your scent would attract a monster who would take you. She didn't want the child of a god, it is a hard job... you're not a normal child." 

"She... she tried to kill me?" I asked those words felt like a knife in my heart, I always felt so awful that my mother abandoned me, but to hear she intended to kill me. 

"Do not blame her, she was trying to save herself pain. Most demigods are hunted and killed within the first few years." She said, "She was trying to give you a quick death. To save you from never being able to live a normal life. Until the gods intervened."

"The gods? FAGIN!"

"Son of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, nature, vegetation, childbirth, care of children, and chastity. She can never see a child suffer, so send her son to take you into his arms." She explained,

"Fagin! Fagin is a demi-god! now you are nuts. have you seen him? he smells like a bloody sewer."

"To hide his scent from the monsters that lurk. He has aided many like yourself teaching you to survive, how to cover your sent, how to protect from the monsters."

"Oh my god... all this time he-"

"He ensured you survived. He raised you with his sister's aid."

"His sis- Nancy..." I said for a moment the thought of her hurt, to remember what happened to her. "Nancy was Fagin's sister?"

"Half-sister."

"why- why wouldn't they tell me? why did they never tell any of us who we were!"

"Because it was safer if you didn't know." She said, "Your skills were recognized by another, who too could tell your quick fingers came from the gods."

The moment she said it recognized by quick fingers I knew who she meant "Captian Grimm?"

"He saw you glow in your cell and he knew who was your father."

"Who was his?"

"Poseiden, god of the sea and waters, as well as of horses and earthquakes. The sea was his blood right and his father granted him mercy on it more times than can be recalled." 

it- it all made so much sense but it couldn't be true this woman she had to be mad surely!

"And who are you?"

"I am not important."

"Please... tell me, who are you?"

"Y/n,"

"Your father?"

"Hades, god of the underworld, and of death."

I froze up, "Th- Then why are you here?"

"I have come to warn you."

"Warn me? of what?"

"You have remained stagnant for far too long, the longer you stay in one place the easier it is to find you, Fagin ensured your scent was covered when you were young, and the ship protected you never in one place long enough, but now... your scent is only building and soon they will be here to take you."

"What will be here?"

"The monsters. Your scent is already known to them and they are on their way."

"How do you know that?"

"Becuase I have seen it. Profocsey is a gift from my father. I have seen your death and I have come to prevent it."

"Why? Why would you want to prevent my death?"

"Becuase I have also seen if you live. There is much more good you will do in this world that will not exist without you." 

"Will your father like you intervening?"

"My father and yours have come to arrangement the matter. He allows this for the greater good, in turn, my father takes your mother."

"I- I didn't even know she was still alive." 

"What do I have to do, to ensure I survive." 

"Let the blood build, and do not trust the captain," she said closing the gap between us, 

"Okay... thank you." I nodded, "How will I know when I'm safe again?"

"I'll return when you are," She smiled, she rubbed the tip of her nose on my own and gave my lips a gentle kiss, I was a little shocked but kissed her back wrapping my arms around her waist, she pulled back with a gentle smile,

"I look forward to it," I smirked, 

She backed away blew me a kiss and disappeared into the darkness as if she was never there. 

I rushed back to the hospital and up to my room where I found Fagin.

"My mother didn't abandon me, she left me for dead!"

"What are you going on about dodge?"

"My mother, you said you found me shivering, naked, outside a pub,"

"I did,"

"And you knew who my father was!"

"... I knew what he was not who he was. there's a lot of them you could have been any of them."

"When did you know who my father was?"

"You were about five or so once your skills revealed themselves."

"All this time... you never told me!"

"I was tryin' to protect ya dodge."

"By not telling me my mother tried to kill me!"

"Becuase if I did you'd hate her,"

"Yeah, I kinda do!"

"don't. Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a kid like you? She wanted to make sure you didn't suffer so she offered you to the The Scylla"

".. the what?"

"The Scylla, lives in the Thames." 

"My mother was going to feed me to The Scylla!"

"She would have gotten ya if I hadn't intervened."

"Why would you save me?"

"... Because unlike most, I spent a fair time with my mother... and I promised her if ever I were to see one of you lot, I'd take you under my wing. You, sikes, potter, hell even that damn wet lettuce Oliver twist, all of you were, so I kept you lot safe from the monsters and madness that would have taken you if I didn't. and I ask no thanks for what I did Jack."

"Even Nancy?"

"She was my half-sister, I had to keep her around."

"And yet you left me in a cell."

"I had every intention of getting you out of there Jack, but by the news broke you'd escaped barefoot in the snow no one survives that."

"Oh so you went on your merry way?"

"Don't you think I mourned for you?" He said, "There are times in this life, when we have to face the loss of something so precious, it makes the heart clench just to think of it." He explained, "I mourned for you, we all did."

"You could have told me, now I'm grown."

"Would you have believed me if I did?"

"...No."

"How do you know now?"

"Another came to warn me." 

"Who?"

"A girl named Y/n. Daughter of Hades. What is she another demigod?"

"...Ohh gods-"

"What? Who- who is she?"

"she is... but Hades and Persephone's daughter."

"Oh." I gasped "I uhh... I just... I just had a chat with Hades and Persephone's daughter... ohh I'm going to the underworld and I'm gonna be tortured." 

"Why?"

I didn't answer just kinda sheepish, 

"Jack?" 

I didn't reply, 

"You just talked to her?"

I shook my head, 

"What did you do?"

"I uh... I'm in trouble."

"For?"

"I uhh... I may have uhhh"

"Spit it out, Dodge."

"I just kissed Hades and Persephone's daughter..." 

#thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas sangster #percy jackson #theartfuldogger #the artful dodger #thearttfuldodger #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #jack

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘 ꒱ 변의주

summary : after a stressful work day, you come home to a sweet date and confession from euijoo

genre : fluff, slight-angst, jpop-idol!ej x afab!reader tws : slight mention of misogyny, minimal angst author notes : ej loml word count : 1.4k

you felt a physical ache shooting down your spine, your legs hurting every time they'd press against the pavement. you sighed, shutting the door to your car and going to grab your things from the back. it had been an unusually stress-filled day; multiple people yelling at you and critiquing your dancing skills.

you knew being a choreographer wasn't an easy task, however multiple — specifically — men would tell you that you weren't meant to be as successful as you were; more than you'd have normally apprehended. they told you that women weren't meant to choreograph men's dances. or that your moves were too promiscuous for them and fans would never appreciate the art because of it.

however, you knew you were good. hell, hybe hired you as a full-time choreographer, it just sometimes gets into your head on bad days such as this.

tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the backseat of the car as your trembling hands fished your bags from the leather. you slung them over your shoulders, grabbing at your keys and locking the door with a couple beeps. you felt tense, almost too much to move quickly, and your stomach churned whatever you had had for breakfast almost twelve hours ago now.

begrudgingly, you entered your apartment building and made your way to the ninth floor. the fluorescent lights mixing with your already blurry eyes made you practically blind as you fought with unlocking the door, your key-jingle echoing throughout the tunnel of a hallway. you swung it inwards to reveal the small mud-room, spotting an unfamiliar pair of nike dunks — too big to be your own — and recognized them as being the only other person who had willing access to your space: euijoo.

you felt a relief form goosebumps over your anxiety-splotched skin and you sighed out shakily. you set your things down and slipped your own shoes off. you didn't even realizing the smell wafting from, you presumed, where your kitchen was as you stepped into a pair of neatly placed slippers. before you had a chance to fully enter your own home, your smiling not-yet-boyfriend was stopping you. he blocked the end of the hall, shielding you from the mess you assumed he had made.

"did you set a fire?" you joked, watching his eyebrows furrow at you. his palms went to your cheeks and you leaned into the touch subconsciously. he examined your skin, shifting your head from side to side without words.

"what?" you asked when he let you go. "do i look funny?"

"not particularly," he stated, making you scoff in his direction as a smile broke out across his lips again. "but, were you crying?"

you didn't think any tears had slipped out of your eyes but you were also too busy noting the pain that coursed through your body to notice the streaks that had painted your cheeks. you knew it was no use to deny what was obvious to him — never being able to slip anything past the man that was oblivious to almost everything but you.

“yeah,” you revealed, a puppy-frown adorning his lips at your words. “it was a stressful day. i’m sorry if you had something planned for us, i’m just really — i don’t know — “ your eyes began to well again, forcing the faucet to twist. “upset?”

“it’s okay,” he stated, pulling you into an embrace that warmed you as you cried quietly into his shoulder. “you can tell me it all, and after that we can watch a movie — also, you know i can’t cook to save my life — i bought your favorite pizza.” he pushed you back by your shoulders, grabbing your cheeks and wiping the tears away. "does that sound okay? do you want to do that?"

the gentle aura of euijoo was almost intoxicating — suffocating you in a comfort that had your senses calming down as if he was a sedative.

you could see the stars — scratch that — touch the stars with him. you knew he’d give you anything you could ever dream of. he’d be your night in shinning armor if that’s what he knew you wanted; however he’d settle for being the shoulder you leaned on for comfort, the arms you fell asleep in, the ears that you confided in. he’d settle for anything if it involved you.

he didn’t ever make you feel like your trivial worries weren’t worthwhile, and you knew he wouldn’t even speak over you if you began to rant; so in the hallway of your apartment, you let the tears and words fall freely. “euijoo, why does working have to be so hard? this industry is so fucking ruthless — i swear i’m just trying so hard to make a living. i have rent due and i need this dance for enhypen to be perfect otherwise it’ll be problems for me, but i don’t know if i can keep up with this lifestyle anymore. i don’t even know if i want to.” it felt a million times better to finally admit what you’ve been thinking of. “dancing isn’t fun anymore. it’s not the same as when i first started — it’s too much pressure now. i just want it to be enjoyable again. i just want to be happy when i choreograph, but i’m just not and i don’t know why.”

he kissed the tip of your nose gently, staring with — if you didn’t know any better — love in his eyes. you huffed, feeling an honest bit of irritation rise within you; you didn’t know why he had to be so perfect, standing in your hallway, holding you close, thinking of only you, when there was literally billions of other people on this planet. but you also knew that, despite your self-consciousness, he’d reassure you a thousand times over that you were more than enough to him.

“you — you’re so goddamn perfect,” he put both his hands up defensively. “i don’t even deserve you — to come home to you.”

your wording had made a slight blush creep over his features. he knew what he had planned for your impromptu stay-at-home date, he knew that he desperately wanted what you subconsciously spewed out, he knew that it was becoming irritating not being able to call you his girlfriend when asked what the two of you were.

he never much cared for labels until it came to you. he respected your proclaim to take things slow when you first started whatever this was, but nevertheless he was only human and he thought you two were moving too slow at this point.

he took ahold of your hand, dragging you to the kitchen in an attempt to get you from ranting about how much you cared for him (because it ultimately flustered him.) and, honestly, you were grateful because from the time you had began work until this exact moment you hadn’t eaten anything besides some applesauce your grandmother had made and sent you from america.

“babe, the food is getting cold. i know i said i’d listen and then we could eat, but i’m starving — i’ll listen but i gotta eat before i die.”

you laughed, watching him sit in the chair he self-proclaimed was his, and take a slice for you and himself. sometimes you forgot that he was just a man at the end of the day, a simple creature in its’ purest form but at least he didn’t forget to feed you.

you took the pizza, putting it down on the plate he’d set up even before you’d gotten home. “it’s okay, i feel better now.”

he looked up through his hunched position, mouth full. “you do?”

“yeah,” you admitted, letting a moment of silence resonate. “you make me feel better so… thank you?”

he giggled, almost shyly, burying his face in the food once again, in an attempt to stop from professing his undying-love for you right now, instead of at the right time.

he finished his pizza as you had just began to eat, a comfortable silence falling over the apartment. he had the same loving look in his eyes, a deep-shade of pink flushing your upper-cheeks. you felt, what seemed like, relief in his presence — a calmness that you believed you could never grow tired of. to you, he was perfect; you were convinced you could never see him any other way. he wasn't your boyfriend, but he had already ingrained himself into your personality.

you two complimented each other the way lovers in a fluff-filled romance movie would, the way constellations and wishes did, the way the sun and moon did. you had to practically swallow down the church bells that threatened to ring every time he'd catch your gaze.

all you two had to do was finally make it official, and after the feeling he instilled in you, you thought it couldn’t possibly be as hard as people made it seem. euijoo kept you breathing like he was the air that filled your lungs. the daily-anticipation always filled your heart to the bittersweet brim, only waiting for the day when it would overflow — though, in the past, maybe you were both too shy to ever say anything — but now, you could see the surface tension at its max.

“euijoo?” you asked cautiously, wiping your lips on a napkin as his attention refocused. he hummed sweetly, causing a small chuckle to escape your lips. you both knew that he was lovesick for you, bewitched, head over heels, but neither of you jumped to admit it.

silence took over, you chest caving slightly as you two locked eyes. you swear he could read your thoughts — and you weren't as scared of that as you used to be in past relationships. you wanted him to know everything you thought about him.

“i love you.”

“can i be your boyfriend?”

you spoke over each other, and then neither one of you jumped at the others proclamation, literally too stunned to speak. you just stared at each other like if you looked away the other would disappear.

his eyes grew ten-times their size. “y-you love me?”

however, you had decided to speak against his words once again. “you can be m — you go first, im sorry.”

“i love you, too.” he stated, making your lip pout-out at the way he looked so goddamn adorable. “i wish I would’ve done this sooner, oh my god, i had this whole thing planned out and —“

“it's perfect — you’re perfect. i love you more than the word love could ever insinuate.”

“you can’t ever stop saying that now.” he shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “seriously? how’d i get so lucky?”

it was rhetorical, though you still felt the desire to refute it. he was mad that he hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend sooner, your claim only making his stomach swarm with butterflies. he was in love with you before he even knew what love for another person was, but now he was convinced it would never feel the same if it wasn't you.

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

#kpop #kpop requests #kpop writing #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #kpopidol #kpop bg #&team #&team imagines #ej #jpop #byun euijoo #&team x reader #&team ej #andteam #&team headcanons #romance #romantic #love story #couples #lovers #&team euijoo #jpop idol #japanese music #jpop &team

[myers-meadow]

Otis B. Driftwood x fem OC: 🌺 A muse for him and him alone 💟

Title: A muse for him and him alone (chapter 1)

Warnings: (mild) gore, rape/non-con, dub-con, captivity, necrophilia, mentions of torture.

Summary: Even the Devil himself has art block sometimes... In the fresh group of victims that comes to the house, Otis discovers a muse. Inspiration and amusement drive him to keep her around, and both grow attached. With complex feelings keeping her alive, she must find a way to ensure her survival in the household, even if she gets in the way of what the family considers as their normal.

Word count: 2137

This is a very 'Meadow'-esque exploration of what it would be like to be kept by Otis as a victim and a muse. It follows a theatre-like akte structure, and is overall somewhat fragmented, as dairies can often be. In this fic I allow myself to be entirely myself and go as dark, as soft, and as intimate as I want. This will have multiple parts, a lot of it is planned out, but I will take my time and enjoy the process.

Please enjoy! Don't forget to let me know if you did! <3

Dividers by delishlydelightfuldividers

AKTE 0: “Ich will Frei sein – richtig Frei sein!“

The road was long, never-ending, the heat almost bearable with the windows down, stray hairs catching in my lipstick at the corners of my mouth, singing along to those songs about freedom on the cd we brought from home, complaining about the mediocre gas station food. Andra, Jip and me squished in the backseat; Christoff and Bram in the front, doing their best to ignore the off-key singing from behind them, focussing on road and directions. This trip was so unplanned it was ridiculous, yet each of us joined with that enthusiasm of feeling like the summer laid in wait at our feet. We slept in joined beds or when one of us couldn’t stand it anymore, they took the car, stayed up too late to see the stars, to see so far across the plains, to hear different birds from those we have at home. To feel the coldness of the night set in, the dew waiting on the grass when first light woke us since each motel room had those shitty thin curtains, and telling ourselves we’d nap in the car. I’m sure Bram had a friend of a friend he was meeting at our destination, and Christoff and Jip were mending their messy relationship, but I was there for Andra. I hoped that if we spent these two weeks together, that her friendly touches would grow to linger. That I’d know for sure that she’d taste like cigarettes and toothpaste, that I’d not have to ask Jip to rub sunscreen on my shoulders again, that the ride would be full of stolen touches and pretending we didn’t notice the others staring.

AKTE I: Disbelief

How did we go from singing along to Helge Schneider and daydreaming in the car to this- to being hunted for sport; Andra and me stripped almost nude, tied up and gagged in some disgusting room with faded bloodstains on the floor. It was the big man with the dark hair who took us, but it was a team effort. Bram, Christoff and Jip must be somewhere, taking by the others. There were so many of them – god my head hurt. It throbbed and my vision followed the pulse of my heart. The rag around my head to gag me was tied so poorly I managed it down with ease. Andra, next to me, already awake, was littered with bruises and small cuts, open skin on her knees and forearms from falling and crawling away, panicked eyes staring into mine. And before I could think of what to say, before I could even test the give of the rope binding my arms behind my back, the bear of a guy came back. It was a blur of screaming, dizziness, cursing, and being pulled by my hair as a sharp pain through it all.

“Fuck, the bitch broke my nose!” the bear roared, knocking me to the wall with enough force that the wall itself shook. The door slammed open, and the white haired guy entered. Otis. Why did I remember his name with my head splitting open from the pain? He was angry, but when he saw me already down on the ground (cowering), Andra still tied, fallen over on her chair, and the bear clutching his nose, he burst out laughing.

“Finally met one who bested ya? Serves you right for taking first pick, asshole.” And he easily dodged my attempts to swat at him like a cat and dragged me off by the scruff of my neck.

Otis’ room was in sharp contrast to the rest of the house and I didn’t dare say a word as he strapped me to the wall, and stepped back to admire me, sleazy grin on his face. As he retreated to put on a record, I looked around at the many crude drawings on the walls. On the ceiling too, and in the middle of it was written ‘god won’t help you now’ and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. It was a laugh like the ones where the roller coaster creeps closer to that tipping point, close to the free fall – but not knowing when it’d come. Maniacal and scary. Some upbeat blues rock perfected the absurdist reality of the situation.

Otis, reappearing, eyebrows raised, said: “You havin’ fun, missy?”

But of course I wasn’t, as much like roller coasters, this was no fun at all. “I didn’t even meant to kick him that hard,” I said, wheezing, trying to catch my breath from laughing. The knife in Otis’ hand glinted as he came closer. Death was a given, but I’d love to have another go at the fighting thing- The door swung open, a girl marched in, voice loud and high-pitched.

“They got away, Otis quick!”

“Goddamnit!” he cursed loudly, slamming the knife right next to my head, the sound of the splintering wood resounding in my head as he grabbed a rifle from behind the opened door. He complained all the while, and I leaned my head back against the wall, sighing with the relief of my demise pushed back.

AKTE II: Art show

Evening fell. When Otis returned, I’d almost fallen asleep. He let me, or made me, depending how you look at it, go to the bathroom. It was no more or less bad than anything else I could imagine to have my last moments on this earth be. There was a song stuck in my head and I hummed it quietly as I washed my hands for as long as Otis let me, before he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back to his bedroom. Where the big bear of a man favoured rope, Otis preferred chains. Of course they were heavy, of course they were uncomfortable – but did any of that truly matter at the end of a life like this? I remembered family, and all the girls I had just a little too intense of a friendship with, and the many cats I’ve loved and cuddled. It would’ve been nice to have more time. To tell my parents of my travels, of what America is like, of how the people were all so nice.

Otis set me down on his desk chair, wrapping the chain around my chest and the back of the chair. I let my head fall back to watch him as he chatted idly, referencing conversations we shared the night before, when things were still normal, as he sharpened his knife or whatever it was that evil men do.

“You and your friends,” he said, pointing at me, “you sure are a lively bunch. We don’t get ones like you often. I don’t appreciate the noise as much, but you, you’re filling my head with thoughts. Do you have any idea how it is to be cooped up in here all day – no fresh ideas, no thoughts to share, nothing of value to ever come through these parts? But you’ve opened the doors of my mind.”

“So all those things you said about being an artist, about your art, that’s all bullshit?” I asked, moving my legs to try and swing the chair around to face him properly.

“A simple guy like me can’t be an artist? Is that it?” his tone was all venom. He wanted to scare me.

“Yeah, sure, you kill people, everyone can do that, but do you create? Can you create something from the ground up?”

He scoffed, but seemed amused as he leaned himself down to my level, his hands on my underarms – surprisingly warm, but I could practically taste the copper and cigarettes that clung to him. His eyes were even stranger in the low light than they were in the candle light of the dinner the night before.

“Oh, I’ll show you, mama.”

The ‘art’ was behind a curtain, and he pulled it back with a grand gesture, grinning widely. Going behind me, he pushed the chair until it was in front of it. It was a creature, unclear of what it was made of, but it resembled half snake, half human. A long forked tongue past horrifyingly realistic looking lips. The human half was endearingly ugly-looking.

“Wow,” I said, too absorbed in looking at it that the sound of my own voice startled me. I scooted the chair closer with awkward movements to see the detail better. Each scale was painstakingly carved and painted, the colour almost shimmery, just like how real snakeskin looks. “This is amazing. What is this made of? Is that clay?”

Otis stared at me, without words for a second.

“The detail is incredible,” I said, scooting myself another few centimetres closer. “The tongue is a very nice touch. It almost looks like a man captured by a witch, who cursed him after he lied to her. Like something out of a fairy tale. Cursed to reflect the crime committed.”

Otis just laughed but I paid him no mind, too busy staring at the complexity and high level of realism in the artwork.

“I can’t believe you created this – how long did it take you? Must’ve spent entire days on it to get all these details just right.” Admiration, mixed with a healthy measure of disbelief, dripped from my voice. “Each individual scale… You’d almost think it’s a real snake.”

Otis snorted.

I tried to reach out to feel the texture of the body, but was held back by the chains and cursed at the feeling.

“This should be in one of those big museums, selling for millions to those eclectic rich people in ugly suits. To think of a concept like this! The mythological meaning of a snake, and that with a sizable project like this. Do you make things like this regularly? God, it’s beautiful.”

In my head, thoughts swirled around, clashing in opposite directions. How could art this beautiful exist in an unassuming place, so far out in the middle of nowhere? Assuming he had no formal artistic education, and learned by doing, making it all the more impressive. Worse than that; how could a man so deeply evil have created something of such beauty with hands that have taken the lives of my friends?

All thoughts halted when he grabbed me by the neck and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on my lips.

AKTE III: Bad moon rising

Night fell, and my fear of death went down with the setting sun. Otis dropped a corpse down on his bed. Where did he even get her? She wasn’t anyone I knew. A small relief.

“It’s time for bed,” he announced with a vile grin. He tied the chain that bound me to the frame of his bed, leash short. I’d have to sleep on the floor. Somehow that wasn’t the worst that happened in the past 24 hours, so I laid my head on my folded arm and closed my eyes to rest. Once I laid still for a couple minutes, a harrowing tiredness set in – yet my thoughts raced. As soon as I felt my consciousness fade, the bed creaked. Grunts accompanied it and I looked up. It was dark, but without question, there was the shape of Otis, mounting the corpse. I stifled my gasp with my hand, eyes wide, lip curled with disgust. He noticed, and laughed, teeth bared in a grin like that of a wolf.

“Ain’t ever seen a guy make sweet love before?” he taunted. “Or would you rather join us? Sure you can, if ya ask nicely.”

The hardness of the cold floor was far preferable. The chains rattled as I shook my head wildly. Pressing my eyes closed, trying to shut it all out, to pretend it wasn’t happening. The noise was worse with my mind filling in the blanks, so I stared up at him again, with disbelieving eyes. How could he get worse, so, so much worse than he already was? What is wrong with this family? And then, at the back of my head: at least it wasn’t me. And, for her: at least she wouldn’t have to live with the trauma of it – although I will, for the both of us. His pleasured grunts and the creaking increased in speed and volume. No words in any language I know of could describe this.

With a final grunt, and then a deep sigh, he came. A cold arm that hit mine made me crawl as far away from the bed as the chain allowed me. Just in time, as Otis rolled the whole body off the bed, thudding down to face me, mangled and twisted with lifelessness. I screamed. Loud and shrill. The first time I did that day. I could barely hear his laughter over the blood rushing in my ears. 

#otis b driftwood #otis driftwood x oc #otis driftwood #otis b driftwood x oc #house of 1000 corpses #otis driftwood fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher community

[owmyeyeballs]

Get to Know my Tav!

Thank you to @sporeservant for putting together this ask game! Behold, my Tav!

Silence | Tiefling Monk | She/Her

What is your Tav’s…

favorite weapon: Silence uses her master's old staff, when she's not just punching, kicking, or using elemental ki attacks. Or explosives.

style of combat: Fast and chaotic. Silence was a tavern brawler before her master took her in and taught her the monkish arts, and the more she progresses in her adventure, the more her old "win at any cost, no such thing as a fair fight" comes out. It was a bad day for the Absolute when Silence discovered smokepowder bombs.

most prized possession: Her master's collection of notes. Travel notes, recipes, remedies, poetry... The old man wrote down everything, and Silence regrets not taking more in when he was alive to teach her.

deepest desire: At a surface level, she believes it's revenge for her master and lover's deaths. Underneath that, though, it's the peace and belonging she felt with them.

guilty pleasure: Drunken brawling. She can only keep up the zen act for so long...

best-kept secret: She's afraid of never being loved, and dying alone

greatest strength: Determination

fatal flaw: Insecurity

favorite smell: The tea blends her master taught her to make

favorite spell or cantrip: Either Fist of Four Thunders, or Ride the Wind (in my head she absolutely has a wuxia-esque scene of soaring over the rooftops at some point)

pet peeve: People being casual about demonic/infernal forces. As a tiefling born to human parents and abandoned, she knows the consequences of dabbling with the infernal

bad habit: Taking on other people's problems without thinking things through

hidden talent: Tea-blending. She thought it was a stupid hobby when her master tried to teach her. Now that she's turned her mind to it seriously as a way to remember him, it turns out she has a talent for it

leisure activity: Either qi gong style exercises, or, if she's feeling more energetic, climbing the nearest tall tree or building, as high as she can go

favorite drink: Either tea or wine, depending on her mood

comfort food: Hearty, slow cooked comfort foods like soups and stews. And peaches.

favorite person: In the past, that was her master, and Veldryn, her lover. In the present, it's Astarion (even when he drives her mad)

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): Hugs! She's strong, and a hug from her is the tightest you'll ever get. Will even wrap her tail around you to get as much hug as possible!

fondest childhood memory: Climbing onto the rooftop of the monastery where she was dumped. Staying there all night, knowing no one would miss her until morning, and almost feeling free

Is there anything else you'd like to share?: Only that I haven't felt so fond of an OC for a very long time, and she broke a horrendously long writer's block for me. I haven't included her full backstory here, but feel free to ask more!

#get to know your tav #tav ask game #oc: silence

[cchickki]

"About the Blogger" Meme

Thanks for tagging me @currymanganese! ❤️ sorry i'm doing this super late ugh

Star Sign(s):

virgo sun, pisces moon, capricorn rising (i can list my entire chart if anyone is interested lol)

Favorite Holidays:

i'm not religious but i absolutely love christmas. my favorite time of year and favorite holiday. i get depressed whenever it's over and i have to take the decorations down.

Last Meal:

i think a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. i was craving it lol

Current Favorite Musician:

lana del rey and kendrick lamar! i listen to a lot of music and all different genres, but those are my go to. there's something about fantastic writing/wordplay and production across both of their genres that just inspires me and transports me to a different place when i listen.

if anyone is interested, my spotify profile is here: (x)

When the Tigers Broke Free by Pink Floyd

The Wall is one of my favorite albums!

Last Movie Watched:

Everything Everywhere All At Once

i'm so glad i finally got to watch this movie, it was incredible. although watching it with my boomer dad at parts was awkward (aka the butt plug part lmaoooo)

Last TV Show Watched:

oh man, still trying to finish Succession, my husband is dragging his feet with it even though we both are enjoying it. finished The Boys almost 2 months ago, need to start Gen V soon. i'm bad at finishing shows, unless they're mini series.

Last Book/Fic Finished:

i recently reread Concrete Rose by Angie Thomas, the prequel to The Hate U Give. i haven't finished any of my fics in awhile, except for the two mini requests from my friend @chrissymodi-frost.

Last Book/Fic Abandoned:

oh boy... i've got quite a few i'm struggling to get through... just look at my ao3 and you can see how bad my writer's block has gotten lately :(

Currently Reading:

rereading The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas <3

Last Thing Researched for Art/Writing/Hyperfixation:

i graduated in may 2023 with my art history degree, so i was deep into ancient egyptian history and art, and had to write a hefty 20 page paper on german painter Albrecht Dürer. my most recent hyperfixation was the uncharted games again, so while writing i was researching the Hoysala empire

Favorite Online Fandom Memory:

first joining tumblr and meeting so many friends on here. but i'll tell you back in 2013 when the citadel dlc for mass effect launched, that was an incredible build up and very fun few months.

Favorite Old Fandom You Wish Would Drag You Back In/Have A Resurgence:

not really an "old" fandom, but i was HEAVY into spiderverse over the summer, met some great mutuals through it. i still spiderverse, but don't feel as fixated with it at the moment. the fandom was kind of annoying with some people's think pieces, not gonna lie, and kind of turned a few of us off from it. i'm sure it'll have another "resurgence" when the next movie Beyond the Spiderverse comes out!

Favorite Thing You Enjoy That Never Had an Active or Big "Fandom" but You Wish It Did:

most recently the movie The Creator! movie was so visually stunning, with great/powerful themes, and one of my favorite tropes: found family (kinda) with a father/daughter dynamic. not enough people liked it/saw it which sucks, so the fandom is pretty much non existent for it. i want more art and fanfics from it! i'm going to be buying it soon, that way i can get inspirited and hopefully create more for it!

Tempting Project You're Trying to Reign In/Don't Have Time For:

i was working on creating a real-life version of nate's notebook from uncharted 4. it's taking a lot of time, and is quite an undertaking so i had to take a break from it. i do want to continue it though!

no pressure tags (sorry if you were already tagged!): @mothertodaughters, @chrissymodi-frost. @malabadspice, @not-those-kids, @durrtydawg, @lilylavender, @lilsnatch, @libertatias, @xinamiguel, @georgieluz, @distantsonata, @soft-girl-musings (and anyone else who wants to! sorry i'm trying to remember all my moots tumblr names)

#tag game #long post #about the blogger

[scramble-crossing]

Apparently the first time I’m ever posting my writing online it’s going to be about the @twewytransswag poll. Here’s whatever the hell

The strange black shop had seemingly cropped up overnight. A weed between the concrete, sucking up streams of eager-faced, empty-eyed customers before all at once falling as suddenly and wholly quiet as the night itself, Shadow Ramen was opening its doors again, and Sho Minamimoto was the first one inside.

“You know I can’t show my face at a competitor’s store,” Ken Doi had told him earlier, his sleeve-swallowed arms folded sternly at his chest. “That’s where you come in. You’ll be our secret weapon.”

He’d liked the sound of that. Shadow Ramen was everything Sho hated to see eating up the Shibuya streets, a baseless fad, a soulless money-grab without one yoctogram of integrity. It looked good-really good, a perfect, symmetrical square, straight-angled and cooly black-but whatever shred of outer beauty it held masked nothing, but an empty core. 

Where was the art?

Walking inside, Sho already has his eyes on a few pieces that would look better in one of his sculptures. He closed his eyes and could see it in twisted, complete perfection. His hands itched to snatch up what he could and book it (which wasn’t hard, there were stray seats, wall mounts, once an entire table, stacked up in piles somewhere, a few places on the block where he was very much not welcomed again) but he stayed them. This was only the first set in his desired solution. He had to be patient.

(The fact that Ken Doi had sent him out the door with a warm pat on the back of his head, ruffling the hair sticking out of his cap…well, Sho would deny it, but it certainly hadn’t hurt.)

He pulled up a seat at the front bar, eyeing the man who stood stick-rigid and smiling behind it. There was an uncertainty to the way he looked at Sho, a meek plea, “Am I doing this right?” He scoffed. Even if he found nothing, no dirt he could take back to Ken Doi, at least he could rest fairly sure that the streets would swallow this kid whole all by itself. No need to integrate. 

“Gimme a shadow ramen,” he said. It looked like that was all they had.

The man bowed shortly. “Of course. Coming right up, sir.”

(He liked Junior better)

The lunch rush hadn’t yet begun. In fact as far as he could see, Sho was the only one inside. Craning his head to get a better view, he had to admit he would’ve admired the aesthetic if it didn’t all ring so hollow, everything too clean, too sleek, the scribbled skull decals mass-made and placed at perfect intervals. It was nothing like the cozy earnestly he was used to. Listening to the cook working in the kitchen, he imagined them ripping the plastic off a freeze-dried steak, dumping it carelessly into a frothing, roiling vat filled with noodles that’d been shipped in from the opposite end of the country.

Ken Doi’s was boring. The seats were rickety and it was always too hot. But it was real. Didn’t that count for anything?

The sound of scuffed feet broke Sho from his thoughts. The man was back, a bowl balanced delicately in the palms of his hands. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, as if there’d even been any. “Enjoy!”

Sho stared at the meal set in front of him. Apparently they hadn’t factored in the sheer volume of the steak stretched out on a bed of noodles, broth already spilling over the edge of the bowl. He curled his lip. ‘What a simple equation!’ 

The thought of telling this to Ken Doi made him grin. He eagerly cracked open a packet of chopsticks, just as a bell’s chime rang out through the restaurant. A quick glance over his shoulder made sure it wasn’t a Player, not one who recognized him, anyways. Just some random digit, greyed ponytail bobbing as he nervously swung his head about the room. Sho turned back to his meal. It smelt salty. 

“Welcome to Shadow Ramen!”

As he ate his noodles, Sho listened vaguely to the greeting of the shopkeeper as he turned to his newest customer, surely with the same kicked-puppy look he’d given him. The other man shuffled awkwardly forward. He could tell he was shifting his weight, swaying back and forth as if he had half a mind to turn and run screaming out of the place. Maybe they were getting robbed. That’d be interesting. More interesting than over-salted broth.

“What can I get for you today?” the shopkeeper asked.

The man at the counter leaned in. “Hot stuff.”

Something about the way he’d said it made Sho stop mid-unsatisfying-bite. It was low. Roughish. As if his throat hurt. Reaper’s couldn’t catch colds, but on instinct Sho shuffled a bit further away.

The shopkeeper let out a small, nervous laugh. “Uh…w-well in that case, you’re in luck. Our ramen’s the hottest there is on this side of Shibuya!”

“Hollow-skulled hectopascal,” Sho muttered under his breath.

Neither of them seemed to hear him. The grey-haired one reared back, stuttering, “What? No way! Don’t tell me you’re not…” A quick pause. “No, I’m sure you are. You’re the guy from Spain Hill! Hot stuff!”

The shopkeeper jolted, as if struck by an electric bolt. “Hot Stuff!?” he nearly shrieked. “No, you’ve got it all wrong! That wasn’t me! That was someone else! I’ve just got one of those faces, really, everyone who meets me says I look totally unremarkable. Even my own mother can’t recognize me in any of my school photos!”

Sho licked his lips. The salt was drying out his mouth. “Any of you useless fractals have water in this trash heap?” He snapped at the shopkeeper. But neither he or the other man, with an increasingly stricken look plastered across his pale face, paid him any attention.

“But you look exactly like him,” he pressed. “You’ve got the same eyes, they’re all warm and dark and mysterious…”

The shopkeeper balked. Staring harder at him, Sho felt frustration creep in as the hectopascal actually began to blush. “No one’s ever said my eyes were warm and dark and mysterious…” he mumbled, half to himself. “Okay, okay, maybe that was me. But it was just business, I swear! I was walking down Spain Hill and suddenly it was like, boom! The perfect idea just came to me, you know?”

Grey-hair stared at him sadly. “Hot stuff?”

“Yeah…that’s right. Hot stuff.”

“The only “hot stuff” either of you yoctograms are gonna feel is the fire I’m gonna use to burn this restaurant to the ground.”

“So that’s all it was?” grey-hair choked, turning his head away. “I was just a sale to you?”

“...I’m a salesman.”

“Yeah, well whoever you sold your cold, empty heart to should ask for a refund!”

Blinking back tears, grey-hair shoved his face into the crook of his arm and ran blindly out of the restaurant. The shopkeeper watched him go. Slowly, he reached his hand into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a small pin as red as the blood in Sho’s hopelessly undercooked steak. He clenched it tight in his trembling fist.

“Hot stuff…” he whispered. “Come get some hot stuff…”

Sho pushed his bowl across the counter until it fell and shattered into pieces on the floor. Refusing to look at the shopkeeper again, he climbed out of his seat and left Shadow Ramen without paying a cent.

“Sounds like we don’t have much to worry about,” Ken Doi mused later, sitting thoughtfully with his chin in his hand as Sho wolfed down a perfectly salted bowl of his ramen. “There’s still one thing I’m curious about, though.”

“What’s that?”

“What is hot stuff?”

Sho shrugged, settling deeper into the seat he was adamant he would never leave again. “Your ramen’s good, Pops. But it’s not that good.”

#anybody wanna tell me why I spent an hour on this when I have exams #i dont even know how to tag this lrfkjgerlk guess ill come back to it later when I DONT HAVE EXAMS

[sk-lumen]

Why would a girl stay with a guy after knowing he’s cheated multiple times?? That would make me sick to my stomach and disgusted? I was talking to this guy for over a year long distance, we would talk consistently and everything and went to see him multiple times. Each time something would go wrong, and he would leave, ghost me and then come back and being messaging me flipping things on me. For instance the last time he snooped through my phone, saw I had a dating app and left me the rest of the trip...then unblocked me and messaged me after like 2 weeks. It has always been that way and no longer then that. Anyway, the girl recently reached out to me calling me from her phone asking who I was and said she saw my phone number on her boyfriends phone. I of course was like so upset and shaking. She was SO CALM even saying “he’s had his sides before but he’s been good to me when I asked her how he was to her but really cheating other times is okay?? Anyway, she asked me to send “proof” so that he wouldn’t lie about it and that in his phone his contact for her was wife. He would call me that too a lot and said he wanted kids lol. Anyway, I sent over 30 screen shots...she says they broke up but it’s weird because she on the phone said they were together for a year then she changed it on text after reading the screen shots that they were together for 3 years....like what? Which way is it? I called him on the way to him seeing her (I knew this because I was texting her at the same time and needed to send the screen shots so she was ready when he came) he answered the phone and I was like “what and I was like you have a girlfriend and he goes “you had a dating app and then quickly hangs Up and blocks me. No word after that...and I was supposed to travel to see him in 2 days....I’m just hurt but obviously I can’t trust him. Just don’t understand the girl....

Dear anon,

I don't normally reply to asks involving this much drama, but it needs to be said.

A high value woman would never tolerate this level of behaviour from any man. Read that again. Both of you ladies are fighting for the scraps of this man who's playing both of you. At some point you have to take a step back and admit you are also part of the problem. Please stop fighting for people who actively and consistently mistreat you.

When you know your worth and have high standards, you will learn the art of blocking/detaching from any person not worth your energy. This took me a while to learn, but once I did it changed my life. When any boys (not gentlemen) try their luck with me now, I read them like an open book and put them in their place like any classy woman should (if you need tips/advice on that let me know).

-L.

#ask #toxic relationships #low value dating #high value woman #relationship tips #dating advice

[thelustybraavosimaid]

A crowd was quickly gathering in the courtyard, the song of blades drawing the crown prince closer. He paused before the Kingsguard to see who was at the middle of it; it was his parents. Of course it was his parents.

Aemon smiled, taking his place between Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime, watching his mother's offensive attacks closely.

Her strikes are too heavy, Aemon thought as his gaze shifted between the king and queen. Not as effective against a man who's so quick and light on his feet. Learning from and duelling with Ser Arthur over the moons taught him much and more about the art of swordplay.

The King Rhaegar Targaryen moved as if he were some fabled warrior, weaving and bobbing and dodging, blocking and striking in lightning-quick movements. Aemon could only watch in awe.

"How long have they been at it this time?" He asked Ser Arthur.

"At least an hour, maybe a bit longer," Ser Jaime cut in, watching them practice with a gaze as intense as Arthur's, though a smile graced his face when Lyanna blocked another quick strike.

"You know how your parents are, my prince," he heard the deep tones of Ser Oswell behind him. "It'll be much the same tomorrow, I have little doubt."

"It's your stance and footwork," the good king told his wife and drew Aemon from his thoughts, sounding as if he had not broken a sweat. "They make it easy for me to deflect your attacks."

The Queen Lyanna struck again, clashing sword with sword, the blow so heavy that Aemon saw sparks fly even in the harsh midday sun. "I need them to be," she huffed, her exhales blowing through the spaces of her teeth. "How else can I learn about your stances and footwork?"

The heavier the strikes, the quicker it would be to break a block, Aemon knew. A few more of those and she may brute force her way to victory—if she hadn't worn herself out before the end of it. Before he thought she'd land another one, though, she abruptly broke away and circled him like a she-wolf on the prowl.

Rhaegar's indigo eyes were darkened by the heavy shadow casted by his long eyelashes, following her every move. His lips pursed, just as Aemon's had.

"You are studying me." It was not a question. Nor had she deigned to give an answer.

Instead she laughed, a breathless but low chuckle that made his king father falter for a moment. "Swing your sword, husband mine. Swing and fight."

She stepped in and met him.

Once, twice, thrice their blades kissed, sparks flying with every hit. Lyanna's eyes were alight with elation and laughter, filled with imminent victory as Rhaegar stumbled backward. Then he regained his footing and continued their dance, matching hit for hit before he gave a final underhand swipe from the back of his blade and disarmed her, rushing in close to rest the blunted sword at her throat.

Out the corner of Aemon's eye, he saw Ser Arthur nod his approval.

"You almost had me," he huffed, a smile of satisfaction creeping across his face. His eyes were low, full of a liquid, promised heat that Aemon was sure no one was meant to see.

"Next time, I will." Her voice had that defiant tilt, her chest heaving under the heavy leather. Her dark hair spilled from the tie it was in and framed her long face in soft waves. Stepping backwards from him, she opened her arms, smile widening. "Come and claim your winnings, my king."

He laughed, tossing his sword aside before he strode to Lyanna and gathered her in his arms. He dipped her down to meet his lips with hers, burying his fingers in her hair.

Aemon made a face, electing instead to watch the crowd disperse.

"We too should let them be," Jaime snorted, turning away.

"Yes," Ser Arthur agreed, then his violet eyes rested on Aemon as he arched a brown-black brow. "I believe it is now time for your lessons, my prince."

He inwardly groaned. His bruises still haven't healed from last week's series of lessons...

#asoiaf #jon snow #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaelya #fanfiction #ramble

[broomballkraken]

Happy Anniversary Octopath Traveler 2! This game is incredibly special to me, as it broke me out of a rather nasty, year-long case of writer’s block, and gave a brand new rare pair OTP in Osvald/Partitio.

I ended up writing a 15 chapter, 65k word fic about them that has become my favorite one that I’ve ever written, The Scholar and The Merchant! (ao3 link)

Someone on twitter asked writers to brag about their fics and what inspired us to write, so I copy-pasted my rant about The Scholar and The Merchant under the cut below, which kinda turned into a little Osvitio manifesto of sorts lmao

I've written *checks notes* a lot of OT2 fics lmao But buckle up lads, 'cause I'm gonna rant about my magnum opus, The Scholar and The Merchant!

Our tale begins way back when the Octopath Traveler 2 announcement trailer dropped (I was on a family vacation at the time and shrieked so loud that I startled my sister, sorry Viking Steve akdhfkjd) From the get-go, I was looking at Osvald and Partitio like 🤔🏳️‍🌈🤔🏳️‍🌈

When the trailer that revealed their crossed paths art dropped, I immediately opened a blank doc and wrote 3-4 paragraphs of the confession scene, effectively yeeting myself into another corner of rare pair hell before the goddamn game even came out because I am Very Normal.

I wrote two longfics for the first game, so TSaTM followed the same format, including the lazy-ass title scheme, because I am nothing if not committed to the bit djkslfh Those first two fics only had 12 chapters each, and this one capped at 15, likely due to the addition of the crossed paths and the final chapter.

The game comes out and from that first unique dialogue between them when recruiting Partitio with Osvald I was completely invested in these two as a pair already. I just really liked how Osvald seemed to gain valuable insight from his conversations with Partitio (see Clarissa and Ethan, Osvald the Sober) which highlights their differences, but they also have had similar experiences with being poor (see A Poor Student's Woes) and that serves to tie them together.

At this point, my outline is quickly getting out of hand and I know this is going to be an ever bigger undertaking than my OT1 longfics, so I had to mentally prepare myself for that lmao

So my play through goes on and then we get to my favorite banter in the game, A Waste of Time Part III. The fact that they picked Partitio instead of any of the other travelers for this particular conversation, the last one of Osvald's journey (and not just because they were crossed paths pairs because the other travelers' stories don't follow that pattern) speaks to me, because Osvald states multiple times in banters with other travelers that he hates banal chatter, yet here he is thanking Partitio for that very thing, for talking him through a lot of things and being there to support him. After I stopped bawling my eyes out, I really stopped to think that the writers were really onto something here, and it makes me so sad that these two are such a rare pair wehhh

Anywho, then we get to the final chapter, and my second favorite banter, Ori's Fate. This banter is really the first time Partitio is visibly distressed, after his mostly low-stakes journey. Osvald takes the time to reassure him that Ori is okay and then, after Partitio expresses that he's glad Osvald is around to cheer him up (cue Kraken waterworks again aklsjdfh), Osvald actually suggests that they change the subject to that banal conversation that he supposedly hates so much, just to keep Partitio's mind off of Ori, and gosh dang it to heck that really just drives home how far Osvald has come from that angry revenge-fueled man, and how very close that he and Partitio have become.

That kinda went off topic lol Anyway, this fic is very special to me because it was the most fun that I've had writing a fic, ever. Even though these two ended up being a rare pair, the wonderful people that commented on the fic and even multiple chapters just made this project so much more fun, and gave me the drive to finish a 65k fic in only four months, which is crazy to me because it took me a hell of a lot longer to finish my shorter OT1 longfics ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

There are a lot of moments in this fic that were fun to fit into Osvald and Partitio's respective stories, some favorites being Partitio providing comfort for Osvald after the events of his Chapter 4, Osvald carrying a drunk Partitio back to the inn in the latter's Chapter 2, Partitio taking Osvald to Oresrush to meet Papp, and the confession scene happening under the stars during part 2 of their crossed paths, just to name a few hehe

Oh boy this got long and kinda turned into a manifesto, I'll wrap it up sajkfh Uh yeah The Scholar and The Merchant is my favorite fic and it helped yeet Osvald/Partitio to the top of my OTP list, thanks for coming to my TED talk lmao

#octopath traveler 2 #osvald v. vanstein #partitio yellowil #osvitio #man i can't believe it's been a whole year of massive brainrot for these two #and it shows no signs of slowing down lmfao

[tor3memberwhatsdeleted]

Alright. Let's get this going.

Yes, me. @alice-the-kittycat-yt

Sep-dec 2021

From running through the house, I turned my foot the wrong way and broke it. It wasn't till a week later that I was taken to Urgent Care to get an X-ray of it. Turned out it was fractured. I had to use crutches to get around.

Because of that, I couldn't carry my bag. Someone had to help me. Yes, the mentioned, Alexander.

Not going to say his full name. That would be completely wrong. That'd probably be considered doxxing, which is not what I want. Don't do or say anything to him. That's wrong and not a good way to handle such situations.

Anyway, he was the one to carry my bag. Over the time, I developed a close bond with him. I had ever wanted to love, but something changed when I met him. Felt instantly drawn and breathless looking at him.

Off of that, my friends found out. The first time he asked me out, I declined. I didn't want to like him at the time.

Oh how bad that was.

I soon confessed and we stayed extremely close friends for a while.

Feb 18 2022

This is the exact day he asked me to be his girlfriend. Of course I excepted.

Went on the rest of the year without any problems, other than me then thinking negatively of myself after dating him. Bringing down my self esteem.

Rest of 2022

It was alright. I was completely blind by love for this man. I was dumb. Long time followers remember me always talking about him over this period.

As well as self hate posts.

Drawings of him.

Everything on him.

I was obsessed with this guy.

How foolish.

I realized signs of him cheating with a clingy woman named, to keep her private, we'll call her Izzy. She always wanted to be around him.

Then came valentine's day of 2023...

Feb 25, 2023

This is the exact date of which he broke up with me after admitting to cheating on my with Izzy.

I was devastated and depressed.

I didn't know what to do with my life. But...

I built myself back up. He started being a b**** to me and calling me things.

Going as far as to bring up my past, which is a very sensitive subject for me.

I couldn't believe he would do such a thing (yes, my parents fought, not only with words but violence, I might do a story on that later).

Then it went to insulting my appearance.

Then brings my depression to make fun of me

Wouldn't anyone cry?!?!?!

Then he goes as far to tell me to kill myself after I mentioned my friend telling me to block him. Before I even finished my sentence.

Can't even spell properly.

Uses the same insults as a 6 year old.

Present day

So, currently he called me recently, no, I didn't answer because I was confused. I've been a lot nicer to him.

Though I'll never truly forgive him.

He lied and said I was abusive then later admitting to dumping me for another woman.

I won't forget this. I never did anything to him. Yes, I did say some pretty rude things as a comeback, but I never went as far as to tell him to literally kill himself. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone!

Insulting my art.

I will never forgive or forget that.

He is rude and not trustworthy.

I'm done here.

#the story of us #Alex The Dumbass #alice talks

[xonepeacelovex]

the wedding planner | part 25

the wedding planner | part 26

the wedding planner series

Characters: Bang Chan x Reader (Y/N) | Lee Minho | Hwang Hyunjin | Kim Seungmin

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Trigger Warning: None

Summary:

“That’s why I want to see you before the wedding,” Chan said to you with a serious tone.

You looked at him curiously, “Why?”

“I want you to plan my wedding.”

Taglist: @charm-art @nycol-ie @straytannies @usuallyunlikelyfox @cheolright

A/N: Happy birthday to the best leader, Bang Chan!

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs. Bang,” shaking her hand, all smiles. This would be the first time you’ll see her in person. She looked different from that only picture Chan displayed on the wall of his room. They are both smiling widely there, Chan with his chubby cheeks and natural curly hair while her mom you just knew, was full of love. 

You remember Chan blocking your view from the framed photo before you can even take a picture of it for keep’s sake. “Come on. I’ll just keep it on my phone,” pushing him aside but your best friend is not budging from his ground. “It’s embarrassing,” he said, holding your shoulders, keeping you from pushing him. “That’s a cute photo all I have on my phone is your embarrassing photos,” blurting out the reason why you would want a copy of it. Smirking, he lets you go while all the blood rush on your face. You fan your face with your hand, “Can we open the windows? Your new room is so hot, you should install an air conditioner here,” sneakily putting your phone inside the pocket of your jeans, afraid he’ll go through it and make you delete it. There’s no way you’ll do that.

“So...” Chan said while leaning closer to you, his playful smile making you gulp, clearly enjoying the way you are blushing right now, caught in the act, “you have photos of me on your phone? Do you like me, Y/N?”

“Huh?” You stopped fanning your face, jaws dropped wide open from his question. You? Liking your best friend? His smile widens more as the seconds passed by. You rolled your eyes at him, the first time you ever did, “Didn’t you hear me say ‘embarrassing’ photos?” you scoffed. It amused him more, the way you are annoyed at him. “Don’t put your hopes up Chan,” walking away from him, opening the window so the room would not be so stuffy. You missed to see how his smile dropped. “I am your best friend,” looking back at him, he’s looking at you seriously, “I would not be one of your play thing,” tearing your eyes away from him, continuing what you were doing earlier, putting his things out of the boxes. “Of course, Y/N. I’m just messing with you,” he said, arranging his stuff again. 

You stared at him. Did you crossed the line? But that’s what friends for, right? Telling the truth even though it hurts.

“What?” he asked when he felt your eyes on him, laughing but not looking at you. “I’m just worried I crossed the line,” speaking what’s bothering you. This time he looked at you in the eyes, shaking his head, a small smile on his face, “No,” he said, sincerely. You sighed, relief, “You should stop that, you know, playing hearts.” 

He laughs, “And you should stop hanging out with Minho. His attitude and nagging are rubbing on you.”

“No way! I like Minho.”

He smiles before looking away from you. His phone rang broke the quiet atmosphere, he got up to answer it, leaving you alone in his room. Looking around, you noticed a picture frame on his bed side table, you stared at it for a second. That’s a picture from the time you hang out, just the two of you, and became much closer. The time you still had a crush on him and knew that you should buried your feelings right away.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other right?

Despite the intimidating look and the air of sophistication surrounding her, you don’t feel any kind of nervousness around her unlike the first time you’ve met Rosé.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Smile faltering, your hand stopped from moving, meeting the eyes of the man behind her for a second. “You did a great job at one of my friend’s son wedding two years ago. I don’t know if you still remember but Changbin’s the name of the groom,” looking back at her, taking your hand back, “I can’t believe that time you’re still a rookie in this industry.” 

“Ah. Yes!” giving her a gracious smile again, “How can I forget about Mr. Seo’s wedding?” He was your first big client. His wedding was the reason why your name buzzed in the industry. A rookie wedding planner for the wedding of the year.

“I was there and Chan too,” she revealed. Chan was there too? But you didn’t saw him. He came back two years ago and he probably saw you. Why didn’t he approached you? Made his arrival known to you? “That moment I knew I just had to get you as a wedding planner for my son. We’re so lucky we got you as one,” she continued but all of that fell on deaf ears as you process the new information. You wanted to look at Chan, asked him the questions bothering you now but you can’t so you didn’t. 

“Y/N?” Mrs. Bang called you out. You smiled animatedly, “Of course Mrs. Bang. Who would decline being part of the biggest wedding this year?” Glancing at the couple that is cautiously looking at you, not failing to notice their intertwined hands. 

Looking away from them, “Let’s finalize everything, shall we?” your attention back at Mrs. Bang, “So we can all move on,” giving her a smile, “from the wedding plan.” 

Mrs. Bang walked beside you while you lead them inside a private room of a restaurant.

Copyright © 2022 xonepeacelovex All rights reserved.

#stray kids #skz #stay #bang chan #skz chan #stray kids chan #stray kids bang chan #skz bang chan #xonepeacelovex #the wedding planner #stray kids au #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfics #stray kids series #stray kids x y/n #bang chan au #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan fanfics #bang chan series #bang chan x y/n #skz au #skz angst #skz fluff #skz scenarios

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Iteration - a Malevolent fic, chapter one

John has been poisoned. Who did it? Unknown. How can he be saved? If not for Arthur, he wouldn't.

The ripples from this event hit far distant shores, and no one will come out of it unchanged.

Part 100 of the Surrogate series.

AO3 - chapter one

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

“Poison!”

Rumbling power, magic like warm blood replacing whatever flowed in his veins. Roaring, smashing, crushing sounds, cursing in a language he knew, but—

“Bring them all to me!”

“Dad!”

A goat bleating. A goat… bleating?

Shaking, room trembling, everything burning hot.

So. Much. Shouting.

“I will see the suffering of those who—“

Who what?

Why did everything burn?

Who…

Who am I?

He opened his eyes.

#

A moment of nothingness, of pure blank slate, of submissive receptivity. But only for a moment. Magic flowed through his veins, familiar and pleasant, and he received it as his due.

He lay on a bed in a palace. A glorious palace, beautiful, ornate, rich in gold and black (and that was important because of… something). There were doorways and incredible art. It felt like home, fit like a glove, filled some part of himself that maybe had been bled out and used as paint and inspiration.

And oh—the palace wasn’t just beautiful; there were mirrors, and that gave him a magnificent if puzzling view. He wasn’t reflected there; he knew that, knew it like he knew this place was his. Instead of him, there was a human man.

A scarred man. A skinny man. A man with weariness in his face and gray in his temples, with bright golden eyes and surprisingly lovely lips. A man who, he knew, absolutely one hundred percent belonged to him.

He wanted to touch, to take, to hold. But there was a problem. He could not fucking move.

(Memory of burning, but barely there, vanishing like smoke)

“John?” said the man in the mirrors, and the man’s eyes moved where he wanted them to, giving him that reflection, but there was no sensation of speaking, no rush of air, no delicate brush of his tongue, which meant…

Oh. Oh. Fuck.

A little girl came into view, blocking the mirror, bending over him. He had no idea who she was, and did not particularly care. She looked like she’d been crying. “John?” she repeated.

There was a pause. Who the fuck is John? he said, and the little girl’s eyes went huge.

“Oh, no,” said the man’s voice again, emotion shaking it, taking it from a truly lovely baritone into something soft and vulnerable.

He spoke, but the lips still did not move. What is happening?

“John,” said the man. “You’re John.” His voice broke. “You… you’re John. You don’t remember?”

“I’ll get dad,” said the little girl with wide eyes, and raced out with surprising grace for a human juvenile.

The man (his) was breathing too fast. “John?”

Who the fuck is John? he said again, and then had a better question. Where the fuck am I? The eyes. The eyes obeyed him. I’m… in your fucking eyes?

“Oh, gods,” said the man, and covered his face with his hands.

No, that would not do. He couldn’t see his person. No. Lower your hands, he said, using a tone he knew would be effective, smooth and rich and deep.

The man did. Good! He knew to obey!

“John… fuck.” The man sounded on the edge of tears. “You’re John. You’re John! You can’t have forgotten…”

No, no, he wasn’t allowed to be sad.  My name is John to you? he said, honestly doubting it, not really feeling like a “John” would be in charge of a palace like this.

“Yes. That’s your name.” The cracked baritone echoed over the smooth marble, wept its way past the dark windows, vanished into the nightl.

Oh, the man was crying. His man. There, there, he said, and suddenly discovered he did have another part of this body: the left hand. He raised it, wiping tears from his human’s face. It’s going to be all right. It seems we’ve had some sort of accident, but you’re going to be fine now.

The look on the man’s face went long. Shocked. Then sort of… pissed off? “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Why do you do that?”

Do what? Not-John purred, aiming to make his voice resonate through this man’s whole body.

It worked; his person shivered. Then scowled.

And then a god arrived.

Not-John hated him at once. Huge. Beefy. Overtly muscular and male. Absolutely graceless, and he smelled of fish.

“Huh,” said the god, leaning over. “Both awake now?”

Ugh. He even drawled like some kind of hick.

“I feel like shit,” said the man, his man.

There, there, Not-John said again.

“He doesn’t know who he is,” said the man so quietly, almost brokenly.

"Told you that might happen," drawled the god.

This man’s distress… tugged at him, pulled, tormented something deep inside. He couldn’t handle it. Does calling me John mean that much to you? he rumbled as smoothly as he could, trying not to make it too condescending.

The fish-god looked… pitying. Oh, Not-John hated him.

“Yes,” whispered the man.

The fish-god sighed. “Hastur’s still dealing with shit. You got this?”

“Uh,” said the human. “I… I don’t…”

“Even tell him your name yet?”

“No, because I haven’t forgotten mine!” cried the man.

“Right, well.” Fish-god didn’t seem too fussed about any of this. “We still gotcha. All’s safe.”

“But they didn’t find them yet,” snarled not-John’s human with a sudden and startling venom, like he was a completely different person.

Ooh. Not-John liked that. Ooh.

“He will,” said fish-god, and just fucking left. Was that the little girl’s dad? It seemed unlikely.

The man (his) sniffled some more, but there was anger in his face now as he wiped his tears.

Oh, this man was interesting. Not-John was glad he was his. You may call me John. You’re very special to me, aren’t you? Yes, you are. We both know that you are.

“You don’t even know who you are,” the man hitched. “I’m not special to you.”

Oh, aren’t you? said Not-John, and touched the mark.

Of course he felt it there. Could strum it, like a harp. Could follow his fingerprints all through this man’s soul.

The man gasped and went very, very still, staring at nothing.

What is your name?

“Arthur,” he whispered.

Arthur. Oh, that mark was perfect. Deep.  You’re mine. You know that, don’t you?

“Yes,” whispered Arthur, but his brow knit, as though something were bothering him.

That couldn’t be. Not-John didn’t want his man upset, so it couldn’t be. He pressed harder. You want to call me John?

“It’s your name,” said Arthur. “You named yourself.”

Well, that was clearly nonsense.

He could feel this place was his. This man was his. He was god here. John? What kind of a fucking name was John? Did I?

“Yes, after… after the coma.” Arthur’s brow was still knit, but he couldn’t resist the power of the mark, and was physically relaxing, losing all that nasty tension.

Coma? Okay, that sounded serious. What coma?

“Mine, though I guess it was both of ours,” said Arthur, which told Not-John two unpleasant things.

One: his human had clearly been through it. Humans were fragile. This was unacceptable.

Two: he had already been in the human’s body when the coma was happening.

Where was his own body? He couldn’t be trapped in mortal flesh. How would he even stay alive without his godly power to—

Wait. Something was wrong.

Sleep, he commanded his marked, commanded his own, and then focused on the place of their connection. Okay, first off, this was a mess. They were entangled. That was awful, because extracting himself would be impossible without harming his human, and he didn’t want to do that. Second off, the mark was… what the hell?

What the hell?

WHO ELSE MARKED YOU? he roared, startling Arthur out of the sleep he’d just put him in.

“The fuck, John!” Arthur cried instead of answering, which he… really shouldn’t have been able to do.

John settled in, gripping the mark tighter. Who. Else. Marked. You.

“Fuck. Hastur did. You know that, damn it,” said Arthur, who wasn’t behaving nearly as swayed as he should.

John narrowed Arthur’s eyes. Hastur?

“How can you not remember anything?”

Oh. Arthur was crying again.

No, that would not do. No. Calm. Be calm. You’re mine, Arthur. Nothing changes that.

“I… what the fuck are you talking about? Your name is John. You’ve been in me… we’ve been together for ten years. You can’t… you really don’t remember anything?”

Ten years! Ten years!

John needed a moment.

That was a long time to be without his body. There could only be a few reasons why he hadn’t returned to it, and he suddenly wondered if that entanglement might just be keeping him from going to the Dark World.

…back to the Dark World.

Back… to?

He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember, but the fear of it rose in him like icy water, cutting off his breath.

Arthur wiped his face again. “I’m not going to give up on you,” he suddenly vowed. “However long this takes. I’m not ever leaving you.”

Of course, Arthur, soothed Not-John, trying to hide his growing horror at his circumstances. His body… Where is my body, Arthur?

“You don’t have one,” said Arthur, snappish, which he shouldn’t have been able to do, either.

Not-John gripped the mark tighter, penetrating, palpating. Relax. Where is my body, Arthur?

Arthur made one small sound, a perfect, memorable sound of pleasure. And then he went impossibly stiff, improbably scowling, and sat up, which was very much the opposite of relax. “Fuck this. I can’t lie here.”

How the hell had he… Lie down.

“No.”

Not-John was so shocked that he said nothing as Arthur looked for clothes. (And yes, his naked body was quite distracting, but there were bigger issues at hand.)

Arthur winced. Leaned against the wall, pale.

You aren’t well. Not-John raised his hand and touched Arthur’s lips.

“I’ve been throwing up for three days,” said Arthur.

We’re sick? Not-John was offended.

“No. Hastur can explain. He’s busy ripping up the kingdom trying to figure out what happened.”

And what happened, Arthur?

Arthur seemed to decide he lacked the energy to go wandering, after all. “I… don’t want to get into it yet.”

So he wasn’t sick? You mentioned  Hastur again.

“The King in Yellow. You were a part of him once.”

A part of—

Oh, that name! That was it, that was everything! So I am the King in Yellow! he trumpeted, bold with recognition.

“Not this again,” Arthur muttered.

I am the King in Yellow, said Not-John, because it felt so damn good to say, and he swelled with it, and stretched with it, and flexed as this knowledge settled into him like wheels into well-worn grooves, and—

Arthur passed out. Just fell, eyes rolled back, like his electrical plug had been pulled.

Not-John managed to catch him, left arm swinging around in time to keep that fragile human head from cracking like an egg. What had just happened? What the fuck had just happened?

Oh. That’s what happened. Not-John came perilously close to taking over this body and shoving Arthur out.

He could do it. Gods, it would be so fucking easy.

He was like a crab that had outgrown his shell. He barely fit in here; the entanglement—binding them both—was the only fucking reason they were both still in this body at all.

So why the hell hadn’t he?

Could right now. Just do it. Take the body, get up, get the fuck out of palace, away from the fish-god and poison and whatever else was going on. Figure out the process to recovering his original body, or ascension, or something. But the thought of losing Arthur…

Thrusting that human soul away so it went to the Dark World alone, without him…

Something… it didn’t…

It didn’t sit right, and Not-John couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Dad!” screamed the little girl (but hadn’t she gone to get her father?), and used a fairly competent levitation spell to get Arthur off the floor and onto the bed. Then she was on it with him, fussing, breath hitching, feeling his cheeks and checking his pulse and generally freaking out.

Her tears were hot. There was some reason he didn’t like her. Whatever it was, she was in the way. He shoved.

And with strength he did not expect, she gripped his arm and pushed it down against his chest, keeping it there with her whole weight. “What did you do?” she snapped.

Get. Off. Me. He wouldn’t warn her twice.

Her eyes narrowed. “Dad is going to tell you off so hard when he returns.”

I thought you called Arthur dad, said Not-John, smug. Or was it the fish-god?

She stared at him. “Arthur is dad. Hastur is dad. Dagon is uncle. You’re… I don’t know what you are right now, but you’re not helping. Did you hurt him?”

Geez, what a mouthy kid. Though come to think of it, the set of her lips, her little furrowed brow… huh. Yeah, this was Arthur’s offspring, all right. You will get off me. Right now. You will leave this room, and tell no one of my actions.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re being an ass,” she said.

He growled a warning. Do not make me curse you.

“You’re welcome to try,” she said with an oddly calm air that spoke of knowledge, not hubris, and it gave him pause. “Besides,” she added. “If you do magic without Arthur’s agreement, you’ll knock him out again. That’s probably what you did this time.”

How dare you—-

“You almost killed him twice. Don’t you dare, sir.”

Oh, he was going to punish her when he got his body back. Get off.

She swallowed and did, her eyes wet again. “Fine. Go on. Try whatever. Arthur’ll be so mad at you.” And she ran back out, wiping her eyes.

Whatever. John settled the mark, swaying Arthur to ensure he would stay the fuck asleep, and then carefully took over. Filling, sliding neatly into the cracks and crevices of this mortal form, and it felt so good, like uncurling after being stuffed into a box. With a satisfied moan, he sat up—

And almost lost Arthur’s soul completely.

They were entangled, and that’s what saved him—gripping Arthur, pulling him back, straining to keep them both in that body as it fell limply back onto the bed.

Fuck. Fuck! He could take the body so easily, but not with that cost! It took John a hard, bad moment to settle them both in, to calm Arthur’s soul down, to tie it down. To grip the moorings—so small, so pitiful, because Arthur’s soul was human.

To compress himself.

It wasn’t… comfortable… in here with him. Not at all. He had to be so still, had to make himself so small. Like if he took a deep breath, that would be it. Ugh. It was horrible. It hurt. It was—

Arthur woke up.

John startled badly. So badly he froze, gaping stupidly in the mirrors. He clearly felt that mark, that connection, working just fine, except…

Except Arthur fucking ignored it and woke up. “Ugh,” he said. “What did… did… you just sway me?” He sounded shocked.

So did John. How the fuck are you awake?

The look of betrayal on Arthur’s face was like a knife in their shared heart. “Fuck,” Arthur whispered, and got out of bed. “Don’t do that again!.”

How—

“Don’t you fucking sway me again! I don’t care if you don’t remember anything.”

He bristled. How dare—

The snarl was back, that deliciously insane gravel, and Arthur must have known John could see him in the mirrors because when he bared his teeth, it was aimed. “I don’t. Like. To be pushed! I don’t like him or you doing that. Don’t you dare do it again!”

Wasn’t this man his?

Yes.

Then what was… where did he get off… Or you’ll what?

All previous stubborn looks paled in comparison to this one. “I’ll never fucking talk to you again.”

Bullshit! Preposterous! Horrifying! You have to talk to me!

“Want to bet?” threatened this impossible man.

Not-John’s left hand clenched. He wanted to throttle him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to force him to the ground and choke the life out of him or do something else utterly distracting until he was fucking pliant, and—

You’re mine, though, he said, and was horrified to hear himself whine.

Arthur relented. “Nothing’s changing that.” He sighed and flopped back down on the bed, facing the mirror overhead. “I know you don’t remember. I… fuck. I forgive you. You’re gonna be sick when you do remember. I know. Just don’t do it again.”

What… was this? Tenderness? No. There was still anger underneath, like a double-boiler. But this was…

Choice. Not-John got it in a weird moment of instinct. This was choice. Arthur was talking about their future. Choosing some kind of life together.

Okay. He could work with that. Of course, you’re right, he agreed in honey-warm tones. If that’s what you want.

“And now we’re back to this,” Arthur muttered.

I’ve misjudged the situation, Not-John continued, smooth as refined oil. And I’ve misjudged you. You’re a tender soul, Arthur. I won’t try to make you do anything like that again.

Oh, what a raucous look. “You couldn’t, anyway. Fuck off.”

Ugh! Punishment! There would be punishment!

Maybe.

Honestly, this defiance was kind of hot. Maybe it would be non-traditional punishment. When he got his body back. Speaking of which… Arthur, he said, low, even seductive. Please tell me where my body is.

Arthur’s face really said everything, no matter how stubborn the little asshole was. And right now, it was saying…not-good things. “John, you don’t have a body.”

More smooth. More warm. More bass, just barely brushing the mark so Arthur would tell him the truth. Of course I have a body, Arthur. I’d be dead if I didn’t.

And Arthur’s next expression… hurt. It was naked. Compassionate. “John, I’m not… we should wait until Hastur’s here.”

Brush. No need to wait for anyone, Arthur. It’s you and me. We’ve always been enough for each other, haven’t we? And oh, the way his eyes fluttered, his face relaxed—You can tell me. I may not remember much, but I know I can trust you. He reached across, just resting his fingertips on Arthur’s hand. Tell me. And at the same time, again, he brushed the mark.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered nearly shut, responding to that dual touch. “You don’t have a body,” he murmured. “You were torn from Hastur when he tried to take a portal and it closed on him. You were dead for I don’t know how long—you were never sure. You were in the Dark World, John, and there was… you ended up pulled from there and put into a book. When I opened the book, you ended up in me. You don’t have a body.”

Not-John was silent. Staring. So… that fear was… real. He had been in the Dark World, after all. He could feel the truth in it.

It was such a… it felt so…

Not-John didn’t have words for this. For the enormity of the feeling, the expanse of emotions. It wasn’t anything he could understand, or name, or control. Fear, anger, horror, shame, helplessness… there were no suitable words for any of it. He was crying, and didn’t even fully know why.

Because he’d died. That’s why. The Dark World had already had him.

And now, Arthur was holding his hand. “I’ve got you, John,” Arthur said softly.

A shudder gripped him and would not let go, and his tears were the ones sliding down Arthur’s face, and he rattled inside that frail, human form, and Arthur’s entangled soul was what kept not-John from shaking right to bits.

“I’ve got you,” said his Arthur again, holding his hand tightly. “You’re safe. You’re all right. We’re going to fix this.” And then he said the weirdest thing: “It won’t be like before. I won’t fuck this up. I swear it.”

Fuck… fuck what up?

And of course, he wouldn’t answer that. “Come on, Hastur,” he murmured. “Where in fuck are you?”

Answer me.

Arthur would not. He lay back on the bed, holding Not-John’s hand, and drifted to sleep.

What am I going to do? Not-John whispered to himself, but there was no reply.

(chapter two)

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #malevolent podcast #surrogate series #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #hastur malevolent #faroe malevolent #parker yang #sunny | yellow

[mosraev]

Lyrics through the decade 8/11

I've decided to collect all the songs I've made through the last decade and share my favourite snippets with you guys. The pictures for the backgrounds will (as much as possible) be pictures I've taken the same year as the lyrics were written. The full lyrics may or may not be made official someday.

Part 8; 2020

Ah, yes - the year of the virus. One would think I started creating more songs this year and true, I did create a bit more songs than the three years before but it was still mostly done in the two weeks I was a summer camp (we still attended but with more restrictions).

More info under the line

Stay creative, my fellow foxes 🦊💚

Song 1 (pic1+2); Frejas Sale

While I the year before had written a song about a roman goddess I got the urge to write about a Norse one this year more specifically Freyia (Freja in Danish) So this turned into a national anthem ish song taken inspiration from Norse mythology.

Featured lyric:

Original (pic1): Jætte, gud, menneskebarn, fra alf til svale

Vi er alle forbundet i verdnerne ud fra Frejas sale.

Translated to English (pic2); Jutton, asir, son of man, from alf to swallow.

We are all connected in worlds originating from Freyia's hall.

Song2 (pic3+4); Nephtys

Having now written two Goddess songs I decided it would be fun to make it a triology so I searched for random Goddesses and found Nephtys from Egyptian myths. So I wrote a death song and tbh it might be my favourite of the triology.

Featured lyric:

Original (pic4); Hvis hun kom til dig, ville du tage hendes hånd

og klippe alle jordlige, finde fred,

når du tjekker ind på dødens hotel?

Translated to English (pic3); If she came to you would you take her hand,

cut all bond to this eathern land and find peace

on the hotel of death?

Song3 (pic 5+6); Moselille

This year I wrote quite a few half done songs in the second week of my summer camp trying to really capture a feeling I wanted. This is one of them inspired by a little stream in the forest behind the school. The whole thing turned very 'Bridge to Terabithia' but I dig it still.

Featured lyric:

Original (pic5): Moselille, lille vand du port til fantasien.

Bring min båd sikkert til din havn.

Translated to English (pic6); Little marsh, little bog, bridge to fantasy land.

Bring my boat to your harbour safetly.

Song 4 (pic7); Butterfly

What is this? An english song again after this long? Why yes, I'd not planned on making one at this time but when I had an art block with writing danish songs I sat down, watched a butterfly flew by and wrote this one. I've already submitted the final version (x) you can listen to if you like.

Featured lyric: Now all about you seems so grey.

When did the light in you fade away?

Song5 (pic8); Broken

The one song I wrote after summer camp this year and it is my one song I've written so far about my experiences with my ex (he broke up with me over the phone 1,5 prior to this) ... let's just say that the amatonormativity specially the internal one was strong and way stronger than the romantic feelings on my end).

Featured lyric: In the end I didn't need you to fix me,

cause I was never broken.

#lyrics #2020 #frejas sale #nephtys #danish song #english song #moselille #butterfly #broken #mosraev #mosræv

[bookwyrminspiration]

oh man, i didn't even think of the younger fans joining in.

stay safe out there kids, and remember to block very liberally and filter tags! (also, make sure to filter when looking for fanfic, too!)

this has been a psa by the weird dude who just drops by in the fandom occasionally to grumble, say the weirdest thing he can, and then leave for a few months to a year again.

also, if you don't mind me asking, what was the IG situation?

Exactly! Block tags and filter with abandon, you don't need to reach a certain threshold to do so and it's not a last resort. Sometimes my mutuals will get a new interest and I get sick of seeing show gifs on my dash and so I block it! Nothing special. Stay safe and curate your experience!

As for the IG situation, for those of you new or unaware I'm about to learn you some keepblr history right here. And emphasize why it's important to communicate with people directly and why you should block tags you don't like. (sizable explanation ahead)

A few months ago the infamous post about how the Neverseen uniform under the cloak is never described--and therefore they could be wearing hot pink leotards and stripper heels, with tutus for the minors--reached a note milestone (500), so in celebration we brought it back and there was an influx of art of Fintan in said uniform. S has a bunch collected here.

Someone on tumblr then went to an anonymous IG keeper confessions account (which has since been deleted) and submitted a confession talking about how the tumblr fandom was strange, making stripper Fintan art, and how it was making them uncomfortable. This was the first any of us had heard of it, as they hadn't said anything to us to try and work it out. (I don't hold it against them for being uncomfortable, but I don't think this is the way to deal with it)

If you know anything about confession accounts, you can imagine what broke out, which was made worse by an already existing rivalry/bias against the IG fandom. The IG fandom with no context reacted like the tumblr fandom was weird and disgusting for our joke, and the tumblr fandom handled it...unhelpfully? Listen, I love being here but full honesty I think the majority of the response made the situation worse and it was incredibly frustrating to watch. The tumblr fandom made the IG fandom into part of the joke, about how it was all allocishet white people who love heterosexuality and just couldn't handle tumblr. It became a joke to come up with what would kill a keepstagrammer (not actual killing, but kill in the sense of sprite killing Prince Phillip), like a particular queer ship or headcanon.

The IG fandom, understandably, did not like this and found it insulting. Which only worsened how they thought of and spoke of the tumblr fandom. They said there were many poc on IG, that the point is that keeper is a children's series and it's gross to make nsfw jokes--and again, this is all through a confessions account. There are a few accounts that if you look through their archive, you can find screenshots.

Since it was all through confessions and no one was actually talking to each other, making it all worse because we're literally on separate social medias and each side was only getting what someone chose to share (e.g., only certain screenshots, only certain links to tumblr posts), I reached out and spoke to the most outspoken person on IG (she had been commenting on everything and posting about it herself). We had a conversation where we respectfully explained our positions and cleared some confusion (like how tumblr works, how you can block tags to avoid content you don't like, how old the tumblr fandom is, how old you have to be to join, etc.) That resulted in this post of mine where I explained the other side alongside our own, as I didn't think anyone else had done so. Their position boiled down to kids (young teens) can find this and it can make them uncomfortable, so they wanted to depend them, and they'd had recent discourse tumblr was unaware of that made them react stronger. The person on IG also made a story post talking about it.

Afterwards, there were some more serious posts about the issue on our side, sympathetic to people uncomfortable while still affirming that it's not our responsibility to curate others online experience.

Things were calm for a day or two, but then because of the way confession accounts work, confessions from before the other person and I had spoken were posted, and that delay ignited things again. So then rinse and repeat, but less intensely. I reached out and spoke to people again (I talk about me reaching out because I don't know who, if anyone, else did). More clarification posts were made, I offered my tumblr as a direct contact for IG people who wanted to talk.

Things started to calm again, but there wasn't really a final conclusion or resolution, as the confessions account hosting all this was deleted before that could happen. I'm not sure why, as I spoke directly with that person prior and she said she wanted to continue giving people a space to talk, even if it was overwhelming. But that's where we're at.

This was back in August, and it hasn't been brought up since. But it wasn't fun for anyone involved and was deeply distressing, which is why I emphasize to talk to us if you have an issue with something. We want to help! We want you to enjoy being here and online! We will do what we can, but that will only work if you do your part, too. That means unfollow or block people posting stuff you don't like, block tags for content you don't want to see. Discourse incidents like this can be avoided.

But that was the IG incident, so now you know! I'm sure you can find a lot more, but this is the gist of how it played out--at least from my perspective. This is how I saw and experienced it, but I'm one person. But if anyone has further questions or wants to know anything, I can do my best to explain!

#(this is all from my pov! i have biases! be aware of that!) #kotlc #kotlc discourse #quil's queries #commonghost #there's some details I'm not hitting but you know. that was the incident #not fun #well. i know some people had fun making fun of the IG fandom. but I did not find it fun #i knew a couple people who were tempted to just leave because the discourse was so stressful to them #i'm well aware I'm not responsible for this fandom or better than anyone else. but in the moment I wanted to shake some sense #into a handful of people who were. not making the situation better