#ghost pigeon (never forgotten)

[banaynay-art]

Watched the Ghost show, am a changed person now! (ID in ALT text)

I thought this would become a little fun drawing ha ha but then... i remembered how many main characters there are... and googling costumes.... googling the costumes again... why was it so hard to find pictures of their trousers and shoes??? Ahhh! Anyway, look at my pathetic first wip.

#bbc ghosts #six idiots #bbc ghosts fanart #the captain #ghost pigeon (never forgotten) #robin ghosts #julian ghosts #lady button #humphrey ghosts #mary ghosts #thomas ghosts #thomas thorne #pat ghosts #pat butcher #kitty ghosts #the captain ghosts #alison ghosts #mike ghosts #OKAY too many characters i hope thats it #the ghigheon #just learned that thats what you guys call them

[bkgpackets]

‘it’s black, now.’

katsuki stares at you from across the street, is that really you? the you from middle school? the you who always sat with him when people got tired of his mean and rough words? you look so different, not a bad different per se, just a melancholic different. he could see how you grew up, your curves have filled out, and your face slimmed down too, but some things never really change, like the way you’re holding flowers looks the exact same as when you held the books that your teachers gave you, the way your eyes glimpse over the sunlight peaking behind the skyscrapers looks identical to how you looked at the pigeons that landed outside the classroom windows, you look the same, but also so foreign that it makes his skin itch.

and he’s about to open his mouth— call out your name and run up to you and ask ‘how are you doing, loser?’, but he pauses, because he remembered just why you stopped talking in the first place.

the noise of crumbled cardboard pierces your eardrums, and you stare, crestfallen, but bakugou was too busy looking at the floor angrily to notice just how eerie it is to see that expression on your face. your mouth opens, sounds of incoherence tumble out and he laughs, because who do you think you are to confess to him?

‘stop following me around you quirkless freak! are you also fucked in the head? it’s been 2 years, just lay it off, god damn stupid chalk..’ his spit lands on your face as he flails around, he won’t know that expression on your face because he’s already turning around and leaving the classroom and slamming the door behind him. you never knew that you’d grow to cringe at that nickname. he started calling you chalk after he had teased you for stalking him, and so whenever you’d try and deny that accusation along with your lisp, he had turned to mocking your pronunciation instead. ‘what? loser can’t even pronounce the word stalk?’ but you’ve only ever felt adoration from that name, but things change.

the clacks of his shoes are loud in the tensed air, he won’t know just how much that stepped-on box of chocolate mattered to you until tomorrow, he won’t know just how much it killed you when he exploded your valentine’s day card without a second thought, because the day after that you didn’t wait for him at the school gate, you didn’t sit with him during lunch, you didn’t wave at him when he entered the classroom, you didn’t even look at him when he knocked into you on the hallway.

he didn’t think anything of it at first. he thought it was maybe a tantrum that would be forgotten after a few days, but that never happened. you continued ignoring him, and after a week, he tried to find you, to ask you ‘what the hell is your problem?’ but even your friends told him off, he couldn’t reach you, his number was blocked on your house phone, it was like you had disappeared from his life, a ghost he can see but never touch.

he never really understood why he felt so weird and sticky after you started ignoring him. you stopped interacting with him completely, the last thing you’ve ever said to him being ‘excuse me’ when he was blocking you from your seat during the graduation ceremony, but you had not met his eye, and for some months after that incident, he thought it was fear, and he had felt giddy, god damn stupidly fucking giddy that he finally got you off his tail, and he thought he should’ve felt that way. until he grew up, until he got into U.A. and saw how chubby cheeks would look at deku, how dunce face would sneak glances at ears, and how shitty hair would stare at raccoon eyes, and finally did he realise what he had lost.

but he’s bakugou katsuki, and he knows just how much being a hero meant that tomorrow, let alone the next second, will never be guaranteed in his line of profession. so he walks up to you, fixes his tousled hair left from his patrol, and heaves a determined breath before saying, ‘haven’t seen you in a long time, chalk.’

you’re jostled because you almost didn’t recognise him. with the way his voice has gone down a few octaves since, and also with the absence of curse words in his sentence, he’d grown, and he’s no longer the childish boy who’d laugh at the people who can’t get pass the monkey bars, he’s grown, you’ve seen him on television, and although certain parts of him will never change, his screams are the same, either that be to shitty deku, or to reporters to get the fuck out of my face before i blast you to pieces!

but you’re also not the same star-struck girl in middle school anymore.

‘please don’t call me that.’

the way you wrench out those syllables was painful. katsuki was a big and significant part of your childhood, and as much as you wanted to hate him and to leave him behind you, he was still that kid who protected you from the other bullies in the sandbox when you were seven.

so when you see the oh-so similar crestfallen face on him, you wanted to cry.

‘i know i never got the chance to apologise for that, i’m different now, i’m a hero and i- i got a therapist, i just wanted to, fuck! i don’t know, i wanted to try again,’ he’s shocked by himself, taken aback by how easily the words that he begged with rolled off his tongue like butter, and by how cold you seem to look.

he glances down, and he catches the lanyard around your neck. he sees the ‘Dr.’ before your name, so he can’t help the sense of pride he feels in his chest to know that you’ve become a doctor, your dream job from all those years ago.

he can’t blame you, not everyone is like izuku and so naively forgiving, so he’s desperate when he tries, ‘come on, i know i was an asshole, and i- i guess i still am, but please, i was so much of a boy back then, i know you, i really want be your friend again, your favourite animal was a tiger, your favourite colour was orange—‘

‘it’s black, now.’

in those three words, you’ve conveyed all that you needed to, and the way katsuki’s eyebrows shoot up, you know he feels mocked, pushed down, but you don’t care, you don’t care enough.

‘goodbye, ‘tsuki, if the timing was better next time, maybe i would’ve said yes.’

#bakugou headcanons #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki #bakugou drabble #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #katsukibakugou #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha #sy.katsuki

[grace--le--domas]

Mission Impossible Rant ? Part 1

had a breakdown and watched all 7 (seven) Mission Impossible movies over the course of *checks watch* three days? Read more for an unhinged rant. Or scroll away. Don't care either way cause life is pointless etc etc

MI:1 - The beginning. The oldest of the bunch. And just like all elder siblings, this one's stoic as hell. Ethan Hunt is introduced to us as this charismatic, cocky agent, out for chaos. Movie looks like it's going to be yet another generic action thriller. Except- his entire team dies (Well, not all of them- more like most of them). Thus begins a noir drama of sorts and honestly? It still holds up. It is paced perfectly, has those late 90s over-the-top action sequences and is a good time all around.

2. MI:2- So, this is where it gets interesting. For some background trivia, let me tell you why this movie's existence is interesting as hell. Up until MI:2, Tom Cruise has never participated in a sequel. People were wondering if he ever would, and sure enough we soon got MI:2 . MI:2 can be best described as a Woo- fever dream of sorts. The only things I can remember now are Thandiwe Newton, pigeons (and doves?) and a cliff climbing. It is the weakest of the bunch in my opinion.

3. MI:3- Lack of critical reception to MI:2 led to a change in directors. Tom Cruise ends up watching Alias and falls deeply in love with JJ Abrahms. JJ has a whole new aesthetic for the franchise. And action!

The entire ending of MI:2 is forgotten. No, seriously, this one begins with Ethan's engagement party to a random girl. He has taken a step back from spying, and is just chilling about- mostly teaching the craft to other agents. Keri Russel is one such agent, and when she gets kidnapped, Hunt springs into action. Russel is killed (wasted Keri Russel imo- go watch The Americans) , Hunt gets married, his wife gets kidnapped and nearly killed- this one's a doozy. Philip Seymour Hoffmann (RIP) is exemplary as a villain though.

Another highlight is Benjamin "Benji" Dunn. More on this later.

4. MI- Ghost Protocol- Keeping in with the let's- get- a- new-director- tradition, this one has Brad Bird at its helm. Bird hasn't directed any live action movies at this point, but he does have more than a decade's experience with animated material (The Incredibles, Ratatouille).

Honestly, this is my absolute favourite of the bunch. This film has everything- the iconic Burg Khalifa sequence, great dialogue, AMAZING pacing. The supporting cast have this incredible chemistry with each other. And this one has humour too! (most of the credit due to Benji, played by Simon Pegg).

Absolutely everything goes wrong in this movie and that's why it slaps. The tension is palpable in almost all scene. This movie is the one that revitalizes the franchise. It only gets better from here.

#mission impossible #MI: 7 #ethan hunt #ilsa faust #benji dunn

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Mercury: Misty Breaths

Designer's Reflection: Misty Breaths

Obtained: top-up for Tides and Flames event

Rarity: SSR

Attribute: Gold/Elegant

Awakened Suit: Dark Contracts

Story - transcripts from Designer's Reflection

Chapter 1 - Beneath the Ice

Chapter 2 - Spirit in the Lake

Chapter 3 - Forgotten Sagas

Chapter 4 - Black Tide Rising

Story - summarized

Mercury and his group finally found the Altar of Arionus, located at the bottom of Lake Bovaly. With the assistance of the Water Elf King's gem, he followed the path into the lake and down a dark passage.

And there, still preserved after all this time, was the stone altar. A misty wraith guarded it, emitting shrieks and screams. But Mercury was not deterred. Instead, he approached the spirit and declared himself a friend of the Water Elves.

The dark mist revealed itself to be Flo, one of the earliest and most devout followers of Arionus. He was there to witness the scorn of the other Elf Gods, as well as how Hephaes led to his great god's demise. Indignant and vindictive, Flo would do anything to restore the great God of Water.

Mercury announced that he had a plan to awaken the long-lost god, but he needed help revitalizing the New Moon gem. Flo readily agreed, and the last of his ghost faded into vapor as he transferred power into the gem.

Now, Mercury could uphold his end of the deal struck with the Water Elf King: he would awaken Arionus, break the oath binding the Water Elves to the deep sea, and assist in the downfall of Pigeon Kingdom and the Light Elves.

But he wouldn't do this for altruism. All he wanted was a glimpse of the power of the Abyss, and he needed Arionus back to do that.

Connections

-Mercury made a deal with the Water Elf King in Startide Dream. Now, he's fulfilling that deal by triggering the events of the Tides and Flames hell event.

-While Mercury craves the power of the Abyss, he still knew the risk of the Goddess of Desire's presence in Miraland and worked alongside the rest of the Shining Nikki cast during the Angel and Demon hell event. He provided resources to the other three factions.

-Flo has met Hephaes, but in Arionus' Reflection for Lost Tides, Flo didn't trust Hephaes one bit, and the moment the other Elf Gods ambushed Arionus, Flo was quick to pin the blame on Hephaes as a betrayal.

-This is not the first time Mercury wasn't the narrator of his own story: the first half of Startide Dream, the full story for Nightmist Aria, Daybreak Overture, Snow Song, and Reminiscence of Flower (to name a few) either feature another character narrating the story or none at all.

Fun Facts

-Even though we've seen Mercury make the deal with the Water Elf King before, this is the first time a mark or emblem has been mentioned.

-This Reflection is a prologue to the hell event, even to the Moon Memories.

-It's never clear if the New Moon gem is the same blue gem the Water Elf King gave to Mercury the day the young boy left the Pigeon palace. But it fits the description.

-While Mercury knows that gods exist, he doesn't worship any and sees them merely as pawns, like the mortals he meets.

#mercury #shining nikki #designer's reflection #misty breaths #gold attribute #elegant #pigeon #pigeon forest #pigeon kingdom #lake bovaly #elf #water elf #fire elf #light elf #god #tides and flames #anniversary #hell event #top up #power #deception #ssr designer #promise #new moon #gem

[heartofspells]

do i want a remus pov of one of sirius' nightmares and then cuddling bc i love hurt/comfort? not no

Ask and ye shall receive. Mystifying, isn’t it? (or maybe i’m just too large of a pushover. oh well)

Another outtake from At the Healing Edge of Broken, taking place several years after the end of the main story. 

Song used is this one.

And massive thanks to @fonkeloog for coming in at the most oddly coincidental but yet absurdly convenient time with the thing (and also for the translations; you’re the best!).

He wakes when a sharp elbow connects with his side, grunting from the impact. Remus shifts, turns a little, not opening his eyes because it is too early. He huffs when there's more movement from beside him, drawing him further out of his sleep.

"Sirius," he groans out, grouchy as he almost always is first thing in the morning. He pushes down deeper into the cocoon of blankets surrounding his head. "If you're finish'd sleepin' just get up 'cause if ya wake me up before the pigeons are even movin' on a Sat'rday again, I will tie you down an' not let ya go."

He doesn't receive an answer, which even in his hazy, sleep-heavy mind seems a bit strange, but Remus is already drifting back off to the blissful realms of his dreams, not caring much currently. He only stirs again when a forceful foot connects with his shin, and then Remus is awake, hissing as the pain radiates. Something spikes in him with his newfound alertness, finally connecting those once-confusing dots so clearly.

Remus tugs the duvet away from his head, and he's surprised to see it's still dark within their room, no early-morning light spilling through the window as he'd initially expected. Sirius is still asleep beside him, but his face in pinched, eyes creasing deeply at their corners. He's covered in a sheen of sweat Remus can only just make out through the shadows. He's mostly still right now, only a few muscles jumping and twitching, but as Remus watches, Sirius begins to thrash, faint mumbles and pleas of terror seeping from his parted lips.

Remus quickly sits up, turning at his waist to click the light on that's positioned on the side table. Then he's rounding back, leaning over Sirius, thumb trailing gently down the side of his face and over a cheekbone as fingers slowly comb through his long, dark hair. It's been a while since he's had to do this, but it's like a practiced dance, something never forgotten, so deeply ingrained in him that it will always be here when he needs it.

He'd learned a long time ago what can be done and what can't, and Remus keeps it like a bullet point list with notes and references in his head. Never shake him awake. That only leads to Remus or Sirius himself becoming injured. No touching his neck or his chest. Remus has actually decided it's safer to avoid any areas below his jaw and chin. He also can't go near Sirius' mouth when he's locked inside his nightmares like this. Not even a touch of fingers.

So, Remus does what he can, what he knows through trail and error, and then experience, works. His thumb ghosts around eyes, fingers stroke over the shell of Sirius' ear, massaging it gently, dropping to the soft patch of skin at its base and just behind, a favored spot of Remus' and Sirius' as well. He shushes softly, hums quietly, keeps touching everywhere that's safe, that won't push Sirius deeper into his torment.

It takes a while, as it sometimes does, but eventually Sirius' jolts, his eyes snapping open. They dart around frantically, still heavily fogged with sleep and fear as he searches out dangers that don't exist within the waking world, not now, not ever again. He's panting roughly, chest lifting and falling with force, but as his gaze finally comes to rest on Remus hovering above him, he steadily begins to relax, his breathing levelling out, the terror retreating a little. Remus smiles down at him, finally feeling brave enough to cup over his jaw tenderly with one hand.

"Hello, love," he greets soothingly. "Are you back with me?"

Sirius slowly nods, his mouth opening, but no sound emerges. He looks a little panicked, but Remus understands. They've been here before, several times in the past. It happens, Sirius falling mute as everything tries to swallow him down. Remus doesn't stop smiling at him, fingers still stroking carefully over sections of skin.

"That's all right, you don't have to say anything." And he doesn't, knows that as well as Remus does, but Sirius still looks relieved. He pushes his face into his husband's chest, and Remus easily slots a hand around the back of his head, holding Sirius close. "Been a while since this has happened," he comments with a tone just light enough not to send Sirius back into his panic. Remus has learned this too. "Anything on your mind?"

Sirius shakes his head a little against him, and Remus hums thoughtfully, pulling at strands of hair with gentle motions, scratching over the other's scalp. "Just came out of nowhere, then. That's okay. You're safe," states Remus, laying out the facts in neat, presentable order, providing them to Sirius to focus on instead of his dreams. "We're in our home. You're here in bed with me. It's the middle of the night, still hours left to sleep if we want. You know how happy that makes me." He smiles down at the dark head wedged against him, smiling more brightly, though he knows Sirius can't see it. "And I've got you. You're in my arms, no one else's. You will never be in anyone else's, because I'm never letting you go. We're home, we're safe, and just for right now, the rest of the world doesn't exist. All right?"

Sirius shifts against him a little, but he's still far too tense for Remus' liking. Staring down at the top of his head, Remus does the one thing he knows works when all the gentle touches and reassuring words and holding fails. He sings.

"'K Weet niet of je zit te wachten, op een vriendelijk woord van mij. Als ik jou oproep in gedachten, maakt me dat veel beetjes blij. 'K Voel het als ik jou zie zitten, als ik je alleen maar ruik. 'T Zit in honderdduizend vlinders, die zoet zweven in m'n buik.

"'K Heb je lief m'n hele leven is veel meer dan houden van. 'T Is alsof je in m'n bloed zit, ik zonder jou niet leven kan. Jouw mooie ogen doen me smelten, zet me zo in vuur en vlam. Ik voel het enkel bij jouw aanblik, ik krijg het ook van Rotterdam."

Remus keeps singing quietly, Sirius steadily relaxing in his arms, body falling nearly lax over the bed. He smiles, losing himself in the song, not paying much attention until he glances down and sees that his husband's face is no longer hidden away in his chest, grey eyes staring up at him, watching his mouth move. He looks almost peaceful, serene, and for some reason, it only occurs to Remus now that Sirius has no idea what he's even singing, unable to speak Dutch. Remus only knows because his mother had learned, taught herself, just for this song, and so many more like it, passing it on to Remus so he could understand as well.

He smooths a hand over Sirius' forehead, wiping away lines in his skin. Then Remus shifts his words, still gazing down at him, holding him a little tighter.

"I taste it when we kiss, or when you suddenly smile. I see it in shooting stars, after having sex in the night. It's that tingling, that breeze, makes you all for me. I think when I see you walking like this, God, an angel passes by.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, what would I do without you? It's four very small words, and even if that scares you a little, I love you a thousand and one nights."

Something flickers over Sirius' face now as he listens, and the last remnants of his lingering nightmare seems to wash away with it. He presses into Remus a little more firmly, still watching him, looking hypnotized. Remus smiles around the continuing words, leaning down, foreheads connecting, and he feels Sirius sigh, his warm breath rushing over Remus' face in the most wonderful of ways.

"I love you, what would I do without you? It's four very small words, and even if that scares you a little, I love you a hundred and four Christmas trees long. I love you. I love you all my life."

Sirius doesn't speak when he finishes, but it isn't necessary. Remus knows, just as Sirius knows. He eventually falls back asleep without moving away, but Remus remains awake for a while, simply watching him, studying his peaceful face, fingers still smoothing over skin, committing him to memory just as he's done every day for years now.

He finally drifts away himself after a while, and they both sleep late into the morning. When Sirius wakes, he's smiling, happy, all bright eyes and beautiful laughter. Remus bottles it up inside himself, saving it for the next time, something to pull his strength from when he needs it most.

#at the healing edge of broken #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #sirius x remus #sirius/remus #outtake #request #send me your burning desires #because i'll do it #doesn't matter what it is #mostly #my writing #holli writes

[saturniiinae]

//somewhere in bodie, washington//

i am a ghost town if a ghost town were a human being. disconsolate, wanton, dissolute.

when i was a little girl, i would spend hours exploring the abandoned houses that lay torn apart, the walls crumbling, birds & bats nesting in the empty corners. mostly, i was looking for old photographs. family portraits, forgotten smiles, the candid shot that no one ever talks about but refuses to throw out. the clay pigeons lay in broken pieces at my feet, the dust covered my skin.

sometimes, the orchard would catch on fire & we would walk the mile behind the old mennonite village to watch it get put out.

walk 6 more miles & you might find something else.

there was a boy who lived there that had buck teeth like a rabbit & never wore any clothes. he swam in the creek & his eyes looked like the sky at night when the moon refuses to come out from behind the clouds.

raised by the junebugs & coyotes & bobcats. we shared a pear, the sticky juice dribbled down our chins & he waved goodbye as he disappeared into the tumbleweeds & junkyard cars.

i miss him.

#dreamjournal.txt

[timelinereleased]

Introduction

10/22/2126 memories Aurora, Krieger, and I were walking through Renova. “Pigeon, you don’t have to do logs anymore, remember?” “...right. Then again, why shouldn’t I record this?” “He’s not saying you shouldn’t record it. He’s saying you don’t need to do it in log format. He likely believes that we can just keep these as memories, dropping the scientific aspect.” “I guess that’s a good point,” I responded.

Krieger is an interesting fellow. He should be dead. He is dead in another universe.

Alter was in his lab. He had experimented with everything he could find, and nothing on this planet held the key. That was when he realized something. He had forgotten one material. One thing that could potentially allow him to finally do what he’s been waiting for since that capsule had broken. Eternalyn. Its capabilities would allow him to go anywhere, find anything, and finally have a chance at fulfilling his vengeance.

Between universes, no, between multiverses, there is a void. They say that those who enter the void never fully return.

V was patrolling his zone. The zone he knew he had been designated for his entire life. The Heart must be guarded. The void will prevail. With the Dark Zone sealed, and Ghost freed, the void is back to its former glory.

The void will prevail.

The void will prevail.

The void will prevail. That’s all he can remember. Why ca- Pigeon (he/him), Alter (he/him), Aurora (he/him) (also a minor), Krieger (he/him), and V (he/him) are now open for asks.

Link to masterlist and ask rules

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #timeline released

[a-tiny-speck-of-dust]

have you ever wondered what the sound of a broken heart is like?

Word count: 1,8K

Note: I've been keeping this fic locked in my basement for idk how long at this point. This supposed to be the backstory of one of my ocs for a personal writing project I'm currently working on. But, later on, I read it and was like "Hey, this isn't so bad! I think we can post it somewhere" so I decided to post it here on my dusty tumblr. Please be nice bcs this is the first fic I ever posted here, and do tell me just in case there are any tw that I missed and/or should be added to the tags. Also, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance in case there are any mistakes. I hope you will enjoy this story as much as I do and everyone has a great day/night ahead. Love, Lan ❤️

---

ps: Since I briefly mention the term Handlers and Entities from my personal writing project, I'd explain it shortly here:

Handler - a human with supernatural power under an organization specialized in dealing with malevolent Entities.

Entities - the umbrella term I used to call supernatural being.

---

The life of an immortal is a life of boredom. At least, that’s what I thought after witnessing countless sunsets and sunrises my whole life as a shrine guardian.

I have served the gods and helped humans with their seemingly endless problems. I gained a few tails for bringing honor to the gods by helping humans and lost some for playing tricks on them.

Good times.

But, people come and go. Time has changed and the gods are long forgotten, while I’m trapped in time and remain the same.

These days it feels easier to live as a fox. Food has never been a problem and having an entire shrine to myself isn't as bad as I once imagined. Things get quiet, though, when the youngsters decide that it is not a good time for a ghost-hunting night. They're all pretty amusing.

Old people visit the shrine occasionally, trying their best to preserve a tradition that is beyond saving. Some bring their grandchildren, but that’s most likely to be their first and last time visiting.

I did remember one kid. A little girl who seemed interested in everything around the shrine. There was a time when her grandmother took her to the shrine every weekend for a few years. Then one day they left and never came back. Shortly after, I heard that the grandmother passed away and the girl returned to the city with her parents.

We immortals were accustomed to losing something or someone permanently. So, I never thought I would ever see you walk into my shrine's gate again.

But, you did.

You looked different. How long has it been since your last visit? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t dare to scare you away. Not when the gods gave me a chance to see you once again.

The curiosity in your eyes was still the same as before. But I can see more than just curiosity in there. I just don't know what it is.

Despair? Hope?

Your eyes lit up when our eyes met and you smiled at me. I had no idea that I was going to miss your smile so much.

“Good morning, Mr. Fox.” You said, reaching for something from your pocket. “Would you like some treats?”

Some cat food.

“Sorry, I only have that with me right now.”

What are you apologizing for? I thought, munching the food happily as if I hadn’t finished a whole pigeon for breakfast a few hours ago.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take a look inside.” You told me before you bowed toward the gate and walked through it.

There’s nothing left in this shrine besides the hall of worship and some stuff that hasn’t been stolen yet. You can’t even do the cleansing ritual because the water has dried out. But, you make sure to do whatever you can to be respectful. Your grandmother would be so proud of you.

The last time I saw someone pray in my shrine, they asked for so many things all at once. I wonder if the gods even remembered all of it. There were also those people who came just to ask for one thing but felt the need to repeat it many times for the prayer to be answered.

You, on the other hand, wish for nothing. You might look like you did on the outside, but you just stood there to pay your respect to the gods and nothing else.

When you turned around, I expected another goodbye and centuries of guilt for not even trying to talk to you. Instead, you waved at me and told me you’ll be back tomorrow with better food.

I don't usually expect much, but at that time I really hoped it wasn't just meaningless pleasantries.

But, you kept your promise and came back with food and some tools.

“I asked the neighborhood association if I could fix this place and they told me to do whatever I want. So I did.” You were crouching in front of me with a big grin. “I hope you didn’t mind that too.”

This place needs a little renovation anyway. I thought as I finished the food you brought for me.

From that day, you started to come almost every day. Sometimes you brought a friend, but most of the time you came by yourself.

For the first time in a very long time, I was waiting for the sun to rise so I could see you and listen to your stories. 

Only to lose you again as a result of my carelessness.

The painful memory is engraved in my head. The day I left to find you a parting gift and returned late.

If you ever wondered what a broken heart sounds like, mine rang in my ears. Like two small bells held together by a thread. Clattered to the ground as it slipped from my mouth when I saw you laying on the ground, under the sacred tree where I used to wait for you to come.

There were cuts and bruises all over your body. Your clothes were torn in several places and stained with blood. 

I have lived as a fox for so long I thought I had forgotten how to return to my human form. But, I remembered sprinting across the narrow path to you with fear creeping up my spine like a static shock when I pulled you into my arms.

I didn’t know how I turned back my hind legs to a pair of human legs and how my claws turned back to a pair of hands. All I know is your cold and limp body with your heartbeat so faint I could barely feel it. 

“Mr. Fox?” You whispered hopefully.

I nodded. “I was late, please forgive me.”

Your pale lips curved into a teasing grin, looking as beautiful as ever even when your soul slowly left your body. “I always knew you weren’t just an ordinary fox.”

Anger tightened my chest as I caressed your cheek where I could see the color of life fade away from you in slow motion. Who dared to do such a heinous thing to you in my shrine? 

“I’ll save you, please stay with me.” My voice was hoarse and shaky. I haven’t heard my voice for ages, but I’m glad I can finally use it to talk to you.

“No need, Mr. Fox.” Your brown eyes glowed under the sunlight as you tried to preserve every detail of my face in your memory. “It wouldn’t work the way you wanted.”

It was painful to look into your eyes.  How come they were so full of life even on the verge of death?

“It’s a shame that I can only see the real you at times like this.” You slowly reached towards me, touching my face with the tips of your cold fingers as hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” I sobbed, holding your hand close to my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You replied with another faint smile. “My departure won’t be permanent. You should have known that better than me.”

“But, how long should I wait?” My voice cracked as I cried, the thought of living my old life without you makes my heart ache. “What if … what if you don’t—”

I cursed myself for not being born a human. I cursed the gods who brought us together just to take you away from me and forced me to live a very long life just to lose everything I ever had.

“I’ll be back,” you assured me. “And you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Your pretty smile faded away from your face as the last drop of your soul left me alone in my shrine with your lifeless body.

“I will,” I replied, kissing your knuckles. Wondering if you were still around to hear me.

I embraced you for the last time and buried you under the same tree. I spent days mourning for you, pouring out all my grief until there was only anger left.

Once the rage took over me, I searched the whole village to avenge your death. But, killing the culprit didn’t ease the pain like I thought it would.

So, I made the entire shrine your grave and put curses on anyone who dared to enter. I lashed my anger at the trespasser just to feel something that I hoped could fill the space you left in my heart.

I created quite a riot since you left me. 

Until a young boy came to the shrine one day. He was an 18-year-old boy from the city. Even though he looked like a mere human, I knew better that he wasn’t.

A Handler always smells different from humans.

“You have caused a lot of trouble to the neighbors, don’t you know?” He asked politely, far more mature than any other grown-ups I ever encountered.

“They deserved it,” I told him. “And you would too if you don’t leave this place immediately.”

The boy ignored my threats and turned to look at your grave. A shiver ran down my spine as he took a step closer to you.

“Don’t you dare come near her!” I warned him. A Handler would be hard to kill, but I won’t let him mess with you too.

The boy stopped before he reached your grave and kneeled in front of it. He lowered his head and mumbled a prayer that I hadn't heard in a long time.

A prayer that wishes you a safe journey.

“I’ve met a lot of Entities like you, Mr. Fox.” He said afterward, still on his knees. “But, you can’t just wait here and hurt people until her return. Don’t you want to tell her your stories too?”

His words linger in my ears for a moment. I wonder how the thought of your return can instantly soothe my anger.

“The world is cruel, I admitted it.” The boy added as he stood up. “I know for sure I would probably be long gone myself once my parents returned from their departure, but you? You will be around once she comes back, won’t you?”

A gentle breeze caresses my cheek. For a moment, I think I can feel your presence around me. 

“Come with me to the city.” The boy said. “So that you won't run out of stories to tell when she finally returns.” 

And that’s the story of how a young boy saved me from my grief. I still have a lot of stories to tell you.  How I met my friends and my newfound family. The city indeed has a lot of stories.

I can’t wait to sit by your side again once you return. Until then, I will pray for you to have a safe journey too.

-AN END TO A NEW BEGINNING

---

#atinyspeckofdust #writeblr #original writing #WIP #fiction #urban fantasy #angst #reincarnation #nameless ocs #tw blood #tw death

[harrison-abbott]

with the heavy fall

The flood barriers are saddled with rainwater up the road, the

Sandbags tired and spent; and over the end of the woods the

Walls were collapsed long ago and the masonry lies in the woods.

In fact, the rocks have lain there for so long that the ivy has now

Covered most of the stonework, and the men that came three years

Back to fence off the area, the hole between the forest and the city,

Have never returned, and many kids have yomped into the woodland

To explore: not that they were ever shy for entering …

The orange dots glow through the trees; one can see them with their

Small glowering orange dots in the night time, for all of the

Leaves have been struck off the branches by now and the boughs

Of the elms oak and birch are forever black with wet and hard

Stubbornness, their timber being able to cope with the heavy fall.

When you were little you used to look at said lights through your

Window; and your imagination made them illusory that the

Glittering circles weren’t but a quarter mile away, yet whole cities

On farther plains; it being odd how dark and synthetic light can

Toy with the eyes and trigger stories of the younger minds [and yet,

You still do that in adulthood and this mini forgotten woodland

Has lost none of its beauty since you first admired it in youth].

Many of the houses have changed and so many of the old guard

That you remember have gone now and often living in this suburb

Is like being a ghost, or, rather, as if being the keeper of ghosts

That belonged in the past century – or a different time period at least.

As if magnanimous Time cannot quite place this neighbourhood

In the now, with the quietness often only amplified by birdsong

Or the rare whoosh of a vehicle; barely any voices; the wind in the

Trees whence windy being by far the most enormous sound …

It is easy to fall for such a place and you will surely always

Remember it. And yet there is a thick tendency to forget that this

Area belongs to a city of half a million people – it may as well

Be an island or tiny planet with its own winds and floods and ivy.

You can’t be here forever. And you should thank the surroundings

For the influence they’ve given you; the clean air and the sounds

Of the river, too, and of the magpies and pigeons in the daylight,

The bats and foxes via night. Not many folks have the luck to

Grow up in such vicinities; and I know I’ll miss it when I finally go.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #poetry #poems #poets on tumble

[carebearskull]

the type of bruising that ends up as scars.

wounds that never really heal, actually.

a hundred little scraps of paper

torn up in my pocket.

pebbles on the floor of my house.

god. there’s something there,

i know it.

and i’m sick, and you’re a fucked up

homeopathic doctor telling me it’s in my head.

because it is

it must be.

and isn’t everything?

i look at you some days and

i think:

this is it. it must be.

either i’ll love you forever,

and we’ll go through hell looking for peace.

and come out Happy. or content, or whatever.

or we’ll go through a brutal divorce in 6 years.

i’ll take the kids, you can have the house.

you joke about things like that a lot.

“one day i’ll give you a family.”

“if we ever split up, you can keep everything,

i just wanna keep you.”

in the same breath you’ll call me a monster.

and maybe i am.

maybe you’ve never really known me

all that well and you

get a little surprised when you remember.

i stay out of your way a lot.

i keep to myself mostly.

bizarre considering we’ve lived together

for 6 months now.

and we’re not married.

when we go out i try to stick by you

and you act like i’ve spit in your face.

or killed your mom, drowned

a puppy in front of you.

i wake up to screaming and

you fall asleep to the low whisper

of me talking to someone you can’t see.

my ribs still bruised from a month ago.

i can’t believe you’ve forgotten.

we’re terrible for each other, my love.

but i was a tropical storm before

we met, and i collided into the hurricane that

is loving you.

some days i say that living with you is

like observing a tribe of monkeys.

living with me is like

sharing a room with a ghost.

i don’t speak much.

i move around like i’m trying to phase

through the walls.

i shriek and i throw things and

fold your laundry for you in the night.

sometimes we say

that we let this go way too far.

when we first got together it felt like

i was getting on a train to actually Go somewhere.

but sometimes it feels

that someone cut our brakes.

derailed the train.

and we’re young and in love,

if you can call it that

(we don’t.)

we fight

and we fuck like animals.

and i love you like

a motherfucking pigeon

loves a breadcrumb.

or a dead raccoon by the side of the road

loves collecting dust.

despite my silence

you know me.

and you love me.

neither of us will ever admit it,

we’re too stubborn.

we talk about it instead,

“let’s move states together.”

“…okay.”

“i want you to meet my son.”

“i got your letter.

stop paying for stamps,

we fucking live together dingus.”

i laugh.

and make you dinner.

we sleep in the same bed.

falling asleep on opposite sides

and waking up tangled together.

you keep calling me your wife,

giving me little rings

that you find at work.

when i met your son,

he fell asleep in my arms

and you went to the bar a mile from our house.

you came back and said

that i’m a wonderful mother to him.

but i’m not his mother.

i’m just juniper.

i’m content to be whatever.

you talk a lot about the future these days.

talk about starting a family,

moving states together.

calling me in the middle of the night to say

“i’m coming home, babe, please wait for me.”

and i do.

every time i do.

#fictional #we’re not married #this is probably the tenderest thing i’ve ever written #love you very much #anchorite #semi fictional actually #ghosting #post partum depression is a bitch #i miscarried but now i’m a stepmom

[8caliberwarlock]

Relationships✨

The trio and their relationship with each other and others.

ALX-5

ALX: Sometime looks in the mirror and talks to the reflection, the longest conversation lasted 2 hours.

Arcer: When Arcer is around ALX defends his udon with his life to keep Arcer's crotons out of it.

Jacent: ALX's best friend and fireteam partner. Whenever Jacent is around, ALX tries to hide all his small and edible objects.

Zavala: ALX hangs out in Zavala's office whenever he isn't there and purposely changes his music just to blame it on Arcer so he gets in trouble.

Ikora: ALX likes to study with Ikora to enhance his solar capabilities. ALX respects Ikora for her deep knowledge in the elements.

Cayde: ALX was Cayde's gambling friend who occasionally lost to him but gladly gave what he lost to his hunter vanguard. (Even though he cheated...)

Lord Shaxx: ALX loves to shout out into the last city with lord shaxx after a victory in the crucible. (There may have been a few drinking bets made)

The Drifter: ALX takes "gigs" from the drifter as longs as it's not hurting anyone innocent and pays a lot.

Master Rahool: ALX doesn't like him... that's it.

Banshee: ALX Works part time in banshee's workshop and helps him whenever banshee forgets what he's doing.

Amanda: ALX comes over to reminisce with Amanda whenever he's free because they were both close to Cayde.

Ada: ALX may... OR MAY NOT have crush on Ada. He kinda freezes up when he's getting synthweave.

Saint: After a trials of Osiris win ALX sits with Saint and feeds the pigeons.(he may have brutally killed a few in the cosmodrome)

Ghost: ALX's second opinion and basically conscience since whenever ALX is gonna do something stupid his ghost tries to talk him out of it... and fails.

Arcer-988

ALX: ARCER hates mist hunters, but this one has proven himself somewhat respectful, so obviously arcer wishes to challenge him to a 1v1

Arcer: me myself and I bitch

Jacent: arcer encourages jacent to eat more stupid shit

Zavala: wants zavala to die so he can take over the tower resident titan

Ikora: thanked her for the brief encounter they had were he fully upgraded himself with her

Cayde: used to feel responsible for his death and blamed it on not being fast enough, but has forgotten as he has been reset 472 times since then

Lord Shaxx: enjoys joking with shaxx and fighting alongside him in the crucible

The Drifter: who the fuck are you?

Master Rahool: take my engrams bitch

Banshee: enjoys his company and often wishes he could make guns to

Amanda: got his last sparrow from her and decided it to weak

Ada: misses the old Ada-1 and wishes for her forge to come back

Saint: who are you again?

Ghost: *doink*

Jacent-8

ALX: Bff and first fireteam pardner. He showed Jacent the secrets of the Tower and taught him the ropes.

Arcer: If stupidity had a mind this would he it, intellectuals will never escape!

Jacent: Only ever talks so himself when working on personal projects. Mostly just "No wait, that's not right..." or "HELL YEAH, JACENT YOU SWEET GENIUS!"

Zavala: Jacent respects Zavala as a leader but doesn't talk to him a lot cause Jacent's scared he'll receive work.

Ikora: Mentor and mother figure to Jacent. She’s always on the look out to make sure he doesn’t break or eat anything in Tower.

Cayde: Jacent was first brought back after the murder of Cayde-6 though Jacent thinks they would’ve made.

Lord Shaxx: Likes his valor and energy. Often talks crucible plays and crazy strategies for the field.

The Drifter: "BROTHER!" Makes stupid bets on his Gambit matches like meleeing the whole enemy team or stealing the most motes.

Master Rahool: Dislikes pretty much everything about him.

Banshee: Shows Banshee custom gun mods and plans for ludicrous weapons. Often leaves notes for him to remember important things.

Amanda: Loves spending time with her, often tells horrible mechanic jokes. She helped him figure out the workings of ships and sparrows.

Ada: Doesn't think she likes him very much, Jacent often tries to casually hook her up with ALX.

Saint: Likes hearing stories from him while they feed the pigeons.

Ghost: "I swear on the traveler's malteser lookin ass, shut the actual flapjack UP!" Would much rather have Fynch has his ghost.

#destiny 2 #original character

[97-liners]

mingyu x reader

in which mingyu is an idealistic pastry chef, and you’re a cynical wedding planner who doesn’t believe in love.

words: 4.5k

genres: fluff, just really sweet (hah) fluff, one-sided enemies to lovers (?)

content warnings: none

.

.

.

Zero

The first time you meet Mingyu, he empties a plate of caramel banana sponge cake into your lap.

It was at a cake tasting, your clients sitting next to you, their eyes wide in shock and surprise. From behind the bakery counter, the other pastry chef has his hands over his mouth in abject horror. Mingyu stands in front of you frozen in place, staring at the mess of cake and buttercream in your lap. The chair he had tripped over lays on its side behind him like a forgotten casualty.

Kim Mingyu had been recommended to you with raving reviews by a colleague of yours, whom you’re sure you’ll never take recommendations from again. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mingyu squeaks in a voice that’s too small and timid for his large stature, and belatedly reaches a hand out, as if to stop the slice of cake that had already tipped off the plate moments ago. “I didn’t mean to, it was an accident,” he adds unnecessarily.

You breathe out, long and slow, trying your best not to snap at him. Clearly, it was an accident. You didn’t need him to tell you that. But something— the goddess of mercy, the ghost of your great grandfather, cupid himself— possesses you to lift a cake-covered finger from your lap and to your mouth and do what you came here for in the first place: tasting the cake. The banana flavor is nutty but not overpowering and the caramel complements it carefully. The crumb is moist but not too soft. Not too sweet, not too bready. The vanilla buttercream is delicate and light, but still firm despite having been dumped unceremoniously onto your lap. It’s (you’re reluctant to admit it) the perfect cake.

You look up at Mingyu and begrudgingly decide that you hate him, that he’s a big clumsy oaf, that he’s not to be trusted to carry anything again, and that he’ll be the only baker you’ll refer to clients from now on. “This,” you tell him, voice flat, “is the best damn cake I’ve ever tasted.”

(Later on, Mingyu takes the afternoon off work to drive you back to your place so you won’t have to take the subway while covered in buttercream. It’s mostly a silent car ride.

He’s stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light when, out of the blue, he asks, “what cake do you think you’ll have for your wedding?”

You look away from the window, where you had been watching a small group of pigeons fight over a discarded pretzel. “Hm?”

“Didn’t see a ring on your finger,” he tilts his head in your direction. “So I assumed that you weren’t married. Are you?” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. 

“No, I’m not,” you respond, still confused. 

“I think I want a whole dessert menu for my wedding,” Mingyu says, even though you hadn’t asked. “Not just cake, but tarts, cupcakes, cookies, maybe even panna cotta. It changes every week, but this week, I think I want my main cake to be a croquembouche. You know, one of those choux puff towers covered in threads of caramel. Anyways, what about you?”

You briefly consider lying, but something about Mingyu makes you tell him the truth. He’s just so open, so earnest, that you can’t help but to be honest in return. “I don’t plan on having a wedding,” you say.

“Oh, yeah, a courthouse wedding? I get it, you must be tired of the big events, since you spend all day planning them.”

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t plan on getting married.”

He turns his head in your direction and makes eye contact with you. “What?” His eyes are wide.

You just shrug in response. “I know this is ironic coming from a wedding planner, but I don’t think I believe in love.”

“What!?” He stares at you in disbelief. The light turns green and you point forward, wordlessly indicating that he should drive. Mingyu tears his eyes away from you and eases off the brakes before he can get honked at, but he still looks incredulous at this discovery. 

“You have no idea how many marriages I’ve seen fall apart,” you laugh bitterly. “People will spend a year’s wages on an event to tell the world how much they love each other, and then two years later, they’re divorced. People will hate their significant other, spend every moment together miserable and fighting, and still get married.” You turn your head back out towards the window to watch the city pass by. “It’s hard to stay optimistic about love after that.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He just looks forward, driving silently through the city.)

One

You arrive at the bakery fifteen minutes before your clients do, your bag heavy with binders and dark circles under your eyes after the (weeknight!) wedding you had done the night previous, a ridiculous affair that had lasted until the morning. Now, running off two hours of sleep and the memory of fumes, you’re in a terrible mood.

You manage a half smile for the barista, Seungkwan, who has your regular order memorized now. “Iced coffee, black, and a plain brioche roll?”

You nod, juggling your bag and the brimming binder in your arms to pull out your wallet. 

From the back, you hear Mingyu’s voice echoing loudly. “Is that Y/N? Do you want to try a slice of strawberry matcha custard tart? I’m testing out a new recipe!” He pops his head out from the back with a bright grin on his face. There’s a smear of flour on his cheek.

“No,” you respond, not bothering to look at him as you hand Seungkwan your card. 

Mingyu gives you a pathetic, kicked puppy look. “Okay,” he mumbles, ducking back into the kitchen. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Seungkwan shakes his head as he hands you your receipt. “You’re the only person in the world who would refuse free dessert.”

“Not a dessert person,” you shrug. “Thanks, Seungkwan.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says as you head to your usual table in the corner, “I know you’re just stubborn.”

You take your seat at the table and open your planner to your daily spread, frowning. There’s a few months left before wedding season is in full swing, which means you’re absolutely swamped. the cake tasting and consultation first thing in the morning, followed by a visit to the florist and then appointments at three venues. And then there’s the contract negotiations, the spreadsheets, and the anxious, nearly obsessive, checking of the weather forecasts.

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you that your face would be permanently stuck like that if you didn’t stop frowning?” Mingyu places your order on the tabletop in front of you clumsily, the tray clattering alarmingly, before sliding into the seat across from you. He’s smiling for no reason, you note.

“That’s weird, I don’t remember asking,” you wrinkle your nose at him. 

He ignores you. “Why didn’t you want to try some of my tart? It’s really good. I think it’ll be a seasonal menu item once strawberries come back.” 

“I don’t like sweets,” you tell him. (This is a small lie, but something in you doesn’t want to give in to his persistent brightness. After all, you remind yourself, you still hate him for dumping cake on you the first time you met.)

“I’ll change your mind about that.” He looks confident, which makes you even more stubborn than usual. “Didn’t you say my caramel banana sponge was the best damn cake you’ve ever tasted?”

“And it is,” you say, wearing a deadpan expression on your face. “It’s the best cake I’ve ever tasted. I’m still not going to try your tart.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll make a dessert person out of you eventually.”

You raise your eyebrows at him over the top of your iced coffee. “That’s not why I came in early.”

He crosses his arms. There’s a smudge of flour on his left elbow. “Why, then?”

“How is your February looking? I have two other clients who are planning February weddings, and they need cakes and desserts.”

“You know you’re the only wedding planner I work with, so you know how my February is looking,” he scoffs.

“Thought I’d ask anyway, in case you’re cheating on me,” you shrug. “So all four of your February weekends are full, so you think you can handle another one on the first Saturday and then on  the third Sunday?”

“Yeah, actually,” Mingyu scratches his nose, “you’ve brought us so much wedding business, we’ve hired another pastry chef. He starts in two weeks.”

“Perfect,” you jot a note down in your planner. “When you’ve got some time, give me some more of your business cards. I’m running low. As for today’s appointment, I want to give you a fair warning that the bride has a pinterest board full of ugly cakes. She’s gonna insist on fondant and sugar flowers. If you could gently push back, I’d appreciate it, since it’s really not in their budget to have—“

“Can I get you dinner?” 

As soon as he blurts out the words, his whole face colors red. “As thanks for all the business you’ve brought us. Purely work-related dinner. I mean, not a work dinner. I mean,” he stammers, barely stringing his words together. 

You stare at him, dumbfounded.

“It’s normal for colleagues to go to dinner together. People treat each other to work dinners all the time,” he blabbers, still flushed red. “I’m not being weird right now. There’s nothing weird about anything. I’m literally the most normal person who has ever existed.” 

The jingling of bells interrupts his nervous word vomit as the door to the bakery opens and the happy couple steps in. You give Mingyu half a sympathetic glance and quickly say, “I’m going to pretend this never happened,” before standing up and putting on your best customer service smile to greet your clients.

“Fuck my life,” you hear Mingyu exhale. 

Two

You’re not friends with Mingyu. This is what you tell yourself every time he texts you a picture of a particularly interesting marbled pattern on the surface of a cheesecake, or a cute dog that comes into the bakery, or a new recipe that he’s soliciting ideas on, or a meme that reminds him of you.

Today, he texts you a video of a pelican trying to eat a capybara. Its long, clumsy beak opens and closes uselessly around the round body of the capybara like a pair of chopsticks trying to pick up a tennis ball. The video comes accompanied with a single text message reading “you’re the pelican lol”. 

“What is that,” Jihoon peers over your shoulder. 

You shrug. “Mingyu keeps texting me weird things.”

It’s Friday evening and you’re out getting drinks with Jihoon as possibly the two most irritable and cynical wedding planners in the city, or perhaps, the world. Nobody else would commiserate with you on how irritating love is, but simultaneously, neither of you could ever quit, because then who would plan all the weddings? Being devastatingly competent is both a blessing and a curse, as Jihoon would say. 

“Hm,” Jihoon responds, tipping back the last dregs of a martini so dirty, you could smell the olives from a mile away. “You know, I’m still resentful you stole him away from the rest of us.”

“Elaborate,” you point a cocktail toothpick at him, waving the olive on the end vaguely. 

He scoffs. “Come on, you know he’s the best damn baker in the city, and you’re keeping him all to yourself.”

“I’m not keeping him to myself. He’s free to work with whoever he wants.”

“Yeah, but he’ll only work with you.” Jihoon makes eye contact with the bartender and wordlessly orders another martini. “I mean, no thanks to whatever weird thing the two of you have going on.”

You narrow your eyes at Jihoon. “What weird thing?”

“You know, your weird,” he wrinkles his nose, as if processing a particularly strange smell, “relationship.”

“Our weird relationship?” Incredulity can’t even begin to cover the expression on your face right now. “Jihoon, are you drunk already? Mingyu and I aren’t even friends, let alone—“

“Then why did he send you a video of a pelican trying to eat a capybara?”

You shrug. “He’s just like that.”

“None of my bakers text me videos of pelicans trying to eat capybaras.” Jihoon says this without a single ounce of irony in his voice. “The two of you definitely have something going on. He’s like, obsessed with you. It should be a crime for you to keep him wrapped around your little finger like that.”

“As I said, we’re not even friends,” you insist, but your argument is made moot as your phone lights up with an incoming call from Kim Mingyu. 

Jihoon waves his hand with an irritatingly smug expression on his face. “Answer it, your boy toy needs you.”

“Shut up, he probably just got his head stuck in the shower door while scrubbing the tiles with a toothbrush,” you tell Jihoon, because the last time he called you out of the blue on a Friday night, that’s what had happened. Rolling your eyes, you answer the phone with a sigh. “What is it?”

“I just had the greatest idea,” Mingyu says, way too loudly and in a pitch that makes you hold your phone an inch away from your ear to protect your eardrums, “so remember the video I sent you with the capybaras? Someone made a mousse cake of that scene, and they made the capybaras and rocks and pelicans from nerikiri, and that got me thinking. Instead of sculpting things out of fondant, which is inedible and nobody likes, why don’t I start decorating my cakes with nerikiri, which is edible?”

“Mingyu,” you try to interrupt, “what in the world?”

“Nerikiri is a Japanese confectionary made from white bean paste and mochi flour. It’s sculptable, like fondant, and holds its shape. The only problem is that it can dry out, so I’d have to make it all the day before, but I can just stay in late to do the cake decorating.” 

“No, not that.” You hold out a hand, as if to stop him, despite being on the phone, where your body language goes undelivered. “Why are you calling me? Do you need anything from me?”

There’s a pause. Then, in his tiny kicked puppy voice, he says “I was just excited and wanted to tell you about my idea.”

You hate him, you remind yourself. You’re not friends, you remind yourself. He’s annoying and dumped a cake on you, you remind yourself. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, Mingyu,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t mean to discourage you. I’m just not used to getting calls from you at,” you glance at your watch, “9pm on a Friday night, so I was worried. Keep on telling me about your idea.” You search your mind for half a second before grasping onto a question that will hopefully distract him enough to pull him out of his tiny kicked puppy state. “It sounds like nerikeri has a distinct taste, then. What kind of cake were you thinking of pairing it with?”

And then, it’s off to the races again. You ignore the look Jihoon gives you as you listen to Mingyu talk about adzuki flavored american buttercream and earl grey chiffon cake. Not friends, you remind yourself. 

Three

“You know, I was serious about taking you to dinner,” Mingyu says one morning when he’s delivering your usual coffee and brioche roll to your table. 

You look up from the binder currently open in front of you. There isn’t a cake tasting planned for today, but you had decided to stay for breakfast and get some work done at the bakery before heading over to your office. 

“I didn’t order that,” you point to the slice of quiche on the tray that Mingyu places on your table. 

“It’s on the house,” Mingyu clarifies. “Don’t worry, it’s savory.”

“I don’t remember seeing quiches on the menu.” 

“That’s because they’re not on the menu.” Mingyu slides into the seat across from you. “I made it for you.”

You blink at him. “You made a quiche for me?”

“Yeah, got the rest of it in a box for you if you like it,” he nods. “Come on, give it a taste.”

“Why, though?”

Mingyu shrugs. “No reason. Just felt like it.” 

“How do you make a quiche for no reason?” Then, because he’s still looking at you expectantly, you scoop off a well-proportioned piece of quiche on your fork and eat it. It’s delicious, as usual. 

He watches anxiously as you chew and swallow. “Good?” At your nod, he instantly beams so brightly, he could light up the entire bakery just with his smile. “Good. I remember you told me last week that you didn’t have time to eat lunch because you were busy picking up stationery samples.”

“So you made me an entire quiche,” you respond, already taking another bite. 

Mingyu nods eagerly. “It’s pretty big, and it keeps well and microwaves well, so you can have a slice for lunch every day this week if you want. You can also freeze it and reheat it in the oven, or in the microwave if you cover it in a wet paper towel. I didn’t want your coffee and roll to be the only thing you ate today.”

“You’re too nice, Mingyu,” you frown. “You’ll get taken advantage of with that kind of attitude. The world’s a mean, scary place.”

“I haven’t gotten scammed yet, so I think I’ll be fine,” he reassures you. “And anyways, you work too hard.”

“I work too hard?” You laugh incredulously. “You’re the one who stayed here until midnight before last Saturday’s wedding to bake and decorate 90 cupcakes yourself, just because you’re a perfectionist.”

“Well I’m not gonna trust Joshua to make the cupcakes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “he bakes bread.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “He knows how to follow a recipe, Mingyu.”

“Yeah, but I know how to follow a recipe better,” he responds stubbornly. “And, it’s my recipe, so nobody would be better at following it than me, anyway.”

“The point is, you can’t tell me off for working too hard when you’re guilty of the same thing.” You point your fork at him, and he puts up his hands. 

“You got me, I guess. But, I work in a bakery. I don’t have to skip any meals. I just don’t like it when you don’t take care of yourself”

So, you think, he made an entire quiche, just for you, without asking, because he didn’t want you to skip meals.

“Um.” You put the fork down, swallowing thickly. “Thank you. For thinking about me, Mingyu. I appreciate you a lot.” You sit there, feeling awkward as Mingyu starts to flush from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. “You’re a good friend,” you add, tasting acid on your tongue as you say the words. 

“Stop,” he squeaks, practically glowing at this point. “I’m too shy and embarrassed for this.”

“You should have thought about that before making me a quiche because you didn’t want me to skip lunch,” you reply, face carefully blank. 

He covers his face. “Offer for dinner still stands,” he says, his voice muffled. 

“I’ll take you up on that offer, then,” you say.

Mingyu practically shrieks as he escapes back to the kitchens, stumbling on a chair and knocking over a fake floral arrangement in the process. 

Four

You’re not sure what preconceived notions you had about dinner with Mingyu, but they definitely didn’t include a homemade dinner worthy of three Michelin stars, served in his spotless downtown apartment that looks like it came straight out of an interior design magazine. 

(amuse bouche: pomme souffle with fresh lobster meat topped with paloise sauce, fluke sashimi seasoned with bonji, pickled mustard greens)

“I’m impressed,” you tell him. “You made this? Yourself?”

He pouts at you. “Why do you look so surprised? I’m literally a professional chef. I went to culinary school.”

“I was expecting a nice restaurant, but this…”

“Is literally better than any restaurant I could take you to,” he finishes the sentence for you. “And anyways, I had fun coming up with the menu. I’m not the head chef of a fancy restaurant, so it’s not like I get to do this normally.” 

“This level of effort is insane. I’m not sure I deserve this.”

“Of course you deserve it,” Mingyu looks mildly offended. “And, I made it for you, didn’t I?”

(soup: abalone, shiitake, and kombu broth)

“Why did you become a wedding planner anyways? No offense, but you don’t seem like the type.”

“Hmm,” you respond. Mingyu never looks bothered by your monosyllabic responses, never expects you to match his energy. With Mingyu, it’s easy to meet in the middle.

“I mean,” he goes on, “you’re not into romance as a concept and you’re always really stressed and high-strung.”

“I think that fits the occupation really well,” you give him a bemused smile. “I deal more with contract negotiations and budgets than with romance, anyway. You should see my spreadsheets.”

“I’ve seen the binders. They’re already scary enough,” he laughs.

“And anyways, it’s not that I’m not into romance as a concept,” you admit, somewhat reluctantly giving up your secret. “Otherwise I probably would have taken a corporate job instead.”

Mingyu blinks at you, surprised. “But you told me that you don’t believe in love,” he says. “I mean, after seeing so many couples break up, I guess I wouldn’t blame you.”

“There’s… things that I want.” You pick through your works carefully. “Things that I wish I could have. But things don’t last forever. Sometimes they don’t even last a few years.”

Mingyu considers this, frowning as the cogs turn behind his eyes. Then, he says, “are you afraid of the impermanence of love?”

You flush. “What is this, a therapy session or dinner at your place?”

“No, I just want to know more about you. After all, it took years of us knowing each other to finally have a meal together.” 

“I’m honestly a little surprised that you didn’t just give up on being my friend,” you admit. 

“Well I’m nothing if not patient and tenacious.”

(main: grilled hanwoo with soy sauce seasoned shredded burdock root and cold marinated enoki mushrooms)

“Why are you doing this?”

Mingyu is unfazed.  “Did you just realize?”

“Why,” you press further, not answering his question, because you’re not sure if this is a revelation, or if you had just known but ignored what was written between the lines. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs at the ankles. “I’m trying to woo you. Or court you. Or make you fall in L-word with me. Regardless of if it’s working or not, you can’t blame a guy for trying,” he shrugs.

“I’m terrible,” you tell him. “I’m an anal retentive perfectionist who has never been good at processing emotions. I overwork as a coping mechanism. I’m impatient and sensitive and I hold grudges. I still hate you for spilling cake on me.”

“I know all that,” he smiles. “Do you want some dessert?”

(dessert: 

Mingyu’s strawberry and matcha custard tart is just as good as you had expected. The custard is silky, the matcha flavor is earthy and well-rounded, and the crust is perfectly light.

“You know you make it hard to resist you,” you say, standing by his side in his kitchen as you deposit your silverware and dessert plate in the sink.

“So why keep resisting?” The smile on his face is light and easy. 

“Hmm.” You loop your arm over his shoulder, settling the back of his neck into the curve of your palm, and pull him towards you and press your lips against his. Mingyu melts into the kiss instantly, his lips parting and head tilting like it’s second nature for him to kiss you. The two of you fit together perfectly, the taste of sugar and him.)

Five

It’s a late night at the bakery. The only two people left in the building are Mingyu, frantically prepping what seems like hundreds of mini eclairs and dark chocolate dacquoise and cupcakes, and you, perched on a countertop and keeping him company. 

“I can’t cook,” you tell him, almost as if you were still trying to dissuade him of you. “I’ve burnt every slice of toast I’ve made, and my rice always turns out mushy.”

“That’s fine,” Mingyu says as he pipes blueberry yogurt buttercream onto a row lined with flaky golden dacquoise shell. “I can teach you, starting from the basics. You know, knife skills and stuff.”

“Would you eat an omelet with eggshells in it if I made it?”

“No,” he responds, briefly looking up from his work to frown at you. “I’d just make you a new omelet. You don’t know how to crack an egg?”

“That’s beside the point,” you wave your hand. On any other Friday night, you’d be out getting drinks with Jihoon and complaining about floral arrangements and catering contracts and demanding in-laws. But Mingyu has to prep for a wedding this weekend, and you told him you’d keep him company. 

“I’ll teach you how to crack an egg,” Mingyu promises. “I’m a professional egg cracker. You just saw me crack like, a hundred eggs and separate the yolks earlier, right? Wouldn’t you say I’m an expert at cracking eggs?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that,” he grumbles with no bite in his voice as he turns back to his yet-to-be-assembled dacquoise. He’s wearing his glasses today, to devastating effect. If he weren’t actively preparing food right now, you’d kiss him on the spot. Perhaps even ravage him.

“You work tonight, I work tomorrow,” you remind him. “I’m arriving at the venue at noon to meet with the photographer, and the reception isn’t scheduled to end until 2am.”

“I bet everything is going to be perfect,” he says, finishing up with the buttercream. He sets the empty piping bag in a metal bowl, and then gets to work assembling the dacquoise. “I mean, of course it’s going to be perfect. You planned it, after all. If it’s you, it’ll be perfect.”

“Don’t try to flatter me,” you laugh, but Mingyu is completely serious as he responds.

“It’s the truth. You know I really like you, right?”

He dusts off his hands and moves so he’s standing at the counter right across from your perch, standing so close that the fuzz on his sweater grazes your knees. Mingyu leans forward and you meet him in the middle, a soft barely-there kiss shared in the space between. 

“I know,” you murmur. “But what if…” What if? What if? 

“It doesn’t have to last forever to be worthwhile,” he says, quiet but certain. “Would you be down to just try? That’s all I need. Just to try.”

Everything was easier when you hated Mingyu. But now that you’re falling headfirst in love, everything is easier in a different way, a terrifying way. Like careening down a hill on a bike with the brakes cut out. It’s horrible, goes against everything you’ve convinced yourself is true about your wants and needs, but it’s surprisingly easy to trust Mingyu to catch you at the bottom of that hill.

“I’ll try with you,” you tell him, and he smiles, sunshine and cotton candy.

“I know you’re not a dessert person, but do you want to try one of these?” 

You take his hand in yours, running your fingers over the grit of the flour left on his skin. “I need to come clean about something, Mingyu. I actually am a dessert person. I love sweets.”

You’re half expecting him to look betrayed, or to put on his kicked puppy face, but instead, Mingyu looks delighted, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles to your lips and echoes throughout the empty kitchen. “This is great. Free desserts for you,” he says, leaning forward again to place a quick peck on your lips, “I’ll give you the first taste of every new recipe I make.”

You lean forward and kiss him, this time long and sweet, taking your time to savor the taste of Mingyu, sugar, butter, vanilla. “For you,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’ll try anything.”

#seventeen #mingyu #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fluff #seventeen imagines #97.yn #97.writings

[wildenessat221b]

So if I wanted to request a lil fluff about Cap? Maybe Ally and the ghosts decide to very kindly and gently ask him if he's gay, let him know it's okay? Maybe he gets on the stuttery defensive and goes to live with the plague ghosts? Maybe he gives them the old "you wont believe what they said about me?" And they kind of talk him through why it might not be all that ridiculous. And he has to have a Big Think. Maybe?

Such Could Be Arranged

What was she fussing about?

Why was she fussing into her morning Coco Pops and fussing as she scooped a clump of leaves out of the drain and fussing as she turned on Richard Osman’s House of Games for Robin and fussing as she tossed and turned into the early hours.

Stop fussing, she told herself, stop fussing.

He’s fine, Alison, he’s completely fine, well he’s not, he’s dead, but he’s as fine as any of them ever are, he’s fine he’s -

Scared.

He’s scared.

He’s scared, not in the way of being scared of monsters or scared of plane crashes or scared of the dark. He’s scared in the way of feeling a new ache in your lower back, of realising you’ve forgotten a loved one’s name, in the way of having a dark and unforgivable thought in the middle of the night.

He’s scared of himself, and being dead but still very much alive, he’s stuck with himself.

That simply won’t do.

Alison knew that fear, had seen it turn people inside out, leave them choking and gasping on words they just can’t get out.

Words that they wish they could bury with a limpet mine and watch discintegrate forty feet in the air.

It simply won’t do.

She needs to talk to Pat.

***

“Does he...” her hands are wringing around each other, “You know... know?”

Pat sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose.

“...I don’t know, Alison.”

“Does... does he even know it’s... an option? Does he -“

“It’s not really about whether it’s an option or not is it, he can’t exactly hot foot it to the local drag bar.”

“There’s a local -“ she blinks and flaps her hands. “Not the point, although one we shall return to. No, I guess you’re right. But does he...“

She trails off, and gives Pat a rather helpless look.

“I think he... I think he knows what he likes. But I don’t think he knows quite what that means.”

She purses her lips and perches on the edge of the kitchen table.

“So you think he doesn’t know... that it’s alright? That he’s alright? You know... fundamentally... as a human being?”

Pat considers this. He considers it, and becomes a little sad.

“...no. I don’t think he does.”

“...hm.”

“I also think that he thinks he’s being wonderfully subtle so -“

“Utmost delicacy?”

“Utmost delicacy.”

***

“Captain?”

He looks up, from where he had been squinting accusatorily at a flock of pigeons on the front lawn.

“Hmm?”

Alison wanders nonchalantly towards him. “I’ve been thinking...”

“Hmm? Yes, me too, I’ve been thinking about you and Michael, you know you really should consider introducing more protein into your diet, now there’s this wonderful chap called Mo Farah, he appears on the television sometimes -“

“Yeah, quorn nuggets all round, excellent idea Captain, Captain - it’s alright, you know.”

She claps her hand over her mouth the moment she says it. And then she lets it drop.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

The Captain frowns.

“I’m... I don’t follow.”

Alison gulps.

“It’s fine that... you like Mo Farah and George Clarke and that bloke Adam and... men. It’s fine that you like men. You don’t need to... it’s fine.”

The Captain blinks. Lines appear on his brow. Bile rises up in his throat. His knuckles whiten on his swagger stick. He feels faint, he feels hot, he loses control of the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“Now Alison that is highly - highly impertinent and highly - highly rude and very... in fact I think you should... take a look at - at yourself and... check... check yourself and your words before you try to -“

He backs out of the room as he talks.

“You need to... you should... ah...”

“Captain don’t -“

“Hyah.”

He disappears through the wall.

***

“Ooh, ello, who’s this then!”

“A visitation, how exciting!”

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Aw, looking a bit peaky darlin’, d’you need some milk or summin?”

“He’s dead, Mick.”

The Captain shakes his head vigorously.

“I’m quite well, just... wronged.”

Walter frowns.

“Wronged, mate?”

“Wronged indeed. Alison had the impertinence to...” he gulps. “To insinuate that I’m... attracted. To men.”

For once, in the basement, all is silent.

Only for a beat though.

“Well... you are, aren’t you?”

The Captain scoffs. His mouth forms about seven distinct shapes before it gets anything close to a word out.

“Well I... for the love of... what makes you -“

“I’ve talked to you about twice mate, rather rude considering you’ve been knocking about for getting on eight decades now, but that’s a conversation for another time - and I can see that.”

“... how... what?”

“Vibes, mate.”

“What on Earth does -“

“Anyway, that’s not what’s important here, you are, aren’t you?”

“Well...” he says what he says next very quietly indeed “yes. But it’s not something you say.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because -“

Yes he thought, an entirely new thought, a novel and sparkling and frightening thought. Why on Earth not?

He thought of Havers’ face and Havers’ voice and how he never said I love you.

Why on Earth not?

#bbc ghosts #ghosts #the captain

[crash-cinematic-universe]

masterlist

American Horror Story-

American Horror Story-Tate Langdon Fics: And the walls came crumbling down- To you, Tate Langdon was nothing less than a perfect boyfriend and a genuinely good person. Then, you decided to do some googling.

Series:

DISCONTINUED (for now): Headfirst for Halos (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) - Y/n L/n is the type of teenager every parent fears; punk rock, angry, abrasive– the list goes on. Everyone who knew her thought she was a rough-and-tough, unforgiving delinquent who would end up in jail. That is, until she met Tate Langdon and managed to soften. Then, the killing began.

Kit WalkerFics:Anxiety V.S. Kit Walker- Kit Walker is there for you, no matter what.

the ghosts that linger- The horrors of Briarcliff Asylum haunt Kit Walker like ghosts

James Patrick March

Fics:

The Hotel Cortez and Everything It Contains- for the first time in a long time, James Patrick March tries to right one of his many wrongs.

Headcanons: 

James Patrick March/plus sized!reader headcanons

James Patrick March moving on headcanons

Kai Anderson

Fics: 

Glass Kingdom- Kai Anderson gets his ass beat by Lana Winters. 

Amazon Eve

Fics:

The Colorful Days- After years of working as a freak in Jupiter, Florida, the days had lost their color. That was, until a certain woman showed.

X-Men

Peter Maximoff

       Fics

Home- Peter Maximoff just wants to feel at home. 

I’m Alive- After a mission goes terribly wrong, Peter realizes he needs to make good use of the time he spends alive.

Blurry- A mysterious silver blur has been in your peripheral for as long as you can remember– eventually, you get fed up.

A Dreamlike Longing- Your role in life is to fight off evil in the real world, but you could’ve never prepared for the battle against the evil in your dreams. Thankfully, you won’t have to do it alone.

Pride, in Every Sense of the Word- Peter Maximoff loves his perfect little family more than anything in the world.

Tear Open My Chest and Steal My Lungs-  Peter Maximoff has the Hanahaki disease, and he’d rather die than face rejection. HANAHAKI AU

Hey Lover- Peter agrees to be Erik’s best man at his wedding despite one problem: he can’t dance. Thankfully, you’re there to help him. 

love and death are on in the same- Peter Maximoff was all-too-familiar with unrequited love.

Pigeon-  Peter Maximoff is blowing away with the breeze without you to anchor him.

Fairy Lights, A Christmas Story, and a Metallic Jacket- Christmas is rolling around, and Peter is determined to create some positive memories.

Vodka, and the Wonderfully Dirty Side Affects- Who knew that vodka could turn an average night into one to remember. (NSFW)

It Will Always Be You- Peter goes toe-to-toe with the love of his life.

she can prove it with a solid right hook- A stranger arrives at the mansion and immediately begins to harass Peter. Thankfully, you handle the situation.

Beauty Lies in the Pockets of a Silver Jacket- When you decided to be Peter for Halloween, you never considered how hard it would be to acquire his prized jacket. (NSFW)

Anyone Who Knows What Love Is Will Understand- Peter suddenly finds out what the gaping hole in his memory is hiding.

High Score- You’re trying to beat Peter’s high score in PacMan and he so graciously decided to give you a little incentive. (NSFW)

Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off- nobody likes the opening band– except, of course, the lead singer’s secret girlfriend, who just happens to be the headliner (NSFW)

Let the Patter of the Rain Become the Rhythm- Peter Maximoff’s pessimism is defeated by your pure determination. 

stories from the rooftop- Peter Maximoff is sitting next to a pretty girl on the roof.

Thunderous- Peter has always been afraid of thunderstorms

Holographic Sand is a Kickass Band Name- peter learns that a fuckton can change in the course of a week

Fuzzy- Life in Westview is picture perfect, even if that picture is too fuzzy to see clearly.

Skeleton party- After a surprise attack on the mansion, peter realizes exactly how much you can handle.

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken-  to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

technicolor grief- tragedy strikes Peter Maximoff like a bullet train and he’s forced to push through the colors of grief

an interdimensional family road trip- after Peter disappears in a cloud of smoke, you, Erik, and Charles go on a fun-filled family road trip across the universe.

the worst part- you’re the messenger that’s carrying the most heartbreaking message imaginable to the Maximoff household. 

Rumor has it- you were gifted with the ability to speak things into existence-- however, often times it felt more like a parasite than a gift

Series:

Peter Maximoff is completely, utterly, and undoubtedly in love (1 & 2)- Peter had no idea a simple mission would change his life forever. He also had no idea how much he liked the bass guitar.

UNFINISHED: A Speedster, A Nuclear Bomb, and a Worn Down Walkman (prologue, 1)

Headcanons:

Affection Starved Peter Maximoff Headcanons

Jealous Peter Maximoff Headcanons

Platonic Peter Maximoff Headcanons

Peter Maximoff Crush Headcanons

Domestic Peter Maximoff Headcanons

Waking Up Next To Peter Headcanons

Peter Maximoff/ME 3am discord headcanons

General Peter Maximoff Headcanons

Submissive Peter Maximoff Headcanons

Peter Maximoff NSFW alphabet

dad!peter and Luna!daughter headcanons

Peter Maximoff/hydrokinetic!reader headcanons

Peter Maximoff/Male!reader headcanons

Peter Maximoff hurt/comfort headcanons

Peter Maximoff/Xavier!reader headcanons

Drabbles:

Peter Maximoff/Howlet!reader drabble- Saying your older brother, Logan, was overprotective would be an understatement.

Anger Issues- Peter Maximoff had fallen in love with the most inconvenient person possible– Y/n Wilson, daughter of the infamous Wade Wilson

Scott Summers

Headcanons:

Scott Summers Fake Dating Headcanons

Drabbles:

Heart Eyes- Scott Summers is madly in love with his girlfriend, and frankly, his friends are sick of it

Warren Worthington III

Headcanons:

Warren Worthington III Fluff Headcanons

Jealous Warren Worthington III Headcanons

Warren Worthington III Crush Headcanons

Warren Worthington III NSFW alphabet

Ororo Munroe

Storm general headcanons

Community 

Trobed-

One shots-

Incredibly short trobed things

Abed Nadir needs to count the seconds- Abed Nadir hates being alone in general, so when his friends disappear and leave him alone in a sea of job-seeking students he struggles to keep his head above water. 

Troy Barnes and his forgotten love confession-  troy and abed wake up in the library surrounded by their disoriented classmates with their memories wiped. Unfortunately for troy, one look in his friend’s eyes caused the entire forgotten ordeal to play out inside his head-- including the love confession that ended with a scream of agony.

Headcanons-

Troy Barnes headcanons

Abed Nadir headcanons 

#masterlist #my masterlist #tate langdon #kit walker #james patrick march #kyle spencer #jimmy darling #kai anderson #mr. gallant #amazon eve #evan peters #sarah paulson #ahs #american horror story #xmen #peter maximoff #quicksilver #scott summers #warren worthington the third #warren worthington iii

[sarsaparillia]

NEVER MIND I LIED I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS BECAUSE THE SUBVERSION OF THE OTOME GENRE THAT IS HATOFUL BOYFRIEND IS JUST SO FUCKING INTERESTING AND EVEN THOUGH I’VE PLAYED IT BEFORE I AM HAVING THOUGHTS IN THIS APARTMENT TONIGHT yes there are spoilers annie if u read this i will be Sad don’t ruin it for urself let the bird nonsense LIVE anyway:

so the thing is, you go into hatoful boyfriend expecting an otome. shit, sure, a weird otome, but there’re weird otome’s out there--- this wasn’t the first weird otome, and it definitely wasn’t the last i am looking at YOU, colonel sanders dating sim, do not think i have forgotten you, i will NEVER forget you, you haunt my waking nightmares and like, it is! it’s an otome! you date birds, but it’s still an otome!

so you play through the routes, and you laugh kind of high-pitched and manic because. yeah, it’s fucken weird. but it’s kind of fun! bright and colourful and also ridiculous, and the ridiculousness is actually kind of a draw. listen to me. the creepy doctor’s theme music is the dance of the sugarplum fairies, i could not make this shit up if i tried. and so you get to know the characters, and you’re having a great time! but then... suddenly... it’s not. suddenly it’s not an otome anymore.

suddenly it’s a horror story.

suddenly it’s a horror story about a pandemic. about, specifically, the aftermath of a pandemic.

and sure, the premise of H1N1 making birds grow giant brains is implausible on a lot of levels, but at least it’s original. i’ll give it points for panache and for balls, because an AAA studio could never, no i am not taking criticism at this time

and the thing is, if you’ve played all the routes--- this last one is a sudden, horrific bucket of cold water poured all over your head. because you know that something happened, to get the world where it is, but you don’t really know what. the MC is a bombastic, overly-friendly girl called hiyoko, and you get really, really fond of her! she’s straight-forward and loud and lives in a cave! what kind of nonsense, honestly! i love her! it’s made pretty clear that hiyoko is the only human at this school. the bird school. which is for birds.

and you go: you know what, whatever. i’m gonna roll with it.

but she dies violently, and then you get to be her best friend and company (a rock dove called ryouta; his boyfriend the haughty fantail dove sakuya; the boyfriend’s older brother yuuya who, for some inexplicable reason, constantly peppers his speech with bad french and who’s life goal is to fight evil whilst being sexy and suave, and that is a direct quote; and their teacher kazuaki, a deeply traumatized quail, among others. again. i COULD NOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP), and it is definitely not an otome, anymore. you are hiyoko’s best friend and you are going to solve her murder, so help you god!

so there’s this really neat flipside to the game as a whole, because now you’ve got a mystery on your hands, and a murder, and then the bodies start piling up. and you’re fucking INVESTED because you’ve played through all these routes and you NEED to know what happened because SO MUCH OF IT doesn’t make sense! there’s no reason behind it! you will cry about hiyoko! why the fuck are you crying about hiyoko, sara, oh my god!

but it does what mysteries so often struggle to do well: it keeps your attention.

and this doesn’t even cover it! i haven’t gone into two very separate political factions that are pulling the game back and forth over the fate of humanity. i haven’t gone into the reality-bending weirdness that is anghel. i haven’t gone into the ghost-bird. i haven’t gone into the fact that the sequel has a whole montage for magical girl pigeons and two abominations of nature who really like christmas. i haven’t even got into the fact that ryouta sometimes crossdresses! there’s just so much, okay! there is so so so much!

it’s not just an otome. it’s an experience. anyway, am i recommending bird school?

you’re absolutely fucking right i am, go play it

just so y’all know the last storyline is called Bad Boys Love like it’s a lot please

#hatoful boyfriend #six years later i am still thinking about this game............ #i just think it's neat! #sara watches things

[the-iron-orchid]

BOOK II: THE HIGH PRIESTESS

Chapter 1: The Seer  (~2330 words)

Warnings: None

Back to table of contents

The landscape is desolate, a place of tawny sands and little else. The sky overhead is oppressive, thick with dark, lowering clouds. Where the two meet, the slim line of the horizon pulses with a viridian glow.

My arms hold fast to Asra’s waist, the scent of his hair in my nostrils. Beneath us, I feel the loping stride of a great beast, shaggy and immense. I realize that I must be dreaming... and in dreams, I have made contact.

“Mast -” I stop and swiftly correct myself. “Asra, where are we?” I ask him. It is only then that I notice the path of shining obsidian before us, snaking ahead to the horizon - clear, and yet ever-changing, its reflection of the sky above further confusing the perception.

Asra says that we are far enough away... but for what?

For answers, he says. For clarity. He senses a terrible storm on the horizon; something is changing, and not for the better.

I am instantly reminded of what the Countess said, her dream-visions of a terrible future, which must not come to pass.

Asra tells me that soon we will reach a crossroads, a nexus, a liminal place. He says that I will make a choice, one that changes everything for me... and for others. I feel his hands over mine, squeezing very briefly. But they are trembling, just a little, and he lets go hurriedly - as if the touch might burn him, or me, if held too long.

A chill wind rises around us, bearing the sands up with it in a vortex. It blots out first the landscape, then the horizon… then everything.

The last thing I hear is Asra’s voice: “Rest now, ya albi. I'll be back soon.”

---

I awaken to late morning sunlight slanting through the small windows - rather later than I wanted to sleep, but it seems that the previous night left me exhausted. I stumble into the kitchen, yawning, and rouse the stove salamander so that I might brew a pot of strong tea. He, too, needs to use his abilities regularly, lest they cause him trouble. If I am to be out, he should have a good round of exercise first.

Over my tea and a scone that has seen better days, I consider what I should bring with me to the Palace - a change of clothing, spell components, my current journal… I’m certain that they will be able to provide me with writing instruments...

It keeps my mind off of my strange dream, and its portents. For now.

Fortified with multiple cups of tea (the scone, not especially improved by toasting, was left out on the doorstep for the pigeons), I pack my things. The bag that Heron made for me is very special - it holds much, much more than it appears to. Then I set about readying the shop for my absence. I dust down the counters, and ensure that the stove salamander has a supply of coke to consume.

I go up to the rooftop to water my plants, such as they are. Heron has a lush rooftop garden that provides us both with herbs and vegetables year-round; I have a planter box full of pretty flowering weeds. But the basil is doing very well in its bucket, and the aloe in its large bowl. There is also a forgotten bean that started to sprout, now residing comfortably in an old mug with no handle. Hopefully I won’t be gone so long that they all wither in the midsummer sun… well, the aloe will survive, I am sure.

When I come back downstairs, I must turn away a few customers, hopeful for a reading. Everyone wants to know what the future holds. 

If only I could ask the Arcana about the past, everything that came before the last three years. Three years of struggle and pain, of learning to be an adult human all over again, after whatever accident or illness took that part of me forever… for the most part. Once in a while, a dim memory will float by, like a distant iceberg on the sea of my mind. To try and grasp such memories is to invite pain and terror, and so I let them go. 

But sometimes, there are things that I know or can do which I did not learn in the last three years with Asra and Heron. I must assume that these come from Before, written so far below the surface of my mind as to escape erasure. I dance fairly well, and I sing better than that. And while Asra and Heron are always cautious in how they teach me, I very often feel that the small, shallow pool of my magic bubbles up from something much deeper, an underground ocean in the caverns of my soul.

It is a place I cannot explore, not even with the seemingly unending patience and help of my teachers. When I have tried, it leaves me bedridden for days, my body unresponsive, my mind a maelstrom of vivid hallucinations. Giants, ghosts, talking animals… a deeper dimension to my relationship with Asra, which is almost certainly wishful thinking on my part.

They tell me that my power springs from something very fundamental and dangerous, the primordial Chaos that underlies creation. By the same token, Heron’s magic springs from the primordial force of Order, and Asra’s from a direct connection to the Magical Realms that lie beyond our own. Each of us is something different, and yet the same.

They both tell me that I’m making wonderful progress, that my power and ability will continue to grow; it simply is not a linear progression. Magic grows in fits and starts and flashes of understanding. 

I hope they are right.

As the day wears on, I must be on my way to the Palace. I thoroughly lock up the shop, tracing the wards on the doors (not that this seemed to help against last night’s intruder). As I am doing this, a sudden prickle down the back of my neck causes me to start in alarm - a huge shape has materialized at my side, seemingly from nowhere.

Eldritch energy immediately crackles around my left hand, but I rein it in - they are doing nothing in particular besides looming, so large that they block my access to the side alleyway entirely. Two glinting eyes watch me from within the depths of a rough hood of furs, draped over a massive body that is crossed again and again with ropy scars. 

I clear my throat. “Er, excuse me… I need to pass through there.”

For a moment, they simply continue to look at me. Then, they shift their weight, and start moving out of the way. There is a strange muffled clanking, as of chains.

“Thank you.” I nod curtly, settle my bag on my hip, and start walking past the large figure.

“He will return. Though uninvited.” The voice is deep, so deep it’s like the thunder of a waterfall. “He will offer you an escape when you need it most. Turn him down, or you will fall into his hand… just like the rest of us.”

I pause at this apparent prognostication. A teller of fortunes, I know a seer when I hear one.

“Take this, or my warning is for nothing.”

I turn back to the person, curious. The light just barely strikes two glimmers of green from within the hood. Pinched between the huge thumb and forefinger is a little leather pouch on a thin cord. Grudgingly, it seems, the figure holds it out to me. I reach a hand out, palm up, and they drop the item into it, as if unwilling to touch.

And without a further word, they turn and shuffle away. Oddly, no-one seems to take notice of the hooded figure, despite their immense size - normally, people would be gawking, pointing even.

How odd. I scrutinize the tiny bag in my palm with my magical sight. It radiates a faint aura of protective magics. I glance up again - but the figure is gone.

The pouch is well-sealed with complex warding knots, and the leather is inscribed with a sigil. Bringing it to my nose, I smell the warm, woody scent of myrrh resin.

Philosophically, I hang the little pouch around my neck. My magical sight shows nothing malicious in it… and I can use all the protection I can muster, I’m sure.

I step into the flow of traffic and noise as I cut my way through the bustling Market, but I hear little of it; I am lost in my own thoughts. Who is the he spoken of by the seer? Julian tried to give me some warning or other about Asra… but I’m not sure I credit that. He seems to have some personal vendetta. Julian himself, perhaps? What more warning could one need about a wanted criminal?

As I climb the steps that lead into the market plaza, a black shape catches my eye - it’s a large raven, perched on one of the lines of colorful lanterns that crisscross overhead. The bird looks back at me with one beady eye, blacker than my own, then croaks and turns its head. I, too, turn my head, following its gaze.

...and my heart stumbles and skips a beat as I spot Julian Devorak, walking through the crowd as if nothing at all is amiss, his face bare to the world... and unblemished. His temple shows no bruising, no hint of a wound where last night he bled.

He hasn’t seen me yet. Half of me wants to flee, but the other half is intensely curious as to how he can walk about so freely, a fugitive from the law. And how has he healed so quickly? 

It is this second half that sends me after him. 

Unfortunately, this means I must move against traffic, and I am not large. I also don’t want to form an obvious eddy in the crowd with my movements. Devorak is making his leisurely way along the market stalls, seemingly without a care in the world. Is he looking to get caught? Wanted posters litter the city, and between his height and that profile, it’s not like he is anonymous in any way. An eyepatch only distracts so much.

The raven gives a sudden shriek, and Devorak turns, our eyes locking for a frozen moment through the crowd.

And then a cart passes between us, causing me to step back involuntarily. When it is gone… so is he, vanished as if he had never been there at all.

I pause, traffic flowing around me, and wonder at my own actions. The man is a wanted criminal, maybe even a killer. Why on earth would I put myself in danger by following him around, no matter how curious I am? Shaking my head at myself, I rejoin the foot traffic, resuming my interrupted journey.

Maybe it was Julian that the giant of earlier was warning me about.

A voice cuts through my reverie, a voice I know. It’s Selasi, the baker, whose stall Asra and I often frequent - one of the small handful of merchants who seem unfazed by us. He asks if I’ve eaten, saying that there are spiced pumpkin loaves fresh out of the oven, almost cool enough to eat. He cajoles me to sit and talk with him in the meantime.

A pot of tea isn’t enough to fuel my day. My stomach rumbles to resentful life as the scent of the spiced bread reaches my nose.

“Well… I can’t stay long,” I tell him. “But I am starving!”

Selasi laughs and waves me to the back of the booth, where I seat myself up against the sun-warmed wall of the building behind.  An enormous orange fluff of a cat appears from under a table, and rubs itself against my side. Absently, I scratch it between the ears.

The baker offers me a steaming cup of tea, asking after Asra. 

“Oh, out on a journey again.”

“Of course! Where to this time?”

“I… don’t know, actually. He didn’t say.”

Selasi frowns slightly. “Really?”

“It seemed really important. Maybe it’s a secret.” I shrug, sipping my mint tea.

The baker folds his arms and shakes his head with a sigh. “Nothing new, I guess. Your Asra on a mysterious journey, that is. But what about you?”

I lift my brows. My Asra, indeed. “What about me?”

He grins widely. “They say that the Countess’s own carriage was spotted here in Center City, late in the night. You can’t miss it, not with all the escorts on horseback. Circling around not far from your shop, even.”

I do my best to cover over my surprise. Selasi loves gossip as much as he loves to bake, and maybe even more. It’s harmless, but I don’t know that the Countess wants her business all over the market.

“Really? I wonder what she was after?” My stomach chooses that moment to let out a long growl, and I laugh. “Me, I’m just after pumpkin bread. I’m a simple creature.”

Selasi laughs, throwing his head back. “Keep your secrets, then, just like your master.” He shakes his head and pulls a fresh loaf from the cooling racks. “One hot for now, and one cool for the road?” he asks, and I nod, giving the cat one last pat before rising and placing my empty cup aside.

Selasi wraps the loaves for me, and I hand over my coin. I place the cooled one into my endless bag before taking a big bite out of the warm loaf. The outer crust has a pleasing bite to it, the inside soft and fluffy, the spices fragrant. “Mmph! Delicioush azh alwayzh! ’ll zhee you lader!” I say around the mouthful of pumpkin bread, waving as I exit the booth.

“Don’t keep the Countess waiting!” he says, almost making me choke on my bite of bread.

I suppose it’s true what they say… the only thing that travels faster than magic is gossip.

#the arcana rewrite #arcana rewrite: tides of chaos #jinana aditya #chekhov's bean sprout lmao