#tw: inescapable cringe

[yuuri-nsane]

Last in Stock

Fandom: Yuuri On Ice

Ship: Viktuuri [Viktor Nikiforov x Katsuki Yuuri]

T/W: nothing, apart from swears, mild dirty jokes and recurring mentions of nudity? BAHAH IM SORRY I PROMISE THERES NOTHING GRAPHIC THO TOTALLY SFW

Summary: Yuuri Katsuki wanted nothing more than to spoil his lovely poodle, Vicchan, and if that meant playing a game of Truth or Dare in a broken elevator to attain the likes of a beautifully pink chew toy, he was game.

[Inspired by a little rough imagine I posted a while ago]

a/n: honestly dont even ask me how this happened, happy holidays!! i wish you all a very merry chrysler, and if you dont celebrate, a very happy december!

oh and dont forget, constructive criticism is always welcome! dont hesitate to tell me what you think of my work, and also! please please  ple e a a s e  tell me if you see any spelling mistake or grammatical errors! THANK YOUUU!

also please note that this will be posted to my ao3 account: @yuuri_nsane

---

This was not how he'd planned his Wednesday evening, two days before Christmas, to go. No, not at all.

He thinks back to the start of the day, wondering how exactly he'd wound up sitting in a broken elevator, positioned in between the third and fourth floor, having just ended a dastardly game of Truth or Dare with quite an attractive man.

Said attractive man was not only attractive, but also very, very naked, save for the pair of patterned purple socks still clad on his feet. He also had the entirety of the Russian National Anthem scrawled on his left leg, as well as a black eye and terribly painted nails: a bright hot pink that shrieked against impossibly pale skin. Not to mention the taunting pastel dog toy he was now cuddling with.

Yeah, no. Yuuri was stuck in a predicament - one far too mortifying yet amusing for his own comprehension.

How in the ever-loving fuck had this happened?

---

Katsuki Yuuri was a good person.

He loved his mom, fed his dog, never showed up late to work.

He was good at recycling - always remembering to separate the cardboard tube and plastic lid of the Pringles' can he'd eat out of during a late night binge.

He watered his plants religiously, and no, it didn't matter that one out of the four of them were fake. He loved all his plants equally, thank you very much.

He held the door open for people no matter how far away or close they were, and even when they did that awkward little jog, he made sure to give them a warm smile.

He cleaned after himself, not at all tolerating any bits of scrap paper or crumbs left as residue from a busy night of studying and stress eating, no matter how tired he was.

He even cleaned up after other people! Like, for example, when his roommate and best friend, Phichit Chulanont, had eaten too much takeout and could barely move - Yuuri had offered to clean up for him. Phichit, with somewhat of a moral compass thanks to Yuuri, had protested at first; Yuuri had replied with a gentle 'tsk' and a 'go get some rest, you can make it up to me by doing the dishes tomorrow and the day after that'.

And so, to conclude, Katsuki Yuuri was a good person.

So why, why exactly was he here, in the middle of a bustling mall at 2pm, so close to being trampled on in the midst of hectic shopping, staring down an unfairly good-looking stranger, both their hands having met in the middle - the middle being a cutesy dog toy, the last one in stock.

Yuuri had naively left his Christmas shopping till the very last minute, much like everyone else present in the store. He hadn’t intended to buy Vicchan another toy, Lord knows he had plenty more at home and that Yuuri’s bank account was suffering because of it. But it was Christmas, and if anything, his dog deserved the world.

One more as a little festive gift wouldn't hurt, and it certainly brought Yuuri a step closer to giving Vicchan ‘the world’.

And so, he needed this.

And he was not going to give up that easily, despite the fact that the universe decided to make his life just a little bit harder, since the opposition made Yuuri slightly more weaker in the knees than he'd like to admit.

He winced in the bright white lights of the shop, the Christmas music blaring and irritating, no longer as heart-warming as Yuuri had found it when he first entered. The excessive Christmas decorations made him cringe - it was as if one of Santa’s elves had puked all over the place.

"Why," the other man began, his voice oozing with honey, with charming remnants of an accent. His soothing verbal confrontation had caught Yuuri’s undivided attention. His hand was inching closer to the catalyst of this hassling event and Yuuri barely fought the urge to slap it away (or hold it tenderly), "I believe I saw this first."

Oh, heck no.

Yuuri scooted closer and desperately tried to ignore the blooming heat on his cheeks, "Actually, I think I did."

This did nothing to deter to the other man, who with his height, easily stood over Yuuri and glared ever so passive aggressively.

"Well, okay then! Since we can’t decide who gets the damn toy, why don't we settle this like men?"

The black haired male stared frozen in shock. He was not looking for a fight, no matter how eager he was to spoil his little poodle with all the gifts he warranted and more.

"Uh, I don't- um, I'm not looking for trouble!" Yuuri ranted swiftly, slowly pulling his hand away from the dog toy.

So close, yet so far.

It wasn't like he couldn't fend for himself, God knows he was stronger than most people with the avid workouts he did to prepare for dancing recitals.

(And let me tell you, Yuuri has never skipped leg day. Ever.)

But at the same time, he knew it would be less than ideal if the young man spent his Christmas holiday sporting a black eye or something similar.

In response to his quick exclamation, the silver haired male beside Yuuri also retracted his hand, a look of bafflement evident on his chiselled features.

"I-You..." he started, looking at Yuuri far too intensely than the other male was admittedly comfortable with.

A few seconds later, he burst out into laughter, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling. He tilted his head back, arms grasping his middle.

He gasped for air, dramatically wiping a tear away, "You thought - you thought I wanted to fight for it! Like in some sort of - cliché romance where the two love interests fight for the main character's hand in marriage! Or something!" He babbled on, leaving Yuuri flustered and awfully ready to make a run for it.

In his fit of embarrassment, he raised voice, "Well, what the hell did you mean by 'settling this like men'! Of course I thought you wanted to get physical!"

Yuuri regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth.

"Physical? Well, I'll have you know I have a bit more class than that. I'd take you out on a date first, if anything."

The shorter male sputtered angrily, his blush not at all dying down, but instead doing the opposite. He glared at the other man, cursing his stupid pretty face and his stupid pretty voice.

And much to his luck, the blue-eyed villain pursued his words, snickering,  “Not to mention here of all places! Quite the voyeur, are we?”

Yuuri was a Good Person™ -  what the hell had he done to deserve this!

The taller male must've noticed Yuuri's increasing discomfort, and his teasing came to halt. He inclined his head in the direction of the damned chew toy and reiterated, "What I really meant was we could buy the toy and decide outside who gets to take it - like civilised human beings. You rest your case, I rest mine! Sound good?"

Yuuri pondered, before slowly nodding his head. It wsn’t like he had anything better to do, and he really wanted this dog toy. If only he knew the events that would follow soon after, he might’ve have ran fast and far before giving a real answer.

Fortunately, it seemed that both of them were just about finished with their shopping, the dog toy being last in each other's spontaneous list.

The light haired man took this as inclination to pluck the dog toy off the shelf, giving Yuuri a confirming look, and leading them both to the checkout.

They squeezed their way through the crowds; meandering, lifeless beings that swayed from aisle to aisle. Once they made it there, they payed for their own items separately, before splitting the money for the toy.

Afterwards, they made way to the elevator just two shops down, both agreeing to settle their dispute in the parking lot. They were on the top floor of the shopping centre, after all. Yuuri figured that the both of them would be more comfortable if they weren't surrounded by other people, who could very fairly judge them when arguing about the baby pink dog toy. Said baby pink dog toy had somehow found its way into Yuuri's grasp. If he wasn't such a good person maybe he'd have run away by now, pastel chew toy in hand. But damn it, he was, so he swallowed down the urge.

They stepped into the elevator, the shiny silver doors sliding apart before meeting in the centre. A sickening array of tinsel was hung to the upper corners, along with a few baubles hanging from them. Yuuri noticed the red ribbon twined in with the tinsel, and wanted to grimace at its tackiness.

The young dancer then turned to his companion, now realising how dangerous this situation actually was. Without thinking he blurted, "You're not a serial killer, are you?"

The other man raised an eyebrow. "Well no, but I wouldn't put it past myself to become one for the sake of that toy." He waved nonchalantly at Yuuri's hand, the chew toy dripping from his fingers.

Yuuri instinctively took a step back.

"Oh my God, I'm kidding!" The man chuckled, turning away and watching the numbers at the top of the elevator decrease gradually.

"So, uh, what do we do now?"

To this, the male looked back at Yuuri, and replied simply, "I come up with a sob story to convince you to give me the toy!"

Yuuri pursed his lips, unimpressed. He was tired but by God, was he so not above from entertaining the notion. "Okay, then. Go ahead. After you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

He was met with a smirk, a smirk far too devious for Yuuri's liking. Before the other man could attempt to pull at Yuuri’s heart strings, however, the room jarred and the two men in the elevator were sent tumbling to the ground.

"What just happened."

It came out more like a statement than a question, a robotic string of words that spewed from Yuuri's lips involuntarily.

"I think...I think the elevator just...broke down."

They stared at each other for a moment, and the next words came flying about - who said them exactly left a mystery.

"Oh, fuck."

---

They spent the first five minutes panicking, calling for help in such an inglorious manner that Yuuri was sure they'd both lose their voices. They spent the next few moments afterwards checking their phones, and resentfully realising that somehow, there was no reception. And that, of course, since the universe seemed to love good ol' Yuuri, that his phone was at a sad two percent.

His company's was no better, where his phone was at a fifteen, to which the taller man responded with a sheepish, 'I forgot to charge it last night too.'

They realised then that they had no choice but to wait until help miraculously found its way to them, and so they indulged in the waiting game.

The next hour or so consisted of the two bantering back and forth, 'sob stories' passed around like old folk's tales. They bickered and still, their argument over the dog toy was left unsettled, and Yuuri had to admit, it was kind of fun.

Time had whizzed past, and soon enough it was already 4:37pm. The other man spoke up suddenly, sat opposite Yuuri on the cold, hard ground of the elevator. His skin was painted in the gold of the old light that flickered above them, his blue eyes sparkling impressively. Yuuri wanted to look away, yet simultaneously couldn't find it in him to.

"I just realised that I don't know your name. And you don't know mine! Chances are, we'll be spending all night together," he wiggled his eyebrows. Yuuri choked in response, the other male continuing, "so let me introduce myself! Viktor Nikiforov!" He held out his arm out, humbly awaiting.

Yuuri clasped it gently, mumbling a near silent, "Yuuri Katsuki."

Viktor reacted with an all too cheery, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Yuuri!"

They held hands for almost a second too long, until Yuuri forced himself to pull away.

The two men once again decided to engage in such chatter, bordering small talk. They joked and teased, each finding out more and more about the other.

Yuuri now knew that Viktor Nikiforov was four years older than he was, a good twenty-six, and had a lovely little poodle he called Makkachin, or Makka for short. (He guessed that she was the reason for Viktor's desperate need for the dog toy.) He was Russian, and moved to the states just a few weeks before his nineteenth birthday. His favourite food was Borscht, a beef stew mixed with all sorts of vegetables, and that he almost burnt his kitchen down once upon a time trying to make it. And, to Yuuri's surprise, Viktor was a choreographer for all sorts of dances, his specialty being ballet and contemporary.

In response to this sudden spout of information, Yuuri had offered his own age and his dog's name and breed. He also told Viktor that his parents were from Japan, but moved to Detroit to start a hot springs. He explained too, that his favourite food was Katsudon, a pork cutlet rice bowl, and that his mother made the best of them.

Yuuri even mentioned his own career in dancing, to which Viktor had reacted to with an animated widening of his eyes and a contemplative 'really?'.

He also swears that Viktor had checked him out soon afterwards, but maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Soon enough, boredom got the best of the two, having spent the last three hours doing nothing but lounge around. Their phones were now completely out of battery (no, Yuuri didn't spend the last two percent playing Candy Crush-); they were hungry and unentertained, and it didn't take long for Viktor to begin whining.

Immediately, he shot up, forcing Yuuri into a frightened jolt.

"Sorry, sorry - I was just thinking, since I'm bored and you're bored, we should play Truth or Dare!"

Yuuri stared, "Really? Your first thought was child's play?"

"Aw, please! Yuuri, don't be like that! I'm literally dying of boredom-"

"Stop being so dramatic, Viktor."

Viktor ignored him, "-and you know what! We could settle this," he gestured rapidly to the dog toy, where it lay in between them, holy and seemingly unattainable.

Yuuri had never been more stupid to have asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, we play Truth or Dare, and whoever forfeits first means that the other gets the toy! And bragging rights!"

He crawled over to Yuuri, too close for comfort, and drawled, "Pretty please?"

Yuuri, feeling scandalised and suddenly like a hormonal prepubescent teen, pressed himself up against the wall, looked away and squeaked a feeble, "Okay, fine!"

He felt regret seep into his soul for the umpteenth time that day.

---

He sighed.

Yuuri Katsuki was a good person.

He was a good person and he knew so much.

And so he wondered again, quite bitterly, why and how the planets had aligned in such a way to quite literally fuck him over in this elevator, where the most handsome man he'd ever seen was now lying in front of him, naked and quite the hot mess - a result of playing Truth or Dare.

Viktor, being the proud little shit he was, had chosen nothing but Dare - whether to egg Yuuri on or likewise.

Yuuri had wasted the pink nail polish he'd just bought for his sister Mari in response: his first dare being a cheap jab at the man's dignity. Though, it did little to do so, as Viktor painted his nails happily, albeit messily, and wore his paint job loud and proud.

After that, he had dared the man to write the Russian National Anthem on his leg with a black sharpie, one he’d conveniently carried around in his coat’s breast pocket. Viktor had done so entirely without complaint, going as far as to showcase his leg in a fucking split.

The dares that followed were mild, if not slightly concerning - Yuuri having dared Viktor to lick the floor, to pluck the hanging tinsel from the corners of the elevator and stuff it in his mouth, to try and do a handstand, to stand on one foot for two minutes and so on.

Watching Viktor, physical perfection on legs, trying to stuff a wad of sparking red tinsel down his throat was more amusing than Yuuri cared to say, and it came to show that the taller man was just as human as he was, despite his uncanny appearance to that of a greek god.

Although Yuri didn't even want to recall how Viktor had ended up wearing nothing but his socks, and even the nasty black eye now splotching across his fair skin.

He was more than happy to block that out from his memory.

Because of this, he’d stuck religiously to choosing Truth, not at all willing to risk whatever was left of his self-respect, in fear that Viktor would take no pity on him and get his revenge.

In fact, the worst question Viktor had asked him was,

"What's your biggest turn on?"

And Yuuri, being the sad, and easily embarrassed person that he was, had panicked and briskly declared, "Katsu...don?", his confidence soon blinking out like a candle flame halfway through saying so - it was evident in his statement all but becoming a gratifying question.

It was 6:29pm, and Yuuri's sure that help was on its way - for he could hear the bustling of what he assumed to be mall security outside the elevator. He wondered briefly, how worrying it would be for the two men to step out the elevator, one untouched, and the other looking as though they'd flushed themselves down the toilet. Repeatedly.

Yuuri kept his gaze away from Viktor and his...glory. He scowls, remembering how Viktor won the dog toy fair and square: Yuuri having refused to carry on playing after Viktor's little strip tease. Or whatever the hell it was.

He sighs another sad sigh, shaking his head and wishing for oblivion.

---

It was 7:01pm, when the elevator doors were finally opened. Yuuri and Viktor were helped up, blankets wrapped securely around the both of them - specifically Viktor, for obvious reasons.

Security were nothing short of polite but it was safe to say that when they managed to open the elevator doors, the last thing they were expecting was a 5'9" Russian man to come stumbling out, naked and, oh yes, naked.

They were ushered to a nearby bench on the fourth floor, surrounded by nearby onlookers who were whispering amongst themselves. The mall security had asked them politely to wait by, probably to offer some sort of compensation, Yuuri expected.

They sat in silence: hungry and tired - most definitely ready to go home, after a lovely evening spent stuck in the elevator for roughly five hours.

Viktor clutched at the dog toy and his blanket - his clothes and plastic shopping bag resting rumpled on his lap. Yuuri kept his head ducked down, listening pathetically to Mariah Carey and her silky singing echoing in the mall.

All I want for Christmas, Yuuri pondered spitefully: beyond mortified by the near nude man beside him and his demeaning loss when playing Truth or Dare, is to dig my own grave!

Suddenly, Viktor spoke up besides Yuuri.

"I was thinking-"

"No! Viktor, when you think, it ends badly!" Yuuri exclaimed, turning to point at Viktor's general being and the chew toy that he held loosely, "that was traumatic."

"It's nothing bad! Or at least I don't think it is..." Viktor helpfully supplied.

Wait, was as he, blushing?

"...What is it then?"

"Do you, uh...thinkthatVicchanwouldliketohaveaplaydatewithMakka?"

"Huh?"

Viktor coughed, bringing his hand up to the back of his neck. His blanket fell from his shoulders and rested at his waist. Yuuri kept his gaze from trailing down, and could've sworn he was going to have a heart attack.

"I just...uhm, do you want to, maybe, uh...organise a play date for our dogs, or something?"

Yuuri straightened up immediately.

"You, you don't have to say yes! I'm sorry! I-I get that you're probably really busy, since Christmas is in like, two days, and you might have better things to do than go out with me - I mean, go out with my dog, wait, no! I mean-" Viktor rambled on, his face getting redder by the minute.

Yuuri, being the good, merciful, and apparently brave that person he is, disregarded all rational thought and leaned in to kiss Viktor on his cheek; a sweet press of his lips to soft skin that made the dark haired male tingle all over.

He pulled away, noting the relentless flush that started from Viktor's hairline, all the way down to his toned chest. And along with that, the older man's abrupt silence. He stared quizzically at Yuuri, reaching to touch the cheek that had been kissed.

"I'd love for our dogs to have a play date. But on one condition," Yuuri teased, a devilish grin making its way into his face, "you take me on that date, okay, Viktor Nikiforov? We can't afford to forget about class, now can we?"

He was bombarded with a humiliated shriek: a high-pitched squeal that left Viktor's lips, which stringed along like music to the younger man's ears, and a promise for a date - both for his dog and himself.

This was not how he'd planned his Wednesday evening, two days before Christmas, to go. No, not at all.

But he certainly wasn't complaining. Anymore, at least.

---

BONUS:

“I’ll see you later, Viktor! Um, merry Christmas! Oh, yeah and Monday, alright, Vicchan and I will see you then! Call me!” Yuuri all but whispered hastily, carrying his shopping and Viktor’s heart away with him to the other side of the parking lot.

Luckily, their cars were in the same district, and the Russian watched dreamily as Yuuri made his way to his car, and he himself got into his. He giggled bashfully, glad he forgot to go Christmas shopping last week. 

What were the chances that he’d have ended up spending five hours with such an attractive and certainly interesting man, in the small confines of a horribly decorated elevator?

He smiled softly, making one last assessment of his things. His watch, shoes, shirt, pants - it was all here! Along with his shopping bag, Yuuri’s number and-

Wait.

Where...

Where was the dog toy?

Viktor didn’t enough time to fully wrap his head around the disappearance of the chew toy, before he heard maniacal laughter, and a dark blue Volkswagen blurring past. The car’s windows were rolled down, an insulting pastel pink lolling out slightly.

“Finders, keepers!”

A mortified gasp.

“Yuuri!”

Fin

---

Taglist:

@maximoffzinha @the-immortal-thylacine @holaboiiiiis

#tw: vague references to nudity #tw: dirty jokes #tw: inescapable cringe #yuri on ice #yuuri on ice #yoi #katsuki yuri #katsuki yuuri #yuri katsuki #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #victor nikiforov #viktuuri #victuuri #victuri #vikturi #viktor x yuri #victor x yuuri #viktor x yuuri #yuuri x viktor #yuri x viktor #yuri x victor #yuuri x victor #phichit chulanont #but only like the briefest mention #happy holidays yall #TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK? #PLEASE #GIVE ME RAW CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM #a horrible attempt at humour

[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

TW/CW: Ranting, use of caps/text yelling, mentions/discussions of depression, suicidal thoughts, low self-esteem, and cringe-culture, no language indicators (everything is /genuine), large chunks of text which may be hard for some to read (please lmk if anyone would like a bulleted or split up version /gen), complicated words and concepts (again, please lmk if anyone would like a version w simpler words or more explanations!! /gen!!!)

Topic: Writing, Cringe-Culture, and Freedom to Express Yourself

Not to get like, personal and serious on this silly YouTube roleplay side-blog but here’s some writing advice for you writers out there. Literally no one will notice if you put two “-ly” words in your story.

As long as you are using basic sentence variation in your story — aka complex sentence, compound sentence, simple sentence, compound sentence again, repeat in a pattern that seems to get your point across best (long sentences are best for describing situations or when a character is rambling, simple sentences are best for times that you want your words to punch the reader in the face with words alone or crush their little hearts while cackling maniacally) — nobody other than pompous gits will notice if you say “Oh, he thought, wishing desperately for something to do with his hands.” Because no one actually nitpicks stuff like that if they’re properly immersed in your story (obviously beta readers are different, they’ve been paid to look for your mistakes lol). (more below the Keep Reading. Warning!! Triggering topics/actions start right here! :] <3!!!)

And even if you DO fuck up and put a couple too many “ly” words or too many “he said/she saids?” WHO CARES. THAT IS THE POINT OF WRITING. TO IMPROVE. MAKE SHITTY SELF-INSERT FICS. WRITE FANFICTION TO PRACTICE. WRITE A REALLY BAD ORIGINAL STORY ABOUT OVERPOWERED OCS WHO YOU’VE HAD SINCE YOU WERE ELEVEN. EVERY TIME YOU WRITE YOU IMPROVE. IF YOU LOVE SOMETHING ENOUGH TO DEDICATE HOURS OF YOUR LIFE TO IT YOU DESERVE TO LOOK BACK ON IT AND SAY “I made this thing out of love. By making this I made someone happy, and that someone was me. I deserve to be proud of this, because I worked hard on it.”

NEVER regret your old shitty writing. NEVER regret your current writing. Yes, you can spend hours nitpicking every detail and every word like I used to. But you have years to figure out your writing style; years to gauge whether you like first or third or second person POV — or even something else entirely — best; years to experiment and and learn and love new and different things. You will improve, it is an inevitable, inescapable part of being human, being alive.

So please, please write whatever you want, whenever you want. Write cringe! Write badly! Write poorly planned out stories!! If it makes YOU happy, who fucking cares what some bozo using the anonymity of a faceless online profile to bash your earnest, hard work about something you care about says? Why do THEY have any right to your happiness? Your self-esteem? Do what makes you happy, even if it’s bad, or self-indulgent, or god-forbid “““cringey.””” You know what’s cringey? A grown ass adult human being who knows better making fun of someone working hard to improve a skill, or simply enjoying the freedom that writing gives. You have the gift to create. No one starts out writing like a pro. Don’t let others shame you out of expressing yourself in a healthy way that brings you joy.

This is one of the many reasons I have left several nearly untouched, original records of my fic A Small Slice of Ethereal P.I.E, which was written of the course of two years. I am PROUD of how lackluster and empty and basic the beginning of that fic is in comparison to the final chapter — I was fucking 15 years old, had undiagnosed depression and anxiety, and it was the first piece of writing I ever loved enough to finish even after two years, of course it was BAD. It was utter SHIT dude! I was coping with heavy amounts of trauma through a safe, comforting medium through a character I related to deeply. I’m alive because of that fic. It kept me going until I could get help. If writing does that for you; if you think “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow, but if I don’t, then I can’t write that fanfic/story/oneshot/daydream I’ve always wanted to/haven’t completed/dream of publishing one day” then cling to that. Use it. Whatever keeps you going til tomorrow.

Your passions, your interests, have value. I’m so sorry if anyone has made you feel that they don’t. I’m sorry if people have told you your writing isn’t good enough to keep making. Every piece you make is a gift to yourself. I guarantee there are people out there who will. Who do. Even if it’s only future you. Even if it’s only current you. Your joy, fleeting or not, is worth more than you could ever imagine.

Keep writing. For you. Not for anyone else, because you deserve to. You deserve to love something passionately. You deserve to write poorly. You deserve to love what you make anyways. This got a little out of hand, I didn't really mean to say all this, but I feel it's important to my point so whatever haha. seriously though, if anyone wants me to delve further into any of the topics discussed here, especially about sentence variation and where to use complex, compound, and simple sentences in a paragraph/scene/description or what POV to use for the type of story/scene you want to convey to your reader, I'd be literally over the moon lmao. I LOVE talking about the importance of cadence and impact, and how it basically overrides basic grammatical rules like "he said/she said" and "-ly words" and "remove every 'was' in your story." Alright, I'll stop pestering y'all now haha, both my ask box and my dms are open if you want to ask any questions about this!

#maddie talks #maddie writes #kinda vt #but like not really this was just inspired by my passion for writing cringey stories about VT characters haha #writing #writing advice #writing tips #fanfiction #original story #original fiction #original character #cringe #cringe culture #cringe culture is dead #venturiantale #taleblr #sorry people looking for like. anything related to VT today. brain empty only mental illness and writing rants #you didn't read this but I am not doing well mentally today. I don't want to think about anything anymore. #i hate having to acknowledge that i'm lonely and touch-starved. i hate having no one to talk to because we moved away from my therapist and #i wont get to even meet my new one for two weeks. i'm hurting again. i was doing better. i'm afraid my mom will start making herself out to #be the victim again. or worse. tell me that i dont really think that. last time i said i knew i was a disappointment she said that. #i want real human connection with someone i can touch. but im so fucking traumatized that im afraid of people irl #i want to go home. i thought that was our house in georgia with my dad but now that were back here im just nostalgic for a life that #could have been if we hadnt left. i feel empty. i feel alone. im so fucking scared of loving someone who doesn't love me back again. #i just want to be loved. i love my friends so dearly but i just want someone to reciprocate when i fall for them like a fucking idiot again #don't read these. please. i cant fucking think anymore. i just want to stop feeling.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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[shinagawa-division]

Division Rap Battle (Femme Fatale & CodeX Ver.)

Big thanks to @uenodivision for helping with the lyrics

TW for cringe

Bring The Beat!

[All:]

We hereby declare to fight with all our might

We are determined and invincible ruffians

Our words are machine guns

Or compasses that lead us to the future

We’re the trinity, it’s showtime

We engrave our style in history

A DNA vessel wandering life and death

We’ll follow our instincts, say what?

[Femme Fatale:]

One, two, three, Saitama Division

[Sayaka:]

Represent Saitama!

Homies, we are Femme Fatale

You can’t clip these wings

[Femme Fatale:]

Welcome to the division

One, two, three, Saitama Division

[Sayaka:]

Represent Saitama!

[Lola:]

Homies, we are Femme Fatale

[Kureha:]

We’ll ensnare you, body, mind, and soul

[Femme Fatale:]

Welcome to the division

[Sayaka:]

Who could it be

That dares step up to me?

It’s Rhopalocera on the beat

Challenging me is quite a feat

I got my girls on one side

And my mic on the other

The end result of this battle

Is you running home for mother

You may think that I'm weak

Just cause I'm a butterfly

But while you're stuck on the ground

I'm just soaring through the sky

While you're stuck down their hatin

Femme Fatale is up above

And if you still think I'm mistaken

Then meet the Goddess of Love

[Lola:]

Oh how cute!

To think that you’re challenging me

But it's plain for all to see

That you're weak in the knees

It's really no surprise

My beauty tends to have that effect

Just one gaze from me and you'll want to defect

But Femme Fatale is not for you

Your looks are minus 10

So ugly and atrocious!

You'll live life alone, friend

But don't be sad

Not everyone is good at relationships

Well, its time to say 'goodbye' to me

And 'hello' to Eclipse

[Kureha:]

I am darkness made flesh

I am your eternal doom

I am your damnation

I'm the monster in the room

And with your corpse as my canvas

And your blood as my paint

I'll create a work of art

And you will have no complaint

Saitama is my home

Femme Fatale is my family

We'll take you to the edge

Your regret will be agony

Say goodbye to your souls

And say hello to depravity

And when its all said and done

We'll just laugh at the tragedy.

One, two, three, Shinagawa Division

[CodeX:]

[Ritsuko:]

Represent Shinagawa!

Homies, we are CodeX

An inescapable spider’s web

[CodeX:]

Welcome to the division

One, two, three, Shinagawa Division

[Ritsuko:]

Represent Shinagawa!

[Miho:]

Homies, we are CodeX

[Sumire:]

Sweet chemicals and deadly ambition

[CodeX:]

Welcome to the division

[Ritsuko:]

Shivers down your spine

It’s the end of the line

The last name you’ll hear

Will be mine, Strychnine

I’m in my element

This battle is my experiment

You’ll be leaving in a cerement

You’re so pitiful

Thinking you’re the best

I’ve seen cells more enthralling

You’re as boring as the rest

So go scurry away little pest

The spider’s drawing near

Such a repugnant scent

As I smell your fear

[Miho:]

Success is all I ever achieve, no question

The Iron Maiden is here to teach you a lesson

Don’t even think trying to cross me and my team

The scientist, the demon, and I aren’t what we seem

If that’s not enough for you to believe

The torture we’ll put you through will make you scream

A beating so serve to end any threat

Now the She-Devil’s here to make you regret

[Sumire:]

There’s no stopping a revolution

Time to face retribution

I’ll have a front row seat

To witness your ruin

The harbinger of anarchy

Chaos incarnate

Straight from the depths of hell

You’re Diabla’s next target

So pathetic!

Your suffering makes me laugh

Death will be the aftermath

Your mind, I’ll rewire

Your downfall is my desire

I’ll drag you down

To spend eternity in hellfire

[All:]

We hereby declare to fight with all our might

We are determined and invincible ruffians

Our words are machine guns

Or compasses that lead us to the future

We’re the trinity, it’s showtime

We engrave our style in history

A DNA vessel wandering life and death

We’ll follow our instincts, say what?

We got major beef, now we settle it

My Hypnosis Mic roars

Customized to attack your psyche

Words that burn your synapses

We're the Trinity, it's showtime

We engrave our style in history

A DNA vessel wandering life and death

We'll follow our instincts, say what?

#hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone #shinagawa division #codex #ritsuko okada #miho kobayashi #sumire shinomiya #saitama division #femme fatale #sayaka miyuki #lola takahashi #kureha koizumi #division rap battle

[saitama-division]

Division Rap Battle (Femme Fatale & CodeX Ver.)

Big thanks to @uenodivision for helping me with the lyrics

TW for cringe

Bring The Beat!

[All:]

We hereby declare to fight with all our might

We are determined and invincible ruffians

Our words are machine guns

Or compasses that lead us to the future

We’re the trinity, it’s showtime

We engrave our style in history

A DNA vessel wandering life and death

We’ll follow our instincts, say what?

[Femme Fatale:]

One, two, three, Saitama Division

[Sayaka:]

Represent Saitama!

Homies, we are Femme Fatale

You can’t clip these wings

[Femme Fatale:]

Welcome to the division

One, two, three, Saitama Division

[Sayaka:]

Represent Saitama!

[Lola:]

Homies, we are Femme Fatale

[Kureha:]

We’ll ensnare you, body, mind, and soul

[Femme Fatale:]

Welcome to the division

[Sayaka:]

Who could it be

That dares step up to me?

It’s Rhopalocera on the beat

Challenging me is quite a feat

I got my girls on one side

And my mic on the other

The end result of this battle

Is you running home for mother

You may think that I'm weak

Just cause I'm a butterfly

But while you're stuck on the ground

I'm just soaring through the sky

While you're stuck down their hatin

Femme Fatale is up above

And if you still think I'm mistaken

Then meet the Goddess of Love

[Lola:]

Oh how cute!

To think that you’re challenging me

But it's plain for all to see

That you're weak in the knees

It's really no surprise

My beauty tends to have that effect

Just one gaze from me and you'll want to defect

But Femme Fatale is not for you

Your looks are minus 10

So ugly and atrocious!

You'll live life alone, friend

But don't be sad

Not everyone is good at relationships

Well, its time to say 'goodbye' to me

And 'hello' to Eclipse

[Kureha:]

I am darkness made flesh

I am your eternal doom

I am your damnation

I'm the monster in the room

And with your corpse as my canvas

And your blood as my paint

I'll create a work of art

And you will have no complaint

Saitama is my home

Femme Fatale is my family

We'll take you to the edge

Your regret will be agony

Say goodbye to your souls

And say hello to depravity

And when its all said and done

We'll just laugh at the tragedy.

[CodeX:]

One, two, three, Shinagawa Division

[Ritsuko:]

Represent Shinagawa!

Homies, we are CodeX

An inescapable spider’s web

[CodeX:]

Welcome to the division

One, two, three, Shinagawa Division

[Ritsuko:]

Represent Shinagawa!

[Miho:]

Homies, we are CodeX

[Sumire:]

Sweet chemicals and deadly ambition

[CodeX:]

Welcome to the division

[Ritsuko:]

Shivers down your spine

It’s the end of the line

The last name you’ll hear

Will be mine, Strychnine

I’m in my element

This battle is my experiment

You’ll be leaving in a cerement

You’re so pitiful

Thinking you’re the best

I’ve seen cells more enthralling

You’re as boring as the rest

So go scurry away little pest

The spider’s drawing near

Such a repugnant scent

As I smell your fear

[Miho:]

Success is all I ever achieve, no question

The Iron Maiden is here to teach you a lesson

Don’t even think trying to cross me and my team

The scientist, the demon, and I aren’t what we seem

If that’s not enough for you to believe

The torture we’ll put you through will make you scream

A beating so serve to end any threat

Now the She-Devil’s here to make you regret

[Sumire:]

There’s no stopping a revolution

Time to face retribution

I’ll have a front row seat

To witness your ruin

The harbinger of anarchy

Chaos incarnate

Straight from the depths of hell

You’re Diabla’s next target

So pathetic!

Your suffering makes me laugh

Death will be the aftermath

Your mind, I’ll rewire

Your downfall is my desire

I’ll drag you down

To spend eternity in hellfire

[All:]

We hereby declare to fight with all our might

We are determined and invincible ruffians

Our words are machine guns

Or compasses that lead us to the future

We’re the trinity, it’s showtime

We engrave our style in history

A DNA vessel wandering life and death

We’ll follow our instincts, say what?

We got major beef, now we settle it

My Hypnosis Mic roars

Customized to attack your psyche

Words that burn your synapses

We're the Trinity, it's showtime

We engrave our style in history

A DNA vessel wandering life and death

We'll follow our instincts, say what?

#writing lyrics is pain #I’m so glad I had uenodivision to help #you can obviously tell who did who #god this is so cringey but a lot of fun #hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone #saitama division #femme fatale #sayaka miyuki #lola takahashi #kureha koizumi #shinagawa division #codex #ritsuko okada #miho kobayashi #sumire shinomiya #division rap battle

[border-spam]

Leech Lord AU

Tyreen Calypso / Tyreen DeLeon / God Queen Calypso / Holy Mother Tyreen (differences from canon)

List of character traits and  world-building facets for this character within my AU that differ from / are of more importance than in canon. 

One of these coming for Seifa shortly. Same AU as all other twins content I’ve written. TW: drug use.

Troy’s is HERE

Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:

✓x Confidence is not a façade.

Unlike her twin, Tyreen's self confidence is rock solid to an unquestionable level. Her God Queen persona is not an act, it's her natural disposition ramped into overdrive.

✓ Highly Empathic.

Ty is very emotionally charged as a person, and is notably in-tune in general to the energies of people she is in proximity with. She has always used this to her advantage, capable of reading a room very cleanly and modifying her behavior and approach to play on the emotional state of others.

✓ Excellent Actor.

Her enjoyment of positive attention since childhood nurtured her into a very convincing natural performer. She can switch her emotion worryingly easily from sorrow to mirth, and it can be difficult to tell at times which is the actual genuine state she is feeling.

✓ Extremely Adaptable.

Tyreen is almost impossible to deter as she automatically approaches any situation with complete belief she will overcome it. She is not easily stopped by plans going awry or not panning out, and rarely breaks momentum. Ty is so naturally assured of achieving whatever goal she is aiming for, that she see's barriers others would see as impassable, as mere setbacks.

✓ Highly Charismatic.

Her ability to draw the billions of worshippers that now compose the COV is no fluke. Between her natural charisma and intuition, and the excellently researched scripts and persona Troy writes for her, Tyreen is extremely magnetic to others.

✓ Natural  Leader.

Her rock solid self confidence and personal strength makes Tyreen highly attractive to those looking for guidance and a personality they can lean on. Her royalty is unquestionable, she was born to be a God Queen, and is very, very aware of it.

x Incapable of admitting fault.

Ty's extreme self confidence and regard for her own opinion means she cannot face failure. She will aggressively, to at times a physically violent level, defend her actions and beliefs regardless of whatever evidence is presented to her that shows she is incorrect or made a mistake.

x Easily loses control of herself in high pressure situations.

Her highly emotionally charged and empathic personality can leave her unable to control her reactions when under stress or pressure. While Troy's response to conflict or risk is to become exceptionally calm and dangerously in control, his twin's is the opposite. Tyreen can easily descend into screeching, violent tantrums, or lash out physically and verbally at people she sees as the source of the emotion she is currently experiencing, regardless of if they are at fault. She is often a danger to herself and others, and cannot be trusted to stay in control when stressed.

x Self centered.

Tyreen's galaxy revolves around Tyreen. Tyreen is Tyreen's universe. She's aware that there are people she should value, she should value Troy, she should value Seifa, she should value the other Saints like Mouthpiece, but she does not feel that value. This can lead to her questioning herself at times, there is concern eating her internally that maybe she actually doesn't feel anything for anyone else, but she knows that's wrong. She knows that's weird, and Tyreen isn't a freak, so she avoids dwelling on it.

x Manipulative.

Tyreen learned at an early age that getting what she wanted was easier if she played on what the other person wanted too. She's woven this so tightly into who she is over time, that she is no longer really aware of when she's actually manipulating someone, Troy being the most common victim. If you asked her, she'd convince you she was being completely genuine and had the other person's needs at heart. It's a lie.

x Illogical.

Her firm belief that she is automatically correct and infallible is a huge threat to her, and despite having endured injury and hardships over the years due to not listening to advice or ignoring facts in favor of her own opinion, she is not open to changing.

x Greedy.

While The Leech has amplified this negative trait 100 fold, it's still one of Tyreen's natural characteristics. Her greed by mid COV is insatiable, her hunger impossible to extinguish. Nothing will ever be enough. Any satisfaction she finally feels at achieving or gaining something she has lusted for is short lived, The Leech consuming the sensation and leaving her chasing it desperately again. She is endlessly spiraling downwards, she can never be content. She is cursed.

x Values her life over anyone else.

Tyreen has built her throne on the bones of family. She has opened her arms to billions, given lost souls the belonging they craved, become a mother to the heaving masses of damaged minds across the Galaxy, but it does not contain a single person she would die for. There is no one she wouldn't kill to survive. Leda knew. Typhon knows. Troy... Troy would snap your neck before you managed to finish asking if he does.

Backstory:

Bl3 canonical backstory till landing on Pandora where the AU begins, with additional points of:

Completely incapable of physical contact with any living organism bar Troy. Her power is wildly uncontrollable, and absorbs through any barrier within seconds. Its been this ravenous since the day it first revealed itself when the twins were 8 years old, and has never given her a moment of relief from its constant hunger since.

Did not receive as much attention as she deserved as a young child due to her parents needing to provide constant care to her deathly ill twin. Tyreen suffered in silence for a long time during this period, too immature to be able to explain to her mother and father how she felt.

The Leech negatively warps her over time as it feeds within. Tyreen would have blossomed into an extroverted, empathic, loudly spoken center of attention without its influence as she grew. A positive, if slightly needy woman, with an irresistible charisma and penchant for theatrics. Her feelings for Troy would not have decayed into something so grotesque, and she could have been happy. Her insatiable, yearning, demanding half of The Leech has doomed her to inescapable misery.

Personal:

Likes:

Positive attention and recognition.

Care or concern towards her emotional state, or mental/physical wellbeing.

Very few foods, but has a great love for citrus fruits and cured meats.

Textured fabrics, her inability to touch others has over time left her quite sensitive to tactile sensations, and she is a huge fan of expensive, high end fabrics and clothing created from them

Smoking. While she has little appetite for food or drink, joints and clove cigarettes are her go to relaxants. She enjoys the physical sensation of holding and smoking one, as well as the mental relief provided by the herbs Troy grows and dries for her.

Horrendously bad romance movies. The more cringe, the better. She's seen everything, and forced her brother to watch at least half. She knows in a way she's living vicariously through them, but it feels like an innocent pleasure.

Interacting with her fans and worshippers. Tyreen is very loving and open towards the COV cultists, and genuinely sees them as the family she was able to choose to have. This doesn't change that she values them less than insects however, and she's as likely to pause for a selfie with one as she is to husk them seconds later.

Dislikes:

x Her natural hair colour.

The dark brown was Leda's. Her eye shape is Leda's. Her mouth is Leda's. She doesn't want to see her mother in the mirror, so she's focused on those parts of her that remind her the most for changes in her aesthetic. Bleach, heavy eye makeup, liner to try and alter her lip shape. Tyreen is happy with her appearance, but it's her appearance she wants to see. Not the memory of her greatest fault.

x Being challenged.

While Ty is aware there are people who's opinion's she needs to heed, like Troy and Seifa in the earlier years of the COV, she doesn't like following their instructions. It's a personal insult to her deepest core when she has to choose to not follow her own volition. Over time, it breeds contempt inside her that she doesn't care enough to quell. A trusted advisor will become someone to eventually mock, a valued sibling or mentor will become the enemy, a burden, someone she knows better than. Tyreen hates so easily, it's like breathing.

x Being looked down on.

Tyreen is a God. There is no question, no space for disbelief. She is a deity, she is not human, she transcends that term. Ten billion people across the galaxy praise her hallowed name nightly, so the idea of some corporate scum fucking bastard acting like he's above her in a meeting room, sitting in a suit he thinks is showing off his wealth when she could literally buy the company that made it, is an insult she cannot bare. Troy has to accompany Tyreen in any face to face interaction with a sponsor. He has to do the talking, he has to control the situation. Without her twin to maintain her calm, Tyreen would tear these people to chunks of viscera. She cannot abide mockery.

x Her Father.

While Typhon genuinely believes he did his best for the twins and was trying to protect them from the horrors of the Galaxy, he has ended up becoming the focal point of every single thing Tyreen loathes. The indignity of being controlled by this tiny, weak little man. The insult of being caged on a planet he decided to enslave her on. The shame towards the overbearing control and fear he showed her as she grew up on Nekrotafeyo. She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

x Her Brother.

Troy took everything she could have been away from her. It's that simple. He did. There is no way to defend what happened. Regardless of her consuming him in the womb, regardless of what he wanted or not, he crippled her for life. He destroyed her Siren power, he stole her future, he tore any happiness she could ever have felt away from her, and left her with nothing but hunger, and hatred, and need. He's also the only person in the universe who knows her. He's the only person who cares for her. She despise him so much, she despises him so much that it almost feels like love.

x. Herself.

Not human. Not divine. Just a Leech. Just a fucking monster.

Physical differences to canon:

- Scarring is more noticeable:

Ty was glassed in the face in their first week on Pandora. Their first week. One of their earliest attempts to approach a bandit camp, and she'd had a broken bottle swung at her before she could even open her mouth to start Troy's rehearsed speech. It was also the first time she'd husked after landing, and was in self defense while the blood blinded her. The scars across her nose are jagged, and a little more set into her cheeks in depth.

- Left hand has long term damage:

Her hand sustained severe damage in a childhood incident. The white glove she wears is more to hide what she perceives as a weakness than to protect others from her powers. Cloth does practically nothing to prevent The Leech  consuming what she touches, a lesson she learned the hard way in the trauma that lead to her fingers being crushed.

- Troy was attached to her stomach:

Tyreen began to absorb Troy early in the pregnancy before her Siren power flowed into him when they had merged enough for it to consider them the same being. He was attached shoulder to her sternum, and was born with her wrapped around his smaller body. Separating them did no long term damage to Tyreen, unlike her twin, but she has a massive puckered scar running from below her sternum to her navel. This is very cool if you ask her, and the sole reason she doesn't display it is to keep their origins secretive, not due to any form of shame.

Asks are open! Any regarding AU will prob get priority for now as I work to flesh it as we go

#tyreen calypso #troy calypso #calypso twins #borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #leech lord #my hcs #my writing

[ao3feed-viktuuri]

by yuuri_nsane

Yuuri Katsuki wanted nothing more than to spoil his lovely poodle, Vicchan, and if that meant playing a game of Truth or Dare in a broken elevator to attain the likes of a beautifully pink chew toy, he was game.

Words: 3850, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Viktor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki, Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont, Katsuki Yuri, Yuri Katsuki

Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri

Additional Tags: Phichit only makes a brief appearance tho, Christmas fic, stuck in an elevator AU, Truth Or Dare AU, omg these idiots, im new to ao3 pls help, Vikturi, viktuuri, Victuri, VictUuri, yes i spell victor with a k, it adds flavour, i hate tags wtf, POV Katsuki Yuuri, POV Viktor Nikiforov towards the end, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Viktor Nikiforov, Vicchan Lives, You heard me, dog toy???, mentions of makka, viktor ends up being naked, it doesnt count tho hes still wearing his socks, tw: vague references to nudity, tw: inescapable cringe, tw: dirty jokes, sigh, Attempt at Humor, Comedy, Constructive Criticism Welcome, viktors a lil shit, so is Yuuri

#ao3feed #fanfiction #yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov

[weaverlings]

briar rose

A cursed thorn lays a princess low. As tradition demands, she is confined to a tower, and her fate rests in the hands of another.

tw for: injuries, blood/gore, poison, emetophobia

*

Hornet was not wanted here. 

The forest was thick and ancient, fully capable of protecting itself. Even before mere self-defense, it was capable of protesting. Every vine that snapped at her leg, every thorn she slipped under or knocked aside with her needle, all of it was no more than a reflex against vermin. Even the murky, humid air defied her.

She just needed to reach the other side. Every step was to this end; a matter of pushing on. The mechanics of it were simple. 

Arm pulled back, needle thrown forward. Metal buried stable in soft moss as she reeled herself over a chasm. Legs bent, body up, into the high branches. Down again before a fanged flower could close around her. One movement after another, constant, nearly cyclical. 

She was not wanted here. She did not want to be here. She wished that she could urge patience from her surroundings, that she could call for any kind of cooperation, but she knew better than to waste her breath. She focused on moving. She had to. 

Even when she reached a clearing, she did not stop. Delicate lavender pods spangled the thin, brambly trees around the edge, and these cast dramatic shadows over a meadow of deep blue flowers. She moved onward through every shade of night, captured in the petals.

She darted to the structure in the center, the mark of someone who had once claimed even a fraction of this ancient, wild place. Here, perhaps, she would find-

A figure in white. She slipped around the dome atop the structure. She was too pristine, shining too softly, to have made it all this way through the forest unscathed. And yet. She leaned against the stone, a coy hand over her mouth, looking down on Hornet.

Lace laughed. "We meet again, little spider."

Now, Hornet stopped. She nodded. She exercised the self-discipline not to touch the pocket holding an object of Lace's interest. She leveled her needle, and sent it flying into the trunk of one of the trees, leaping after her weapon, winding her thread up to close the gap - only for the pods at the top to release a hail of thorns. 

She yanked the needle out and landed neatly, steadying herself with one hand. No time to stew. She caught Lace's pin, already above her, with her needle, and forced her opponent back.  

Lace laughed again, high and haughty. "Oh, you won't get away like that, not here. Now, face me! Or are you a coward after all?"

Hornet leveled her needle. "That I take no joy in this doesn't make me a coward." 

"Oh, I'm hurt!" Lace lashed out with her pin, a flurry of blows that sang against Hornet's needle. "Are you saying you don't enjoy our little rendezvouses?" 

Hornet jabbed. Lace danced aside. 

"You're so cruel, little spider. If you want to get rid of me so badly, just give me what I'm after."

Hornet sprang back and threw her needle forward with the same motion.

"You won't distract me." 

Lace caught the needle with her pin, and sent it into the ground.

"I would never try. I know better; that's what makes this so delightful!"  

Hornet spun her weapon back over Lace's head. Lace giggled, and beckoned for her opponent to close the gap. Hornet only paced a swift circle around her, searching for the opening she needed. 

It was one movement after another. Constant. Nearly cyclical. Blade on blade, flashing silver and gold. Hornet's sharp battlecry met Lace's fluttering laughter. Action, reaction, and action again. 

"You are skilled," Hornet said. An offering, not a concession.

"You are still alive," Lace said, meaning the same.

Hornet struck. Lace dodged backward. 

They had come to the edge of the clearing. Lace hit the tree behind her, and stumbled. Hornet stayed poised, her body extended, the tip of the needle hovering over Lace's chest and refusing her any way forward.

Hornet snapped, "Now, enough of-"

The thorns shot from their pods above Lace. 

Hornet saw a future about to end. She sprang. She slipped into place in front of Lace. There was just to raise her needle, guiding it with her wrist to knock away one, two, three-

There were four. 

The thorn pierced her shell. Without meaning to, she grunted softly. She pressed a hand over the wound, tracing the ragged end poking out of her body. It could have been a tumor in her, a nob of warped chitin. Only the slightest damp around the edge betrayed the break. 

She tightened her grip, and tore the thorn out. Blood poured freely, eagerly, pushing itself out where it could from the cracks around the wound. She focused, and silk flowed. But it was hard to feel, hard to place. Wouldn't stick. The poison was quick, to the edges of her extremities. Numbness burned to replace every other sensation.

She still clutched the thorn, unable to loosen her shaking grip. Thorn in one hand, needle in the other. All of this sharpness, lethally useless to her.

She had been slow. She laughed, hollow and breathless. 

Lace had picked herself up and stepped away from the tree. There was something in her eyes Hornet had not seen in fighting her. Pity, perhaps. Disappointment.

Hornet sighed, "Yes. You'll have… what you want…"

Her joints gave out. Her vision splotched into blackness. She thought that she hit something as she fell. Something that felt like shell under cloth. 

And then she felt nothing at all. 

*

The world was no whole thing. It was only fits and starts, snatches. 

*

Claws against her torso. Gentle, but the pain was like being split. She spasmed helplessly. 

She would remember this, later. She had rarely been helpless, and she would remember the absolute lack of power over her own limbs. 

"No-" She gasped. 

The claws tightened, held her. Held her still. She couldn't fight it. She spasmed, but this had nothing to do with her will. 

"Are you awake, little spider?" A lilting voice.

She couldn't answer. Only shake. The cracks in her shell were thin, but the sensation was everywhere. Lancing, burning. 

"Remember what will happen if you breathe a word." That lilting voice. 

"Lady Lace, is this really-" Reedy and soft.

"You heard me. Now. Shh, shh. Another word, and…"

There was more. It melted away into lilt and reed. Meaninglessness. 

She lay there as the claws brushed her again, this time slathered something thick and icy over the wound. She cringed, gasped. 

She did not change. The world gave out on her.

*

Spasming, thrashing. 

Awful heat. She felt, no, she was this awful heat. Sticky. Damp. The forest air lived in her shell now. She heard a whine, thin, muffled. Herself. She clamped her mouth shut.

"Are you awake, little spider?"

Her shell was still pulling apart, tearing around her midsection. She sought it with her hand, fingers scrabbling, she needed to treat and bind and move on or she would die here and she did not want that yet. She fought with the cloth over her body without understanding what it was.

Another hand caught hers, and forced it down.

"You'll ruin the dressings. I paid handsomely for your care; I won't have it."

Bandages, Hornet realized. She was pulling at bandages. But why-

She had been treated. Her body decided against her will that it was safe for her to rest. She blacked out.

*

Shivering, sick. Spasming again. Choking as something bitter and thick tried to force its way out of her mouth. Retching as it succeeded.

Shivering, sick. Spasming. Spasming. 

And when she was finally still, someone pressed a vessel to her mouth. What poured in was also bitter, but thin and cold. She spat. 

"I know, little spider, I know. Disgusting, isn't it? But it will make you strong again, so you can flash your pretty needle at me. Drink up."

Again, the liquid. Swallowing made her shudder. She was too tightly coiled, no one part could move without jerking another. But she did swallow, and relaxed utterly. The nothingness that washed over her this time was thin and cold.

*

The world was - what was it?

Where was she?

Hornet lay still and silent. She had no sense of her surroundings, and could do little about this. Her body needed the attention first.

Her head hurt. Her limbs were stiff. Her gut was taut and throbbing. The force of it startled her, as she became truly, inescapably conscious of it. She said, "Nnngh!"

"Are you awake, little spider?"

"Yes." She was. This was real consciousness, the kind that flooded a body, overfull senses sloshing. So much to filter through, so much to sort out. Before any of it, she asked, "Where is my needle?"

"Could you even lift it?" A lofty sigh. "I was so worried that I would have to dispose of your corpse, and be left with only that rusted old thing."

"I would not… would never…" Hornet was still. She was lying down. She felt ready to collapse. She had only spoken a few words to account for this exhaustion. She grasped at the sheets over her body.

"You would never die so easily, would you? No. You're the kind to suffer. But I must-”

"I'm too tired for your prattle… Where… Where is my needle?"

"Safe. If you're too tired to listen to me, then you're too tired to be awake yet. Is it time for more medicine, little spider?"

"No." As the haze of illness and long sleep parted, she rolled over, facing away from what she understood to be the interior of the room. This meant facing a window too high and small to see from. And there was Lace, perched on the sill.

Hornet sat up. Tried to. She instructed her body to sit up. Her limbs refused her weight. Pain flared in her midsection. She understood what an intense mechanical process she had asked of herself. As she hit the pillow, twice, all she could see were those bright eyes looking down on her.

"Say nothing."

Lace laughed. "Oh, I wasn't going to. But now that you say that-"

Hornet turned over again, but Lace hopped down from the window. She landed next to the cot, and leaned close over Hornet. 

Lace said, "I do need to thank you."

"What?"

Lace laughed again, louder. Hornet pressed a hand to her head, and Lace actually said, "Oh, forgive me, little spider. But you see, if you weren't such a fool, I would be lying there now -  I would have been the one to spend a week writhing in agony, fighting to see who would burn out first - her, or the silverleaf's poison."

"Silverleaf… So that's what those were." Hornet wished for her journal, absently. She was missing things. She was missing many things. She asked, "What does the poison do?"

"Most victims don't escape the forest to have their corpses examined. But it seems to cause - fever, exhaustion, pain. Nausea, too. Oh, every terrible thing…" Lace set her face daintily in her hand. "But what is every terrible thing to you, little spider?"

Hornet closed her eyes. More than I'd like it to be.

She did not answer. She felt every terrible thing, but less than she had before. There was no comfortable way to lie, even on these fine sheets. But Lace was silent now, and sleep came eventually.

*

Hornet woke panting, shivering again. 

The room was dark. She could have been alone. She tried again to sit up, but something was wrong at the core of her - something electric and numbing, spreading out. 

Time for more medicine.

She didn't want to die. She couldn't die here, not in this unknown place, not yet. But if anyone at all wanted Hornet dead right now, then she would die, needleless and alone. Never mind Lace, even the smallest gruzzer could do it. She needed that medicine, if there was any to be had. 

She locked her limbs under her, and swung her legs out of the cot. Her nerves rejected her command immediately, and she hit the floor. "Gh-!"

"Hornet! What are you doing?"

A light came on. So she wasn't alone. Her name shocked her. "Medicine. You said there was medicine before."

"Yes… You can ask for it. You don't have to throw yourself at my feet. Silly spider."

Hornet snapped, although it came out more of a rasp. "I'd let the poison take me first."

"Hmph. Consider yourself lucky that I owe you, or perhaps I'd let it, too."

"Do you have the medicine... or... do you not?" 

Lace huffed, "You're no fun at all. It's dreadful."

"I am," Hornet said, with one hand clenched in the sheets, "in no position to be fun." 

"What a shame." 

The room was sparsely furnished, and most of what there was, was draped in sheets. There was a stack of cots like Hornet's against one wall, although none of them had any bedding. And there was a bureau against the opposite wall. Lace opened a drawer. Her hand hovered there considerately for a moment, and then she made a selection. She waltzed over to offer a bottle to Hornet. 

"Drink four beats," Lace instructed.

Hornet examined the bottle, but it was opaque, with no label. Finely crafted, she supposed. She undid the top, and sniffed. 

"Oh, no." Lace giggled. "Do you think I'm trying to poison you?"

Hornet did not dignify that with a response. She counted out four careful sips, stopped up the bottle again, and set it on a crate that would allow her to reach it alone in the future. She let her head drop back against the mattress, and sighed.

Her hand found the wound. She tested the edges, hissed. Lace made a sharp, disapproving noise, but Hornet said, "Quiet."

"If you're only going to-"

Hornet ignored her. She focused, keeping her hand on the spot for clarity. She focused, and silk trickled. It wasn't enough. It left the edges of the gap tingling, numbed, a medicinal sensation. But the wound remained. 

It would have to be enough. She gripped the metal edge of the cot, and trusted her weight to it. 

It wasn't enough. The exertion drew a noise from her not unlike a battlecry. She doubled over, trembling. Her legs locked again, the only way she could remain upright.

"Oh, little… Hornet."

Hornet lifted her head, panting, glaring. Lace offered a gloved hand. 

An unassuming gesture. An offer. 

Hornet considered her position. Her immediate, physical imbalance, and the wider picture. All that she didn't know, and what she did. She had been well-cared for. If Lace wanted her dead like this, she would have been. Even if it was all a game to Lace, here was a chance for Hornet to fulfill her true mission. A future, after everything should have ended.

Hornet took Lace's hand to steady herself. 

Lace moved closer, and rested a hand on the small of Hornet's back. Hornet froze. The liquid in her limbs, already weak, seemed to give out on her. 

Lace said lightly, "Sit down.

Hornet eased back, and all Lace did was help her shift onto the cot. 

Hornet adjusted the sheets, then looked up at Lace, and said, "Little Hornet?"

Lace made an offended noise. Properly speaking, it was a squeak, but Hornet privately held some mercy. 

"You should have known better than to try to stand, just as I should have known better than to rescue a silly little spider." 

"Yes," Hornet agreed. "So why have you brought me here?"

She thought distantly that it was becoming a habit of hers. Being brought to strange places Against her will. She ought to break it. She really ought to break it.

Lace answered, "I told you that I owed you, didn't I? As you might owe me. Your life belongs to either you - you cling to it so tightly - or to me, but until I've claimed it, I'm certainly not letting a tree have it."

Hornet pressed, "Where is this place?"

"The Woven Palace."

"The royal palace of Pharloom." 

"That's right. My, you've come so far…" 

"Return my needle."

Lace hummed impatiently. "It won't help you, but… If you insist." 

She knelt down, and reached beneath the bed. She withdrew the needle, and set it on top. 

Hornet didn't pick it up, only took hold of it and dragged it over the sheets to her side. She tested the edge with a fingertip, and nodded. Acceptable condition. She would tend to it as soon as she had the chance.

Lace sniffed. "Hmm. No gratitude? None at all?"

Hornet laid her hand over the flat of it. "It is mine."

"My, my. What a prickly little thing you are," Lace said, but her hand found the pin's hilt at her hip, and settled there. "Are you going to sleep with it?"

"If I must. I may need to leave quickly."

"We won't. I've seen to it that there won't be any trouble."

"Why are we here?" Hornet repeated. This time, it was a demand.

"It's the one place they won't look." Lace drew her pin, and flourished it, sticking an invisible foe. "Right between their eyes."

She slid her weapon away immediately, with a laugh like a flawless bell. 

"No," insisted Hornet. "Why are we here? You may be right, but few outlaws would risk something like this. If you run - when you run, you run into your enemies' garden."

"Hmm. Dear little spider. Nosy little spider. Some things are secret." Lace raised a finger to her face. "We are here because I like you. That's all you need to know."

"A secret in a palace... I know the nature of such things, and their folly."

Lace giggled, "And a wise little spider, too!"

Hornet gave Lace a flat look, and said, "You know my name."

"Such a pretty one," Lace agreed. "Hornet."

And there flashed an instant where Hornet, hearing her own name from her foe's lips, almost changed her mind. How long had it been since anyone had called out to her with anything but violence? 

There was a tightness in her chest, and a looseness which overcame the rest of her again. 

In defiance of this, and for practical reasons, she said, "Use it."

"Fine. Since you're so gracious as to give permission." Lace perched on the foot of the cot, and cupped her face in her hand. "How are you feeling, Hornet of Hallownest?”

Hornet ran a hand partway down her needle, and moved it to the edge of the bed.

"I will heal." Hornet dropped onto her back. "And I suppose I have you to thank for it. So: thank you, Lace of Pharloom."

Lace's eyes were bright, in a brittle sort of way. She nodded, without speaking, without laughter.

Hornet closed her eyes. Herself of Hallownest. Home was so far away, and the things she missed about it had been dead for so long, and she was so tired. Perhaps a little sleep would hurt, perhaps not, but she had no choice.

*

Lace stayed. Hornet slept, and drank medicine, and waited for Lace to leave. 

She never did. She prodded Hornet about her condition, or the state of her pillows, or if she really wouldn't let Lace move the needle. Hornet would not. 

So Lace perched in the window, looking out. 

Hornet's blood cleared slowly, scoured by time and bitter-brought sleep. Her limbs steadied, and her shell knit itself closed, with some help from the silk she could spare. Soon she would be well, and when she was well, she would leave. But not yet.  

And Lace was there still, one knee tucked against her face, sitting in the sill. She hummed. Her voice was high and lilting, like always, but thinned somehow. A flawless bell, bound so it wouldn't ring far.

Hornet understood that she was not caged alone this time.  

"I need my tools back."

"Whatever for?"

"I must clean my needle, at least. The edge will fade." 

Lace hopped down with a sigh. "Of course, you must. My goodness…" 

She dug around in the bureau again. Hornet watched her. When it was time to go, Hornet would remember - both the bureau, and that Lace made no secret of its contents. Before leaving, Hornet would have to conduct a thorough search of the room. Although, there was one thing she was sure to have lost, when she had lost their battle.

Lace returned with a whetstone, a cloth, and a small bottle. She placed them on the cot carefully, one at a time, and said, "I should be careful not to spoil you."

Hornet shot her a look. "The one who keeps going on about fluffed pillows is you."

"You," Lace replied, "simply have no appreciation for the finer things."

"I have what I need."

"Oh, yes, all within this room…" Lace tilted her head. "Yourself, your needle, and me." 

Hornet's hand slipped, and spilled too much polish onto the cloth. She adjusted her grip without looking up. "I will leave as soon as I'm able. You don't need to worry about that."

"Did I sound worried?"

"I understand… that you have taken on quite a burden in this. I saved your life, but you have my thanks nonetheless."  

Lace laughed, and Hornet was left achingly aware of her blood under her shell. 

"It was not a joke." 

"I know." Lace placed one hand against her cheek. The other hovered, for a moment, in the space between them, before curling loosely against her chest. "You take your debts seriously… You take everything so seriously."

Hornet scoffed, "You could try it, too - even a little solemnity might do you good. Or else, what do you suggest for me?"

"Nothing. It's one of the most delicious things about you."

Hornet glared at her, and turned her attention on her needle, where it belonged. 

*

When Lace stopped fussing, she would practice, and Hornet would watch. Lace fixed little puffs of colored silk to a covered chair, and skewered them. Sometimes one by one, sometimes so fast it seemed she hit three at once. She hopped, back and forth, nimble, precise movements. 

There were no secrets here, only interest. Hornet sat with her hands folded in her lap, and followed the lines of Lace's body as she moved alone. 

Soon enough, Hornet could pick out the blows she had parried, the slashes she had dodged, the stinging jabs she had felt.

"Impressive," she remarked. "You must have trained since you could hold it." 

Lace bowed, flourishing her blade and then twirling back into its scabbard. "I have."

"How does it feel?"

Lace considered this, her eyes narrowed and gleaming. "It sings. It sings like nothing else."

Hornet nodded. She pressed her hand to the flat of her needle, and allowed herself a moment to miss it. 

"Does your needle sing, Hornet?" Lace asked airily. 

Again, her naming, and the jolt of it. 

"It can. Not always in the sense you mean."

"Hmm… I know. I know. I can't wait to hear it again." Lace leaned in, with one hand resting on the cot. "You'll let me, won't you?" 

Hornet didn't move away. "I've no doubt I will." 

Hornet had yet to ask Lace about what she really needed, after all. Perhaps it was here, or perhaps Lace had hidden it elsewhere, or given it to a companion before spiriting them into the palace. 

When she could make her blade sing again, in the same sense that Lace meant, then she would ask. 

*

The world was one whole thing. The world was a forgotten storage room in the Woven Palace. 

Hornet stood at its center. She felt - the flow of her blood, the stability of her body. The floor, steady and even underneath her. It had always been, but now she had her sense of balance, recovered such that she could feel it. 

She pushed. She worked through the forms. A joint twinged out of place, a touch too far. She fell, but righted herself quickly. Again. Again. It had to be constant, nearly cyclical. Her shell remembered, and all the liquid inside of it. She pushed, and her body pulled back. She held power over her own limbs, and it was like breathing for the first time in weeks.  

Lace watched her. 

"Be careful," Lace admonished. "You'll reopen your wound."

"I will not. I have no desire to undo the progress I've made." Hornet raised her arms and grabbed an elbow behind her mask. "I've suffered enough atrophy."

Lace giggled, "Have you? I know your kind. You so love to suffer." 

"So you keep saying. But no." Hornet bent at the waist, but slowly, tenderly. She spoke at the ground, "I do what I must."

"Why did you do it, Hornet? All I've done is try to spare you. You only needed to stay still for just a moment, and you could have gone on suffering as much as you wished… I certainly couldn't have stopped you."

Hornet counted silently to the end of her stretch. She straightened, just as slowly, and finally stilled. "Have you really nothing better to do than torment me?"

Lace fussed, "I'm only curious. This involves my life as much as yours, doesn't it? But it must serve you somehow. And I can't figure it out!"

Hornet laughed, and then, seeing Lace's shock, laughed harder.

"Everyone thinks I'm so cold. All because… Why? Because I do what I must? Perhaps that does make me cold, but consider that I wouldn't do what I must if I didn't care. If I didn't value… life. The future." Hornet reclaimed her cloak from the bed, and fastened it back around her neck. "So take that as your answer. It involves your life."

"Oh, but I'm working so hard to stop you from 'doing what you must.'"

"And you haven't yet succeeded, have you? Be sure to let me know when I should worry."

"Oh! You are cold. Absolutely frigid. Hmph."

Hornet considered this. "We all have our faults. If I am cold, then you are plainly hot-headed. Bringing me here… Bringing me anywhere. You should have left me, to do what you need.”

Lace hummed, a sequence of fluttering notes. "So you'd have wanted death, after all?"

"No. But I would not have had a choice." Hornet met Lace's eyes. "Now, I have answered you."

"I told you, I liked you from the moment I met you. Your life, flickering so brightly… I wanted it."  

"It's not yours to take."

"And maybe that's why. You're right, of course." Lace rested her face in her hand, and looked Hornet over. "Will you keep on climbing, Hornet?"

"As high as I can go." 

Lace clapped. "Then go. See how high you get!"

In their small world, Lace's delighted laughter echoed.  

*

Finally, Hornet picked up her own weapon again. The heft was familiar. Right. It belonged in her hand the way the moon fit in the sky. She spun it, letting it sing in the air. She spun with it, ending with her arm out to its full length, bearing the full weight of the needle as an extension of herself.

She could have balanced a book on the blade, so still it was. Her power over herself, her whole self, was absolute. 

She launched it into a chair across the room. The needle pierced through quickly and cleanly, leaving a neat circle through cloth and wood, and buried itself in an unused dresser on the other side.

She drew it back to herself on a strand of silk. Lace applauded politely behind her.

"What a pretty trick." 

Hornet turned, and Lace held out her pin. 

"Here. Try it."

Any objection, any thought Hornet had that Lace was belittling her, vanished. Hornet instinctively drew her needle close. "What?" 

"Try it. I want to see what you do." Lace gestured at her little targets with her free hand. She tossed her sword lightly, spinning it to catch the blade and present the hilt.

Hornet set her needle tenderly on the cot first. Then, she took the offered weapon. She held it out, angled up. It was mere mimicry. She stood still, to see how it rested with her.

It was heavier than she would have thought, perhaps from the gilding, and no doubt from the impression Lace's agility gave. And that heaviness settled mainly on her wrist, unlike her own blade, which balanced its weight further down. This made Hornet wonder if she was holding it wrong, but Lace didn't move to correct her. 

She let her own weight fall onto her back foot, and tipped the blade forward. Again, mere mimicry, and her body lacked the context for the motion. She missed the target twice before getting the feel of it, and stabbing it just on the edge. She flicked it to the ground with a sigh. 

Lace's laughter rang. "I never thought I'd see you so clumsy… How charming."

She was sitting on the bed, with her hands pressed neatly flat on either side of her. Hornet's needle rested just past Lace's fingertips. When Hornet met her eye, Lace lifted that hand, and asked, "May I?"

Hornet held the pin close to her chest. Her needle rested before the two of them, and perhaps she didn't feel the same way about it as Lace did about her pin. 

It was Hornet's choice.

She was curious. She said, "Yes."

Lace picked up the needle, and waved it aloft in a single, luxurious motion. She held it at first like her own weapon, which brought it to a ridiculous height. The tip swayed. She giggled. 

"No, that won't do… Let's see…"

She adjusted her grip, and swung it. She maintained her stance easily, but the needle thrummed, a thick, uneven sound. 

"It won't sing for me." 

Hornet laughed, softly. "It would help if you held it correctly."

"I could say the same for you."

"I've no doubt you could." Hornet angled the pin forward again, taking up the best stance she could. 

Lace did the same, and rested the edge of the needle against the pin. "We'd get nowhere like this."

"No. And I don't wish to see either weapon damaged by poor use." 

"How thoughtful of you." 

Lace set the needle back on the bed. Hornet crossed to her side, and set the pin parallel to it. They each reclaimed their weapon at once. 

Hornet said, "We'll need them soon enough." 

She was well. The longer she stayed, the more likely it was that their safety would fail her, or perhaps Lace would just decide to resume her game alone. Hornet would not leave it to chance any longer; it would be irresponsible of her.

There was one question she had yet to ask: Where is it? And she would brook no protests, no simpering: I know you must have taken it.

She did not say any of this. She did not waste her breath, knowing well Lace's attitude toward the things she wanted. If Hornet wanted back what she had lost, then she would have to recover it herself as she climbed. 

*

So Hornet waited, into the night. She saw Lace above her, still, leaning against the window. She could have been sleeping, or not. Hornet waited, until there was no point in waiting longer. If Lace was pretending, or Hornet disturbed her, then she would reckon with the consequences. 

She pulled down sheets, crawled and scrabbled silently under furniture. She checked the walls for cracks that might conceal what she sought, and watched always for movement, a blur of shining white from the window. But Lace was resting deeply, and had every right to do so - she had hidden her prize well. Hornet's loss, once again.

She crossed finally to the bureau. The second drawer had held her tools. Sure enough, she found a bag inside, and opened it just long enough to see her supplies - pins gleaming, moss and cloth dull underneath. She plucked it out, and slid it into her cloak.

A thorough inspection would wait until after she had escaped. Then she could see what else needed replacing. She bowed on her way out the door. 

*

Half an hour, some dead guards, and a drop from the full height of a tower saw Hornet successfully away into the night. She found shelter in an abandoned barn, brushing aside half-rotted moss to make a seat, and space for her equipment.

She laid each piece out in the thin moonlight. Her map, due for an update. A small collection of strung rosaries. Pins and moss and cloth. A gilded crest, wrought with six eyes.

She did not set the last item down. She held it carefully, in both hands, weighed it in her grip. It was, as far as she could tell, authentic. It was what she needed, the one thing she would not have been able to replace. 

Hornet nodded to herself, and began to pack her supplies back into her cloak. She knew now. She would see Lace again soon enough. 

#hollow knight #silksong #lacenet #hk hornet #hk lace #pins and needles #my fanfic