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chocochipbiscuit · 6 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @anneapocalypse, thank you Anne! <3

And I would like to tag @replicafatale. @formlessvoidbeast, @bittylildragon, and @meikuree if you are so inclined!

Blank questions for your convenience! My answers are below the cut.

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

3. what fandoms do you write for?

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

5. do you respond to comments?

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. do you get hate on fics?

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

16. what are your writing strengths?

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

19. first fandom you wrote for?

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 178, over almost 10 years! Though I suspect if I actually went back to tally them, the vast majority would be skewed towards my early years, back when I’d crank out a fic or two every week for the kink meme then post with minimal editing. Ah, youth.

2. what’s your total ao3 word count? 910,453! Again, I strongly suspect they’re skewed towards the beginning.

3. what fandoms do you write for? I started out pretty intensely monofandom for Fallout, but I write a lot of Dragon Age these days. Which is ironic because I don’t consider myself ‘that’ big a Dragon Age fan, but the fandom exchanges are fun and I’m familiar enough with the setting and characters that I don’t mind picking up pinch hits or writing impulsive ‘what if’ fics.

In general, I almost exclusively write for video game fandoms. (with a few books thrown in…)

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

The Vashoth and The Qunari (Dragon Age, The Iron Bull/F!Qunari Inquisitor, rated E)

Belief (Fallout 4, Cait/F!Sole Survivor, rated G)

A Dream of Red (Dragon Age, Leliana/Morrigan, rated E)

And They Say Size Doesn’t Matter (Fallout 3, Fawkes/F!Lone Wanderer, rated E)

Data Collection (Fallout 4, Cait/F!Sole Survivor, rated E)

Basically: they’re all older fics, mostly smut, and mostly written while the fandoms were still new (or new-ish) and popular. The Vashoth and the Qunari was written before Inquisition even came out, and was written mostly from frenetic fandom speculation. I wouldn’t call it my best fic, just one that happened to strike while the hype machine was still active.

And They Say Size Doesn’t Matter has the questionable distinction of being the longest mutie smut fic on AO3, mostly because each chapter was written for various kink meme fills and then put somewhat in order. It makes me cringe a bit to reread it (I could do it so much better now! I could write with so much more nuance! I would have made less questionable decisions about characterization and description, or at least different questionable decisions!) but I still look back fondly on it.

5. do you respond to comments? Absolutely, though I’m rather late to respond sometimes! The only ones I don’t respond to (and usually just delete) are comments that make demands without any other attempt at interaction. (Ex: “next time write X/Y with New Kink” or “tag your trans characters” when there’s a perfectly nice author’s note at the beginning if you feel shocked or scandalized by the existence of trans characters in a fic that doesn’t focus on being trans and where the trans characters are minor or background!)

…anyways, mild aside: I consider tagging to be both warning (“please don’t read if X, Y, or Z bothers you, or at least prepare yourself”) and advertisement (“please do read if Tropes A, B, or C are appealing to you!”) rather than simple description. If I went out of my way to describe everything that might be relevant in a fic, including every single minor character who gets a single line of mention, then my tags bloat beyond what I consider useable. I try to include notes at the beginning to clarify or mention content that I don’t think needs to be warned/advertised for. Which is part of why I find it weird and borderline hostile to have specific identity tags demanded without explanation.

(And that said, I tag myself biracial bisexual….nah.)

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don’t write a lot of angst, but I do have a story that ends ‘unhappily for now’!

Schroedinger’s Pussy (The Locked Tomb, Gideon/Harrow, rated E) is a fic about yes, pussy spanking, but also denial of feelings and ends with an unresolved sex thing that Harrow refuses to talk about, and Gideon in an empty room. In my head they’ll work through it (eventually) but obviously, not in this fic!

The weirdest dark fic I’ve written was an older kink meme fill, and it’s something that I promised from the beginning would only end in pain.

Pain (Fallout: New Vegas, Vulpes Inculta/Rose of Sharon Cassidy/Boone Craig, rated E) is morally dubious not-actually-a-love-triangle fic with under negotiated BDSM and an ambiguous ending that most likely ended with Vulpes’ off-screen death at Cass and Boone’s hands. It’s a fic I still think about sometimes, not because I think it was the best, but because I feel like it shows when I was more willing to be weird and experimental around fraught topics and messy dynamics. I don’t write that sort of thing now simply because I don’t enjoy it, but I’m still glad I had the experience of experimenting.

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I love happy endings, but don’t often enjoy fluff! By which I mean: I want a happy ending to feel earned. I prefer desserts that have a little salt or bitterness to cut through the sweet and add balance. I want a fic to feel the same way.

That said: I think most of my fics have happy endings, if not always fluffy one.

That also said, I think never gonna say I’m sorry (Borderlands 3, Amara/Tyreen Calypso, rated E) fits the bill because it’s both a fix-it fic and villainous decay arc and I love that for Tyreen, the emotional journey and character growth she goes on from wanting to destroy the world to being willing to destroy herself in order to save it, and ultimately being pulled back to be told no, sometimes you gotta live even when it feels so much harder.

Fun fact: this fic has two endings, one in which Tyreen murders her brother (because just because she’s trying to be a good guy doesn’t mean she’s actually a good guy yet!) and one in which she tries the harder and messier path of not murdering him. I originally wrote the murder chapter because I didn’t think Tyreen would be at the point of being willing to forgive her own brother for attempting to kill her, but @bittylildragon made a note that essentially Troy was being punished for twink crimes, so I decided what the hey, I’ll try an alternate ending. And now I think that’s actually my favorite!

8. do you get hate on fics? Not on AO3. Some on Tumblr before I closed my inbox to anons. A couple on the old kink meme, back when it was self-destructing from the weirdly polarizing “Gay Wasteland” vs “the icky hets” arguments.

Funnily enough, I don't think I ever received a homophobic comment from a straight person! (Straight hate?). But I sure got comments accusing me of being ‘secretly het’ or a ‘proghet’ or ‘trying to trick lesbians into reading Big Dude/Smol Lady’ fic! Because fandom forbid being a bi woman who prefers to read and write fic that centers women! Even if that means that sometimes this means reading, writing, or recommending F/M fic instead of M/M!

Anyways. My AO3 bookmarks and works list are free for anyone to peruse, in case you want a statistical breakdown of my preferences for F/F >>> F/M > M/M so you can yell at me about not prioritizing M/M. /sarcasm

(And as always: I do read, write, and enjoy fics that feature nonbinary characters. I always feel weird including that as an aside, because there’s so little nonbinary rep in general that it feels weird trying to analyze anything from that, and ‘nonbinary’ is a big enough umbrella that even as someone who sometimes prefers they/them, I don’t necessary resonate with or feel represented by all nonbinary characters in fiction. Which is fine! When there’s so few examples, it feels even more fraught because no single character or person can Be All The Rep, and it feels like a weird sort of pressure to presume that they are, can be, or should be. Sometimes a character should just be allowed to exist, be interesting, and be nonbinary, without going ‘oh they’re such a good role model!’)

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind? I cut my teeth on a kink meme, of course I write smut! As for what kind…whatever catches my interest, really? Which means mostly F/F, if there are dudes involved at all they’re usually Real Big Dudes. There’s usually loving attention to oral sex. Often size kink. I also like including bondage and anal sex.

I’ve been writing a lot less smut in recent years. (I’ve also been writing a lot less in general, or at least posting a lot less, for various reasons. Mostly because now that I’m no longer working graveyard shifts and am out of a time-consuming bad relationship, I have more time for non-fandom hobbies!) Partly it’s because…well, repetition. When I first started writing for kink memes, my purpose was just to write; pick a prompt, bang something out, post. It was the exhilaration of writing, of starting something new.

Now: if I’m going to write, I want to do it in a way that feels new or fresh to me, whether that means in terms of prose, emotional depth, or characterization. There’s also, admittedly, some self-consciousness: I’m no longer ‘just’ writing for prompts on a kink meme, I have the (gasp) terrible responsibility of admitting that I wrote a thing just because I like it, or think it’s interesting! It’s the tension between realizing that nah, I haven’t written anything that truly makes me blush in ages, and then the mortification of going “but who else is gonna be interested in this weird goofy playful fic where Piper sits on a birthday cake???”

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written? I’m not usually a fan of crossovers; I prefer looking at a character in their ‘home’ story and setting and how their environment shaped them. Some crossovers can be interesting if they add a new depth or layer to the existing canon (which I think is one of the reasons that Pacific Rim AUs were so popular for a while; drift-compatibility is an interesting way to explore characterization and relationships!) but I don’t often write them myself.

That said, ‘often’ doesn’t mean ‘never.’ I’ve written some AUs (unfinished Cassandra/Leliana werewolf fic, the moody cannibal mermaid AU with Aveline/Isabela) but full on crossovers are a different entity.

The closest to a crossover that I currently have is the still untitled Fallout Necromancy AU, in which I merge some of The Locked Tomb’s approach to necromancy with Fallout 4 for some incredibly unhealthy cav/necro codependencies for necromancer Hancock and cavalier Danse. It’s more true to Fallout’s canon than TLT, and still unfinished. Alas.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? I’ve had some of my fics scraped and posted to shady publishing sites (“only $5 for all the stories you want!”) and submitted takedown requests. No in-fandom stealing that I’m aware of.

12. have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Here is a Russian translation of what we don’t talk about (Mass Effect, Zaeed Massani/Karin Chakwas), which I was absolutely tickled pink to receive!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? Technically, yes. The fic has been subsequently deleted and I have abolished all ties to that person, so that might be a warning. /tongue in cheek

More seriously: I don’t think I can. I’m idiosyncratic and particular about my process, and I just don’t think I’m very good at co-writing with someone. I can take an idea and feedback and process that into my fic, sometimes very heavily, and I can work off someone else’s outline or prompt, but to the level of co-writing, assuming we’re taking equal claim and responsibility for the work? It feels profanely intimate in a way that makes me deeply uncomfortable, which unfortunately probably says more about me than anyone else!

That said: I have been fortunate enough to have truly excellent friends who have also played cheerleader and beta for me, sometimes offering me substantial notes that meant I had to fundamentally rewrite portions of a story. Does this make them co-writers? I don’t think so, but it’s definitely a more intense collaboration than I usually request, and it’s something I reserve for only a few people.

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship? How dare you ask this of a multi-shipper!!!!

I don’t know that I have a real answer for this. In my head, I try to split it by fandoms (but wait! Would I consider Dragon Age Origins, Awakening, DA2, and Inquisition to all have different fandoms?), but some fandoms are only occasional urges and others are more consuming passions, so….

I’ll leave it at this: if I’ve written it, I probably ship it on some level. And not all ships are “oh I think they’re gonna live happily ever after,” some ships are “hm, that could be interesting” or “oh, they could be so bad for each other in such compelling ways,” and others are “they’re good for each other at this point in time, but maybe not beyond that,” etc etc.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? If I want to finish it, I assume I eventually will. ‘Eventually’ may take a while. Life is short, love is long, and I do love stories.

16. what are your writing strengths? *hour-long fart noise* Strengths? Idk. I always feel strange talking about my strengths to begin with, and this year has been particularly rough for that because I’ve been taking more deliberate time doing writing exercises and reading different books about writing. It makes me more critical of my own work.

But if I must: sensory immersion. Character interiority. Basically, I try my best to love a character—or at least find something I can love about them, something that evokes care and pity if not admiration—and let that shape how I write them, even if they don’t love themselves. If that makes my authorial bias a bit kinder, then so be it. I feel like the world needs a little more kindness.

17. what are your writing weaknesses? *hour-long fart noise* What about my love of obscure words? If I had a nickel for every time I tried to sneak ‘palimpsest’ into my prose and been called out by a beta, I’d have two nickels! Which isn’t that often, but weird that it happened twice! (Other amazing words I often fight over including or not: phosphenes, mordant, triptych, chiaroscuro, bellicose, gelid. I get a daily word of the day from Merriam-Webster and I don’t know if it’s actually improved my vocabulary or only made me more insufferable!)

I fully admit that sometimes I get overly compelled to write something ‘pretty’ and linguistically clever than fully in the character’s voice. I jump around with sentence fragments and don’t link my scenes; sometimes it works (choppy, disjointed prose for characters who themselves are extremely angry or disconnected from their environment in some way) and more often it doesn’t.

I have mild synesthesia and an idiosyncratic interpretation of certain stimuli, and often need to revise to ensure it makes sense to anyone else. Or if I can tweak it just enough to sound refreshing and vivid. (Example: low musical notes feel ‘blue’ to me, and often bitter. Higher notes can be sharp-sweet or acidic, but usually don’t have a color association. Yellow is rancid. This only becomes a problem when I’m sleep-deprived or highly-caffeinated, as when I once had to stop my playlist because the rapid taste/sound/smell combos were making me nauseous.)

I often want to write characters as softer, kinder, or gentler than they are in canon. Does that sand out their complexity? Yes. Is it because I want them to have a kinder, softer, or gentler future than what their story gave them? Also yes.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? OH BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS.

Okay, so! First of all, I need to foreground this: as a Chinese-American living in the US, I find it extremely off putting when I read a story and the mere choice of capitalization and italics make it clear who the author thinks their intended audience is, and who is ‘other.’ If an author bothers capitalizing or italicizing “Pad Thai,” “Sushi,” or “Shu Mai,” (as in: “I ordered some Shu Mai.”) but not, say “Pizza,” “Burrito,” or “Croissant,” there are some pretty big assumptions going on already that make me feel alienated from the text. (As always, there’s some room to play with: if the author is intentionally writing their POV character as having those particular biases, that’s one thing. When it’s a completely unexamined bias, that’s another.)

Translated text doesn’t need to be italicized or marked as other, unless again, there’s a specific reason that the POV character might see it as ‘other.’ Most people won’t interpret their home language or heart languages as ‘other.’ A dialogue tag like ‘said in Cantonese’ or ‘said in Spanish’ is sufficient, I’ll trust in the reader to pick it up!

I am a first-generation Chinese-American who can’t read the Chinese syllabary. (And what little I speak is Cantonese, not Mandarin. The loss or use of heritage languages across the diaspora is an entire topic by itself, so please understand that this is one person’s view and experience.) Some Chinese writers prefer to write with hanzi; I prefer to write Romanized versions but what goes in a fic will depend on the POV character’s relationship to the language and how intelligible (or not) it’s meant to be to the reader. I generally include context or a note if it’s meant to be clear; if it’s something that the POV character won’t understand, I often prefer to leave it as “speaks in another language” or “said something in another language.”

In general, I find most fictional languages to be intellectual masturbation (there, I said it! :P) and am less interested in those than in how real-world languages are depicted in fiction, especially when read by people who may or may not be familiar with those actual languages and the people who speak them.

19. first fandom you wrote for? While the first fandom I ever posted for was Fallout…very technically I suppose the first fandom I ever wrote for was Pokemon. Because back when I was 9 or 10, I was very invested in Misty and Jesse because they were the only two girls who got a lot of screen time in the anime, and I just really wanted them to be friends!

In hindsight…I don’t think I was consciously thinking of it as shipping terms or romantic interest, but I thought it sucked that the only two girls who really showed up couldn’t at least be friends. So I wrote a lil’ story in which they got trapped in a cave…and obviously they had to camp together…and save each other as they looked for a way out…

Scandalous!!!!

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written? I try to love every fic at least a little before I share it with the world! But this one’s my newest baby:

(love is) the suture and the wound (Dragon Age, Leliana/Morrigan, rated E)

Thank you for reading this far! Now please drink some water and get up and stretch. :P

#choco's premium original content #20 questions for fic writers #tag memes

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crplpunkklavier · 1 year

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can we perhaps get an apollojustice analysis🧐👉👈

he’s rude he has no volume control he cries in court he punches his clients he’s my sonsband he’s the light of my life. greg davies vc its LITTLE APOLLO JUSTICE

alright so i don’t know that i’d call any of what i do here a character analysis. i know you sent this in response to my post with klavier writing advice, so i’ll try to do the same here. this is a collection of things i try to keep in mind when i write apollo.

1. he’s rude

this one’s great. followers may know this about me, but i am also rude. it’s come up in my posts sometimes, because i actually have such poor manners that it becomes a problem for me every now and then. i swear a lot! it just comes out of me. sometimes, i have to write characters who don’t swear, or who swear very little, and that’s hell. that is hell for me. it’s a miracle i haven’t cursed yet in this post. just makes it easier to express shit, you know?

but apollo swears. i promise you that. apollo justice swears like a fuckin sailor. i…… will be honest i can’t be assed to find it, but there is a post on here where a lovely tumblr user broke down the speaking styles of various aa characters in the japanese original. if anyone wants to go find it and let me know, be my guest!! but what i remember about that is that apollo justice has a pottymouth. and ever since i’ve read that, i have clung to it with all my might. look me in the eyes. let apollo justice say fuck.

he also has no social skills. he isn’t rude on purpose! although i think sometimes he can be. i think he can be a mean little pissant when he doesn’t like someone. you know he would have ended daryan crescend’s life then and there if they hadn’t been in court.

but anyway, i think sometimes he is also just pretty bad at talking to people. he’s a lawboy! he’s built to practice law! he doesn’t know how to do anything else!! when he sees that vera is scared in the detention center, he makes the perhaps worst attempt at smalltalk we ever see in the entirety of the series. he doesn’t know how to be tactful, and he isn’t going to learn, because aside from law apollo is also all about truth. he sees lies, and he’s a bad liar himself, but sometimes lying is expected of you in social situations, and he’s not going to do it, and he won’t like it when other people do it. he’d rather be rude. and he will be. he will be very rude.

2. he has no volume control

as a person with adhd. very nice to write. i’ve never uttered a quiet sentence in my life. everything i’ve ever said i’ve screamed at the top of my lungs. also not on purpose! it just comes out that way.

if you write apollo justice, just remember to make him scream now and then. whenever he’s remotely excited about anything? scream. have him animate it with his body too! apollo’s sprites don’t just slam the desk, he hits it with both fists! he jumps back in surprise when something happens, and he pokes his big old forehead when he has to think. he’s an animated guy, and whatever reaction feels exaggerated to you in the moment is probably the one to go for.

3. he cries in court

and now, for something completely different.

he’s a little softie. :] we all remember apollo being in tears when he thought trucy had been kidnapped, even though he barely knew her then. he also mentions journaling in canon, where he goes back and leaves intricate retellings of his adventures in his diaries. also!! he really enjoys lamiroir’s music. for all that he’s loud and brash and impulsive, at the end of the day, the man probably sits down with a cup of tea and a soft-lit desk lamp to write about his day.

i would also like to take this moment to remind everyone of his reaction to meeting plum kitaki.

???: You, kid with the hair. You want something? Apollo: Urk! M-M-Me? No, not a thing! Bye! Trucy: Apollo! We can't leave without questioning her! What if she knows something! Apollo: B-But th-the Kitaki Family...! (They're the biggest organized crime syndicate in town!) ???: If you're going to ask something, ask it. If you're man enough. Apollo: Waaaaugh! R-Right! Trucy: Yay! Way to whip him into shape, ma'am! Apollo: (Does she know no fear!?) Plum: I'm Plum. Plum Kitaki. Wife of the fourth head of the Kitaki Family business. Friends call me Little Plum. Apollo: I-I'm l-little Apollo Justice, attorney at law. *gulp*

that’s right. he’s little apollo justice. :) cmaaahn. he’s just a little guy, and it’s also his birthday.

4. he punches his clients

ok, he punched one client.

i’m bringing these up in this order though because i think apollo’s impulsiveness is a really fun juxtaposition to him shaking and sobbing at having to speak to a woman on the street and in broad daylight, across from an active police scene swarming with cops no less, just because her name is kitaki. because i still think he IS impulsive.

i’ve had klavier bring this up in exorcism because it’s still one of my favorite apollo bits:

Klavier: Let us imagine you are walking through the park. You see two men facing each other. One with a pistol trained on the other. ...What would you do, Herr Forehead? Apollo: Well, I... I guess... I would try to stop them. I'd probably shout, "Stop!" Klavier: And you, Fräulein? Trucy: M-Me? Well... I'd probably scream, "Eeeeeek!" [a bit later] Stickler: Tossing the pistol aside, he fled from the scene. Apollo: [Hold it!] You didn't try to apprehend the criminal?

i just… i mean, who would. who in their right mind would “try to apprehend the criminal.” i’d shit my pants, klavier, that’s what i’d do in that situation.

but apollo seems pretty sure that he would intervene, and you know what? i believe him. i think if apollo justice walked through a park and saw a guy shoot someone and then take off, he would fully chase after him like a fucking rabid dog, and then he’d probably jump him and call the cops, and when they’d get there they’d find bite marks on the guy for some reason.

he just also gets really scared when he sees mafiosi, instead of attempting to arrest them. essentially i just think, apollo sees something, anything, and reacts to it in the biggest, wildest way possible. a mafioso will have a normal conversation with him and apollo will scream and cry. a passerby will hold a knife to someone’s throat and apollo will single-handedly beat him to a pulp. phoenix wright will smile at him and apollo will uppercut his childhood hero. it doesn’t have to make sense. it just has to be batshit.

5. other stuff

two more things i’ve thought about a lot while learning to write apollo are his loyalty and his confidence.

loyalty first: there is not an ounce of misplaced loyalty in this man. once it became clear that kristoph was the borscht bowl club killer, apollo was on him, and he took him down. i fully believe that if phoenix had been the killer, apollo would have done the exact same to him. there is one moment in turnabout succession when kristoph first takes the stand, where apollo kind of gulps and thinks that this still feels like he’s his mentor, but he gets over that PRETTY quickly lol. and he wasn’t thinking about sparing kristoph for being his mentor, he just remembered to stand up straight and be a good lawyer in front of him.

confidence second. i get. SO bothered. when people write apollo without it. you listen to me. this five foot nothing freak thinks he is the best thing since sliced bread, and as a german person it’s difficult for me to say this about bread, but he’s right.

apollo thinks he’s fucking fantastic. he’s VERY proud of his vocal routine, he thinks it’s GREAT that he screams every thought he’s ever had. he’s really nerdy about law, he tells plum and trucy that he loves long and boring procedures as a lawyer, shamelessly. he very firmly believes in his hairstyle. everything you see apollo justice do he does on purpose. (which also makes me think that he knows EXACTLY what he does when he rolls up his shirt sleeves every morning. whore.)

the few times we see all of this slip is when he has to deal with rock star klavier. there’s a couple of times where he thinks that he wishes he could be as cool as klavier, but i’ve honestly never read that as apollo suddenly becoming self-conscious. i genuinely think he’s just annoyed that there’s someone whose shtick (being a very weird very loud lawyer but tall and with a guitar) looks cooler than his own shtick (being a very weird very loud lawyer but short and with no guitar). apollo thought he was hot shit before he met klavier and he continues to think he’s hot shit after he’s met klavier, but now he also thinks that he should be rich and famous for being apollo justice because that would make him even cooler. and, again, i kind of agree.

i think that’s mostly it? he’s a good guy and i like him. he gets annoyed with his clients for being weirdos sometimes, but there is that underlying theme in aa4 where all of apollo’s clients did commit a crime, just not murder, and apollo never drops them for it. he is an almost exact replica of hercule poirot in that he is short, weird, REALLY sure of himself, and doesn’t care if people commit crimes except if it’s murder, in which case he cares so much that he becomes a feral animal. all he needs is a mustache. and he’d probably think he’d look really cool with one too.

#catboyed #apparently this is exactly 1.7k #oh also ill mention again just in case: didnt play aa5-6 never have never will #imco

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eyes-of-mischief · 5 months

Text

weekly fic recs | 44

fandoms: bnha, hq, mdzs, svsss

bnha

a heart swelled to bursting by eggstasy

(mature) (underage, graphic depictions of violence)

The summer training camp of Bakugou's second year at UA descends upon him with all the untamed fury of- well, himself, honestly.

PACKING CHECKLIST: ✓boyfriend (need to figure out how much he's willing to let him get away with) ✓people who claim to be his friends (deluded and in need of correction) ✓ptsd (that he absolutely doesn't actually have) ✓a healthy dose of denial (say it five times fast and that means it's true, right)

Todoroki Shouto’s Amateur Guide to Not Fucking Up The Timeline by anubisisms

All that Todoroki had wanted was milk. Nothing drastic, nothing dramatic, just milk.

Unfortunately, in his quest to get milk, he ended up running into one of the saltiest, most impulsive people this side of the globe. Who also just so happened to have a volatile time-travel quirk.

So yeah, he was fucked. Just slightly. Being punted randomly through time wasn't exactly how he'd wanted to spend his Saturday morning. At least the younger versions of his friends are cute.

the death of our hands by Bershlate

Akaashi Keiji was a lot of things, depending on who you asked.

A brilliant student. A failed son. The boy Bokuto Koutarou had loved since the beginning.

Akaashi Keiji doesn't know who he is, but he's trying.

by this time next year by reeology

"I got offers from two universities," Kageyama announces, pointing at his chest with his thumb. "I'm going to play volleyball at Keio this spring."

"You still have to pass an exam, even if it's an easy one," Takeda-sensei hurries to add, although he is beaming and bursting with pride at his fluffy little crow chick taking off to play volleyball at a university level.

"I'll pass," Kageyama says with the same kind of confidence he uses when he tells Hinata he'll get the toss to him. He looks straight at Hinata, and Hinata jerks and turns red, wondering if maybe Kageyama knew he was daydreaming about something as stupid as the way Kageyama talks to him during a game. But then Kageyama just points at him and says, "You'd better get in, too."

Hinata, stupid, naive, idiot that he is, grins wide and nods and says, "Yeah!"

He doesn't know what he's in for.

i’d probably still adore you (i did last time i checked) by hheroes

“Bo,” Meian said, “you should bring your boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” Bokuto agreed. It took several seconds for him to follow up with, “I mean, I would, except I don’t have a boyfriend?”

Or, two truths and a lie: 1) Contrary to popular belief, Bokuto Koutaro was not dating his best friend, Akaashi Keiji, 2) he promised to move on from Akaashi ages ago, so 3) it wasn't like he even wanted to date him anyways.

mdzs

The Sculptor by Eleanor_Fenyx

(mature)

Wei Wuxian's ad appeared in the Sunday paper just two days ago:

Wanted: Subject to pose as reference for neoclassical academic commission. Tall-ish height and muscular physique helpful, but not necessary. 3 months’ pay at min. Enquire at Yiling Fine Arts Collective if interested.

And now, here in his studio on an otherwise normal Tuesday morning, stands the most stunning man Wei Wuxian has ever seen here to do as instructed - enquire.

-/-

"You’re definitely tall enough for what I’d like, but it’s a bit hard to tell your physique until you undress-“

“Undress?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian replies with a sinking heart - it had been a misunderstanding then, though how that actually happened he has no idea. In all of history hasn’t everyone known that artists need nude models? “That’s a requirement. Not all the time, I suppose, and definitely not right away…but a neoclassical piece means a nude or mostly-nude figure, Lan Wangji. I’ll need a nude model.”

“I…Yes, of course,” Lan Wangji prevaricates. He’s too well-disciplined to fidget, Wei Wuxian would guess, but it’s painfully clear that he wants to. “I understand.”

svsss

Shen Yuan of No Relation by Gemi

(mature)

There is a boy digging a hole.

There should be nothing special about him. He is one of many children digging holes, each and every one eager to get a spot on Cang Qiong Mountain. At a distance, there was black hair and shabby clothes.

Yue Qingyuan could not look away from him.

In a world where they are the same age, Shen Yuan is going to try his very best to become the best friend of his favorite protagonist and prevent the blackening of Luo Binghe! Only, there is a problem.

Shen Yuan looks way too much like the scum villain himself, Shen Qingqiu.

osmanthus jelly by sixin

(explicit)

After burning down Qiu Manor, Shen Jiu escapes to the red light district.

Thirteen years later, Liu Qingge finds himself reluctantly acquainted with Qingqiu, the top courtesan of the Warm Red Pavilion.

pride is not the word I'm looking for by Tossawary

(mature)

Shang Qinghua goes to take a self-indulgent peek at his baby protagonist son and gets a kick to the shrivelled heart for his troubles. He gave up on changing the story years ago! Yet he finds himself helping his protagonist son's adoptive mother anyway. Just this one change won't matter too much, right?

One little change leads to more. Shang Qinghua never meant to care, but he becomes invested in making sure that his new family survives the looming plot. With the changes to the world cascading around him, with his position as a traitor pulling him between his sect and a certain ice demon, and with the protagonist growing up so quickly, how is one displaced author meant to ensure that everything turns out all right?

A Pre-Canon to Canon Divergence story.

#weekly fic recs #bnha #bnha fic recs #hq #mdzs #svsss #mdzs fic recs #svsss fic recs #no prompt

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moraygrotto · 1 year

Text

scenario/fic commission!!

this is a stuffing + hiccuping story with non-specified characters (A&B) commissioned by a lovely patron of the arts who wished to remain anonymous!!

A is a were-bear preparing for hibernation and B is their very caring partner :3

~🐻~

Part of being a were-bear meant living with one’s ursine tendencies. For Character A, that meant a strong feeling of hunger gnawed at the back of their mind every fall, followed by hibernation for the long, cold winter.

Only a few times since becoming a were-bear had A’s stomach truly felt full during this time of year. “You poor dear,” fussed their partner, Character B, upon learning this fact. “I can’t imagine how starving you must feel.”

A had assured B that they had been eating plenty, even put on a healthy amount of hibernation weight, but B’s impulse toward kindness would not be so easily quelled. They wanted their partner to have a comfortable hibernation, to lay down and sleep feeling truly satisfied.

Therefore, returning home the night before their final preparations for the winter, A was touched but not surprised by the rich aroma of homecooked food wafting from the open windows of their house.

“It’s so cold out!” they called to B, removing their coat in the doorway and venturing toward the kitchen. “What’ve you got the windows open for?”

B’s head popped out of the kitchen door, and they waved with one mitt-clad hand. “I’ve been cooking all day. The kitchen got hot.” They grinned. “Besides, you could smell it from outside, yeah? That’s worth a few chilly fingers.”

A silently admitted that it had worked. They were hungrier than ever. “Don’t freeze yourself to death,” they said, tromping into the fragrant kitchen and shutting the windows. “You’ve–” They paused, not sure if they should look down at the steaming array of dishes on the counter. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

B came up to A’s side, and wrapped one arm around them. “This is an important time of year for you,” they said. “I’d like to help however I can.”

After softly kissing B’s head, A let their gaze drop to the dishes. Immediately, they blushed, and felt their stomach rumble. Some of their favorites were laid out in all their glory.

“I’ve got honey-grilled salmon,” B began, gesturing to three glistening pink fish crammed all atop one platter, “some beef stew with nuts and root vegetables,” –they gestured to a bubbling pot on the stovetop– “some fried fish with dipping sauce,” –a small mountain of breaded fish nuggets on a plate– “and I was just about to check on the blackberry pie in the oven!”

A took a starstruck pause before darting back, out of the kitchen workspace. “By all means,” they said, “do check on that pie! This all looks amazing, and the smell is making my mouth water.”

“I’m excited for you to try it,” B mused, opening the oven and retrieving what A could only call a work of art. The dough cover was cut and braided in an intricate pattern, surrounding a bear pawprint with a heart cut out of its center. B looked up at A, now with a matching blush. “I’m sorry,” they said, “is that too corny?”

“Not at all!” A answered at once. “You were thinking of me when you made this, weren’t you?”

“I was thinking of you the whole time!” B said. “That’s why today was so much fun.” They smiled. “It’s all for you.”

As A drank in the sight of the beautiful foods, their stomach seized the moment to let out a monstrous growl.

“Sounds like someone’s eager,” B said, giving their belly a pat.

“Just hungry as always,” admitted A.

“Let’s get eating, then!” B replied. “I’d say to start setting the table, but I think an armchair and TV tray might be better for this meal. Comfiest is best, right?”

The house was still quite chilly. Thus, as B brought dishes out to the living room, A built a fire in the fireplace, and retrieved a blanket from the couch.

“Get nice and cozy,” B commanded, placing the grilled salmon, napkins, silverware, and a tall glass of cranberry juice onto the TV tray next to A’s armchair. They themself perched on a smaller chair, and gestured proudly to the arrangement. “Your throne, my love.”

Carefully, A sank into the seat arranged just for them. B spread the blanket atop their lap, and a napkin thereupon.

“How are you feeling?” B said. “Warm, cozy, and ready to eat?”

A let out a deep breath, relaxing all their muscles and succumbing to the feeling of softness all around. They felt utterly held by the chair, the blanket, the aromatic dish of their favorite salmon, and B’s patient gaze upon them. “You’re the best,” they said softly. “And yeah, I’m ready.”

Reaching for their salmon, they dug in, paying no attention to their speed. The food tasted amazing. No sooner could a tender hunk flake off the bone than it would pop into their mouth with ravenous relish; A wasn’t sure they could stop if they tried.

“You were hungry,” said B, face aglow in the firelight. “That’s my hungry bear. Fill yourself all the way up; don’t hold back a bite.”

A was halfway through their second fish, when they finally breaked, looking up at B. “This is absolutely wonderful,” they gushed. “The honey’s so sweet, and the dash of spice is just perfect, and each little bit is grilled to –HIC!”

Their whole body seemed to squeeze around the hiccup as it burst from their mouth mid-sentence. “Oh dear,” they said faintly. “I… might have eaten a bit too fast…” As they sat there, fork clenched in hand, another hiccup popped out of them.

B leaned in, affecting a frown as they gave A’s chest a rub in the area of their diaphragm. “Why don’t you have some juice?” they said. “That might help.”

A obeyed, trying to hold their breath as they swallowed down some cold juice. Mid-sip, however, another hiccup hit them, causing their whole body to jolt. “I’m not sure it’s helping,” they said faintly.

“Well, that’s okay,” said B, continuing to rub their chest and tummy. “...You can wait for the hiccups to go away naturally, too. There’s merit in letting your body do as it pleases.” Something in their studied frown seemed to melt away. “Besides,” they said coyly, “all your body’s functions are cute to me.”

A was struggling to form a response to the flattery when their belly growled once again. “I suppose I’ll just –hic– keep eating,” they said.

Though the sharp edge was gone from their hunger, A still devoured the rest of the salmon in minutes flat. B’s gentle hands helped each swallow settle sweetly down into their gut, and they grew used to the interruption of hiccups through their feast.

Immediately after cleaning the plate of salmon, B swapped it for the very full dish of fried fish. This, A found, eating with their fingers, was still deliciously hot. The breading was crispy, and biting into each nugget unleashed the succulent juice of fresh-fried fish. “When’d you get so good at makin’ these?” they moaned through a full mouth.

“Just a little practice,” B replied. “I should make them more often, huh? You have that really cute look on your face…”

A tried to retort that it was B who looked cute right now, but the latter popped a fish nugget into their mouth the moment it opened.

A blinked, then hiccupped.

B grinned. “Don’t stop,” they chided. “Sate that hunger. Fill that monster of a belly.” Said belly squished beneath B’s fingers as they kneaded gently in, teasingly at first, then firmer, knowing just where to massage to help A’s digestion.

Carefully, A chewed and swallowed their bite of fish.

“That’s it,” B said, warm hands combining with the warmth from the fire. “Keep eating your fish, now, and I’ll go grab a nice, big bowl of that stew from the stove.”

A waited until B was out of the room, then paused their feast, pressing one hand into their belly. Right beneath their fingertips, their stomach churned, and up their gullet rumbled a low “bbbBBURR–hic!–RRRrrrpp…”

“Darling!” called B from the kitchen. “You better not be saving all your big burps for when I’m not there!”

Sauce dripping from the piece of fish still clasped in hand, A looked up in the direction of B’s voice. “Sorry…” they called back.

“I’d say the same of hiccups,” B said, strolling back into the living room with a big earthenware bowl, “but I know that might be a little harder to control.”

“Well–HIC!–, you’re here now, so I’ll do my best to treat you,” A said with a wink.

“How lucky I am!” B replied, voice equally flirtatious. “Now,” they said, sitting back down in their chair and balancing the bowl on their lap, “how are you feeling? Still just as hungry?”

A smiled. “Urp– Much less, thank you. Though I admit I could eat a lot more.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” B cheered. “I’m so glad all this food is going to such a good place. You’re gonna have the most peaceful hibernation ever, all curled up around that full belly…”

A let B praise them thus, looking up in between bites as they rapidly finished off the rest of the fried fish. “Ready for stew!” they said, body jolting with a pleased little hiccup.

After handing A the bowl of rich and hearty stew, B perched themself on the arm of the chair and wrapped one arm around them, gazing into the fire as A ate.

Though A was already cozy, the stew seemed to seep its soothing warmth into their very bones. The hiccups were not too bothersome anymore, merely soft little hitches that punctuated their sips, occasionally earning them a kiss on the head from B.

“You’re doing so well,” B hummed. “I hope you’re feeling good. I’ll feed you the whole pot of stew, if that’s what it takes to fill you up.”

With its autumn-primed capacity, A’s belly seemed to like that idea, in spite of the food already piled inside. A themself only chuckled. “Let’s take it one bowl at a time,” they said, then picked up theirs and drained its dregs. “Might I request seconds?”

“Absolutely!” said B, taking their dishes from them and scampering off to grab some more. The smell of the cooling pie drifted through in B’s wake as they returned.

“I can’t wait for dessert,” A admitted, looking down at their blanket-covered belly. “I’m finally starting to fill up, thanks to this delicious stew.”

“Hold on,” teased B, “if you’re just now starting to fill up, that means you’re nowhere near ready for dessert. Can you eat this bowl of stew for me first, my love?”

A obliged, taking the bowl from their partner and happily spooning it into their mouth.

“Your hiccups went away,” B said, almost as if disappointed by the fact.

A grinned, and wiped their face off with a napkin. “Got too focused on your cooking,” they said.

As they gulped down the rest of the stew bowl, however, they felt a tightness in their belly, familiar but missed like an old friend. They struggled to swallow the last oversized mouthful, before– “glp–HIC!”

“I jinxed it!” cried B, flopping forward and giving their belly a pat. “Lemme go get you some more. And if you’re good, and eat it all–” They poked A on the nose. “–I’ll let you have pie à la mode.”

“You really know how to –hic– treat a bear,” A said as B went to refill their bowl yet again. Washing their mouth out with juice, they felt the same press inside. Miraculously, they were full.

They yawned, and stretched carefully as to not bump into the tray. Their body felt pleasantly heavy, and they knew now was the time to relax. “Darling,” they said as B returned, “I’ll do my best to finish this bowl of stew, but I can’t make any guarantees.”

“You’ll finish it,” B assured them.

“I’m not actually sure if–”

“Yeah, you will,” they said. “You’ve got me here.”

“I appreciate your support, but–”

“Say aaah~” Alighting back upon their little chair, B held out a spoonful of stew to A. “Just gotta finish this, and then we’ll move on to pie. You’ve always had a pretty big dessert stomach, so I doubt some nice pie will cause any trouble. First, though–”

Obediently, A opened their mouth. A chunk of broth-logged beef squished on their tongue, suffusing its savory taste throughout their mouth. Somehow, food tasted better when delivered by B’s hand. At this tender acceptance, they let themself sink into the easy rhythm of eating the proffered bites, with time to savor in between each.

They relaxed into the feeling of food pushing out on their stomach, eased by the occasional burp, jostled by the occasional hiccup. It took a long moment thereafter to realize that B had stopped feeding them, and both hands were now tenderly rubbing their belly.

A blinked their eyes open, one at a time, then licked their lips.

“Ready for pie?” B whispered over the crackling of the fire.

“Only if –hic!– you feed it to me,” A replied.

“Oh, gladly,” said B. “Sit back and relax, and I’ll get you a nice big helping with ice cream!”

A may have dozed off a minute, for the next thing they knew was a spoonful of warm blackberry pie and cool vanilla ice cream at their lips, accompanied by B’s hand gently opening their jaw.

“Not many bears get this kinda treatment for their hibernations,” B was saying.

“Mmm–thank you,” A replied after swallowing. B had been right. The moment the sweet pie hit their tongue, their stomach burbled, yearning for more. A sleepy food coma, however, still clouded their brain, so they were grateful for B’s careful feeding and encouragement.

“How does that feel?”

“Hic–urrp– So good…”

“Ready for the next slice?”

A had not realized they had finished a slice, only in retrospect realized the warm fingertips placing a chunk of buttery crust between their lips must have been delivering its very last bite.

“Ready for anything,” A mumbled. “I trust you.”

“I’m proud of you for eating so much,” B said over the sound of their fork. “Settling down tomorrow should be a breeze. Just promise me one thing, okay?”

A swallowed a bite of pie, and grunted a little “hm?”

“Dream about me?”

Chuckling, A tried to lean forward, into the hand kneading into the rolls of their stomach, and B’s warm presence. “I’ll –hic– do my best,” they stuttered out, and shut their eyes. All the food now filling their belly was thanks to B. Of course they would remember them, even in their sleep.

“Good,” said B. They snuck a quick kiss atop their lips, then slipped in a forkful of blackberry pie.

#moray writes #stuffing #hiccuping #oh gnarly dictionary is saying 'hiccupping' can have one or two Ps; heres hoping thats the standardized tag lol

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downwiththeficness · 3 months

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Shadow and Veil-Chapter Thirty Nine

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction. Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed. You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen eyes. This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

Word Count: ~4,800

Start from the beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist Read on AO3

Eva was glad she asked Horacio for a recommendation on the restaurant.

The little cafe was nice—not too nice—and Aida seemed to know the wait staff. She greeted them by name and engaged in a little small talk on the way to the table. Eva followed along dutifully with her sweater folded over her arm and a small, secret smile on her lips.

They were seated at a table next to one of the large windows that spanned across the front of the building. Sunlight filtered through the glass, giving the room a bright and airy ambiance. The heavenly smell of coffee and spices wafted from the kitchen.

Aida settled into her seat and asked the waiter to bring them a pitcher of water and a fresh set of silverware. The smile on Eva’s lips widened as she watched the staff scurry to do as Aida wished. She pretended to focus on arranging her sweater on the back of her chair and the napkin in her lap. Folding her hands together, Eva let her expression fall into something both congenial and neutral. And then, she waited.

Aida moved the tiny vase of flowers between them an inch to her right, she straightened the salt and pepper shakers, she adjusted the collar of her dress. Then, with nothing left to correct, she looked Eva in the eye.

“My son is not an impulsive man.”

To say that Eva was stunned would be an understatement. Aida’s English was as polished as Horacio’s, possibly more. She spoke with the softest hint of an accent, all confidence. The ease with Eva’s native language, however, did nothing to assuage the accusation in Aida’s tone.

Hands curling in on themselves, Eva made herself say, “No. He isn’t.”

Aida blinked, accepting that they were both on the same page, “Then, you understand how a sudden...marriage would be out of character for him.”

Eva nodded. She had been preparing all week for this moment, wondering how Aida would bring it up. Eva was glad she was being direct about it. She was out of practice fielding passive aggression from people who did not like her.

The waiter dropped off the water pitcher, two glasses, and silverware. Aida thanked him and poured a healthy serving into each glass before sliding one over to Eva, “What changed?”

A whole fucking lot, Eva thought, unkindly.

She licked her lips and let go of the initial burst of anger that came with the memories of how Eva made it out of Louisiana. Aida would likely never know how difficult it was for Eva, or the fine line Horacio walked while he negotiated his feelings for her with the demands of his job. All she saw was what Horacio wanted her to see, and Eva respected that.

“I don’t think anything changed,” Eva said, eventually.

Aida’s gaze narrowed, “Liar.” She leaned forward, “If you were my daughter, I’d slap you for telling lies.”

Direct and aggressive. Eva was getting a two-for with this conversation. That was fine. She could work with direct and aggressive.

The waiter returned to take their order. Aida spoke for the two of them—just coffee, they wouldn’t be here long.

Eva let the waiter get out of hearing distance, then said, “Mrs. Carrillo, I am not your daughter. Frankly, I don’t expect you to treat me like it. What I am is Horacio’s wife.” She paused, let that sink in, then continued in an airy voice, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your son and I have started a bond.” Another pause, longer this time. “And, I hope some day soon that bond will be completed.”

Aida looked away briefly, “I am not surprised that my son has honor.”

At first, Eva didn’t follow, but her brain caught up eventually. And, when it did, she found depth of offense that made her ears burn. “Your son asked me about it first.”

She might be willing to take a few across the chin for the sake of Horacio’s relationship with Aida, but she wasn’t about to be painted as a woman who trapped a man into something he didn’t want. Aida didn’t need to know the details, but there was going to be no doubt between them that Horacio was fully on board with their bond and would continue to be on board for the foreseeable future.

The coffee was set in front of them.

Eva picked up her cup and breathed deeply in an effort to reset, “I’m not interested in driving a wedge between you and Horacio.”

Aida scoffed, “Our relationship is not weak.”

“But, mine is?” Eva shot back, “With Horacio—my relationship with him is weak?”

“It is new.”

She set her cup down, “I’ll give you that.”

“And untested,” Aida added. “Marriage is work. Hard work.”

God, did Eva know that.

“I’m willing to do the hard work,” she said in a firm, even tone.

Aida very nearly rolled her eyes, “Have you ever worked a day in your life?”

Another left turn. Eva felt the first impulse to give up the effort it was clearly going to take to have an actual conversation with the woman wander around the forefront of her mind. Only the fact that the coffee in her hand was extremely good kept Eva in her seat.

“Excuse me?” she asked, between sips.

Picking up her own cup, Aida gestured towards Eva, “You’re wearing diamonds in your ears. The blouse you’re wearing is silk. Your shoes are high end leather, possibly Italian. There is not a single callus on your hands.”

It looked a lot like Horacio got more than just his stubborn nature from his mother. Eva could admit that Aida had a point, even if she’d drawn the wrong conclusion. Still, she had a point of her own to make.

“Ask the waiter for a calculator.”

“What?”

Eva repeated herself.

Aida looked at her askance, but flagged down the waiter. When she had the device in hand, she looked at Eva with expectation.

“Pick any two numbers. Make them as large or as small as you like.”

The woman in front of her hesitated, thinking, “Four hundred fifty seven and eighty five.”

“Multiply them,” Eva directed. Then, half a beat later, said, “Thirty eight thousand, eight hundred and forty five.”

Aida tapped out the number, then look up at Eva with surprise. Good. She’d gotten the woman’s attention.

“You want to try again?”

The calculator was set aside, “No.”

Eva nodded, “The diamonds were a gift and I earned the money I used to pay for these clothes.” She picked up her mug and sipped, “I understand you have hesitations. That’s normal. But, I reckon you should take some time to get to know me before you start adding two and two together. As you can see, I’m better at it than you are.”

Aida was silent for a moment, then her spine straightened and she said, “Horacio wanted to be a priest when he was little.”

Eva almost choked on her coffee, “What?”

Brows lifting, Aida replied, “You said you wanted to know what Horacio was like as a boy. He wanted to be a priest. But, after his father died, Horacio decided to follow in his footsteps.”

Feeling warm, all Eva could say in response was, “Oh?”

A few hours and several very enlightening stories later, Eva walked through the front door of the house. She hung up her coat and toed off her shoes. The house was silent, not even the television was on. Eva walked around the first floor, then climbed the stairs to the second.

She slowed as she rounded the door to the bedroom. Leaning against the jamb, Eva grinned while she watched Horacio snooze on the bed. He was lying on top of the covers with one arm thrown over his head. His chest was rising and falling steadily. She could just barely hear a soft snore over the sound of the fan.

He hadn’t even taken off his shoes.

Not wanting to wake him, Eva padded down the stairs and plopped onto the couch. She turned the TV on at low volume and flipped to the right channel so that she could catch up on the love triangle between Sergio, Maria, and Luz.

Luz had just found a letter to Sergio from Maria buried at the bottom of an old chest of drawers. Her heart, of course, was breaking at the thought of her husband-to-be having an affair. Eva wondered if the woman portrayed so consistently as sweet and timid would be driven to an outrageous bout of jealousy.

Too bad she wouldn’t find out until the next episode.

Eva let the next program roll even though she wasn’t nearly as interested in the story line. About ten minutes in, Horacio ambled down the stairs. He yawned wide as he cleared the landing. Eva stifled a giggle.

“Almost dinner,” he rasped, “Hungry?”

She was, and said as much. Aida might have relented somewhat in her initial assessment of Eva, but she hadn’t changed her mind about just having coffee.

“I’ll throw something together,” Horacio said, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

After the show was over, Eva got up and wandered after him. Horacio was standing at the stove, sauteing vegetables. She eased around him on her way to the fridge where she grabbed a beer for each of them. A quick search of the silverware drawer and she had a bottle opener in her hand.

Horacio smiled at her when she handed him the beer, “How was lunch?”

Eva shrugged, “I think it went well.”

His brows lifted in surprise, “Really?” Then, “Hand me that cutting board.”

She picked it up and gave it to him, “We’re not best friends, but I think we’re in a better place.”

Horacio looked dubious, but went about adding garlic and onion to the meat sizzling in the pan. Eva lifted up and kissed his cheek, catching his satisfied smirk before turning to set the table. She had just set down the napkins when Horacio left the kitchen with two steaming plates.

“Another drink?” she asked, knowing he would say yes.

Fresh beers in hand, Eva sat down next to Horacio and dug in. He was a much better cook, could make a simple dish of fried meat and vegetables taste like something from the best restaurant in town. She guessed all those years manning the grill in his teens were paying off.

“I need to talk with you about something that happened today.”

Eva’s fork paused on its way to her mouth, “Okay.”

Horacio sighed, “I got a fax from Javier. He’s been tracking the situation in the States.”

Her stomach dropped along with her fork. She didn’t like what he was saying, didn’t like the tone he was using while saying it.

“You were right,” he said, “about Josh. He set up in Mexico. Partnered with a local cartel.”

Eva scoffed, “I wonder how that’s going.”

“Very well, apparently,” Horacio replied. He was quiet for a few seconds, then, “He’s been looking for Diego. Asking every mule and dealer he can find.”

The hair on Eva’s arms stood on end. She knew exactly how much Josh would blame Diego for the state of his life. Exactly how much he would be seeking revenge.

“I’ve been asked to help track him down.”

“Track who down?”

Another sigh, this time more forceful, “You know who. I’ve been asked to...become Diego again so that Josh can be extradited back where he belongs.”

Eva’s lip curled, “Mexico can’t handle one fucking criminal?”

Horacio shifted in his seat, “You know how smart he is. What he’s willing to do.”

“Yeah. I do,” she replied, “And, if you get within fifty miles of him, he’ll put a bullet in your chest before you have a chance to say a single word.”

“You’re underestimating him. He’ll want to gloat first.”

Angry, Eva spat, “This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not laughing.”

She shook her head, “No. No. They can find him some other way. You’re not going to do their job for them.”

Horacio fixed her with a long look. His lips pulled through his teeth and a cool hand walked down Eva’s spine.

“You’ve already agreed,” she croaked. “God damn it, Horacio.”

He held up his hand in defense, “They needed someone with experience.”

Jaw clenched, Eva gripped her fork until it felt like the metal would cut through her palm, “I’m coming with you.” When he went to argue with her, she added, “You’re not doing this by yourself. Either I’m sitting next to you on the flight, or I’ll be on the next flight right behind you.”

“Eva…”

“This is not a discussion,” she snapped. “You go. I go. If I don’t go, you don’t go.”

Horacio stared at her and Eva could see the him working through the problem and trying to find a way to change her mind. She met his stare with one of her own, prepared to take apart every argument until he relented. Failing that, she would rely on sheer stubborn will.

The phone rang.

Eva rolled her eyes and picked up their nearly empty plates while Horacio went to answer it. She already knew who it was, already knew that the rest of their evening would be a wash. In an hour or two, Horacio would still be sitting at the dining room table, talking to whoever was on the other side. As much as she understood how important Horacio’s job was, it was still frustrating that it got in the way of them living their lives so often.

She washed and dried the dishes, then leaned her palms on the counter while she tried to think. It was stupid of her to assume that, just because she left the country, her past would remain in Louisiana. It was even more stupid to think that Josh would give up on his project that easily.

Eva was serious when she told Horacio that she would be right behind him if he went to Mexico. They were in this together, had been in this together since that moment on the sidewalk. There was no way she was going to let him deal with it alone. They were a team, now. Partners.

Husband and wife.

She pushed from the counter and made her way upstairs. In the bedroom, Eva found her jewelry bag and opened it. She sifted around through it until she found the small, black box from the jewelry store. It was heavy in her hand, the leather shining dimly in the light.

Decision made, Eva went back to the dining room where Horacio was sitting in his usual position at the head of the table. The phone was sitting off to the side and he held the receiver to his ear. His head was in his hand and his shoulders were slumped. Eva watched him nod, heard him made a soft ‘uh huh’ sound. He looked...a little bit defeated.

Horacio glanced up.

Not defeated.

Annoyed.

Eva could empathize with him. The longer she looked at Horacio sitting there with the phone to his ear, the more she hated the fucking thing—and anyone on the other side of the line.

A low voice spoke to her in the back of her mind...he might be required to do his job that evening, but Eva was free to do whatever the fuck she wanted. There was no one to tell her she couldn’t find a way to enjoy herself.

Carefully, so that he didn’t see it, she opened the box and slid its contents over her thumb for safekeeping. Then, she set the box aside and walked over to him. Horacio’s eyes followed her the whole way. They were narrowed in both question and curiosity.

Eva smiled.

One by one, she thumbed open the buttons on the front of her dress, until it hung open from her shoulders. A shrug, and it fell to the floor at her feet. Eva reveled in the way Horacio’s jaw dropped. She let him get a long look that lingered over her breasts and hips. Then, she wiggled between the chair and the table so that she could sit in his lap.

He gave a nervous, bemused laugh and started to end the conversation. The attempt was halted mid-word, distracted by a fast, urgent tone on the other side. Around the handle of the receiver, his hand flexed hard. The other hand fell into the bend of her waist.

Eva breathed deep, taking in his scent and the feeling of his body. Horacio was definitely a little bit confused, but he wasn’t stopping her. She threaded her arms around his shoulders, careful not to jar the phone, and laid her head on his shoulder so that her nose touched the soft skin of his neck.

He was tense beneath her, which she expected. But, the longer she sat, the more relaxed he became—which she also expected. The conversation resumed, though Horacio mostly listened. His sporadic responses were not much more than an indication that he’d heard and understood what was being said.

She ran her fingers through his hair, disrupting the pomade. Horacio smiled softly and leaned into the touch. He brushed a kiss to her temple and looped his arm around her body to hold her close. It stunted her movements a little, but she compensated for it by brushing her lips ever so closely, but not quite, over his gland.

Eva lay like that, playing his with hair and listening to his heart thump in his chest, until Horacio made an angry sound in the back of his throat. Fast, cutting words left his mouth and he sat up, taking Eva with him.

Balanced on his thighs, she ran a soothing hand down his neck and shoulder. He resisted her, turning his head to the side and spitting more angry words into the phone. Eva didn’t bother to try to follow the conversation. She focused on the man in her arms, took note of the way his scent shifted and soured.

Eva’s plan seemed to collapse in front of her and she wondered if she even stood a chance against Horacio’s sense of duty to his job. He was as dedicated now as he had been in the States—possibly more.

Her hands drifted over his chest and the glint of the ring on her thumb caught her attention. The sight of it hardened her resolve. He could be dedicated to his job, but Eva wasn’t going to let it become the thing that stirred resentment between them.

They had come too far for that.

Taking his hand, she laid it against her cheek. His scent filled her nose, easing the sharp edge of frustration that wanted to overcome the faint rise of arousal in her belly. Horacio’s eyes focused on her face, the angry cant of them softening. He looked very much like he wanted to kiss her. Eva indulged him. Mindful of the mouthpiece of the phone, scant inches away, Eva touched her lips to his chastely. Once. Twice. She pinched his chin between her thumb and forefinger and held back a giggle when he cut his eyes to the side and had to ask for the caller to repeat their question.

His hand trailed down her neck and chest in a slow glide. Eva arched into the touch to encourage him. The heavy weight of his palm curved around her breast, kneading firmly. His gaze followed the movement of his hand in rapt attention. It grew more focused by the second and the sourness in his scent faded away to be replaced with the first blush of spice and heat.

With gentle pressure, Eva pushed him into the back of the chair. It was an easy motion, not a hint of resistance. He got comfortable, hips tucking under so that she could sit higher on his thighs. She felt a little thrill go through her when it became clear that he was willing to let her lead.

The buckle of his uniform dug into the inner muscle of her hip. She tried to shift around it to ease the ache, but couldn’t find a position that worked. That was fine—it needed to go, anyway. Eva reached down and nimbly tugged the leather through. With the two sides angled upwards, she could sit exactly as she pleased.

Horacio pulled the phone away from his ear and held it out as far away as he could, “Eva, what are you doing?”

She didn’t think there was any need to actually answer his question. Eva was being pretty clear about her intentions. Rocking forward, she kissed him firmly. She meant for it to be a quick, hard kiss. The kind of kiss that both answered his question and stunned the confusion out of him.

That’s not what happened.

It started that way, but Horacio easily took the reins from her. He deepened it, coaxing her mouth open so that he could twine his tongue with hers.

The sound of his name and rank rang out—tinny and somehow far away and too close. Horacio pulled back with a loud breath and brought the phone back to his ear. He quickly made his excuses, complained about a bad connection, and volleyed a few words back and forth.

Eva, not to be outdone, shimmied backwards a little bit to give herself some room and palmed the fly of his uniform. Horacio’s whole body flinched and his eyes unfocused briefly. He shook his head to clear it and wrapped his fingers around her wrist to keep her still.

She let him hold her there for a long time while she waited for her next opportunity. When he rolled his eyes dramatically and went into an explanation about policy that she knew would go on a while, Eva deftly loosed her wrist and reached back to unclasp her bra.

It was so satisfying to watch him stumble over his words, repeat himself, and then fall silent. His expression was lost, almost helpless. He went to set the phone back into the cradle—and, again, she stopped him. Eva wanted to know how far he’d let her take this. She wanted to know how far she would take it.

Arm around her middle, Horacio pulled Eva into his chest. He laid his forehead against her temple, nose pressing into her cheek. His lungs filled with a deep breath. And, on the exhale, was a barely audible groan.

She smiled and ran her hand from the crown of his head down to the nape of his neck. Here, she massaged tense muscle. Horacio’s chin dipped and he rooted around until he found the soft swell of her gland. He nuzzled it, taking another deep breath.

Eva’s eyes fluttered shut and her head tipped back. Pleasure sizzled over her nerves in rapid succession. She bit her lip to keep quiet, pressing even closer to him. Warm breath puffed against her skin. His eyelashes brushed against her jaw. The room was so very quiet.

Except for the voice on the phone.

Eva could hear Horacio’s smile when he replied. He pulled back to look at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. He licked his lips and dropped his head back against the chair, silently handing the control back to her.

Eva slipped the first two buttons on his shirt through the holes, spreading the fabric. Hanging from his neck was the gold chain he always wore. The pendant was warm from his body. Eva used it to pull him forward for a nearly silent kiss. His mouth lingered, following hers for another, slower, kiss. He broke away to listen for a moment, gave a two word reply, then kissed her again.

Horacio released her mouth, grinning when Eva made a sound of want. His grin held while he talked into the phone, explaining that he would be available the next day for a meeting. Eva barely heard him over the challenge growing in her chest.

With quick hands, she got the fly of his pants open and pushed her hand down inside. Horacio cursed beneath his breath, hips lifting to meet her palm. His mouth opened, breathing sawing in and out. The amusement in his expression was long gone, replaced by hot arousal.

Her hold on his attention was brief.

Another bout of urgent words took it, along with Eva’s patience.

While he was distracted, Eva shifted her weight and eased him out of his uniform. His eyes dropped to her hand, but he was still talking. Eva stroked him a few times, thumb gathering the little bead of moisture on the tip to ease the way. Then, she gathered her courage and rose up onto her toes. Pulling her underwear to the side, Eva balanced on the tip and let gravity pull her down very, very slowly. She was wet, but the pressure momentarily took her breath. Even after all the times he’d been inside her, Eva’s body still resisted.

The man beneath her slapped his hand against the mouthpiece of the phone and hissed loudly. His body bowed up driving him deeper inside. Eva grunted and grabbed the back of the chair.

While they caught their breaths, Eva intentionally relaxed the muscles of her thighs, slowly dropping down until her hips were flush against his. She stared down at where they were connected for a long time. Eva could barely believe what she was doing, but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that she was going to stop. She looked up at him with wide eyes, seeing her own shock reflected back at her.

Good.

Feeling like she’d fully regained the upper hand, Eva draped her arms over his shoulders and rested her head in the bend of his neck. His heart was pounding in his chest and a tremble wracked his body. She heard him swallow audibly and it took effort to keep from grinning at the rasp in his voice as he murmured an absent reply.

Eva tried to sit still.

Impossible.

She couldn’t ignore him. Couldn’t forget that he was inside her, filling her. Every breath was scented with him. Every minuscule movement reminded her that she was sitting astride a man who not only knew how to play her body until it sang, but was willing to use that knowledge to drive her into oblivion.

Eva managed to keep from shifting around for half a minute at a time. At regular intervals, she was compelled to move—to grind, to rock, to fuck. Horacio encouraged her, sometimes anticipating her need to rise and fall in tandem. She stared at him, feeling too hot, too needy, and her hand drifted over his cheek, catching the rough stubble.

The ring.

It still sat around her thumb, shining in the ambient light of the room. Eva blinked rapidly, her chest clenching around a feeling that she didn’t recognize. It was like affection, but stronger. Steadier.

Suddenly breathless for an entirely different reason, she pulled the ring free and reached for his left hand. Then, watching his face carefully, she pushed it over the knuckles of his ring finger.

Horacio choked a wordless gasp.

Eva was nearly jostled from her seat as he slammed the phone down. In almost the same movement, Horacio lifted her up and set her on the table. He grabbed her heels and jerked them to either side so they rested on the wooden top. Looming over her, Horacio grabbed his cock and lined it up, pushing inside quick and hard.

She cried out, eyes squeezing shut while stars danced behind her lids. Her hands pulled at his hair, his shoulders, his hips, telling him without words that she wanted more.

Horacio listened to her.

He fucked her with a strength he usually withheld—bruising, reckless. His face was buried in her neck, mouth biting between kisses. He leaned weight into her, forcing her into the table. His hands held her down. Still.

A painful sound hit her ears as he came. His whole body pulled so tight that the hands holding her began to hurt. He trembled. Kept trembling for long moments, even as he began to soften inside her.

Eva tried to relax beneath him, tried to calm the wild beat of her heart. She danced on the knife point of desire, suspended just beneath the crest of orgasm. A little more friction and she would get there.

Horacio didn’t let her wait long.

He eased back and sat heavily in the chair behind him. Then, he grabbed her calves and yanked her forward so that her legs dangled off the table.

Eva sat up on her elbow and lifted her brows at him.

Horacio smiled, “I didn’t get to finish dinner.”

#Shadow and Veil #Narcos #Horacio carrillo #carrillo #maurice compte #au #A/B/O dynamics

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nightmaretist · 7 months

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TIMING: Pre-goo PARTIES: Felix @recoveringdreamer & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Inge's home, The Vending Machine SUMMARY: After their conversation online, Felix shows up to return Inge's chair. She asks him to show her the vending machine it supposedly came out of, and they guiltily oblige. CONTENT WARNINGS: Parental death mentions,

They stole a chair. They stole a chair! From a little old lady! And she was mad about it! Her threat to call the police if they didn’t return the chair ASAP had Felix scrambling, collecting the wooden chair from where he’d stashed it in the spare bedroom and practically sprinting it to his truck. At first, they put it in the truckbed, but they immediately felt bad for this, too. What if it fell out? What if it got rained on? They couldn’t steal a little old lady’s chair and return it damaged! The end result was Felix, driving down the road with the chair precariously stashed in the front seat of the truck, barely leaving them any elbow room to speak of.

The drive was a pretty short one, all things considered; they were speeding, and the town was small. They got to the address the little old lady had provided in record time, fumbling as they struggled to remove the chair from the truck without damaging it. When they finally knocked on the door, Felix was a little out of breath.

A woman answered, and their brow furrowed. She didn’t look like a little old lady. “Um, hi. I’m looking for, uh — an old lady? She said she lives here. She, uh, I, I have her chair. I didn’t steal it, but I found it. And I really wanted to get it back to her. Do you — Do you live with your grandmother? Or something? Maybe an aunt?”

—

Truth be told, Inge wasn’t sure if her trolling of the person-who-got-a-random-chair was to lead to any real world results. These things were done without consideration of consequence or impact on the people she talked to. Following ones whims and impulses was so delightfully easy online: to lie for fun was just something she did. Just because.

So when she heard someone knock on the door, she was somewhat surprised but also strangely delighted. Was this cruel? Perhaps. But it wasn’t crueler than the other things she got up to. The nightmares. The scams. The theft. What was a little messing around with a stranger? Besides, the chair seemed to be somewhat pretty. Maybe she could give it some kind of purpose in her house, or at least repurpose it for some kind of artwork.

She opened the door, looking at the other and the chair they brought. Right. Old lady. Technically true, but appearance-wise Inge still didn’t look a day older than thirty three. “Oh, it’s you. The thief. She’s been in a state for such a long time ever since that chair went missing, you know? Couldn’t even get to the door to look you in the eye.” She stepped down one step of her front door. “My mother, actually. Now, I think you owe me an explanation?”

—

“I’m not a thief!” The words tumbled out, desperation clinging to each syllable. What if she didn’t believe them? What if she called the police? Could Felix be arrested for buying the chair from the vending machine? The idea made them sweat. The Grit Pit wouldn’t take kindly to Felix getting themself thrown behind bars. Neither would the jaguar, for that matter. One of the two would remove them from a cell, and neither option was one they particularly liked. Neither option would allow for no one to get hurt.

God, and the woman’s mother was in a state? Upset about her missing chair? Even though they hadn’t stolen it, hadn’t intentionally come into possession of it at all, Felix felt an overwhelming guilt at the thought. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I found it outside a pawn shop. Did someone take it? I can help you find out who. But I want — I’d really like to return it to her. To explain what happened.” But the mother wouldn’t want to speak to them, would she? Maybe explaining to the daughter was their best bet here. She could pass word along.

“It was in a vending machine,” they blurted. “I know that sounds like a lie, I know. It isn’t, though, I swear it’s not. It’s the truth. I was trying to buy some chips and it spat out the chair instead and I knew it must have belonged to someone and that’s why I posted about it online. To return it. But I don’t know how it got into the vending machine.”

—

Maybe they were a thief. Maybe they weren’t. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, both things were extremely plausible — the question was, however, if Inge cared about the other’s innocence. She did not. She did care about pulling their leg, though, and making the bored hum in her head silent. “That is exactly what a thief might say! Maybe you’re one with a conscience? Do you feel bad about what you stole? Returning your treasures?” Dear baby Jesus, maybe she should get into acting.

Now here was a bit of an issue, though: they wanted to see her mother. Inge’s mother was very much dead, however. Had been for over a decade, even. (Not a topic worth discussing or thinking about to her, and yet her mind seemed adamant to think of her mother for a second. The funeral she never attended. Some distant childhood memory.) “No, that is simply not possible. Her mind is frail enough as is, and to be faced with you now after all the stress of losing the chair?” She shook her head. “No. You are not welcome in her home.”

They just kept talking, falling over the words that fell from their mouth and she witnessed it, figuring that chairs might as well be in vending machines in this town. Funny. She wanted to see this vending machine. “That is the worst possible excuse you could have come up with. Outside a pawn shop? Fine, but a vending machine? Spitting out a chair? Do you hear yourself? Do you feel alright?”

—

“I didn’t! I’m not!” It was silly, the panic thrumming in their chest. Felix was used to arguments they couldn’t win. Back when they’d been with Leo, every conversation had dissolved into something like this. Felix insisted that they had or hadn’t done something, and Leo sneered and told them they were wrong. They were misremembering, they were lying, they didn’t know what they were talking about. It still happened, even now, when they ran into their ex or one of his friends at the Grit Pit. And every time, it filled them with this same quiet anxiety.

It was just… pretty stupid to feel that way about a stranger insisting they’d stolen a chair.

But they were desperate, aching with the idea that some frail old lady was missing her chair because someone had taken it, sick with the thought that she assumed it was Felix. They weren’t a thief. They didn’t steal, tried not to lie unless it was strictly necessary. But why would this stranger believe them? Why would anyone? Half the time, Felix didn’t even believe himself, even when he knew he was telling the truth. “Okay. That’s okay. Um, can you just — You’ll tell her I’m sorry? I didn’t steal her chair. I promise I didn’t.”

But their excuse, while true, was thin and unrealistic and stupid. Felix shrunk into themself a little, swallowing. “I know. I know it sounds crazy, I know. But it’s — It really happened. I could — I can show you the vending machine, just — I swear, I swear it’s true. I know it is. I saw it.” They were half trying to convince themself now.

—

Either they were a very good liar or they really weren’t a thief — Inge assumed it was the latter, and for that she thought herself rather impactful. Amusement was easily ignored, though, swallowed so her face could remain as it should be: as if she was angry. She thought the people her age who hadn’t been blessed with immortality, the way they held themselves with indignation against people who couldn’t help it. “I hope you can understand why it’s hard for me to believe anything you say right now.”

She nodded. Inge would definitely tell her very-dead, buried-a-continent-away mother that this person hadn’t meant to upset her. “Yes. She will be glad to know that the chair is back. It seems undamaged, too, at least. But that’s just a small comfort.” The chair didn’t look too bad. Maybe it would look nice with the rest of her mismatched assortment of furniture. Maybe she’d put it back wherever he’d gotten it from. That could be fun. “I’ll tell her. She will hopefully be okay now.”

There was a reason, of course, why she did these things. Boredom, first and foremost — the world outside of dreams was so drab, so boring, so lacking in control. But she didn’t call it escapism: to Inge, this was just spontaneous behavior. A woman moved by whim. So when the other went on and on about this vending machine, she crossed her arms, raised a brow. “Sure. Give me the chair and then take me to it. I’ll see it when I believe it.” Well, she did believe it, but she really wanted to see it.

—

They did, of course, understand why she was struggling to believe them. That was the hardest part. It was so easy to get into Felix’s head, to make them doubt even the things they knew to be true. Leo had used it to his advantage, had molded their thoughts like Playdough, had so effortlessly isolated them by playing on old insecurities and convincing them that there was nothing about them worth befriending to begin with. This woman, at least, was angry for an understandable reason. Her mother was distraught, and Felix’s story didn’t add up. They wouldn’t have believed it, either. They barely believed themself now, and they knew they were telling the truth.

“Okay.” Their voice was small, and they nodded. “Thank you.” He wanted to apologize to the old woman in person, but he understood why it wasn’t allowed. No one wanted to let a thief into their home, to let them speak with their elderly mother. The woman was just being a good daughter, just trying to protect someone who’d already been victimized by whatever had snatched up her chair and warped time and space to put it inside that vending machine. (Okay, just space. Time probably hadn’t been involved. But ‘time and space’ sounded cooler, didn’t it?)

At least she seemed open to attempting to believe them. Nodding eagerly, Felix handed her the chair. “I, um, I can wait here for you to put it inside. Or in my truck. I’ll wait in my truck. That way I’m not standing on your porch.” Before she could respond, he ran to said truck, sliding into the driver’s seat and resting his head against the steering wheel. It’d be better, wouldn’t it? Once she saw the vending machine and knew they weren’t lying, it’d be better. The passenger’s door opened and they straightened, forcing a smile. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s roll?”

—

She took the chair, carrying it into her home and taking no time to reflect on her cruelty or lack of remorse. No, the main thing on Inge’s mind was whether she should now raise her voice and pretend to be talking to her elderly mother, to really bring it home. It seemed a little too ridiculous though, she found, and thus she was quiet as she plopped the chair into the kitchen among other chairs and gave it a little pat as if to welcome it home.

Inge took her bag and keys, shoving her feet in a pair of summery shoes and moving back outside. Eyes fell on the other with their head against the steering wheel, and she almost wished she could eat fear and misery when awake. It would make life even more enjoyable. She also thought the other should maybe grow some thicker skin: upsetting elderly ladies (even if fictional inventions of a bored old woman who didn’t look old) was an inevitable part of life. To feel so badly … well, that was their fault, hardly her own.

She nodded, “Yes, let’s roll.” As the other started the car, Inge got a little more comfortable in her seat, leaning forward to turn on the car radio. Maybe to make the silence more tolerable, or maybe just to be a bit of a pest. She looked sideways at them. “This better not be some kind of ploy …” Ironic. “I don’t tend to get into cars with strangers.”

—

She fiddled with the radio, and Felix let her. They probably owed her that much, probably owed her a little more. After all, upsetting their mother, even unintentionally and through no fault of his own, wasn’t great. Felix knew how upset he’d have been if someone upset his mother, back when they had her. (As for upsetting his father… well. That one made him less upset, more afraid. Felix’s dad was a little more brutal when upset.)

Gripping the steering wheel, Felix focused on the road outside the windshield. The last thing he wanted to do was drive poorly and make things worse, so they were on their best behavior as they moved down the street. Not one mile over the speed limit, full stops at every stop sign. They glanced over as the woman spoke, tensing again.

“No! Not a ploy, I promise.” Promises were dangerous to make, and Felix had learned that the hard way. Still, they couldn’t cut the word from their vocabulary. Or thanks. They were bad at this. They knew that. They were bad at most things. “There really is a vending machine. I’ll show you. Okay? We can figure out why your mom’s chair was in there.”

—

She flicked through numerous channels, passing pop she didn’t like, something dance-y she didn’t like, way too many men talking about current events and then something tolerable enough. Inge dropped the volume so there would still be enough room for them to talk, because the other did seem quite verbose and keen on explaining themself with their stammered words.

Maybe she should feel bad, but this was so very inconsequential. Much like the dreams she delivered to people, the ramifications of it were hardly palpable — it was a mere burst of anxiety through the stranger’s nervous system, something that was part of the human experience. And so she sat easily, watching the town pass them by before looking at the other again.

“Well, I’ll trust you, then,” she said, her tone grave. It wasn’t like she expected the other to do anything – though that kind of assumption had and would get her in hot water from time to time – but it seemed warranted to assume the worst. Inge nodded decisively. “Alright, Sherlock, we shall figure it out together. Godspeed.” And with the radio playing some nice classic rock, the car pulled through town, to wherever their destination was to be.

—

The radio danced through several stations, playing half-familiar songs and unfamiliar voices. None of them seemed to satisfy the woman, and Felix wondered if anything would. If they were wasting their breath here, if there was no explanation that would be fitting enough to earn them forgiveness. They thought they deserved to be forgiven — they hadn’t intentionally done anything wrong — but that wasn’t on them to decide, was it?

Still, there was a sense of relief when the woman agreed to trust them. Like she’d given them something, like that ‘trust’ meant that they were off the hook. They doubted it was the case. After all, the vending machine could very well stop working. That’d be just Felix’s luck, really — going to prove to a stranger that they’d been telling the truth only to have fate make a liar of them instead.

“Okay,” they sighed. “Thank you. We’ll figure it out. And, um, we can see if any of your mom’s other stuff is in there?” Was that something she was worried about? If her mother’s chair had been stuffed in a vending machine, odds were that other items belonging to her might have made their way inside as well, right? Maybe Felix could still be helpful, still be useful. They drove in silence for a little while before finally turning into the parking lot for the pawn shop and putting the truck in park. “Okay. Here we are. See, that’s the vending machine.” It looked unassuming enough, even now.

—

It was almost sad, to feel the tenseness of the other. Inge had been a fretful woman once, tight with anxieties and worries and terror, living life with fear in her system. But she had died and transformed into something better, something improved — and now she lived the way she thought everyone should. For herself and her whims and wants. Not ruled by the things that seemed to plague the other.

As they mentioned her mother again, and any other potential things of her in the vending machine, she nodded. It was getting a little ridiculous, but that wouldn’t stop Inge. She moved through dreams on the near-nightly, so she knew ridiculous. Whenever reality felt a little bit like a fever dream, she preferred it. It was dull, often. “Maybe. She has been missing some other things. Very strange indeed. She blamed the crystals until you showed up.” Lies were told with the largest ease.

They ended up near the pawn shop, where Inge had come nosing once or twice before. She’d sold a few things, too — bits and pieces nicked from bedrooms that needed no further comment. She didn’t look at the store though, more interested by the vending machine. “And you were saying … a chair came out of that?” It was hard to believe by natural standards, but forty years of immortality had taught Inge to not be skeptical. She got out of the car, approaching the thing. “Well, I — I find it hard to believe. Can you show me what you did?”

—

“Maybe the crystals do have something to do with it? Um, it could be connected.” In all honesty, Felix had been steering clear of the crystals. One of the guys at work had evidently touched one at one point or another, and it hadn’t ended well for him. Voices in his head, he’d claimed. Someone else trying to take over. Distractions like that weren’t particularly good in their line of work; the fighter in question had let it overtake him in the midst of a fight. Felix hadn’t seen him since, but rumors were swirling around the Pit. Some said he was dead, others claimed he’d been injured badly enough to be deemed so useless he was released from his contract. Felix wasn’t sure which was worse.

Adamantly, Felix nodded. “It did!” They insisted. “Look, I — I know it sounds weird. But you have to know that weird stuff happens in this town, right?” Sure, there were some people in Wicked’s Rest that lived with their heads in the sand, but she’d mentioned the crystals in a way that didn’t seem to imply she thought it was crazy that they might be involved in some of the strange happenstances here, so maybe that meant her mind was open to other things, too. Either way, Felix intended to prove their case.

Climbing out of the truck, they approached the vending machine and waved for the woman to follow them. Once in front of it, they fished around in their pocket. Four quarters, covered in lint, rested in the palm of their hand. “Okay,” they murmured, feeding the quarters into the machine one by one. “Here goes. Uh…” They craned their neck, inspecting the numbers on the machine and finding the chips they’d spent the better part of a day trying and failing to purchase. “B4. Here we go.” Buttons were pressed. The machine whirred to life. Something dropped into the slot. Felix reached a hand into the slot and pulled out…

A teal pasta strainer.

They held it up triumphantly. “See! See! It’s not chips.”

—

The crystals were the perfect, pretty scapegoat. If Inge was less of a survivor with less experience of not dying for a second time, she would have touched them by now. She just dreamed of getting her hands on them somehow, now, for aesthetical purposes. “It could all be connected indeed,” she said, nodding. “The crystals have been a real issue. Pretty, though.” At their assessment of strange things happening in this town she almost laughed, but in stead she just nodded. “This place does seem to attract oddities. But still … your story seems out there. I’ve never heard of such a thing at all.”

She followed the other, curiously eyeing the very-normal looking vending machine. The only thing to be said against it was that it looked a little old, maybe. Weathered, which could be explained by the fact that it was standing outside in a town like Wicked’s Rest. Inge raised her eyebrows at Felix, watching them toss in coins. “This seems like a very normal machine,” she pointed out, but she almost found herself holding her breath in anticipation.

When it whirred to life, Inge didn’t see a bag of chips move forward and fall ungraciously. There was still a thud, though, and Felix bend to get the not-chips out. Verrek! A pasta strainer. She moved closer, looking at it with wide eyes. She had to focus to hide her amusement, because this was ridiculous in a way that affected her more than most things did these days. “No way,” she said. “How does that make sense? How can that — I think …” She squinted. “I think I know that pasta strainer. I think my mother used to – how, what?!”

She’d never seen the thing before. Inge dug into her bag, producing her wallet and pulling out some coins too. “Is it just with the chips, or with everything?”

—

“They are pretty,” Felix agreed. They could understand why people had been drawn to them, why they touched them without thinking. Had Felix still been living in the woods with their family instead of living in town and earning all the terrible experiences that came with that, they might have touched one themself by now. For once, they were a little grateful that they’d had such bad luck. Bad luck, after all, taught a person a few things. “I know it sounds weird. But I swear, I’m not lying.” And they’d prove it, too.

She was right to doubt the story as they approached the machine, of course. It didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary at all, didn’t look like the kind of thing anyone should suspect of… being odd. But Felix had seen firsthand what the machine could do, and they were more than willing to show this woman, too. They needed her to know that they hadn’t stolen anything from her mother, not intentionally. It was just more of that bad luck. That was all.

As they held up the pasta strainer, a rare sense of triumph washed over them. The woman seemed shocked, but she had to believe them now. Hesitantly, Felix held the pasta strainer out for her to take. “Do you think… it’s all your mom’s stuff?” That would be a cruel trick, wouldn’t it? Someone enchanting this vending machine to rob one specific old lady blind. Of course, the cruelty didn’t mean it was false. If anything, that probably made it more likely to be true.

Blinking, Felix looked back to the machine. “Uh… I don’t know,” they admitted. “I only tried the chips. I really wanted some.” They’d tried the chips about thirty times, but it had never occurred to them to press… any other combination of buttons. “Should we try something else, do you think?” They were in this together now, after all.

—

The world was filled to the brim with inexplicable things, some more endearing than others. Inge had learned of some of them through Sanne, but plenty had been left to discover. Not even her sire had known all the world had to offer, because the world was ever changing. Supernatural and otherwise, there was always more, different, other.

This was inexplicable, but it was exciting. Some kind of magic. Inge almost regretted her debauchery, how she’d slipped herself into another lie in favor of just being intrigued and excited. It would be hard to sell her lies if she started jumping up and down and clapping, after all, and so she contained herself as she took the strainer. Tapping it with her nails, she considered it, wondering if this was new or also used. It seemed to be the latter.

“I don’t … know. I’m not sure if she’s missing a lot. She’s a bit of a hoarder, you know?” She turned the strainer upside down. She wasn’t sure where to put it, so just placed it on the floor as she gathered her coins and tossed them in. “Definitely we should.” She pushed the two buttons corresponding to a candy bar of sorts.

In stead of that dropping down, though, the flap whipped open violently as the machine seemingly spat out a vacuum cleaner. Inge jumped aside as not to be hit by the thing. “What the actual —” She squinted. “Is that a fucking Dyson?”

—

It made sense, Felix thought, that a strainer might be more difficult to notice missing than a chair. The strainer was a pretty recognizable one — the color was bright and gaudy — but it might not be used often enough in the woman’s presence for her to recognize it definitively on sight. Chairs were used a lot more often, and out in the open instead of tucked away in a cabinet when no one was actively sitting on them.

Still, it was a little disappointing that she didn’t know if the pasta strainer belonged to her mother or not. If it had, after all, it would have been another clue in the mystery. Another piece of the puzzle, even if it wouldn’t have given them the whole picture. Felix wasn’t great at solving mysteries, but they were curious. They wanted to know the why behind the vending machine just as much as the next person.

Maybe the best way to do that was to keep testing. Felix held their breath as the woman poked at the buttons, wondering what might happen. This, too, would offer more clues. A different combination of buttons, a different hand pressing them. If it was only Felix yielding the results, or only the chips that spat out something else, that would be… weird. A little concerning, in the case of the former. Felix didn’t want to be a vending machine whisperer.

But no candy bar dropped into the slot. Instead, the machine spat out something tall and silver and — was that a vacuum? Felix reached out, poking it. Yeah. That was a Dyson. “It looks old,” they commented. “Is it, um — Is it your mom’s?”

—

Inge, as far as vacuum cleaners went, preferred a Miele. Though she was no longer a housewife whose days were filled with housework and housekeeping, she still had her opinions when it came to things like this. Cleaning was boring! It had to be done with the best tools. (Or by someone she paid a fair wage, of course.)

Now the main question wasn’t whether she liked a Dyson or not, but whether she should claim it was her mother’s. Inge had no need for a free vacuum cleaner, but the entire sham she had going on with this stranger was deeply amusing. And so she didn’t think on it very long, crouching near the vacuum cleaner and inspecting it before nodding.

“Absolutely hers. Outdated thing, makes a horrid noise. I — well, that explains all the dust bunnies.” Inge shook her head in disbelief before rising to her full height again. She stared at the vending machine, as if that would give her any answers if she just looked hard enough. It didn’t, because this was just one of those things that didn’t need an explanation.

She looked at Felix, thought for a moment of her mother. How she would have hated this, if she were alive! The sheer notion of magic was something she despised: Inge and her siblings had never been allowed to read books with any of it in them. It went against their teachings. How dull. “So someone … must have targeted my dear old mother, no? Stealing her things, hiding them in plain sight … I don’t get it.” There was nothing to get. All of this was a lie.

—

So the vacuum was her mother’s, too. That was another clue to the case. Felix grabbed the vacuum and thrust it out towards her, a little overeager. She had to see now, didn’t she, that they weren’t responsible for this? That they were just as confused as she was? They weren’t a thief. They hadn’t stolen her mother’s chair any more than they’d stolen the vacuum she’d just watched fall from the vending machine! Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t Felix’s fault. They were a bystander.

“Um, maybe you could get her one of those… The robots, that vacuum by themselves. For the dust bunnies. I think that would probably be a lot easier than her trying to use this. If — If she’s old.” She had to be, didn’t she? To have a child as old as Inge? Not that Inge was elderly or anything, but old enough that her mother must have been pushing sixty or seventy, and it was harder for humans to get around at that age. She shouldn’t be vacuuming. The Dyson was heavy, too. It was a bad mix.

Felix shifted at the question, suddenly uncomfortable with the implication. They weren’t responsible for this, but someone must be. Right? Someone had filled this machine with objects they’d stolen from Inge’s mother, for one reason or another. A prank? Some kind of vengeance? “Does, uh… Does your mother have any… enemies?” That was a thing people asked in cop shows. Their sister had been so into Criminal Minds before they moved out to the woods where cable TV became a thing of the past. They were always asking about enemies.

—

They pushed the vacuum into her hands and Inge didn’t know what else to do but simply take it, staring down at it as if it was an object she did know. Maybe she’d sell it on Marketplace. Or donate it somewhere. Whatever she felt like, because she definitely didn’t need another vacuum cleaner, even if she’d gotten herself into a situation where she suddenly had a second one that supposedly belonged to her dead mother. Oh, Maria was rolling over in her grave at these lies!

“Ah, yes, maybe I should. She’s still quite mobile, though! Not that old, only in her fifties …” Did she look that old, that she’d have a parent that was ancient? Inge checked her reflection in the vending machine, but it didn’t offer a lot of feedback as she mostly as candy bars. “She likes her dyson very much.”

The other’s question was endearing. They were endearing, with that fretful and anxious nature and need to please. Inge didn’t often considering innocence endearing, but in this case it was. “Oh, I mean … she’s a crotchety senior, you know. Youths describe her as a Karen sometimes,” she said, frowning. Sometimes people called her a Karen, which she found incredibly insulting. “But what kind of enemy would do such a thing, right? It’s ridiculous. It’s … beyond ridiculous! Even if she is a rude customer or yells at her neighbor’s dog sometimes, she doesn’t deserve this, does she?”

—

“Her fifties?” Felix blinked, looking at the woman in front of them. How old was she? They’d been operating under the assumption that she was a bit older than them based on how she spoke and carried herself, but maybe that was rude. Maybe she was actually just their age. But their father was older than his fifties, wasn’t he? But, wait, Felix had older siblings. Maybe this woman was the oldest? Or an only child.

The balam’s mind was spinning with possibilities, anxiety eating away at them as they wondered if, perhaps, they’d been offensive in their assumptions. Bad enough that she’d come into this thinking they were the kind of person who stole from old ladies — or, rather, ladies in their fifties, apparently — now she probably thought they were trying to insult her, too! Looking to correct, Felix nodded. “Her fifties! Right. Yeah, that makes sense. I’m glad she’ll get her Dyson back, then.”

But… now she was describing her mother as a crotchety senior? Was fifties a senior? Didn’t you have to be sixty-five to qualify for the senior discount? Again, Felix’s head was spinning with confusion, but that wasn’t really a rare occurrence. They shifted as the woman spoke of some of her mother’s behavior, because… Well, Felix didn’t think someone deserved to have all their belongings stolen and put in a vending machine for those things, but they also couldn’t, in good conscience, agree with being a rude customer or yelling at a dog. “Maybe you should hire a detective,” they said, quickly avoiding the question. “To find out who did it. Also, uh, to find out how?”

—

“Yes. She was quite young when she had me,” Inge said. As if it was so hard to believe! She tried to swallow her offense, tried to remind herself that she was technically nearly eighty and that maybe it was her emotional age that made her seem older to this person. “In her twenties. And I’m in my early thirties. So, you see. That makes her in her fifties. Simple mathematics.”

Of course, her lies didn’t fully hold up. Inge was saying what was most interesting, her tale not held together tightly because this wasn’t a situation where her dishonesties had to be convincing. This was recreational lying, more than anything. Sure, she got some free household articles out of it, but she didn’t have to keep up the farce in order to survive or gain a few thousand dollars. “I’m glad too.”

She took the vacuum cleaner, wondering how much money she’d be able to get for it. If she was a kinder person, she’d just donate it, but Inge – even in her state of financial stability – was a frugal person who wanted more. Life was uncertain for her kind, was it not? One day soon, a hunter might actually chase her out of town, and she’d lose plenty of her possessions — it had happened before, would happen again. Having a large financial buffer was necessary for her to feel at peace. “Sure,” she said in answer to the other’s suggestion. “They’ll think I’m crazy, but sure. I think I’ve seen enough, though. I should go back to her.” Her poor mother, all alone.

—

Well, now Felix felt a little embarrassed. They were pretty sure they’d upset her, which was totally understandable because they had implied that she was old, kind of, and she wasn’t. Thirties wasn’t old! Felix had just entered their thirties, and they didn’t feel old. Most days, they still felt like a kid with no idea what they were doing. They offered the woman an apologetic smile, nodding their head adamantly. “Right, of course. I’m, uh… I’m just really bad at math. That’s all.”

Hopefully that would ensure that she wasn’t too angry at them. She had seemed to imply that her mother was older, but… Felix had probably just misunderstood, right? He’d never been the sharpest crayon in the box. Everyone always said so. Easily confused, bad at picking things up on the first go round, bad at following a conversation when it was in progress… This had to be their mistake rather than hers.

“Uh, right.” Felix shifted, rubbing the back of their neck sheepishly. They felt guilty for it, but they were relieved when she said she’d seen enough and wanted to go. The conversation felt like a minefield that he wasn’t skilled enough to navigate, and keeping up the attempts was exhausting. “I can give you a ride back to your house! Um, do you want to put the vacuum in the back of my truck?”

—

“I’ll say,” Inge said, trying not to start an indignant fight. It had been quite enough drama for one afternoon, and she didn’t want to make it seem like she was the one in the wrong here by overreacting once more. She did know what she was doing, after all, by convincing the other of untruths and lies and acting as if she was very concerned for her mother when she was not. Her offense about her appearing old was real — but of course, only her own lies were to blame. (This she did fail to recognize.)

The offer to ride her back was sweet. This Felix was sweet, a little too sweet for their own good. Even with their innocence proven, they were willing to help her out and Inge wondered how he ever got anything done in life, if he was so concerned with others. “A ride would be great. Walking home with this thing would be a nightmare.” Actually, she was the nightmare.

She placed the vacuum in the back of the car and got in, giving the other a look of appreciation. It was not even entirely feigned. Inge could appreciate kindness, especially when directed at her. “Very much appreciated.” Though she seriously doubted the other was a fae, one could never be careful enough.

—

They were relieved that she’d accepted the offer of a ride. The idea of her walking home lugging the vacuum, after everything, felt fundamentally unfair. She didn’t deserve it. And it wasn’t as if Felix had anyplace to be; their shift didn’t start for hours, and they had no desire to get to the Pit early.

So, they helped her load the vacuum in the back of their truck. They placed the pasta strainer carefully under the seat and made a mental note not to forget about it when they dropped her off. They offered her a small smile, nodding their head at her appreciation. It was nice to be appreciated, even if they were only doing what they figured anyone would do.

The ride back to her mother’s house was quiet, but that was all right. Less conversation meant less chance for Felix to embarrass themself. And when she refused, again, to let him meet her mother, Felix wasn’t offended. They were just happy to help a not-old woman get her vacuum back.

All in a day’s work, right?

#felix.#felix sucks!#threads.

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dialovers-translations · 2 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Kanato Dark [05]

ー The scene starts in Kino’s manor

Mysterious Man A: ーー Therefore, Kino-sama. Now that we have accepted your help, it is of utmost importance that you act quickly.

Mysterious Man B: Exactly. At this rate, Demons will gain control over the Human World as well.

We must prevent an invasion of these Demonic species at all costs.

ー Cheerful game music starts playing

Kino: Yeah, yeah. Gotchaー ... There...Oh! Found the Boss!

*Tap tap*

Kino: ーー Kaboom! Ahaha! Weaklingー!

Mysterious Man A: ...Kino-sama. Are you listening?

Mysterious Man B: We are discussing a very important topic regarding the future of the human race.

Would you please stop playing your game for a second?

Kino: Ahー Sure, sure. I know.

Just leave both the plan as well as those Demons up to me. I’ll deal with it somehow.

So, are we done talking then?

*Tap tap*

Kino: Ehー I’ve run out of items again...Better stock up...Voila!

Mysterious Man A: ...Like we said, we...!

Kino: Haah...We’ve talked for long enough haven’t we? Can you guys please just go home already?

This timed event is going to end soon, so I’m very busy!

*Tap tap*

Kino: Go go! Activating my special skill!

Mysterious Man A: ...

*TIMESKIP*

*Beep beep beep*

Kino: ーー Ah! Godー ...This sucks. I was so close to getting a spot on the leader board and redeem one of the top rewards!

Hey, Yuuri! My charger! Hurry up and fetch it for me!

ー Yuuri walks up to him

Yuuri: ーー Kino, here you go.

Kino: Mmh, thanks. ...Wait, huh? What happened to those other guys?

Yuuri: They returned home not too long ago. Did you not tell them to do so yourself?

Kino: ...Really? I was so caught up in my mobile game, I don’t remember at all.

Oh well, whatever. Having to listen to their complicated explanations only makes me sleepy.

...Right, Yuuri. Make sure to scatter some salt in the entrance hall later, okay?

Yuuri: Eh...?

Kino: It’s pretty clear that they only think of us as convenient tools to achieve their goals.

They’re ridiculous yet dangerous, you see. Exactly the kind of people who get on my nerves.

Yuuri: Understood.

...That being said, in our current situation, their goal to rob the Demons of their power should play in the favor of our organization, the Ravens, as well.

Therefore, it is important that you take this seriously, to ensure that we will continue to be able to use the Church to our advantage.

Kino: I mean, you’re not wrong. I did mess up the other day, so I need to start yielding some results soon...

ー The scene shifts to Kanato’s room

*Rustle*

Yui: ...I guess it looks a bit more tidy now.

...Haah.

( I feel as if Kanato-kun has become even more impulsive than he was before... )

( His room finally got fixed up, but he keeps on making a mess out of it again. )

( I suppose he’s really feeling the pressure now that he has become the ruler of the Demon World. )

( I truly want to accept him as he is. )

( But I wonder how I can convey that to him? I don’t know anymore... )

*Thud thud*

Yui: ...?

( That sound just now? It came from the entrance hall? )

( I wonder if somebody came to visit? We don’t get visitors all that often... )

ー The scene shifts to the outside of the Sakamaki manor

Yui: Hello? ...Ah!

Ruki: My bad for dropping by uninvited.

Yui: Oh no, I don’t mind. However, you definitely do not visit this house every day.

Ruki: There’s something I’d like to discuss.

Yui: I see. Then please come on iーー

...Um...

( Should I? I guess it should be fine to let Ruki-kun in without earning Kanato-kun’s permission first...? )

( But Reiji-san and the others aren’t home right now...So I have to consider that if I end up making him mad and that leads to his powers flurrying out of control again... )

Selection

→ Feel guilty for having to turn Ruki-kun down regardless

Yui: ( Still, I can’t ask Ruki-kun to talk by the door when he came all the way out here to visit us... )

( I should probably invite him in after all... )

→ Turn him down for Kanato-kun’s sake as well (❦)

Yui: ( I feel guilty having to do this to Ruki-kun but... )

( I don’t want to upset Kanato-kun, so I should probably say no. )

L-Listen, Ruki-kun...

Ruki: ...

Oh well. I’ll let myself in then.

Yui: Eh? W-Waitーー

ー The scene shifts to the entrance hall

Yui: E-Excuse me...!

Ruki: Hmph...You truly are so easy to read.

It won’t cause you any issues if I was the one who selfishly let myself in, right?

Yui: ...! B-But...

( He realized that I was worried about Kanato-kun’s reaction... )

Ruki: I don’t mind. I know very well what kind of guy he is.

Yui: Yeah...Thanks. Well then, I’ll show you to the living room, okay?

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the living room

Yui: Sorry for the wait. I went to get us some tea and cake.

Ruki: Yes. Sorry for having you go through the trouble.

*Thud*

*Cling*

Ruki: This might take a while. You should have a seat as well.

Yui: Eh? S-Sure...

( I wonder what this could be about? Am I the one he wanted to talk to...? )

*Thud*

Ruki: Are you aware...Where my family and I are currently residing?

Yui: ...Um, I haven’t been informed of any details...

Ruki: We are currently at Eden in the Demon World, protecting the late King’s castle.

However, now that the castle has been left without an owner, combined with the chaotic times in the Demon World following that man’s passing...

Even Eden itself is at risk of falling into ruin.

Yui: ...I see.

Ruki: It is said that Eden and its ruler share one mind.

If the current ruler fails to wield their powers, it only makes sense that the castle itself would fall into crisis as well.

Yui: Um...Ruki-kun? Can I ask just one thing?

Why are you telling me all of this...?

From what I’ve heard, I cannot imagine that I’d be able to prevent Eden’s destruction. Yet...

Ruki: Because you’re the only reasonable person in this manor at present.

Besides, aren’t you the only one who can actually talk to the current head of the household?

Yui: ...In other words, you want me to convince Kanato-kun and bring him to the Demon World?

Ruki: Yes, exactly.

Yui: ...

( I feel conflicted but...I’m sure the situation must be very dire if Ruki-kun has resorted to asking me of a favor... )

Ruki: I very much understand that it is difficult for you to make this decision on the spot.

However...I don’t care if it’s simply out of pity, but if hearing my story made you feel some kind of way.

ーー Would you please consider convincing Sakamaki Kanato for me?

Yui: I-I...ーー

Monologue

‘ーー I don’t care if it’s simply out of pity (同情).’

When Ruki-kun spoke those words,

he looked more mentally exhausted,

than I had ever seen him before.

I want to fulfill his request.

I want to help out.

Of course, those feelings crossed my mind.

However, I could not nod my head straight away.

After all, most of all

it is important for me to consider,

what Kanato-kun’s wants (意思) ーー

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #kanato sakamaki #lost eden #diabolik lovers translation #lekanatodark5

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thewitchandtheassassin · 2 years

Text

A Pirate’s Life for Me Part Six (Wanda M x Reader x Natasha R.)

Summary: Guilt is a fickle mistress. Is there any coming back after you save Yelena’s life at the cost of another?

Words: 1635

Warnings: Mention of death/murder, guilt, angst, feelings, language

A/N: So... this is back from the grave. You’re welcome. There would realistically be... two more parts? Maybe two and an epilogue?

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife @natasha-danvers @aaron-despair @username23345 @xjiasx @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova @summergeezburr @marvels-writings @imnotasuperhero @miscmarvelwritings @captain-josslett @onlyafewfindtheway @hayleyokami @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @evilcr0ne @nightingalexx @suki-is-a-queen

-X-

A pale hand slammed violently into the desk, the lone quill shuddering in its bottle as Pierce glared at Rumlow. The vein in his forehead was defined and throbbing but Rumlow's face remained impassive.

"Explain!" Pierce barked, his eyes wild as he looked over the man before him.

"Pirates invaded the island," Brock shrugged, though his words held a bitterness that dripped from every syllable. "My men were overrun. Between the dreaded Captain and those whores, there was nothing they could do."

Pierce inhaled sharply, his face red with fury. "You promised your men were the best."

"They are," Brock snarled in return, expression growing dark as his low-lying anger boiling just below his skin, "But Rogers' men overwhelmed them while the Widow and her whore helped steal the treasure. That's all they're good at, stealing things that do not belong to them."

Alexander studied the panting man, curiosity outweighing his rage as he pondered if he could use Rumlow's evident hatred to his advantage. "I am sensing some personal hostility, Brock. Might I ask what they took from you?"

Gritting his teeth, Rumlow's brows crinkled as he relived your dismissal of him, the blade digging into his skin and leaving behind the scar he wore shamefully. "My fiancée. In Port Royal. Those lesbian harlots kidnapped her and I have not seen her since."

Fingers clasped together, Pierce hummed thoughtfully. Maybe hope wasn't completely lost. It was clear Rumlow's disdain ran deep. If he could broker an agreement...

"If I were to help you find her, would you be willing to kill those vagrants and return the treasure your men lost? I will even be more than thrilled to let you cut their hearts out, if you'd like. If I were a betting man, I'd say it wouldn't be too difficult, finding your lost love," Pierce suggested with a smirk, offering a hand to Brock.

Brock was dumb and impulsive, something he was going to use to his advantage.

Without thinking, Rumlow accepted, shaking Pierce's hand firmly. He wasn't going to stop looking for you either way, determined to make them pay for taking something that was rightfully his. An extra set of hands might just be exactly what he needed.

And if that meant placating Pierce for a little longer, he would swallow his pride and do as he wanted. If only until he found you - and those whores you chose to galavant about with. Once you were his, you'd face the consequences of your actions. But for now...

-X-

Staring out at the thrashing sea, you were completely oblivious to the women bustling around the ship, simply letting the cool air wash over you in hopes of it cleansing your soul. You had killed a man. A terrible, cowardly man but a man nonetheless. A man who might've had a family. People waiting for him.

You'd protected Yelena from an unpleasant demise but would that eclipse murder?

Gentle fingers touched your clothed spine, the smell of those berries Wanda adored filling your nose as she settled beside you. She was quiet but concern radiated off her in waves, green eyes occasionally flitting in your direction before returning to the churning waters.

You'd been different since the island. Silent and almost stiff - maybe even cold - , so caught up in your own mind that your entire being had seemingly shifted, and everyone had begun to notice it. The only time you seemed to relax was in bed, Wanda snuggled between you and Natasha as you combed your fingers through her wild tresses. She couldn't remember the last time you'd had a real conversation with anyone in the past week - and it scared her.

Were you regretting joining the crew? Joining her and Natasha?

Is this where you leave us?

Tilting your head slightly, you smiled tentatively at Wanda.

"Hello, lovely," you husked, lifting her free hand from the ship and kissing her fingers softly.

Wanda wished she could bathe in the warmth washing over her, letting it destroy the anxieties bubbling painfully in her chest.

"Malysh," she whispered in kind, fingertips dancing across your cheek as you nuzzled her palm. "I think we need to speak. Privately."

You sighed, aware of what she was expecting, even if you weren't sure how to adequately offer the answers she wanted. Your sudden behavior was worrisome at best. Of course Wanda wasn't going to let such a thing lay dormant. And maybe talking it over with her wouldn't be such a terrible thing. Maybe she could offer some insight or comfort; help drive out the darkness making its home in your brain.

Tangling your fingers together, she led you to the Captains' quarters, letting the door thump closed behind you as she settled you at the foot of the bed, lingering between your knees. The room was glowing with dim candlelight, the smell of Pierce's stolen incense filling the air. Wanda's eyes glistened in the flames, brows pinched uneasily as emeralds traced along your features.

"You seem so troubled," she mumbled, cupping your cheek sweetly. "How I wish I could read your mind sometimes."

Twisting slightly, you pressed a kiss to her hand, breathing in her rich scent.

"I'm afraid," you admitted brokenly, voice cracking under the weight burdening you. "Of what this life might do to me. I took a man's life yet I worry I don't regret it enough. He was a threat but he was still a human whose blood I let spill into the grass."

Inhaling sharply, Wanda admonished herself - and Natasha, to some degree - for not realizing your pain sooner. Callused, neither was fazed by such actions but this was your first death; first kill. Something that always felt like an atrocity to a person no matter the situation.

"Oh, (Y/N)," she sighed, thumb skating along your cheekbone. "I am so sorry, malysh."

Expression darkening with confusion, you gazed at her with wide eyes.

"We left you to deal with such heavy thoughts," she murmured apologetically. "And that was never our intention. Sadly, such things do not dawn on us the way they would others. We should've remembered this was your first..." she trailed off, leaving the vile word unspoken but there.

"He was going to kill Yelena," you said softly, "And I couldn't let that happen."

Bending, Wanda captured your lips in a soothing kiss, her tongue gliding along sensitive skin as she calmed your ever-raging guilt. "You protected your family," she replied, soothing but muffled against your lips.

Gasping, your eyes snapped open. You'd never really had a family before; only a mother gone long before you were ready for her to leave. Was that why you reacted so harshly, accepting his life for Yelena's? Had they really become family to you?

The word felt... right.

"Will it always hurt like this?" you whimpered as you left only inches between your mouth and hers. "Will it always feel like iron has been poured into my chest?"

Wanda's hands cupped your flushed cheeks, a guilty expression marring one of the faces you loved so deeply. "No, malysh. Soon, you will not even notice anymore. It becomes an instinct. The drive to protect those you love most."

The door creaked open before you could respond, a cautious Natasha peering in. In any other moment, she might've joked about you two leaving her out of a mid-afternoon romp but you'd been so despondent recently and she was scared. Worried she couldn't help; terrified by the notion that you might leave.

"Is everything alright?" she questioned, glancing between you. "Maria mentioned you had snuck away and I was growing concerned something might be amiss."

Wanda waved her into the room, a calming hand tousling your locks. "Everything will be okay. (Y/N) has been feeling conflicted about... what she had to do in order to protect Yelena. On the island."

The realization she had done little to comfort you - focusing more on the blonde - washed over Natasha like the ever-moving tide and for the first time since joining her crew, you could spot the shine of tears clinging to her eyes. The tremble of her lip left your chest aching and the lift of your hand brought Natasha to her knees before you.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, burying her face into your breeches. "I... we..."

"I know," you murmured, scratching her scalp affectionately. "I do not blame you. Either of you."

Her nails bit into your clothed calf as Wanda pressed kisses along your face. It was grounding, being in their presence and soaking in their affections. Slowly but surely, it would dislodge the dagger of anguish digging into your lungs. It would burn away the vile thoughts; wash away the tainted blood now stained to your hands.

"If this happens again, please do not stew in your feelings. Tell us. We are here for you." Wanda's words probed into your very soul, echoing long after they'd gone quiet.

"I love you," you blurted, unable to contain the emotions rattling your bones. You worried if you didn’t speak now, they would simply eat at you. It was far too soon but you didn’t care. They needed to know, even if it wasn’t returned.

Natasha's head lifted and they both stared at you, genuine smiles upturning their lips.

"And we you."

It might've been Natasha answering, but you could see it burning bright in the younger woman's eyes. And you couldn’t lie, it meant so much for Natasha to have spoken before Wanda could. Always the quiet thinker, the “actions over words” type. To hear her respond in kind melted your heart, leaving nothing but a puddle behind.

And you knew then and there that you would move heaven and earth for them. Without hesitation.

Forever.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader x natasha romanoff #black widow imagine #black widow x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarletwidow x reader #pirate AU #reader insert #reader imagine #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #MCU fanfiction #MCU fic

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anamazingangie · 7 months

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20 questions for fic writers

no one tagged me i just wanted to do this. idk who came up with it.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 75

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 641,881

3. What fandoms do you write for? HotD– Daemyra [sometimes + other characters for SPICE], S&B—Darklina

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Significance

Premium

the end of a dance and the beginning of something better

a prince is born

Anything

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I *try* to. But if i’m responding i’m not writing, and if I have comments to respond to, it’s probably because the writing muses have been kind to me, and I would rather take advantage of that while it lasts. And then they pile up and it’s been so long it feels rude to reply? Idk. It’s hard to explain but I do 100% read and love every comment I get and they motivate me SO much!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

All Dragons go to Heaven, by far—it’s my only fic that follows canon events in terms of timeline/character death.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think except for a select few, all my fics have happy endings. ‘Getting Lucky ’ comes to mind because it’s pretty feel good all the way along—’magically meant to be ’ and ‘a princess and a painter’ have happy endings but some angst at the start!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Very rarely—a lot less than I expected tbh, given what I write lol!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Uh. All of it? Like seriously, I’ve done 30+ kink prompts this month alone. I’d say my ‘staples’ are size kink, overstimulation, and unprotected sex. M/M/F threesomes have sort of become a thing with me too. But I’ve done a bit of everything — ABO, M/M, anal, lactation kink, necro, ovi, etc.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I’ve done crossovers in that one story is retold with different characters (cinderalla inspired, hades and persephone inspired, romeo and juliet, etc.) but I’ve never had characters from two different fandoms in one fic.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that i’m aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that i’m aware of—i’ve given people permission, though, so maybe?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I like to think i’ve INSPIRED a few fics before but that is closest i’ve gotten. I would love to do an event where lots of people contribute to a single story, though.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Writing? Daemyra is my <3 But I probably read more Darklina fic than any other. Also a Dramione & Zutara girlie.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

All of them? Kidding. Kind of. My writing inspiration and speed is very fickle, I can write 10k words one day and not type a single thing for the following three weeks. So unless something is fully pre-written when I start to post it, I’m not very confident about it ever getting finished.

BUT that being said, I don’t have any fics that I don’t want to finish or plan to abandon. It is just a matter of time/inspiration/motivation.

The one that seems least likely tho is ‘a prince is born’ simply because the established timeline doesn’t really make sense so it basically has to be fully rewritten and right now that sounds very Not Fun compared to literally everything else i’m working on.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm, maybe variety? I feel like I’m good at exploring the same characters and relationship dynamics no matter the time period or circumstances. And maybe smut? Idk. I’m a very weak person so this is hard to answer.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Ahh this one I can answer: Planning. Structure. Timelines. Consistency. Spelling. Punctuation. Impulsively starting new things and ignoring WIPs.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Not really interested in it. I have enough trouble with english.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

HotD/Daemyra

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I can’t pick because my work is super self indulgent so I like a lot of them for different reasons.

Here are five,

deliciae

Three Heads of the Dragon

gifts from the grave

Consummation

the dragon king

I’m tagging : @luthien-under-bough, @calenlily, @ar-feyniel

(if they haven’t already done it)

#writing #tag

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duhragonball · 1 year

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Dragon Ball GT 36

✨GT Stands for Golden Tuffle✨

Last time, Goku became a Super Saiyan 4 and started whoopin’ Baby’s ass, so Bulma (currently Baby’s mind-controlled slave) came up with a way for Baby to become a giant gorilla. Vegeta’s done this before, but Baby couldn’t do it because Vegeta’s body no longer has a tail. Well, apparently, if you expose a Saiyan to higher intensity moonlight, it doesn’t matter. The weird thing is that when Baby completes the transformation, he grows a tail anyway. Does he get to keep the tail when he changes back?

The problem is that, like Goku before him, Baby seems to be unable to control himself while in the Golden Oozaru state. Bulma is horrified to find that her plan has backfired. Baby might wipe out everything he’s gained.

Or Goku could just defeat him like he had been doing before. Baby’s transformation threw him for a loop at first, and Baby’s a lot stronger in this ape form, but Goku isn’t concerned. Now that Baby’s lost his sense of reason, it’s actually easier to fight him this way, since Baby is just sort of flailing around and acting on impulse. Also, as a Super Saiyan 4, Goku can use Instant Transmission again, so he decides the best move would be to teleport Baby to some other planet where there aren’t any people to get in the way. Then he can defeat Baby at his leisure.

Of course, Goku can’t teleport to a deserted planet, since he has to lock on to a ki signature to teleport, so he considers dropping Baby off at the Sacred World of the Kais. The Elder Kai hates this idea, but it makes a lot of sense to me. Buu already wrecked the place fifteen years earlier, and there’s only two people living there. Kibitoshin and the Elder Kai can crash with a friend while Goku figures out how to finish Baby off once and for all.

But it’s all for naught. When Goku tries to grab Baby for teleport, he suddenly starts fighting more properly, and then he whips out a new move, “Fire Death Ball.” It’s like Revenge Death Ball, but it has a ring of fire around it. Also, I guess it’s easier to deploy.

Yeah, so it turns out Baby was only pretending to be a mindless beast. He explains that it doesn’t matter if this form is too savage to control, because Baby is just controlling this body like a puppet. The damage it sustains, and the effects of the Oozaru transformation? Those are Vegeta’s problems, not Baby’s.

Of course, Vegeta was always able to control himself in the Oozaru form, and it irritates me that neither Baby nor Goku seem to remember that. I mean, Goku fought Oozaru Vegeta, and he was talking to him the whole time. And Baby has Vegeta’s memories, so he probably knows everything Goku said to Vegeta that day. If I were Baby, I’d be protecting my eyes.

So why the hell did Baby pretend to be an idiot? Oh, he was just “having a little fun” with Goku. He wanted to test the limits of this new form. Okay, but why did he attack his own people and tear up his own capitol while he was doing it? Oh, well, Baby’s a dick, that’s why.

✨”Good” “Ideas”, Poorly Executed✨

Here’s my gripe with this whole fight. Let me break down what we’ve seen so far.

1) Goku turns into a Golden Oozaru and flails around wildly for a while. Baby can’t defeat him.

2) Goku regains control of himself and turns into a Super Saiyan 4. He then lets Baby beat him up just to mess with him.

3) Baby turns into a Golden Oozaru and flails around wildly for a while. Goku says he can defeat him but doesn’t.

4) Baby reveals that he can control himself, and he was leading Goku on just to mess with him.

So first, this is getting really repetitive. Second, why are these two playing around? They hate each other! Baby is literally a weapon created by the Tuffles to exact revenge on the Saiyans. Baby despises Goku for being a Saiyan, but he also hates him that much more for being the one Saiyan he can’t ever defeat. And Goku hates Baby for all the horrible things he’s done to violate the Earth and its people! He’s turned all of Goku’s friends and family into smirking bootlicks! Baby smacked Pan upside the head! I know that whole business with the pliers was a joke, but Goku was in agony the whole time they were pulling out his new tail. He should be furious with Baby just for that whole ordeal alone.

These two characters should be trying to murder one another, but instead they’re just horsing around like a couple of idiots! Why would they not be fighting seriously from the start?

I get it, it’s Dragon Ball, and they do a lot of this sort of stalling and sandbagging to start off. But usually there’s a good reason for it. Most of the time, the bad guy is overconfident, and doesn’t have a lot of urgency. Frieza’s in no great hurry, and he likes making people suffer. Perfect Cell is having fun. When it’s a good guy, it’s usually an issue of the hero knowing they’ve got an uphill climb ahead of them, so they don’t want to blow it by using their full power right away. Goku tried to avoid using the Kaio-ken and Spirit Bomb when he fought the Saiyans, because both were risky techniques. Goku didn’t use Super Saiyan 3 on Majin Vegeta because he didn’t want to risk running out of stamina. Gohan didn’t kill Cell right away because he thought he had the situation under control, and he was so livid at Cell that he wanted to make him suffer. And, if we get down to it, Gohan probably wasn’t committed to the idea of killing Cell.

My point here is that in this Goku vs. Baby conflict none of that applies! This is the fifth time they’ve fought. Episode 22, Episode 24, Episode 28, Epiosde 33, and now Episodes 34-present. Why are these assholes still playing games?

Goku does some sort of judo toss using Baby’s finger, and that makes Baby upset. Not upset enough to shoot at Goku, though. Instead he shoots at Chi-Chi and Videl, whom he spots in one of the streets of the city.

Goku saves them, and angrily declares that he “ain’t putting up with this any more!” Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re going to put up with a lot more of this bullshit before it’s over.

See, this is why I can’t take Super Saiyan 4 seriously. When it’s SSJ3 Goku, and he says a badass line, he either wrecks somebody’s shit, or gets completely destroyed. There’s no in-between, and it’s epic either way. That’s the beauty of SSJ3 Goku. He can’t hold the form very long, so when he uses it, you know he’s going to win big or lose big.

But Super Saiyan 4 Goku just sort of moseys around a fight, like a guy browsing a department store. He’s in no hurry, and he thinks he’s the strongest thing in the universe, so why shouldn’t he take his time? Fuck this show.

So Baby shifts tactics and shoots a “Super Gallick Gun” at the Earth. See, he figures that Goku can’t save it because he can swoop in and move it out of the way. Goku does fire his own blast, but I have no idea how it was supposed to help. This shot makes it look like Baby landed a direct hit on the Earth, and we’re way past the point of wondering if these beams are powerful enough to destroy planets. I think the idea is that Goku’s beam knocked Baby’s away from any populated areas, but I don’t think that matters.

Anyway, we see some scenes from the city that nearly gets hit. They have Baby posters up everywhere. He looks like he’s really enjoying watching that dog peeing.

And here’s another scene of Krillin, 18, and Marron. To this day, I do not understand how fans can be even remotely interested in GT Marron . I see fan art of Marron, people ship Marron with other characters, and I don’t get it, because she barely does anything in this show, and most of the time we do see her, she’s a Tuffle brain slave, and she’s doing these dumb “women be shoppin’“ jokes with Krillin.

Back on Planet Tuffle, Goku decides that this is the LAST STRAW, and it’s time to get serious! For real! No more holding back! He fires a Kamehameha at Baby’s face, and apologizes to Vegeta for destroying his body like this.

Except it doesn’t work. Boy, I bet you wish you had killed this jackass back when you were letting him punch you, huh?

So Baby shoots another “Super Gallic Gun” at the Earth, but also with Goku in the line of fire, so Goku has to either block it or let the Earth be destroyed. So it’s just like Dragon Ball Z 30, one of the best episodes in the series, only, you know, not good.

Goku tries to block with a Kamehameha, but he can’t charge it up in time, so he gets knocked out. I guess the Earth is saved for the moment, but he’s out cold.

And Baby is already lining up another shot at Goku to finish him off, except if he fires a big energy beam straight down, at the Tuffle Planet, where Baby is... Well, it’s beginning to become apparent that Baby isn’t thinking straight.

The Kai’s deduce that the Oozaru transformation may have taken a toll on Baby after all. He managed to control Vegeta’s body in this form, but he’s becoming irrational, like the strain of operating the Ape body is too much for him. So now Baby isn’t thinking about the Tuffle Planet, or his Tuffleization Plan, or even his own safety. All he wants to do is kill Goku.

Dammit, is he in control of himself or not?! This is what makes this episode so frustrating. First they say Baby can’t control himself, then Baby says he’s fine, and now they say he can’t control himself. Well, which the fuck is it?

✨Positivity Page✨

I was going to give a shout out to the debut of the 10x Kamehameha, Goku’s special SSJ4 variant of the Kamehameha, except they killed the move right off the bat by having Baby no-sell it. So great work, Toei.

So instead, I’ll go with this picture of the dog pissing on a hydrant. Look how thrilled everyone is to see this. It’s because they’re not watching Dragon Ball GT.

✨Is this episode worse than “The Roaming Lake”?✨

The only thing good I have to say about this show is the dog pee. I think this is pretty self-explanatory, but here goes.

This set of episodes, running from about 33 to 39, feels very much like the M2 fights from epiosdes 18-21. There might be some highlights in the action, but it feels very repetitive, both in terms of the plot and the fight choreography, and the animation. Like I said before, this all feels like a flip from what we had in the last two episodes, where now Baby is the one who’s a great ape, and Goku is the one who gets tricked. And the fighting is pretty weak too. Baby is now so much bigger than Goku that you can’t follow both of their movements at the same time. Not that this matters a lot in GT, which seems to have an allergy to showing both fighters in the same shot. GT seems to prefer it when characters shoot generic energy blasts at each other from a distance, which is probably why so much of this episodes is taken up with Baby taking potshots at the Earth, Chi-Chi, his own citizens, or anyone else whose name isn’t Goku.

Oh, and check this out:

These are separate scenes from the Sacred World of the Kais, about ten minutes apart, I’d say. I’m not saying Dragon Ball and DBZ never did stuff like this, but somehow it feels more flagrant when GT does it, and I’m pretty sure it’s about to get a whole lot worse as we proceed through the final half of this series.

✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨

Fuschia and citron.

Hope you like those colors, folks.

‘Cause GT sure does.

#dragon ball #dragon ball gt #really sucks #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #goku #baby #bulma #pan #mr satan #*haiku does not come with crown as illustrated

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