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asfodelle · 6 months

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Hello, hello, here's the first scene of the one-shot I've been writing the last few months. It's about a 'He Tian is involved in the mob and returns occasionally tho feelings never leave' situationship neither can walk out of, Mo is a boxer, there's a touch of religious themes, made myself cry writing it, it's a blast.

1. May 5th 7:12 p.m. - Bell

Before leaving the car, He Tian lets out a long sigh, blowing smoke. He should probably get to praying.

The door snaps shut, echoing in the small street he parked in. Past the intersection he hears kids chatting, going home for dinner maybe. He Tian takes a second to watch himself in the reflection of his tinted windows. He readjusts the collar of his shirt, brushes his pants wrinkled from the long hours of driving, throws his hair backwards and the damp air soon gets him to fold his sleeves up. He doesn’t look so bad, he thinks. Tired. He rubs his face with both hands to bring back some color to his cheeks, then under his eyes as if he could dim the blue tint that’s been settling there, but it doesn’t have very conclusive results. He starts walking.

The entrance of the old warehouse is slightly different from the last time he’s seen it. It looks more welcoming, but it might just be a trick of the light. The peach clouds of the spring evening just paint a nicer ambiance than the grey winter sky did, last January. The gates have been adorned by new tags that have been sprayed on top of the old faded ones and there are flyers encouraging people to join the Sunday mass down the street glued all over, though they don’t reach very high. He Tian imagines a troop of old women roaming the streets, spreading the holy word but his little game of guesswork doesn’t help him relax one bit.

He gets in front of the door, a smaller entrance within the large sealed gate that used to let trucks in and out of the warehouse. He grips the handle for a second, takes a long inhale and gets in. His eyes slowly adjust to the dimmer lighting but he quickly notes that, contrary to its facade, the inside of the place hasn’t changed much since the last time he saw it. Between high walls of concrete and sheets of metal lie mismatched sets of equipment. Barbells, slick black punching bags, discolored benches of various sorts, a couple old bikes in the back, punch mitts forgotten over a pile of cardboards. A few training boxing rings give shape to the room, the space between them gives the illusion of corridors. The walls are covered in overlapping posters, the grey disrupted by layers on layers of paint and graffitis that even cover the high windows. They let small rays of tinted light in like the stained glass of a church, though the candles are replaced by tens of flickering LEDs lights. There are a few people here and there, busy with dumbbells or talking in their little spot but the room is so wide they can’t be heard. Stairs crawl by the walls leading to more rooms and places He Tian had never been to. Music resonates, low and muffled from a speaker somewhere in a corner.

In the middle of the room stands another ring, a bright red one standing higher than the rest, with white thick cords. When He Tian sees him, he’s sat there, on the side of the wooden platform the red ring rests on. He's listening attentively to a trio of teenagers, leaning backwards on his hands.

Guan Shan had taken a liking to boxing in high school. A good outlet, he said, one that taught him to measure his emotions. It stuck through the years and he’s been great at it. Then he started giving advice to newcomers, to give some of spare time to help young blood he saw himself in and slowly it transformed into actual lessons and training sessions he holds after work. These kids have been coming here for a couple years now, He Tian remembers them. They are reenacting punches and kicks, arguing and giggling over different combinations and they turn to their coach for approval whenever they get a new idea. He nods along and fixes their posture a couple times, something soft in his eyes. He looks beautiful. Toned and pale as ever, the bare skin of his chest clashes with the black shorts and the tattoos that spangle his body. He Tian stands close to the entrance, leaning cross-armed, his shoulder against a pillar and keeps on watching over him though he struggles to truly appreciate the contrast of colors due to the fifth character in the scene.

A guy he doesn’t know is sitting close to Guan Shan, too close. His hair is an ugly shade of bleached blond and he keeps looking at Guan Shan whenever he speaks with big dumb eyes, mouth agape and enamored. He looks young, but maybe He Tian only feels so much older than his age. He looks stupid.

He Tian hasn’t moved but Guan Shan suddenly lifts his head and catches him right away, as if he’d known all along where he was hiding. The way his eyes widen for a second betray his surprise however but he quickly regains control over his face. It seems like he excuses himself from his little group, the blonde argues something, he wants to follow but he’s brushed away by a dismissing hand.

Guan Shan glances back to He Tian’s shadowy corner and starts moving towards the closed rooms in the back of the building, grabbing a few boxes on the way. He Tian traces behind him with a confident walk and ignores how all of his body stiffens with apprehension, every single muscle a little too tight. Guan Shan enters the room first and He Tian follows a few seconds after. He closes the door behind them. The handle creaks and his hands are sweaty.

It’s not quite messy in here, but the little office room is packed. The desk is covered with stacks of papers, cardboard boxes are neatly piled up in the back of the room; some are already opened and uncover the gloves, the tapes and bandages they hold. The window is open too, letting in the noise of the city. Guan Shan sets the boxes he carried over on top of one of the piles and gets to fumbling in his bag, almost turning his back to the door where He Tian stands.

« Hi. » he tries, and braces himself for what’s coming.

« You know it’s fucking weird creeping in corners like this? »

He Tian pinches his lips in a thin line.

« Why are you here? » Guan Shan asks then, still busying himself in his bag. He doesn’t sound angry, just a little cold, maybe annoyed at the disturbance.

« I’ve got some business to handle in town. »

« I thought you were abroad until September. » Guan Shan muses, finding the shirt he seemed to be looking after, a large black one. He Tian follows his hands and notices he has splatters of white and red paint over his forearms, his short nails are stained too.

« The schedule is never really steady. »

Guan Shan scoffs. He Tian know that’s a first warning but he can’t help but focus on the way his muscles jolt, on the way they flex as he flips the shirt over. He tries to not lose his eyes on the curve of his biceps. It’s a struggle.

« I negotiated a little. » He adds « Took over Cheng’s spot. »

Little negotiations that involved a precarious alliance, three weeks of tailing for intel and a couple of threats. It was worth it.

Carefully, He Tian moves away from the door, closer to Guan Shan. He probably shouldn’t, definitely shouldn’t yet he lifts a hand and reaches out to touch his bare back. Guan Shan freezes.

« I wanted to see you. » he explains, voice low as his knuckles trace the bumps of Guan Shan’s spine. It’s daring. It might earn him a hook but the pull is magnetic.

As their routine dictates, they hadn’t parted in very good terms the last time and for that, coming back to him is always a gamble. A game of Russian roulette even and quite a dangerous version of it; one where he never even knew how many bullets were hidden in the cylinder, each of them taking a different shape. At times He Tian had handled days of scowling looks and a soft kiss that had left him bleeding out, he had received sharp words from petty fights without wincing but just the weight of Guan Shan’s rehearsed indifference could pierce his lungs and leave him breathless. He will take the hits, he does not care. It’s a game they’ve played for years now and as long as the other still accepts to pull the trigger on him, he’d take anything. After all, He Tian is the one who bound the gun to his hand in the first place.

A punch never lands this time. Guan Shan sighs, his shoulders drop then he turns around and throws his arms around He Tian’s neck, knocking the air out of him all the same. He Tian holds back tightly, and finally breathes out, his fingertips digging into hot freckled skin.

« I missed you. » He Tian whispers. What a fucking understatement.

The arms around his neck tighten in response, only for a brief second before they hear loud noise by the door. Their embrace ends as quick as it started, Guan Shan stepping back and turning to put on the shirt he had discarded a second ago. He glares at the door, expecting it to open at any moment but thankfully, the people outside only pass by.

« I’m training the kids all evening, and there’s a party at eleven, but I don’t think it’ll stay long. » Guan Shan says when the room has quieted down enough.

« I’ll pick you up then. »

Guan Shan nods. That should be He Tian’s cue to leave, he has a couple things to settle tonight anyway but the other looks as if he’s pondering over something. He Tian catches how amber eyes roam over his face, for a brief moment they even settle on his mouth, but then return to the door.

« Get lost. » he tells He Tian, tilting his head towards the door but there’s no bite into it.

When He Tian gets back to the car, his cheeks hurt. In the tinted window, his smile might look shy but it’s wider than it’s been in the last four months.

#19 days #19 days fics #my fic #writing wip #tianshan #it's actually a two shot but sshh it's a secret #it's about 70% done #though I was wondering if anyone would be down to beta read it #i dunno if it's still a very common practice but I'd be super interested in feedback #nothing too detailed or time consuming ofc #might make a post about that soon #anyway enjoy my friends #this HT leaving arc is gonna break my heart so im planning on mending it by writing angsty stuff

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diathadevil · 10 months

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Both have the same energy. No I shall not elaborate any further.

#käärijä #jukka sorsa #pop team epic #poptepic #doodle #fan art #meme art #redraw #I was supposed to post sneek peaks of my other Kovis art but this got done first so uh #have a shitpost drawing before the real deal haha okay bye #also if you havent watched Pop Team Epic - please do its literally a Youtube Poop as an anime #its literally shitpost the anime i think some folks would like it #if you dont wanna watch the anime thats fine just watch clips of it its even better that way #anyway käärylets im gonna leave this with yall ill have more art soon #more better quality art than this lololol #ALSO i know yall read these tags so pls do check out my patreon n ko-fi for earlier access to my actual non shitpost art 👉👈

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lesmiserablol · 1 month

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enters spring break covered in blood

#I DIDNT THINK I WOULD MAKE IT. BUT I DID #i am so ready for an entire week off (i have so so much to do)#also im trying not to think about the fact that after the break i only have eight more days with my students :(((((((#yesterday i told my students who only speak spanish that im leaving soon and they looked sad i almost started crying #IM SO SORRY. I WISH I COULD DO MORE FOR YOU. I WISH I WASNT YOUR ONLY TEACHER WHO SPEAKS YOUR LANGUAGE #im excited to graduate but dude im gonna be so sad when this is over

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mwagneto · 9 months

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sorry i can't hang out rn the two men from that 4 year old show kissed and i literally cannot think about anything else. yeah gonna be all month

#good omens #gomens #crowzira #deleted messenger haven't talked to any of my irls in a week #lowkey hate how nice it is to get a break tbh like oh my goddd im in the mental illness zone do NOT talk to meeee #it feels mean but also I've spent basically every second since September hanging out with #1 - 10 people near constantly. i need some downtime. although by downtime i did not #imagine stopping all human functions and just becoming a vessel for an engless loop of g0mens thoughts #not even true i CAN talk to ppl but only if it's someone that knows how ill i am or if it's #about g0mens. otherwise leave me alone #like i can literally only talk in terminally online tumblr terms rn i can barely remember hungarian #MY ASS LITERALLY GOT FACTORY RESET TO MY TERMINALLY ONLINE SELF😭😭#not true coz back when i used to be this online i still talked to irls. mostly to get them to watch whatever i was watching but still #im gonna hang out with some tumblr mutuals who are just as ill as me soon. so that's something #idk how the fabric of budapest can handle that much mental illness in one room but whatever #ineffable husbands #i misspelled it.

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marcspectrr · 2 years

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Something that's interesting about the way Steven keeps his space in comparison to Marc's...

Throughout the show we were given a lot of instances where Marc and Steven are extremely dichotomous. In the beginning, it felt like the purpose was to demonstrate juxtaposition between them, where they define each other by mutual exclusion. So why would it stop at levels of organization, right? I like to read it as going deeper than just 'one's more cleaner than the other'. Idk why but I do so here lol.

Your physcial environment subconsciously acts as a reflection of yourself.

Everything from the lighting, the colors, noises, the people occupying the space with you. Warmer lights induce relaxation, pleasant aromas promote peace of mind, good company encourages positive mindsets, etc. Because of this, clutter is a strong source of anxiety for people; essentially, if there's a mess outside, than the inside can't be much better.

One of the first things we see in the show is Steven's flat, and it's...cluttered. But he doesn't seem bothered by it. He doesn't make his bed, his clothes are laying about, there are a million books stacked on pretty much every flat surface, a shameless hobby that indicates where he goes to seek comfort. There's a wall of maps and postcards that spread all the way to the fishtank, depicting an obvious adoration for the world and travel, little windows into places he feels intrigued by. Instead of the state of his flat inflicting unease, it seems to instead be a source of solace.

Then we look at Marc's space in the storage locker. It's nearly empty, which is him detaching himself from tangible things to add separation from the life he's convinced himself he doesn't deserve, a life he's disgusted with living in most of the time. (And even though it's safe to say most of his belongings are likely still with Layla, having his current space nearly empty hints at the amount of time he spends fronting, which is significantly less than Steven). It's organized, perhaps reflecting childhood discipline as well as habits picked up from his time as a Marine. And it's completely enclosed and reflective, no windows to let in the outside world and external stimuli, with walls that provide nothing but his reflection to look at. It's not only representative of the physical solitude that he forces himself in but the mental. He gives himself nothing to distract from his intrinsic guilt and shame, nothing else to look at besides, most torturously, himself.

But WAIT. Marc and Steven shared a space before...

And it was Steven who liked to keep a tidy room, with Marc who was on the messier side. When little!Steven fronts in ep 5, he immediately begins to clean up little!Marc's mess.

But as they get older, this obviously switches, and we even get ep 6, where Marc lightly jabs at Steven's flat ("I can't believe you live in this frickin' mess"). This is a full circle moment, imo. As if Marc loses the freedom that comes with simply making messes, whereas Steven gains enough autonomy that allows a more lived-in space, something that finally belongs to him.

Marc distances himself from the prospect of settling down and indulging in life while Steven attempts to immerse himself in it. Marc isolates himself from attachments and Steven surrounds himself with small pieces of the world. Both of them yearn for connection but show and mask it in different ways.

That's why I think the way their spaces were portrayed goes deeper than just illustrating their differences. It shows that even though they are separate, their lives were bleeding into each other long before Wendy's Shiva, (I adore the concept of Marc sharing his toys with Steven)

(But there's also parts of Marc overlapping into Steven's life within the flat, like the postcards, the sand around his bed, the shape of the roof reminiscing a pyramid, the platform above his bed reminiscing a tomb, the additional fish, etc). It's acknowledging that it's a journey of acceptance, that as their time together progresses, it turns more into a glimpse at potential harmony and embracing those distinctions. It's not just, 'they contrast so strongly, how will they ever even get along?', but also 'oh, this is how they learn to coexist despite their differences'. And if when we get s2, Jake will have to be apart of that journey as well, like adding little parts of himself throughout Steven's flat and allowing himself that physical space of a home.

I also can't help but think of the day that Marc or Steven go down to the storage locker to turn in the key. How strongly it translates to Marc that he no longer needs to hide anymore, that he's not alone in this and that maybe one day he can leave around a bit of a mess too.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockely #moon knight meta #mk meta #feel like this all goes w/o say but im gonna say it anyway #and it still feels convoluted but #im ngl my heart dropped the first time we saw the storage locker #like marc couldve gotten a really shitty apt but no #its STEVEN who deserves the cozy flat not him #and it was the best he could do given how quickly he uprooted his life with layla and everything #and soon jake will get to leave his messes around too and he'll get to have things of his own #he wont have to hide anymore just like marc

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pettyprocrastination · 1 year

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roller derby!abby seeing reader for the first time? ❤️‍🩹🫂😔❤️‍🩹

I can't decide if I want it to be a reader who is already doing derby or maybe a newbie reader so I'll do both lol

Newbie Skater

The first time Abby sees you is at a scrimmage. You aren't playing- your'e just a spectator. Another face in the crowd but one she hasn't seen before. You aren't wearing their team shirt or colors- but she sees the way your eyes light up as the bout begins and by half time your shouting encouragements in their favor. There's a moment of brevity, when the jam is over and she's leaving the track when she looks up and meets your eyes before you look away with a bashful smile in favor of whispering something in your friend's ear- she doesn't let herself get distracted but maybe she shows off a little bit. A show of strength and brutality for the pretty little thing in the stands watching her with bated breath- it may cost her a penalty or two but it's worth it when she sees you at concessions after the bout is over and you compliment her skill.

When she sees you at the first Incoming Skater Lesson run by the local league the week after her scrimmage, there's a pride thrumming in her chest because now she gets the one to comment on your form and teach you how to do crossovers, she just has to make sure not to say anything stupid when you reach out and grab her for stability each time you feel wobbly on your skates.

Veteran Skater

The first time she sees you is at a scrimmage your both competing in. There's always a kindness between the two teams, many are old friends who have played together years before or those who connect in mutual Facebook groups for their shared love of the same sport, something that overrides the aggressive thrumming in each player's veins they moment they step off the track and congratulate the same people that just minutes before they were trying to destroy.

When she first sees you on the track behind her, the opposing jammer eyeing the outside lane she simply sinks down into her heels and tells her team to hold you.

If only it was that easy.

You're fast. The type of fast that has her shouting to her teammates that you're going to take the inside but then you twist and dance along the out, taking long gazelle like steps on your toe-stops past her in a gust of wind that makes her blood boil each time you do. Abby hits you hard, sending your body crashing to the outside of the track before you pop back up and approach again with the same speed, the same intensity and the same passion that has her digging against the slick floors of the court they play on to keep you in place but you just keep fucking going. By the final whistle she's earned enough penalties trying to keep you from scoring points than her bench coach would like- but they win nontheless. There's that little part of her- the smug jackass that lives in her heart from years of not "being enough" that wants her to rub it in your face but before she gets the chance you take out your mouth-guard and offer her a dazzling smile with a breathless "good job" before you head to the locker room.

It's two hours later that she sees you again. After sharing sweaty but albiet love-filled hugs with friends who came to watch her play that somebody from your team taps her on the shoulder and tells her of an after party at a local bar. Part of her wants to decline. She drove by herself and is far too tired to endure any conversation deeper than "good job" and wants nothing more than to take a steaming hot shower and get some rest but finds herself going nonetheless- she tells herself it has nothing to do with their annoying little jammer who had the audacity to smile at her in the parking lot but Manny thought otherwise.

When Abby walks in she's greeted with the husky lure of Fleetwood Mac and the smell of greasy burgers. She barely gets to the bar before she sees you- now dressed tight top and a skirt that reaches down to your ankles, flaring out each time you turn like a character in a fairytale gesturing wildly while talking to your teammates. You look up, meeting her eyes and a wide grin grows over your face.

"You!"

Crossing the room in quick strides you raise your hand for a high-five, one she cautiously returns and tries not to think about just how tiny your hands are in comparison to hers.

"You hit like a motherfucker."

It's a compliment. Praise that makes her breath stutter and her voice shake when she says thank you. But then you make it worse because you're pretty. Even with your hair still a mess from wearing a helmet and your voice cracked from shouting all day you have the audacity to look cute when you should be frustrating her just as you did before. But you smile and talk about gameplay while praising her strength as a blocker on the track.

She knows she's in trouble because her heart is beating like she just ran a 4k and then you have the gall to lift up that skirt high on your thigh to show-off an already blackening bruise that you claim she gave to you and Abby realizes this Jammer isn't going to be leaving her mind anytime soon.

#also i should say: when somebody hits you hard enough to leave a bruise we call it a 'derby kiss' which is just. perfpect potential right #anyways im not gonna shut up about this anytime soon #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #derby!abby #sorry these suck I had to word vomit them before my night class starts

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