#penguin writes

[the-penguinspy]

prompt: spidey bea and human torch ava I'm making you write it

:)

--

The glow-in-the-dark hands of the alarm clock show the time to be just after midnight. 

Illuminated by the lamp on her desk, Beatrice takes up the familiar rote of needle and thread to mend her suit from the various rips and tears. Tonight’s fight was quick, but brutal. She won the fight but not without her own casualties - the cuts and bruises on her body hurt, but they’ll heal by tomorrow.

The same can’t be said for her suit, unfortunately, which is why she’s sewing the rips and tears tonight.

Pinch, puncture; follow-through, tighten. Repeat. The repetitive motion of sewing is an oft-used exercise to ground herself after the dynamism of patrols and fights. Automatic, now, part of her nightly routine, but tonight she’s feeling more tired than she should be, and more than once she’s had to re-do her handiwork for how close or far it had been from the previous stitch.

A dog barking from a few doors down, muffled conversations from the couple next door. Sounds from the street below filter in through the window she left half-open; murmured chatter from pedestrians, the occasional static of tyres over wet asphalt. 

Through the window and into the room, a small breeze wafts in, ruffling her hair and cooling the sweat on her face. It borders on cold; the weather seems unable to make up its mind between autumn and winter, but Beatrice is grateful that tonight it soothes instead of bites. The change in seasons however reminds her of the semester that she’s in the thick of, assignments and readings piling up and begging for her attention. 

A sudden, sharp knock on the window and Beatrice startles, head snapping up, jumping off the chair and into a crouch, arm aimed halfway to the window to prep for a webshot, fingers poised over the trigger. When she sees who’s at the window though, her arm slackens, tense muscles relaxing. 

Ava crouches outside her window on the fire escape. Her sneakers squeak on the grates, laces long and dragging over the black chucks that Beatrice knows she favours. Her hair is wind-ruffled from her flight over, and it doesn’t seem like she’s bothered by the chill in the air – always running hot, Ava’s opted for a crop top and light-wash skinny jeans. She grins at Beatrice through the glass and holds up a hand, fingers wiggling in greeting, her other hand on the strap of her tan backpack. 

“Woah, Spidey! Good thing you’re against friendly fire, huh?”

The huff that leaves Beatrice is more relieved than annoyed. “Torch.”  “‘Torch’? Bea! And here I thought we were friends.” Ava brings her hand to her chest and pretends to fall backwards, back almost hitting the railing behind her with how narrow the space is. 

Beatrice, tired, doesn’t suppress her eye-roll, though she does stay her tongue from making a comment on friends.

She makes her way over to the window and jimmies it open. The fire escape is a commonly-used point of entry by necessity, and Beatrice knows from experience that it’s difficult to get it unstuck from the outside. Coupled with the rusty-looking railing, no building inhabitant is courageous enough to venture out, which more than guarantees that she gets in and out of her apartment without detection.

Beatrice barely opens the window wide enough before Ava moves forward, one leg over the ledge and ducking underneath the window to tumble in. The ancient landing of the fire escape grumbles with the shift in weight and the sound echoes to the stories below. 

Ava makes her way across the room and lands heavily on the made bed, the mattress squeaking its disapproval underneath the sudden weight. 

Now standing, Beatrice takes the opportunity to stretch her arms over her head. She bends to touch the floor with her palms and revels in the glorious stretch in her hamstrings and calves, ignoring the twinge in her muscles as she straightens and makes her way back to her desk, picking up her fallen suit from the ground. If she falls into her chair a little less gracefully than usual, Ava doesn’t remark on it. 

The canvas flap of the bag is unlatched. Ava, brows furrowed, rummages in the pack with a focus like a hound on a scent trail, and Beatrice has to bite the inside of her cheek to tamp down her smile. 

With a triumphant crow, she presents her spoils for the evening: a four-by-four Rubik's cube, coloured stickers worn and peeling, that she places on the quilt. A battered copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas thrown carelessly onto the bedspread, its heavily creased cover page making Beatrice wince internally. 

Ava finally looks up and in her hand: a metal thermos, stainless steel silver and unassuming – extended towards Beatrice.

With a quiet thank you, Beatrice takes the thermos. Steam wafts up from the opening as she unscrews the lid, and the decadent aroma of coffee, expensive coffee, greets her tired senses. Her eyes flutter shut as she takes a sip, as the bitter flavour of it grounds her and rejuvenates her tired muscles in equal fervour, the warmth of it loosening the tightness in her shoulders and her back and returning them to their pseudo-limber forms. 

She indulges herself with one more sip before once again taking up needle and fabric. A quick glance to her right shows Ava splayed out on the bed and entranced in the novel already, eyes roving over lines and thumb gently running transverse across the pages. 

They exist in companionable silence. That is, until Ava pipes up, “Don’t you have an early class in the morning?”

Beatrice can feel the weight of Ava’s gaze on her. She must have swapped out her book for the Rubik's cube earlier; her hands don’t stop cede in their motion, the cube’s sides swivelling and clicking into place. 

Beatrice hums noncommittally, backtracks on a stitch. “Something like that.” 

The bed squeaks as Ava sits up and Beatrice hears the accompanying twin thumps as her elbows find purchase on the bedspread. “It’s that seminar with Vincent, right? Do you have to do this tonight?”

“Isn’t that why you brought me coffee?” Beatrice replies. She sees Ava scowl in the corner of her eye. Beatrice pauses her work and looks over at Ava fully. “Wait. How did you keep the flask and your other items from burning up? And your clothes, for that matter?” She’s certain that Ava flew over; the evidence of such may as well have been laid out on a platter for her. 

“Were you eager for the alternative?” Ava husks. 

Her voice is low; teasing. The change in tone is whiplash from the serenity of before, and all at once Beatrice feels the blood rush to her cheeks, and she ducks her head as her mouth works to stammer out a reply. 

Thankfully, Ava seems to take pity on her. “My suit’s bulletproof and made of kevlar. I think Jillian also mentioned something about unstable molecules?” She can imagine the casual shrug that follows. “I’m not too sure, though I can ask her for you if you’d like.”

Beatrice’s hand jerks in her haste to answer, and she stifles the curse on her tongue as the needle pricks her finger. “Oh, no, that’s quite alright–”

“Bea,” Ava interrupts gently. Beatrice looks up, and she’s greeted with the sunny smile that Ava’s aimed her way. The Rubik's cube is stationary in her hands; half-done, colourful squares almost uniform.

“Jillian would love to pick your brain on material properties and other textile nerdiness,” Ava says. “You’re always welcome at Arqtech, and we’d love to have you there.” She picks at the worn edge of a red sticker and bites her bottom lip, before her teeth relinquish the flesh and she continues. Beatrice tries not to stare at the swell of it. “I’d love to have you there.” 

There’s a sudden knot at Beatrice’s throat that makes itself known, the constriction of it tight like the ties she wore to the dinner parties where her parents rubbed elbows with political allies and blue bloods. Her presence then had been a tool for them, a way to form connections; a means to an end. 

The pressure at her throat is present now, but in this space, it’s not nearly as unpleasant. 

“Thank you, Ava. I’ll consider it,” Beatrice says, and she blames the gruffness in her voice to the late hour. To that, Ava only shoots her another warm grin, one that Beatrice mirrors a little shakily before going back to her mending. The rhythmic click-click-clack of the rubik’s cube soon starts up again, and they stay like that for a while. 

//

It’s just past two in the morning when Beatrice finishes stitching the final rip. The needle pokes its head out of the fabric, and she winds the thread around it three times before pulling taut, careful to keep the knot flush to the cloth. 

She snips the thread. Her hand goes out to reach for her lighter on her desk, but after fumbling for a few seconds and not feeling the familiar shape of it on the desk, she looks over, frowning when she doesn’t spot it. Dropping to her knees, Beatrice looks underneath the desk; maybe it fell off in her earlier shuffle. 

“Here.” 

A turn of her head and then suddenly she’s face-to-face with Ava, muscles tense and straining to avoid jerking back at the proximity. 

Beatrice didn’t even hear her come near. Ava’s kneeling as well, the worn denim of her jeans meeting the rough of the carpet, body pitched forward slightly and leaning towards Beatrice. 

Ava brings her hand up, fist half-formed. Beatrice is expecting to be presented with the vibrant yellow plastic of her disposable lighter, but among the slats of Ava’s fingers the lighter was not present. 

Hand held equidistant between them both now, Ava brings her fingers together, thumb meeting middle finger. Her fingers snap, and Beatrice feels the friction of it run a mirrored course down her spine, although it’s hard to say if the heat that travels down each vertebrae surpasses that of the flame that now hangs suspended above Ava’s pinched fingers. 

The light from her desk slants, edges; it doesn’t reach them here. The fire holds strong in an upwards laminar flow; a small handheld jet of flame, pale yellow and no bigger than a phalanx of a finger, and yet it still manages to bodily illuminate the space between them and bring to light the features of Ava’s face: elegant arches of eyebrows, gorgeous eyes, neat bow of her upper lip. 

The flame is small, but Beatrice’s face warms, and she feels the heat of it caress her cheeks.

Ava extends her other hand, palm up. For a moment, Beatrice doesn’t understand why; she considers placing her own hand atop Ava’s before she shirks the thought off completely. The flame is small, it’s hot but bearable, but this close, if she were to touch Ava, she isn’t certain that she would be able to withstand the heat, isn’t convinced that the fire won’t spread from flame-tip and make its way down Ava’s hand and up her arm, traverse across shoulders and back to arm, to hand, to Beatrice, and set her ablaze. 

(Would that be so bad? Ava’s always held a certain magnetism, an attraction that's counter-intuitive for one looking to avoid getting burned. She’s warm, always so warm; a quality intrinsic to her person that extends beyond the physical power that she yields. The heat of it bleeds into her smile, her humour, her kindness; it explodes in a nova blast when her ferocity shows in a fight, and radiates steady and protective like a hearth for the weary.

How can something with such destructive power simultaneously pose as an argument for healing and protection? Beatrice tells herself that this curious dichotomy is what brings her within range of Ava's gravitational pull: the itch to study and dissect, the thirst to understand. 

Perhaps a closer examination will yield clearer answers. And so Beatrice longs to come close, to touch, and the desire to do so rips through her sternum almost violently, the suddenness and intensity of it surprising but no less welcome.)

She’s about to offer her hand in response to the invitation, but–

Both hands are occupied by the feel of smooth spandex. Beatrice realizes, belatedly, that to reach for Ava would mean to let go of the suit. She grips the fabric, feels the softness of it stretch and mold over her fists and, after a beat, relaxes. Looking down in the half-light, she squints to find the end of the thread, thumb smoothing over the cloth to find the knot that was made earlier. She pinches the spot to keep the place before handing it over to Ava, wordlessly, the flame still glowing radiant between them. 

A small smile from Ava. The intensity of the flame must have increased by a fraction, because Beatrice feels the heat of it spread through her cheeks and down the back of her neck. Ava takes the suit from her and, carefully, she brings the flame closer until the tips of the thread shrink and melt. 

With both of Ava’s hands occupied, Beatrice is the one that brings her fingers up to the stumped thread ends. One hand is placed underneath Ava’s to steady the hold while the other hovers over the melted polyester thread, and she presses the ends down firmly onto the fabric to seal the finished stitch onto the surface of the suit. 

It’s done. 

Beatrice inspects the workmanship under the glow of the flame; stretches the seam to test it and finds the strength of the mend to be satisfactory. It’ll hold. 

The work is done, and yet – 

The flame still burns. 

She looks up to find Ava watching her, but Ava doesn’t shy away. The flame flickers, its body swaying back and forth between the two of them without rhythm, turbulence present, and the irregularity of its movements make shadows dance across Ava’s face. The fire moves in double-time as if making up for the rigidity from before, and it reveals and hides the dimensions of her face in a neat, net-zero sum. 

The flame flickers. Closer to orange now, the hue of it is warmer and darker than the brightness of before. A little less luminous than previously, and it’s strange – it shouldn’t be hotter now than when it was bright-white, but somehow it is, it must be, because the heat against Beatrice’s cheeks is almost unbearable now, the cavern of her mouth dry like a desert storm, and when she swallows hard it doesn’t help at all, not even marginally, the scrape of it unforgiving against the roughness of her throat. 

Beatrice leans in, sure that her face is flushing something fierce but unable to find the energy to withhold herself, and when her nose brushes against Ava’s, the small gasp that leaves her is a confession of sorts; when their lips meet, the admission is sealed between them like a secret. 

A brief beat of separation. When they come together again, more sure this time, the sigh that escapes Beatrice is echoed in her mouth by Ava. She takes Ava’s bottom lip between her own and tastes the remnants of vanilla chapstick, and that familiar element alone makes the experience exponentially sweeter, sharper. Her hand foregoes fabric to rest on the nape of Ava’s neck, thumb brushing over the soft skin of her jaw and, with a slight nudge, she brings them closer together. 

They break apart. Beatrice takes stock, with some difficulty, that all the air seems to have left her lungs, traded in for a roaring inferno that she now nurses inside her chest. Just as well, she thinks – fire can’t grow without a source of oxygen, and her body must have known that for it to cut off the supply. 

Her lungs burn anyway. They crave for air. 

(Beatrice wonders if it would be so detrimental to consume Ava, and to be consumed in turn. Surely, some kind of cosmic balance would be kept in their doing so.) 

She takes one deep, shuddering breath. When that doesn't take her in a fit of combustion, she takes yet another, until her breathing comes in even-spaced intervals in an attempt to right the balance. 

Her body’s doing its best to keep her alive but stil,l Beatrice leans forward, her grip on Ava’s neck tightening. Her impeccable balance is nowhere to be found.

One of her hands still cups Ava’s. It’s burning hot; not about to burst into flames, but the distinct fever-like body temperature is noticeable, almost like her control over her powers slips around Beatrice. Self-satisfaction is a rare indulgence for Beatrice; the feeling is almost foreign, but she’s not able to miss it with the way the heat licks at her belly, as it radiates from its epicenter on the left side of her chest.

“You’re heating up,” Beatrice says. The laugh that leaves Ava is breathless, disbelieving. “Can you blame me?” she replies. And then: “Is your suit – um. I held it a bit close to the flame. Sorry.”

Beatrice bends her head to examine the fabric: a small mark on the surface of the spandex near the thread-end. The dark blue of the material, combined with the waning light from the flame, makes it difficult to verify the extent of the damage. She runs a fingertip over it and tries to focus on the silkiness of the cloth instead of the tenderness of Ava’s skin.

Where the burn is, it still feels soft like the rest of the fabric – the damage is superficial. 

She looks back up at Ava. “It’s fine. Thank you for helping.”

“Anytime,” Ava says, and Beatrice knows that the sentiment is truthful to the edges, buoyant in its honesty; it saturates the boundaries that define objects, and solidifies the parameters of subjects of a less physical nature, too.

Her throat tightens again in an imitation from earlier. Beatrice is flattered, but wholly unsatisfied. She feels greedy. She’s craving more; wants more. 

She leans in and Ava does as well, and they’re about to meet at halfway but Beatrice's stomach growls and her body goes stiff as mortification freezes her in place. Ava only chuckles softly though, and she completes the circuit by kissing the corner of Beatrice’s mouth, then her chin, before resting their foreheads together. 

“You’ve gotta be starving after tonight,” Ava says softly. “I think the Thai place down the street is still open at this time.” Her breath washes hot and damp over Beatrice’s lips, and Beatrice has to actively stop her body from succumbing to the intense urge to continue where they left off. 

“I am.” Beatrice clears her throat, swallows once. “It is.” And it’s true – she’s been there so many times over the past few weeks that the owners have her order memorized. 

Ava grins. “Alright then! My treat, let’s go.” The flame in her hand is extinguished with a flourish of folding fingers and she stands, extending a hand to Beatrice.

Even now, offers towards her are aplenty. (Beatrice tries not to think about being undeserving.) And now that Ava’s mentioned it, she realizes that yes, she’s hungry – inside her there’s an ache to soothe, a void to be filled; a hunger of a different kind, though not at all what Ava was making reference to. 

(She tries not to think about that, either.)

Beatrice scoops up the suit from the floor as she takes Ava’s proffered hand. A quick jaunt of her limbs and she’s upright, and she folds her costume and places it on the desk in one smooth motion before reaching for her wallet and keys. Her phone, she holds in one hand. “Dr. Salvius won’t notice the missing funds from her pocket?” 

There’s a particularly mischievous glint in Ava’s eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but she grins with teeth as her arm links through Beatrice’s before leading them out the door.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #ava silva #sister beatrice #avatrice #penguin writes #birgittesilverbae #thx for the prompt em :) #spideybea au

[apenguinbird]

Me having to delete the part of the verdict from the ✨Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale✨ of my fic because it's supposed to happen after 4.2

#genshin impact #penguin writes #oratrice mecanique d'analyse cardinale #Feles and Cerberus

[universitypenguin]

Heyyy,

first of, i love your writing, basically anything i see from you is written beautifully.

anyway i was just wondering if your planning on continuing your Steve Rogers Alphabet series?

you might have already addressed this but i was just curious because i constantly re-read it

lots of love, Anon

I definitely want to do that series, but right now I'm trying to stay singularly focused on finishing TPATL. There are probably six chapters left in that story, so hopefully it'll only take a few months.

#penguin replies #upcoming #future plans #penguin writes #alice writes

[thepenguinclub]

until parted by death

romantic prinxiety, background logan & virgil & janus, weddings, anxiety, technically main character death but it's not angsty at all, fluff, no angst

Wordcount: 2018

Summary:

“I, Virgil Storm, take you, Roman Kingsley, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

“I, Roman Kingsley, take you, Virgil Storm, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

And that was it. They were married.

---

'Till death do us part, right?

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

Heyo, this is super short because I wrote it based on a dumb Instagram post, but it's cute and Rozh liked it so here.

Big thanks to them for betaing, I love you @rozhanelle

Don't send me your dentist bills please.

WARNINGS: death (very brief, nothing sad/angsty), general feelings of anxiety, little bit of sensory overload

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

The wedding was small.

Which was what Virgil thought of every time his anxiety started acting up, because he was marrying Roman Kingsley (!!!!) and Roman was a romantic. He’d been dreaming of a Disney princess wedding to his perfect prince since he was a kid, but because Roman was marrying Virgil and big weddings made Virgil anxious, he had agreed to a small one.

Which was just one of the many ways Roman showed Virgil that he loved him. That Roman loved Virgil, that he was marrying him because he loved him, which helped Virgil’s fear of Roman getting cold feet and leaving him alone at the alter.

Which Roman wouldn’t do. At the very least, Roman would pull him aside and tell him he wasn’t ready, that he had realized he didn’t want to marry Virgil after all. He wouldn’t be mean about it.

But that didn’t matter! Because it was a small wedding, which Roman didn’t want but Virgil did so he had agreed to it, which meant that Roman loved him a lot and wanted to marry him. 

Unless Roman was going to not marry him because of the small wedding. Unless Roman decided he wanted a big one instead and went off to find a better person with less anxiety that was as romantic as Roman.

Oh god, Roman was going to decide to not marry him-

“You need to stop worrying,” Logan said from where he was knotting his tie in the mirror across the room. He didn’t look at Virgil as he said it, so he missed Virgil jumping halfway out of his skin, having forgotten he wasn’t alone in his pity party.

“That’s, uh, kind of my whole personality, L,” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck self consciously and fiddling with the end of his sleeve. He hadn’t worn a tie or bowtie, much to Logan’s chagrin, because screw tradition, that shit was choking you and Virgil was a big fan of not choking to death, thank you.

They had compromised, which meant that Virgil was wearing the suit jacket instead of his hoodie, and he missed its weight like he missed air when he was wearing a tie.

But he had managed to swing the big black platformed Doc Martens with purple shoelaces and red roses embroidered on the side to match both Virgil’s dress shirt and Roman’s, so he wasn’t complaining too much.

Logan turned to look at him when he was done with his tie, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. It looked like he was going to dispute what Virgil had said, but Virgil was saved by the door opening and letting a somewhat sheepish-looking Janus into the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” they said. The door shut swiftly behind them with a click as they wandered further into the room. They whistled when they saw Virgil. “Wow, you look not bad.”

Virgil snorted.

“Thanks, Jan.” He walked over and flicked the brim of Janus’ fedora, laughing when they scowled. “You look not bad yourself.”

It was true. Everyone had cleaned up very nicely, and Virgil appreciated it. Logan in a full suit, Janus with a suit jacket, dress shirt, and a nice black skirt that was longer in the back than in the front and swayed when he walked. Janus had also gone with platform Doc Martens, although theirs were just the plain black with yellow threads.

It would really suck if this wedding didn’t go well. Asking all their friends to come only to be stood up, or for the officiant not to show up, or for Virgil to forget the words, oh shit what were the words-

“Stop it,” Janus interrupted his thoughts by returning a flick to Virgil’s forehead, which made him go cross eyed for a second. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“How can you know that?” Virgil asked, and it sounded a lot more desperate than he wanted it to, and oh no his nose was burning and there was water in his eyes what about his makeup-

“Because it’s you,” Janus answered simply. Logan came up behind them, setting a hand on their shoulder and fixing Virgil with a gentle look.

“Virgil, this is your wedding. You planned everything. It’s going to be perfect because you wouldn’t let it be anything else,” Logan elaborated.

“And even if something did go wrong,” Janus added, shrugging. “You love Roman, right?”

Virgil nodded, not trusting himself to speak past the lump in his throat.

“And Roman loves you,” Janus continued. “There isn’t anything that could change that. Not even a little mistake at a wedding.”

“It’ll be fine,” Logan finished, smiling at him.

“And I’m not supposed to tell you this,” Janus said, lowering their voice conspiratorially. “But Roman is freaking out just as much as you are. He wants it to be perfect for you.”

The fact that Roman, put together, confident Roman was panicking about making this small wedding as perfect for Virgil as Virgil wanted it to be for him was more comforting than it should have been.

They were in it together. They could do this.

“Okay,” Virgil said after a moment, making sure his eyes were clear and he was breathing deeply. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Logan said. “Because it’s about to start.”

And it did go well. Everything went off without a hitch. Virgil stumbled over his vows a bit, but Roman did the same, and no one there judged them. And even if they did, Virgil wasn’t sure he would have noticed, too caught up in loving Roman. 

“I, Virgil Storm, take you, Roman Kingsley, to be my lawfully wedded husband,  to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

“I, Roman Kingsley, take you, Virgil Storm, to be my lawfully wedded husband,  to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

And that was it. They were married. 

Roman swooped Virgil up in his arms to twirl him, and Virgil couldn’t bring himself to do anything except giggle embarrassingly, pulling Roman in for a kiss when he was finally set on the ground.

They couldn’t really do anything except press their mouths together, both smiling too wide to actually kiss right, and that set them both off laughing again, Roman’s face wide and ecstatic and only inches from Virgil's.

“‘Till death do us part,” Roman whispered against Virgil’s lips, and Virgil, impossibly, smiled wider.

“‘Till death do us part.”

— — — — —

Death was loud.

Virgil closed his eyes as soon as he opened them. There were too many colors and too much noise to do much else except stand (stand? stand) there and take it, eyes closed and hands gravitating towards his ears.

“Mixter? Excuse me?” someone said, close to Virgil, and with great difficulty, he pried his eyes open. Because as horrible as the noise and the sounds were, ignoring someone purposefully was worse.

The person in front of him was short and wide eyed behind their pair of wire glasses, with chestnut ringlet curls down their back pulled away from their face with pink butterfly clips. They smiled when they saw him looking.

“Hello,” they greeted warmly, and Virgil put all of his focus, all of his senses, into hearing their voice and seeing their smile. It helped dampen out the rest of the world. 

“My name’s Emile, she/it,” she said, waving. “You’re dead.”

The bluntness of it acted as a reboot. Virgil was turned off, held for a few seconds, and then turned back on again.

He had known that. He had known he was dead as soon as he had opened his eyes, but he hadn’t known it.

He was starting to get a headache.

“I know it takes a second,” Emile sympathized. “Let me know when you’re ready to continue.”

“I’m not ready,” Virgil said after a second of standing there, hands by his sides, staring at Emile like an idiot, “but let’s continue anyway.”

Virgil was dead. Emile was dead. Apparently, everyone around him was dead, because they were in the afterlife. It was almost exactly like regular life, except there was no global warming, no president, no douchebags, and no finish line.

Virgil was in one of the places where new dead people showed up. He followed Emile to her office, where she explained that it was it’s job to help newly dead people.

Things moved fast, after that. Virgil told Emile anyone he was interested in contacting that he knew was dead (one person, he knew one dead person, one he was very very very interested in contacting) and got the rundown of how things worked there. 

It said that Virgil could have a few days to settle in if he needed them before discussing anything else. Virgil thought that was a good idea.

They walked out the door, into a park, and then they waited. Emile said it would be about five minutes.

It was four minutes and fifteen seconds.

“Virgil!” a voice shouted from their left, and Virgil turned towards it immediately, eyes flooding with tears before he had even laid eyes on the source of the voice.

And then arms were around him, picking him up and twirling him slowly, cradling him to a strong chest.

“Virgil, Virgil, Virgil, my love, baby, oh,” Roman chanted into his hair, hugging him so tight it would have hurt if Virgil could actually feel anything except for the warmth of Roman around him. He clutched onto his back, pressing as close as he could.

They stood there for a few moments. 

Roman pulled back, and Virgil made an absolutely pitiful noise that Roman only crooned at, pressing a kiss to his forehead and the tip of his nose before he connected their mouths.

The kiss was salty and wet and clumsy but perfect, and Virgil sank into it and held Roman tighter.

Roman’s apartment was nice. Very him, with colors and posters and succulents and miniature sculptures on bookshelves. Roman collapsed on the couch and pulled Virgil on top of him so he was situated firmly in Roman’s lap, and they didn’t say much at all. They didn't need to.

Eventually, Roman broke the silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, speaking into Virgil’s shoulder.

“Oh no,” Virgil breathed back, too overwhelmed with Roman’s presence to put any actual tone into the banter.

“Shush,” Roman laughed back, flicking Virgil’s ear. He swallowed.

“Go on,” Virgil encouraged after the silence had lasted a bit too long.

“I’ve been thinking,” Roman said again, “for a while now. When you weren’t here yet. That we’re not together anymore.”

Virgil furrowed his eyebrows and pushed on Roman’s shoulders until he was sitting upright in Roman’s lap, knees on either side of Roman’s hips, looking directly at Roman.

“We are together now,” he said quietly, bumping their noses together and making Roman smile.

“I know,” he replied, equally as soft. “But not together together. ‘‘Till death do us part,’ remember?”

Virgil paused, tilting his head as he thought about it.

“You’re right,” he finally admitted. “We’re not married anymore.”

Roman bit his lip.

“I guess we’re single now, huh,” Virgil continued, looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t need to look to feel Roman’s gaze on him, watching, waiting for what he was going to do. Virgil looked back at him, bringing a hand up to swipe a thumb across his cheek, catching on his bottom lip.

Virgil grinned a little, leaning forward so he could rest his elbows on Roman’s shoulder, and for once, for once , there was no anxiety in the back of his mind telling him this wasn’t going to end well.

“So,” he practically purred, turning his confidence meter up as far as he could, bumping their noses again, “wanna grab a coffee sometime?”

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

Thanks for reading. :)

You can also read my stuff over on ao3. (thepenguinclub)

Comments and kudos are appreciated and make my day! Have a good rest of yours. <3

#ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #ts janus #ts emile #sander sides #sanders sides fanfic #penguin writes

[penguinsr4ever]

snippet of my current wip:

The silence of their room is jarring against the bright cheerful scene in the lounge. It presses harshly against Alex’s ears as they stare into the empty space. Hollow. Dark.

Suffocating.

Emotions rise like a torment, crashing into their chest and shattering against the wall. Books scatter, their new clothes flung into the corners like unwanted toys. Sculptures crack and bruise in bitter hands. Pillows explode into feathers. Alex’s form ripples as desperate energy surges through it, leaving their throat torn and hands bleeding.

Eventually, finally, the anger recedes. Alex kneels in the centre of the room, surrounded by evidence of pain and destruction, and it’s all they can think to be grateful that the walls are so thick and their room is so far.

#ooh they aint happy #honestly tho this is the most writing ive done in one sitting for a While #penguin writes #street rats #wip #oc #alex hartrige

[spacedace]

Got another DP x DC prompt for yall:

Things in Amity are going bad, the GIW are getting more aggressive and Jack and Maddie are starting to suspect there is something ghostly going on with Danny and Jazz is scared out of her mind and desperate to get them the hell out or dodge before she comes home one day to find her baby brother strapped to a table in the basement or worse.

She knows there's no way she's going to be able to get custody of Danny though (maybe she's still a minor herself, maybe she is over eighteen but it takes more than being a legal adult to get custody of a kid, and Jazz just doesn't have what the government is looking for and she can't risk Danny getting lost in the system) and even if she could, where could they possibly go? Even if they ran away, they don't have any way to survive.

Half out of her mind with stress and exhaustion late one night she ends up digging through their family tree looking for someone, anyone, that looks like they might be able to help, that could at least get them away from Amity Park if nothing else. She and Danny had each other, and literally anything was better then the nightmare creeping ever closer.

And somehow it doesn't even take that long, maybe luck finally shifting their way for once, maybe Clockwork nudging things along just right, but she finds someone.

As far as family relations go, they're on branches as far away from each other as possible while still being on the same tree. And of course the person in question has a pretty massive criminal background and is still super obviously involved in some shady stuff, but Jazz does her research and can see that - criminal mastermind or no - there's no history of vivisecting children or ghost hunting and honestly the Goonion review is pretty glowing.

Besides, Gotham's ambiant ectoplasm is about the same as Amity Park's, it'll help keep Danny (and her, really, as liminal as she is) healthy.

It's a long shot, but short of fleeing to the Ghost Zone and praying their parents don't chase after them, it's all she’s got. So, using one of Tucker's programs, she gets ahold of a phone number and makes the call.

To say that Oswald Cobblepot is surprised by her reaching out and suspicious of her desperate request would be an under statement.

But he knows a con, and this doesn't sound like one. The girl on the other end of the line sounds close to tears, begging him to hear her out, pleading for his help. When he has his people investigate he finds that Jasmine Fenton isn't lying. They are distant cousins - very distant - and the kids' parents are honestly Arkham levels of insane and the kids' teachers have been getting progressively more frantic in their reporting on their concerns. The notes on Daniel Fenton and the number of visible injuries he's been going to school with are particularly concerning. As is the fact that the Drs. Fenton are apparently scientists on top of being entirely mad.

Call Oswald a soft touch, but there's an old childhood wound deep in his heart that has him feeling for the kids, and from what he’s seen of Jasmine - Jazz, she said to call her, and her little brother is Danny, not Daniel - she's got the kind of drive he admires.

And hell it's not as if he can't afford to put them up in an apartment somewhere out of the way if they turn out to be too much trouble. Besides adopting a couple of sad kids from a shitty home can only be good for his reputation, look how well it worked for Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if he plays his cards right, he can set up a play date with the Wayne kids or something, really get some good networking in.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #batman #danny phantom #jazz fenton #danny fenton #oswald cobblepot #penguin adopts jazz and danny #he thinks it's just gonna be for publicity and he won’t have to deal with them #but then he actually meets them and it's juat #oh i'm uncle dad now #jazz and danny end up loving their uncle oz #the first time someone tries to pull some shit at the Iceberg Danny goes feral #it gives penguin a heart attack but also he's so proud #fanfic writing prompts

[dailypenpen]

What do Genshin Men think of with you in their arms? (pt.1)

characters: Diluc, Xiao, and Kazuha.

notes: insecurities (Xiao) but other than that fluff. gn reader, only you pronouns used.

a/n: this is my first ever fanfic. ever. omg. this is nervewracking. I do hope everyone enjoys!!

Diluc thinks he does not deserve to be loved. The people he cherished most have slipped past his fingers like sand. And similarly to sand, the hourglass of time pulls these connections apart. He sits at the top, desperately trying to reach for the ones that have fallen away. Only tears reaching towards the bottom of the glass. Almost mocking him.

So he does not understand why you still stay. Why you are here sleeping peacefully by his side. Why you snuggle closer to him, your fingers grasping for him even in your sleep. Diluc feels like he can't breathe. Diluc can't fathom your actions, your love, your care, you most of all—

And yet, he accepts your hands reaching for him. Bringing them around his waist as he presses you close to his chest. His lips coming close to your ear as he whispers sweet nothings. His eyes staring at your sleeping form, the corner of his eyes crinkling with the thought of you. You who have stayed despite everything he's done to push everyone away. Diluc has always kept everyone from arm's reach, yet you somehow managed to instead be within his arms.

He supposes he should reward your efforts, at the very least.

Diluc brings your shared blanket up closer for the two of you. To perhaps shield you from this cruel world, he muses to himself. To be the only one to see such a sight. He continues staring at you with a tenderness that he believes you deserve from him.

He thinks he couldn't fall any more in love with you. But when you smile in your rest, soft and warm and full of life. Well, Diluc sighs as he holds you closer. Maybe there truly is no limit in loving someone as great as you. Someone who makes him believe that he alone is worthy to be held. To be held by someone like you.

"You are the reason why I dream, my love."

Xiao thinks that you are utterly ridiculous. You only remember to call his name when you are falling midway from a tall peak from Jueyun Karst? Did you not think of calling him when you were out trekking so that he could come with you to ensure your safety? Or even before that, when you first went out of the inn to go?

The wind around you moves with a great swiftness that it's almost hard to miss, but you can recognize it anywhere. He grabs you, quickly holding you in his arms. Xiao looks down at you in disappointment, quickly moving to the ground to rest his feet on. You open your mouth to speak, to defend yourself. But even before you can, his narrowed eyes quickly shut down any word you wanted to say. You opt to give him a sheepish grin in return.

His eyes instantly soften as you smile at him. How? He furrowed his eyebrows at you. How could a mortal like you not have any regard for your own safety? Why risk your life with no insurance that you'll get out unscathed? Or at the very least, alive?

He pulls you closer to him without meaning to, without realizing. He refuses to bring you down to the ground. To let you leave his arms. His breathing is ragged, his arms shaking at the countless thoughts that plague his mind. What if you never called out his name? What if Xiao couldn't hear you, couldn't save you?

Xiao's grip tightens on you more, yet he is careful to not hurt you.

You stay silent, not wanting to disrupt Xiao's thoughts. Your hand moves up to his cheek, rubbing circles in an effort to calm him. Xiao flinches at your touch. You slowly retract your hand away yet he leans towards your hand. Wanting your touch. Knowing that you are safe in his arms.

He stares at you, eyes vulnerable. The one thing he hated showing to anyone. Showing how he, as inhuman as he claims to be, cares. That you brought a weakness he desperately tries to hide. That you are a weakness.

"Be careful next time, my light."

Kazuha thinks you are beyond precious. The both of you are admiring the view of the sea from the Crux, nuzzled up to one another. The Crow's Nest (you once jokingly called it the Kazu's Nest with how frequently he goes up there) is the perfect place for the two of you to cuddle without the rest of the crew spotting you. To escape their endless teasing. Especially from Captain Beidou.

You absentmindedly play with his hair, the ponytail now loose as you continue running your hands through it. He chuckles softly at your mindless actions. You truly are adorable, aren't you? Kazuha muses to himself. He wishes he could write a poem about this very moment, to memorialize it. To engrave it onto his very memory.

Yet, he does not. He stays silent. He knows that it's enough that you are with him, that you are content in his embrace and that he is in yours. That no manner of poetry is enough to encapsulate his deep affection for you. To express his joy in being with you. To somehow portray your very essence in a few words.

He knows it's near impossible to summarize you, that would be unfair to your divine beauty. Can a single word even begin to describe who you are to him? Wondrous, heavenly, or maybe even godsent? Kazuha shakes his head in dissatisfaction. No, those aren't the right words either.

The sea rocks the boat and you squeak while gripping his clothes, afraid to move suddenly with the boat. Kazuha smiles at you, patting your head. You grin back at him, releasing your grip on him. Yet Kazuha quickly grasps your hands in his, earning a small gasp from you. He chuckles again, his eyes so full of love. Almost bursting out of the seams.

You laugh with him, and he looks at you like you're his entire world. Kazuha thinks he can finally have a way to describe you. You, the person whom he always wants to rest with. His one constant in his life of being a vigilante and vagabond. The one person in his entire life that he knows that no matter what he's faced, what he's experienced, will always be with him no matter what. That you are the one person he ever truly wanted.

Kazuha brings your hand close to his lips, kissing them delicately.

"You are my home, darling."

Please consider liking and reblogging!!

#diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc fluff #diluc #xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao fluff #xiao #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kazuha fluff #kazuha #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #did you guys know I slept at like 4am to finish this LMAO I love being insomniac #penguin writings!!

[libraryraccoon]

A Penguin And The Angel Of Death

Gift for : @deadghosy

Gender : Penguin

Pronouns : They/Them

Message of Raccoon : I just really wanted to write Azrael with Penguin!Reader, so I try.

TW : bad english, english isn't my first language.

How you met Azrael is a mystery for everyone.

Azrael had heard about Heaven and Hell fighting over a penguin, and he decided to go check it out.

"So you're the famous Penguin." -Azrael, seeing you for the first time.

Friendship. Instantly.

He was your platonic soulmate.

I can see Azrael taking you flying with him. Imagine being a normal angel or demon, looking up and seeing the angel of death flying, holding a penguin in his arms.

The day of the trial, you and Azrael were watching everything from the sidelines, eating popcorn.

“Do you think they know you’re going to stay with me ?” -Azrael, watching the scene while eating popcorn, amused.

You made a penguin noise that can be translates as "Sshh, this is starting to get interesting." -Penguin!Reader, watching the scene like a TV novela.

Azrael speaks penguin. Don't ask how, he just do it.

"Guardship returns to.." Sera paused, either in disbelief or to be dramatic. “Azrael ?!” Certainly the first.

“Yo bitch.”

They looked at him as if they were seeing him for the first time- they hadn't even noticed him.

"WHAT ?! BUT HE DON'T EVEN KNOW THEM !" -Lute.

You worried for a second for Azrael's safety before remembering that he was the Angel of Death and that he was in no danger.

Lucifer looks at his brother, feeling betrayed that he is taking one of his children away from him.

Azrael walked out of the room with you in his arms, happy of the trial he saw today.

Azrael is like your cool dad who takes you everywhere with him and takes you wherever you want.

Azrael can go to Heaven, Hell or even Earth just with a snap of his fingers, say your destination and he'll take you there with no problem.

You often go to Hell and Heaven because you are attached to the people that are there.

Azrael only leaves you alone with Lucifer or Emily.

Lucifer is basically your uncle who babysits you all the time.

You have met Big G and the other archangels. I don't make the rules, as soon as Azrael won your guardship, he introduced you to the rest of the family.

You are the archangels' favorite nephew and Big G's favorite grandchild.

I just know that you and Big G spent hours on grandpa-grandchild outings. You go to the beach, get ice cream, play jokes on others... until Azrael comes to pick you up.

I headcanon that you help Gabriel in his work as a messenger.

It was you who passed the message of Sir Pentious being in Heaven to Charlie, telling her that redemption was possible.

It was your first message, Gabriel and Azrael were very proud of you after you managed to successfully transmit it.

They had a party to celebrate it.

No one can fuck with you.

Literally, you have Azrael, Big G and all the archangels on your side. Upsetting you/being on your bad side is a death sentence.

Lute and Adam are so disgusted that Azrael stole you - like you can feel their jealousy at 3000km/h.

Azrael just smiled at them before calling you “his son/daughter/child” in front of them just to piss them off.

And it works.

I can see Alastor trying to make a deal with Azrael for you to stay at the Hotel, Azrael just looks at him like "Really now ?"

Needless to say, it never worked and if it wasn't for you, he would have already killed the deer demon.

The angels find it adorable that the fearsome angel of death is walking around with a little Penguin, it's just too cute for them.

Family dinners are ✨️beautiful✨️

Beautiful in the sense that it's chaotic and it's never bored.

Usually family dinners are you, Big G, Azrael, Lucifer, Charlie, and the other archangels.

But one day you invited Emily, Sera, Adam and Lute to join you..

Let's say you weren't bored during all the dinner.

The best moments are those of hugs.

Hugs with Azrael are the best because he wraps his wings around you while carrying you. It's so quiet and peaceful that it puts you to sleep, which is very useful especially when you can't fall asleep.

Hugs with the whole family are... interesting ?

I mean, from the outside it looked like a mess of nameless feathers-

You are always in the middle of family hugs.

Azrael almost executed all the exterminators after learning about the extermination that was directed against the hotel when you were in it..

LET ME CANONIZE PROTECTIVE!DAD!AZRAEL.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x gn reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #platonic #hazbin hotel platonic #azrael #azrael hazbin hotel #Penguin!Reader #Gift #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel charlie #Big G #big g hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam #sera hazbin hotel #emily hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #Raccoon is writing

[convoloutedinjoke]

If Harry’s tragedy is that he can’t go on like this but he has to, Kim’s tragedy is that he doesn’t have to go on like this but he will.

#disco elysium #Anyone about to write an essay on this wrt. Kim’s capacity for change: yes. That’s the problem. #Harry is stuck in the RCM because a lifetime of disability and a lack of outside support have rendered him unable to adapt #Kim is stuck in the RCM because hes too fucking adaptable. He copes too well with his adverse circumstances to recognise when he should dip #The cage is open the window is thrown wide he’s just built a nest in there and the cats don’t swat at it enough to make him want to leave #Anyway was thinking about this after someone posted about the no recruiting Kim ending. Sad for them! They need each other a little! #(Harry’s cage is also open but it’s suspended from a 60ft tree and he is a legless penguin) #(“You can just leave” onlookers call up to him “come down here. go hang out in the shack with the other flightless birds. It’ll be fine”) #(Not really accounting for how he’s supposed to get down there in the first place)

[the-penguinspy]

Also, not me not realizing you rbed a prompt post until now :( ONLY if you want to bc I'm like ten years late or smth!

27: I can't think when you keep looking at me like that.” for whoever strikes ur fancy :)

not me, replying, 10 years late as well...thank u for the prompt smo, 'twas truly lovely to write for :)

--

The living room still smells like the remnants of their breakfast. American-style this morning – maple sausages and fried eggs, waffles and coffee; something Ava had been craving, something Beatrice had given in to. 

She’s sated and full, the meal sitting heavy in her belly, and she’d love nothing more than to indulge herself in some mid-morning cuddles with Beatrice, maybe even make out a little bit. Instead, she’s sitting on Beatrice’s lap on the couch, knees bracketing hips. Not a bad place to be in, not at all! But her hands are occupied with a stack of multi-coloured flashcards and she’s studying.

“Bea, don’t we have fake licenses expressly for this purpose? Don’t these rules go out the window when it’s my turn to drive, anyway?”

“You don’t have to take the test, but most of the time we won’t be having dramatic car escapades. You’ll have to learn the rules of the road.”

“I think a little rule breaking is healthy sometimes. Necessary, even.”

Beatrice hums. “You can’t break the rules if you don’t know what they are.”

Ava groans and throws her head back dramatically, Beatrice’s hands coming up to hold her by the waist to prevent her from falling backwards. “I think I'll know when the rules are broken when I get five honks in a row,” she says, addressing the ceiling. “Bonus points for prolonged honks that sound like harmony.”

“Please don’t cause unnecessary grievances for your fellow drivers,” Beatrice says. Ava straightens up at that. Narrows her eyes at Beatrice. She opens her mouth and is about to dispute the accusation when the hands at her waist squeeze hard, once, and the air in her lungs leave her in a stint of breathless laughter. 

Beatrice leans in close. “What was that you were going to say?” she asks, fingers digging into Ava’s waist, making her laughter burst out unchecked.

“I said–” Another warning squeeze, and Ava’s cut off as she wheezes. “Okay, okay! I won’t– Bea, stop– I won’t cause unnecessary grievances for my fellow drivers.”

“Thank you, darling.” Beatrice reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind Ava’s ear, smiling when Ava presses a kiss to her palm. She goes back to her stack of flashcards – written by her own hand, thank you very much – reading each question out loud and pairing it with an answer before flipping to the back to check. Beatrice’s hands rest on her thighs, and she hums encouragingly. 

Ava scans the newest question. “What should you do – uh oh, this doesn’t sound good – in the event of a fire in a tunnel?” The stack has lessened by half. Cards are scattered beside her on the couch, a few of them making a home between the cushions. 

She narrows her eyes and tries to pry the answer from her mind. Step one: don’t get close to the fire, obviously, otherwise the car would explode. Step two: stop the car. Step three: find and use the SOS phone, or get out using the emergency exit. Wait, should she use the SOS phone before leaving for the exit? Maybe someone else had already reported the fire, but then again, what if nobody hadn’t? 

She mouths the question to herself silently, fingers itching to turn the card over to get the answer. She squints at the question and traces the words, following the swoops and curves of the lettering, but it’s quite difficult to focus when there’s a more enticing view in her periphery. 

Try as she might, but her gaze keeps getting drawn back to Beatrice’s face. In her defence, it’s a very pretty face – Beatrice’s eyes are a rich, dark brown, focus intense on her, and the way the morning light shines on her face makes her freckles stand out; not stars, but still constellations in their own right. 

It all falls away, is the thing – the stack of cards is held in front of her and she can see the hard-practiced cursive of her penmanship that graces the paper, but it all melts away in the face of Beatrice’s attention on her. It’s thrilling. Addictive. The answer to the question eludes her, slips out of her grasp, driving theory all but forgotten.

“Ava?”

A huff and a pout, and Ava’s crossing her arms, hand gripped tight onto the cards to keep them from spilling everywhere. “Bea, I can't think when you keep looking at me like that.”

The blush that blooms on Beatrice’s cheeks is so pretty, even now. Ava feels her teeth ache with it. “My sincerest apologies. Let me remedy that immediately,” Beatrice says, the corners of her mouth twitching. She furrows her brows and frowns in mock-seriousness, and shuts her eyes. 

Ava privately laments her loss but this, at least, is more conducive to her focus.

She’s about to read the flashcard again to remember what the question was exactly, when she feels calloused fingers gently slide up her thighs. Beatrice’s hands reach the bottom of her cotton shorts, fingers barely dipping underneath the hems, before they rest there. She’s used to the frequency of Beatrice’s tactility now, but her chest still warms whenever Beatrice initiates the contact. 

It would have been fine if those hands had stayed, but no – they make their way down her thighs slowly, fingertips dragging, before moving upwards once again with a more pronounced pressure. 

Ava’s breath hitches. The smirk that graces Beatrice’s face is indicative that she caught it, her smile growing wider as Ava’s hands migrate to rest on her shoulders. Ava pitches her hips forward to lean into the contact, and she lets out a whine as Beatrice retracts her hands ever so slightly. “You’re such a tease. Aren’t you supposed to be helping me study?”

“I recall that you’re the one who suggested this method of studying,” Beatrice points out. Her tone wobbles slightly, laughter barely held in check, and Ava shoots her a half-hearted glare – not that Beatrice can see it. “Call it a sneak peek,” Beatrice says, “twenty more questions, then we’ll take a short break.”

“Ten.” “Fifteen.”

Ava beams. “Deal. Although, I think I need a little something to help jumpstart the studying process again. You know, to remind me of why I’m doing this in the first place.”

An eye cracks open at that, and Ava flutters her eyelashes for good measure. The coaxing is unneeded, though – Beatrice lets out a quick huff of laughter as she leans in, and Ava meets her in the middle. 

The kiss is slow and sweet; a delicious sample of what’s to come. But Ava’s never been particularly good at waiting – she’s harboured an itching sense of impatience ever since the Halo had been embedded onto her back, the feeling only exacerbated by the blue-shifted timeline of the Holy War. Thus, the desire to take life by the reins, to devour its offerings, had become a habit formed quickly by will and necessity. Every facet of life she’d missed out on – she’d wanted it all, had always been hungry for it. 

But – the war is over now. The life she’s building together with Beatrice is never going to be snatched away by divine hand, by demons or monsters or duty or sacrifice, not anymore. Ava’s still oh-so-hungry for it, and she can afford to linger now, but still, in moments like these? Where it’s just the two of them, unhurried, where love permeates every breath, every look, every gesture? It’s hers, it’s Beatrice’s, it’s theirs for all time, but somehow it’s moments like these where Ava can’t help but feel the most greedy; can’t help but give in to the urge to take, to hold between the canines of her teeth. 

She tilts her head to deepen the kiss, fingers twitching against Beatrice’s shoulders. The hands on her thighs tighten their grip in approval, and the feeling sparks a hot thrill up her spine that disperses rapidly through her veins. 

But all too soon, Beatrice pulls back. She doesn’t move far though; her lips ghost over Ava’s chin, her jaw. Ava holds herself still, waits until Beatrice’s mouth brushes against hers in one last kiss. Only then does Beatrice lean back. And only then, in the gift of this space, does Ava let her composure crumble, body and spirit rejuvenating with a harsh and shaky inhale. 

“Can I open my eyes now, or will that be too distracting for you?” Beatrice’s voice is low and sweet with the tease, the cadence of her breathing unfairly even; this close, her breaths fall damp over Ava’s lips and taunt her with their proximity, and Ava has to fight to loosen her muscles, to not give in to the chase.

Tempting as always, but – Ava stays strong. She places a small kiss on the tip of Beatrice’s nose, revels in the warmth of her smile and how her eyes crinkle at the corners, before settling in place and returning to her flashcards once more. “Keep them closed, please, or I’ll never learn how to drive normally.”

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #penguin writes #ava after she's gone thru the driving theory and has applied it well IN PRACTICE: ok bea ive been so so so good right? so can you. #can you teach me how to drift- #bea: no. #(reasoning: tyres are expensive. drifting takes practice. the smell of burnt rubber is not a great smell to smell.) #smokestarrules

[fanaticsnail]

Shameless: 1/3

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,285

(Image Source)

Synopsis: You have a type, one that has been forcefully revealed by your crewmen's incessant nagging. After being ordered to return to your workshop to receive further instruction, you become fully aware of why you have been hidden away from meeting with the captain of the Victoria Punk. He was exactly your type.

Notes: This is my first time writing for Eustass Kid. It was meant to be a one-shot, but it quickly got out of hand very fast. Looks like a two or three parter. afab!reader - but can be read as gn.

Themes: senseless flirting, mature themes, NSFW language, choking, vulgarity, promiscuity, shamelessness, heart-pirate!reader x captain!Eustass Kid, this reader is a perpetual and shameless flirt, heart pirates x reader, partial zoro x reader, platonic law x reader.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @since-im-already-here

Song Suggestion: It's Cuffing Season - Dj Rehan, JW Velly

Within the rotund chasm of the crew dining quarters rung a loud and rambunctious melody. The sway of your hips and the lyrics falling from your smiling lips alongside Shachi and Penguin had the mood of the hour joyful and merry. The speakers ignited with the crackle of the powerful ballad screaming over the powered mounted system bordering the ceiling. You swayed your body with Ikkaku’s, your lips relaying the lyrics to the rambunctious melody with a suggestive smile, a smile mirrored by her own elevating to her lips.

These were the cool-down hours: where the Heart-Pirate crew were able to complete tasks they had set aside, or wind down after a hard day's work of following Captain Law’s orders aboard the Polar Tang. Despite his tired and lackluster expression constantly painted across his exhausted face, your captain, Trafalgar D Water-Law, encouraged his entire crew to engage in some lesser restraint as they quiet down before the changeover in shift. 

Law was yet to join in on the celebrations, opting to remain behind in his office for reasons you were yet to become privy to. Although he never allowed himself to truly let go and sway his hips, cry tactless lyrics into the air; he truly enjoyed witnessing the crew join together like this. There were only a few songs he would ever mutter the lyrics along to, most of which were harder in musicality, angst-driven in their choruses, and distorted in tonality. Yet, he would always have a soft smile elevated on his lips when the few of you would gyrate, sway, sing and scream alongside the music over the speakers. 

As Shachi drew a stainless steel whisk up to his lips and began to shout the lyrics into the crossed tip, the music cut out from its place within the electrical power system. In its stead, Captain Trafalgar Law’s voice dictated a few short and curt orders. 

“All hands above deck. Repeat, all hands to the deck. Prepare the Polar Tang to be boarded for a Nakama encounter,” you snapped to the direction of the speaker, Ikkaku’s dancing movements halting beside yours as you listened for further instruction over the system. As no further orders fell from the mechanical mesh, you readjusted your fallen zipper of your white, boiler jumpsuit and spring into action.

“Ohh, a crew boarding? I hope it’s the Straw-Hats! I want to see that little reindeer again,” Bepo noted politely, the thump of his heavy feet stomping along the iron floor beside your smaller steps almost comical. 

“Oh, the crew with the green-haired swordsman coming aboard again?” You asked him, brow quirking and smirk rising at the corner of your lips. Ikkaku laughed at your comment, clapping you on the shoulder and walking with Shachi and Penguin in tow behind you. 

“The one that was almost your type?” Ikkaku’s smile quirked up at Shachi’s question, his arm hooking over your neck as he spoke down into your ear. 

“But not quite, remember?” You giggled at him, playfully extending the sharp secondary knuckle of your index finger into his ribcage, his breath huffing out a hasty exhale at the jolt. Ikkaku and Penguin laughed at Shachi’s wince of pain, his laughter also rising with his crewmates’ and your own. 

Amongst the Heart-Pirates, the crew were not unaccustomed to your unrestrained flirting with them. From your close proximity, to the brush of your fingertips, to a warm embrace offered from your arms, to you lounging against them in the quiet hours. But most of all, your vulgar and unwithheld language going far enough to make the most hardened members of the Heart-Pirates’ cheeks tint crimson. 

It was a game to you, keeping things lively and interesting aboard your ship as you served alongside them as Law’s chief tinkerer. Nothing ever came of the suggestive conversations and provocative language you offered aside from a friendly kiss, alongside the words, “Sorry, love. You’re not my type.” 

As your feet met with the grated bars of the steel steps leading to the deck, Law’s voice cut over the speakers once more to address the crew.

“All hands to the deck, aside from my tinkerer. Go to your workshop and await further instruction,” the distorted crack of his voice did very little to mask the disdain in his voice. There was something bothering your captain - such a bother depicted in his bored and aloof tone. The harbor which anchored such a dirge-like expression which you had very little explanation for. That was, until, the snickering beside you hissed through the smiling teeth of the three human crew members beside you. 

“What’s so funny?” you spat, shimmying from the crook of Shachi’s arm and facing the four of them with your hands on your hips. 

“Oh, nothing,” Ikkaku giggled before sucking her lips into her mouth to stifle more of her laughter from freely falling from between them. You glanced between the other three, all raising their hands in defense to your pointed gaze. 

“Alright, keep your damn secrets to yourselves,” you scoffed, turning your nose up in the air at them before snuggling into Bepo, who eagerly returned your brief embrace, “I’ll see you after the Nakama meet up, I suppose.” They bid their farewells to you, snickering and giggling as they exited the iron hatch of the Polar Tang to rise above decks. 

After sculking the halls down the long and lonely corridors to your office, you were shocked at the sight greeting you upon opening the large door. Although he depicted further instruction was awaiting you, you were anticipating private instruction to be carried through your personal Den-Den-Mushi rather than meeting with your Captain himself. 

Captain Law was sitting at your desk, his ankles hooked on top of your workbench with his hands laced behind his head, cradling his neck. He lazily glanced through the corner of his eyes at you before slowly unlacing his ankles and rising to his feet. His fingertips clasped his impressive sword, the smoothness of his scabbard reflected in the dim light of your office. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Cap? Shouldn’t you be-?” you began, your words halted immediately by Law’s response.

“-Cut the shit, Tink,” your titled nickname falling in lieu of your real name or formal title from Law’s lips. You relaxed your shoulder against the doorframe, folding your arms across your chest while pursing your lips. You tapped your index finger on your bicep while you awaited further direction from the man in front of you. 

With an exasperated sigh, he elevated his slender, tattooed, fingers to his brow and pinched the center between his index and thumb. He huffed a final growl before he bore his honeyed eyes into your awaiting features. 

“It seems I will be unable to keep you distracted for the entire time they’ll be here this time,” he muttered to himself in a voice almost impossible for you to catch. You furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to question him further. He halted your words by removing his fingers from his brow to face his palm out to you.

“I am going to say this one time, and one time only,” he continued to hold his intense and stern gaze into your eyes, “Don’t.” 

“‘Don’t’ what, Law? What are you talking about-?” you began, halted again by Law’s dictation once again.

“-Just...” Law turned his face slightly away from you, “...-Just don’t, okay? I know you, I know what you’re like, and I’m just letting you know now, and know once. Don’t.”

You were unable to form an adequate response before he stormed out of your workshop and wordlessly gestured for you to follow behind him above deck with his index finger, a hooked motion calling to you. Your captain’s words swirled in your head, your eyes locking on to his neck and tracing his skin with your inquisitive gaze. 

-

Your relationship with your captain was as close a friendship as you could ever muster with such a person. He sought out your skills as a tinkerer, your reputation preceding you when you demonstrated your skilled hands to him. You both bonded over unique collections, his coins and comics, your rocks and pinned insect and arachnid display. Both having a unique place to relay information about your special and unique interests with one another was sacred, and so incredibly special to the both of you.

Where Law and you differed was in how you chose to display your humors: Law holding his hand close to his chest before he truly displays how unhinged his humor was with dark commentary, whereas you were a perpetual flirt with provocative language and sultry advances. You both held each other in a professional standing, before your words took a turn for requited flirtation. Law would reciprocate your vulgarity, and you would mirror back that darkness he expressed, if ever your conversations became flirtatious and humorous with him. 

And that is where, like the others, you ended the flirtatious rapport with a simple utterance of: “Forgive me, Cap. You’re not my type,” which threw the captain and crew into an uproar of outrageous laughter. Speculating on what exactly your type was, you finally gave into their incessant interrogation after being offered your fifth drink for the evening from the hands of Shachi. 

“Fine,” you spat, your arm swaying as you handled your filled pint, “I like them big. And I truly mean big. Like, throw me over the shoulder big. Like, ‘will it fit’ big. Especially if they’ve got that feral twinkle in their eyes that looks at you like they’d want to kill you,” you confessed, your voice swooning at the thought. After taking a heaping gulp from your drink, you added, “You’re all very beautiful, handsome, and spectacular. But, I just need someone who looks like they could lovingly and desperately break me in half. Bonus points if they’re good with machines, so we can bond.”

After coming down from your whimsical confession, you glanced at the crew. Bepo’s ears were covered by both Shachi and Penguin’s hands - all three of their jaws comically slackened. Law’s teeth were clenched in an awkward, cringe-like, straightened smile with lazy, half-hooded eyes. Ikkaku’s cheeks were tinted red with the elevated hue of rushed blood, her lips broken into a wide grin with her eyes twinkling at the confession. 

All of these things were true. You were a person of refined taste, a taste which seemed scarce to come by with the crew you had found yourself working beside. There was Jean Bart, but he was not overly interested in tending to a relationship with you. There was Uni, but your interests fell short when he only depicted gentleness and kindness towards you in lieu of your craving for something more brutal. 

Both men remained high spirited and friendly with you despite your attempt at a fling with them falling through. You needed something more. Something more unhinged. Something a little unpredictable, feral and dangerous. 

-

As Law led you above deck, the voice of Jean Bart called for all crew to fall in line to welcome the Nakama crew above deck. Without looking up, you hastily drew yourself between Penguin and Ikkaku, Shachi on the other side of Penguin and Bepo beside Ikkaku as you all stood alert with your arms by your sides.

“At ease, Heart-Pirates,” Law commanded, shooting you one more pointed and narrow-eyed look before turning back to speak with the foreign captains and their crews. It seemed two crews had joined the deck of the Polar Tang: The Straw-Hat Pirates alongside another crew you did not recognise. You quickly examined the First-Mate of the Straw-Hat crew, who met your eyes with a small smirk before returning back to fix his gaze on his captain alongside his crew. 

Zoro was almost your type. A night you shared with one another, being evidence enough to your crew, that you had nearly found someone you deemed feral and hulking enough to share in your company. When your lips met his: his actions were closer to timid and gentle as they joined with yours. The fires of passion were there, the small amount of danger also present, but he was still not your type. He was handsome, sure enough. He was aggressive, absolutely. He reciprocated your flirtations with a small elevation of flush tinting his cheeks a warm hue of pink, which you found endearing. 

The night concluded with a few deepened kisses, roaming touches from your hands holding each other firmly beneath the stars aboard the Sunny. However, nothing further ever came between the two of you. After that night, the you both remained quite good friends and shared in each other's company, with unhinged and illicit conversation, each time Law met with his captain. He kept pace with you when you drank, spurting dark vulgarity subtly into your ear at the dining table when your crews met; but it was all in good humor and never truly to initiate anything rising further between you. 

A small pull at the corner of your sleeve from Ikkaku broke you away from your reminiscing, your face turning to look at her with your brows knitting in confusion. Her lips were sucked into her mouth, her eyes wide in excitement as she bore her gaze directly ahead. 

“What’s wrong with you?” your hushed whisper growled at her. She removed her grip on your sleeve and raised her hand to your chin, turning your head without pulling her eyes away from their fixed point in front of her. 

“This is who the Captain was keeping from you. Ever wonder why he’d been working you so hard when we meet up with certain crews? He’s why,” she muttered, her lips still sucked within her lips to stifle her rising joy. You allowed her to turn your jaw ahead, your eyes meeting with a hulking figure of a man with fiery red hair. 

Your jaw fell slack before your lips pulled up into a broad smile as your eyes fixed themselves on him. He was intimidating, he was hulking, and he was big. Your eyes shamelessly raked themselves over his body, halting on his calves, his thighs, his ass, his arm, his metal arm, his broad chest, his grimace, his makeup, his blaster goggles hoisting his untamed locks away from his face-. 

-You hastily drew your eyes back to his left arm, metal in make and incredibly large. It looked heavy, intricate, and mechanical. Your interest deepened at each sway of his arms, flex of his muscles and wind of cogs and bolts within his intricate piece attached to his severed limb. Starstruck, captivated, and interest immediately peaked; you continued to rake your eyes over this foreign man aboard the Polar Tang. 

“O-Oh? Oh m-my-...” you couldn’t find the words to form a cohesive string of sentences, your eyes fixed on his arm as you studied it. His mechanical fingertips were clenching, his grimace splitting his scarred face, and his hair bobbing beneath blaster goggles each time he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I know, right? Law has been trying so desperately to keep you from meeting him,” Ikkaku added, prompting you to hum deeply in interest with your tongue darting out to dampen your bottom lip. 

“That’s your type, then?” Penguin and Shachi uttered in unison, their downturned smiles through gritted teeth cringing through the question. 

“That’s-,” you took a moment to collect your thoughts, swallowing a lump of dry saliva within your mouth, ”-Exactly, my type,” you gasped, nodding as you spoke aloud. 

“And this is why each time we see the Victoria Punk, we have to keep you below deck and distracted,” Ikkaku managed to stutter out through her giggles. You quickly snapped your eyes back to her, your gaze narrowed and accusatory.

“We’ve had him,” you snapped your eyes away from the hulking gentleman to stare at Ikkaku, “On the Polar Tang more than once?” You snapped your eyes from Ikkaku to turn to Penguin on your other side, “And you managed to keep me distracted?” you uttered through gritted teeth. Ikkaku shrugged her shoulders, puffing out her cheeks to halt an uproar of laughter from falling from her lips. 

“Captain’s orders,” Shachi confirmed with a curt nod, stooping out from falling in line to meet his spectacle-covered eyes with yours, “He knows what you’re like, and how you’d react.” He stepped back in line and grunted out a soft cough to clear his throat. 

You turned your eyes back to the redhead, quickly looking over his hulking crew before hardening your resolve and humming deeply. 

“I am-...” you began, raking your eyes back over his body again, “...-I am going to climb him like a tree.” 

Snickers began to fall through the nose of Ikkaku, a small giggle elevating in Penguin’s chest, a huff of air snorting through Shachi’s nose.

“I gotta know what that hand does,” you confessed, your eyes full of wonderment and your tone full of longing desire, “What it feels like. Is it smooth? Does it have different settings? Is it cold? Can he control the pressure? I have to know, for science. I want him-...” you trailed off before dreamily adding: “...-To choke me.” 

More laughter and teeters from your friends around you threatened to break through the seal of their clenched lips, Penguin raising his palm to halt his laughter. 

“Look at his eyes. He’s got so much pent up hate in that twinkle,” you continued, a whimsical sigh exiting your lips, “I hope he’s the type that scowls into your face while he fucks you hard. Or maybe he’s the type to bend you over a desk while he frantically rams himself into you.” 

Ikkaku’s higher pitched whimpered laughter almost broke through her lips, elevating both her hands to clench over the bottom half of her face to stifle her laughter. Penguin was not faring much better, his teeters boiling close to breaking point. Shachi pulled his hat over his eyes in an effort to hide his blush.

“I wonder if all of him is as big, hard and angry as the rest of him,” you hummed, deep in thought. A choked snort threatened to break through Shachi’s nose, Ikkaku held her breath while Penguin cringed behind his palm. 

Zoro immediately drew his eye away from his captain and examined the five of you all huddled together in a line. He focussed on your lips moving, reading the unhinged commentary you were entertaining your crewmen with: noticing your gaze was fixed on Eustass Kid. His smirk immediately broke up his lips, his eyes closing as he huffed out a subtle laugh he disguised with a cough. 

“And the scars. Are they sensitive? I wonder if he’d writhe when I lick them,” you spoke with wonderment, “How far do they go down? Is it just his face, neck, arm, and chest - or do they go all the way down his body? I would happily lick, kiss and suck my way down while mapping his flesh beneath my lips. Oooh, I wonder if he’s ticklish.” 

Zoro’s gaze was now fully fixed on your lips, relaying every word of your hushed conversation lowly to Nami standing beside him. She began holding in her own laughter, choking back stifled whimpers while hearing the repetition of your vulgarity from the first-mate beside her. Nami was also a crewmate you enjoyed spending time with when the Nakama meetings drew the Straw-Hats and Heart-Pirate crews together, appreciating how effortlessly you relayed your desires and flirtations to your crewmen. 

“And his face paint. Does it smear when it's coated in sweat and saliva? His face looks like a comfortable place to sit,” you raked your eyes over his face, focussing on his grimacing lips, “He looks like he’d be an aggressive kisser. I wonder if he bites when he eats pu-.”

That was the comment that broke the seal, the three companions by your side finally breaking into an uproar of laughter. The three crews and their captains snapped their attention over to you. You held a look of absolute innocence, your eyes finally meeting with the intimidating presence of the feral, redheaded captain. 

His intense rage directed at you had you swooning, your knees buckling and your breath sighing at him. Heat flushed your cheeks the longer your eyes were locked with his. The flutter of your heartbeat and deep sigh departing from your lips perplexed him, depicted by the rage-riddled confusion knitting his brows together deeper.

Without warning with a few quick strides, your captain strutted over to your position among your crewmates.

“Tinkerer,” he spat, your body doing little to hide your longing as you desperately attempted to look behind Trafalgar Law to return your gaze to the Nakama behind you, “I said don’t.” 

“Sorry, sir,” you apologized sincerely, snapping your eyes up to his intense gaze,and assuming a more formal position. Your hands were clasped behind your back, your chin elevated in the air and your expression hardened and practiced.

“I just-...” he growled, his eyes clamping shut tightly before reopening, “...It was a suggestion, Tink. Not an order.” He straightened his posture, swirling his neck to relieve it of tension, “At ease, but keep it quiet. Alright?”

“In that case, Cap,” you smiled, relaxing in your stature and beaming a brilliant smile up at him with a shrug, “I am going to test out how loud I can make him roar my name while he fills me full of his hot, sticky cu-.”

“-TINK!” Law scolded you with an exasperated growl, the remainder of the Heart-Pirates bursting into a large, unbridled gaggle of laughter. 

Far enough away to not hear the conversation Law was holding with you, Zoro’s smirk cut his face wider at Law’s roar. A low, rumbled chuckle shook Zoro’s shoulders, alerting Luffy and Eustass Kid of his amusement. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Kid’s voice cracked through the air, causing Zoro’s chuckle to halt but his amusement remained. 

“Go ask Cap’n Law’s crew,” Zoro suggested nonchalantly with a shrug. Luffy quirked his head to the side, his wide eyes holding mild curiosity. Nami clapped her hands over her lips and shook her head, while Robin’s knowing smile drew itself up to decorate her face with her humor. 

“Why would I do that?” Kid growled, turning his intense auburn eyes back to the scene befaling Law and his crew. Law turned back to the two captains, a rise of a pink hue dusting his cheeks as he fixed his hat atop his head. 

Behind the tattooed captain, you stood with your brow raised and following your captain’s retreat. He examined you briefly, noting you were holding a hushed conversation with your crewmates behind your captain’s back that had a blush rise to their cheeks, lips curling up into broad smiles, and shoulders quaking in laughter. You were confident, that much was sure. 

As Kid met his eyes with yours, he saw your cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes glancing at him with a beckoning taunt. He watched as you shamelessly raked your eyes over his body, pausing on a few key areas and your lips moving with a smile as you spoke. 

Kid immediately rose to your challenge, striding immediately over with haste and brushing his shoulder heavily past Law’s - who was too late to halt the meeting of an impossible force colliding with an immovable object. Law held out his arm in warning, an action falling short as the hulking figure covered your body in the shroud of his shadow. His presence sucked the very breath from your body, his intense, piercing gaze burned you as you gazed into them. Lips curling back into a snarl, he scrunched his nose alongside his brows. 

“The fuck are you all laughing at?” He roared, his hard gaze stealing the air from within your lungs. He was even more spectacular at his closer proximity, holding you briefly starstruck under his dangerous aura. 

“Aww, nothing to say? Something clamping down on your tongue to keep it from moving?” he grimaced his lips up into a cruel snarl. At his taunt, your brief awestruck expression was replaced with a channel for your vulgarity.

“Why, are you offering?” You bite back, your eyes dark with their challenge, “I bet you have an array of things you could use to keep my tongue occupied.” His eyes widened, his grimace falling a little at your words.

“Come again?” He asked, hunching over to draw his face close to yours. He bore his teeth at you, his shock written all over his face. 

“I hope so, Sir,” you smile dreamily up at him, “As many times as you can handle it.” 

Your crewmen beside you sucked in whimpered breaths, hoping and praying the larger man at least found humor in your comments if not anything else. You continued to hold your half-lidded eyes, glazed over with unwithheld lust and need meeting with his wide eyes, pupils shrunk small and expression angry.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he spat, his brows creasing in the middle of his forehead as his scowl returned, “I should gag, choke and flog you for that.”

“And I would say ‘thank you’, Sir,” you hummed in affirmation, stepping your body closer to his towering form. Reactionary, he stepped further towards you, completely ignoring your crewmates beside you witnessing your interaction. You could feel the waves of tension elevating and igniting fury beneath his hulking form. 

“If this is your way of pissing me off,” he snarled, the rumble of his voice echoing within his chest shot a delightful shiver to your spine, “Believe me, it’s fuckin’ working, Sunshine.” 

Your heart swelled at his bestowment of such a sweet title onto you, your comrades in arms staring at you in horror as you swooned. Shachi and Penguin were rapidly shaking their heads from side to side in an attempt to warn you to cease your shameless advance of the foreign captain. Ikkaku stifled a smaller gasped whimper, while Bepo covered his ears. 

“So violent,” your voice shuddered in delight with an airy breathiness, “Don’t threaten me with a good time unless you intend on seeing it through, Sir.” 

Eustass Kid was stunned.

He had not received such provocative and forthcoming flirtation in this way before, and he truly had no idea if your crude words were just a depiction of your humor to entertain yourself, or if you truly meant what you were saying. If your expressions were just an act to draw a laugh from your crewmen, he no longer wanted to take part in engaging with you in this way. However, if you were truly interested in him - your shameless and tasteless salaciousness was indeed igniting something within the tinkerer-captain.

“You don’t even know who I am, Sunshine,” he informed you, drawing up his mechanical left hand and threatening to cage your neck within its cool, steely grip.

“Then educate me on the name I’ll be blissfully crying praises for, Sir,” you groaned, leaning your neck against the index finger of the mechanical contraption. 

“You got a lot of nerve to be talking shit about me in front everyone,” he pressed the heel of his metallic palm further into your flesh and curled the digits around your throat, “I’m not a fan of being the butt of some fucked up joke.”

“They’re not laughing at you, Sir. It’s ridicule at my expense,” you confessed, groaning at the feeling of cool metal pressing dangerously hard against your jugular, “They’re laughing at how much I want you, which I do. I really do, if you’re up to the task.” 

Kid’s breath was now taking its turn in being stolen from his lungs, your confession weighing as heavy on his heart as his mechanical arm was on his shoulder. He took a moment to process the words falling freely from your lips before he calculated an appropriate response. 

“The fuck did you just say-...?” Kid asked you quietly, his arm faltering its grip around your neck while his balled fist clenched tighter to stifle his rising anger. 

“You heard me,” you taunted him further, not tearing your eyes from his for even a moment. Your smile never faltered, your eyes displaying their unbridled lust and craving for him within your blackened pupils, “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that needs to be told twice.” 

“And what kind of guy do I look like to you?” he spat at you, wringing your neck between his steel fingers.

“A big one,” you gasped a whimpering moan, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt every movement offered by the mechanical contraption. You would adore taking the time to study such a beautiful object in your workshop, but for now; your curiosity was satisfied by the feeling of the hulking larger man caging you beneath its cool grasp.

“You want me to show you how big I really am, Sunshine?” his face split into a broad grin, his brow creasing in the center to deepen his sinister expression, “At least you already know how to call me ‘Sir’.” 

Before you could utter another word, Law pulled the captain’s attention away from you with a grasp of his hand on his right forearm. Before he could squeeze his metal fingers around your neck further, he drew them away from your flesh as Captain Law interrupted your building tension.

“Captain Kid,” his stern voice cut through the air, the redhead’s eyes snapped over to meet with the yellow irises of your captain, “I apologize for my tinkerer’s obscenity. They know better,” he shot you a pointed look, one you returned with a stubborn huff of breath. “Tink, I warned you. You’re dismissed. Workshop, now.” 

“Aye-aye, Captain,” you spat, your heels clicking together as you saluted him with your index and middle finger. You marched yourself below decks, mentally scolding yourself on your shamelessness in front of someone who was finally your type. 

As the door closed behind you, Law released a breath he didn’t know he was withholding. As he opened his mouth to speak, Kid spoke over him.

“Did you say tinkerer, Traffy?” his eyes were still fixed on the door you just exited through, his voice almost soft in curiosity.

“That I did,” Law confessed with a huffed breath, “Let’s get back to our meeting so we can get this bullshit over with, yeah?” 

“Yeah…” Kid exhaled, turning back to meet his gaze with Luffy and his own crew. He spared one more glance over his shoulder towards the lower deck door of the Polar Tang. Curiosity had you plaguing his thoughts, swirling within every crevice of his mind as he attempted to engage in the fruitless Nakama meeting with the Heart, Kid and Straw-Hat pirate captains. 

Pausing just before joining up with Luffy, Kid turned once more to Law and grunted out a small cough. Law lazily turned his face over to him, angling his chin upwards to stare at the larger man. Kid’s cheeks dusted with a small tint of pink, elevating his right hand and pressing it against his lips while grunting through his next choice words. 

“They single?”

Law groaned, throwing his head back as he and Kid rejoined themselves next to Luffy to discuss the next aspect of their meeting: no words finding anchor within the Straw-Hat captain’s mind, as he was too busy contemplating when the next meal was to be presented. Will Sanji cook it? Will Kid’s crew, or Law’s provide it? Will it include meat? He hoped it would.

Part 2

#one piece #x reader #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #kid pirates #heart pirates #trafalgar law #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #shachi and penguin #op eustass kid #supernova trio #my writing #eustass kid is a secret softie #eustass kid is also a flirt

[universitypenguin]

be aware that I’ve set the stage with fun house mirrors, and there’s plenty of twists and turns to come. //

This is why you're one of my all time favorite writers on this hellsite. I mean, yes, your smut is undeniably incredible because of how thorough it is which makes it all the more real and therefore all the more able to affect (which it does, Alice dear, your smut is a menace lol). And yes, your characters' development, arc, personality, traits and the whole shebang is so meticulously well built, chosen and designed that you can't but marvel at their complexity and look around waiting for the cops to knock down your door and take you to jail for reading Alice's masterpieces for free which is ILLEGAL!!! But THIS, you giving us multiple storylines and twists and turns that we can never see coming or even slightly expect?!?!?!?! Well, that's just the cherry on top and the creme de la creme, dear. Also, i've wanted to say something about Lloyd having to go through the motions brought up by his father's death since the sec i finished the chapter because i share a very similar, if not identical, experience with him. And i just wanted you to know that you were able to convey such a raw and confusing set of emotions, that though they make no sense to the person experiencing them, they made sense to us readers cause you portrait them so well. 

You're a genius. That's it. That's the ask. 

Thank you so much!

you were able to convey such a raw and confusing set of emotions, that though they make no sense to the person experiencing them, they made sense to us readers cause you portrait them so well. 

Aw... I tried so hard to show just enough of his feelings to make people read between the lines and figure out the reasons behind his words and actions.

That's probably the best way to get resonance of emotion in a heavy scene like that one. Putting a name to the emotions seems to take away their power. You have to show them. I've noticed that when writing a powerful emotion, it's more convincing to the audience if you don't specify exactly what you're aiming for. You have to get the character to describe it, and if they're wrong, or if they can't figure out the right way to explain, and have to dance around it, that's even better. It makes the audience even more convinced that what they're hearing/seeing/sensing from the character's behavior is more accurate than the dialogue and narration.

For example, with Lloyd's reaction, the primary emotion I was trying to convey was "bitterness, shock and despair." But those weren't the words I gave him to describe his feelings. When I look at the feedback I've gotten about that scene, I can tell that it hit the right notes, because the audience picked up on the undercurrent and they could name the emotion that wasn't identified in the scene.

Sometimes it's less about precisely depicting an idea, and more about making the negative space in the image create it for you.

I really appreciate you sending me your thoughts. Clearly, it's made me reflect about exactly what techniques I was using in that scene. There really is a lot of strategy behind good writing, and that's a hill I'll die on. Analyzing your work is a great habit to get into - but it's far more effective when you can compare your intentions with a scene to reader's reactions. This is why feedback like yours is invaluable.

Thank you!!

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#penguin replies #penguin writes #creative writing #writing stuff #techniques in writing

[thepenguinclub]

this is nice! something's probably wrong.

romantic lamp, fluffy fluffness, that's it

Summary:

Virgil wakes up to sunlight on his face. This is weird, because Virgil has never in his life awoken after the sun.

At least his partners are there to help start his day off right.

————

this is something small i wrote AGES ago that i genuinely just didn't know how to finish. it's been siting in my incomplete folder for a while now and i have been struggling with writing recently so i figured hey! why not tag three sentences on to the end of this old unfinished oneshot, pretend it's a good ending, post it, and hopefully gain motivation from doing so! why not!

so here we are. beta read by @sunbrightshadows because we were bored one day. still, i love them and you should check out their stuff. or check out my stuff! it's better quality than this!

but you clicked for a reason and i appreciate that so without further ado, here's this.

WARNINGS: virgie says a no no word, but that's it.

————

Virgil woke up to warmth on his face.

The warmth was different from the warmth of one of his partner's arms around his waist, and different from the warmth of the heavy blankets he was snuggled under, and different from the warm puff of breath against his forehead. No, the warmth on his face was the warmth of sunlight.

Which was nice, of course, if not a little odd. Or a lot odd.

Because as much as he wished it otherwise, Virgil woke up early every morning to an alarm, at 5:30am exactly. His morning routine was simple after that. Gently wrestle himself out of his partner’s warm embraces, drink a protein shake, go for a run around the neighborhood, get home, do a brief workout, shower, help Patton make breakfast and talk with Logan about the plan for the day over coffee, drag Roman out of bed, and go to work. 

That happened every weekday, Monday through Friday, every week. The only difference on Saturdays and Sundays was that he didn’t go to work and he let his partners sleep in.

And no, for the record, Virgil did not enjoy the feeling of waking up early. It was just that after growing up under a former Navy SEAL, he knew how routine worked, and he had yet to break said routine even after he moved out for college and, eventually, into his own house with his partners. While Virgil did enjoy the quiet calm that came with early mornings, he knew that sleeping in was a paradise that he would never know, and he had accepted that a while ago.

Waking up at 5:30am every day meant one thing was common; Virgil did not rise after the sun. He often watched it do so, and took pride in the countless number of sunrise pictures on his phone.

So. Warmth on his face, the sun’s warmth on his face, when he woke up was wrong. 

Virgil’s eyes shot open when he felt his heart drop into the mattress under him. His heart was then left stranded in the mattress when his body rocketed up the other way, so he was sitting ramrod straight. Roman grunted, as he was the source of the warmth around Virgil’s waist, but Virgil ignored him as he lunged across Logan, the source of the warmth on his forehead, and to the nightstand.

Logan let out a very undignified squeak of surprise that he wouldn’t ever admit to making and that Virgil would have teased him for if he couldn’t feel his breathing in his brain. The fact that he had lunged over his partner and into the thin air, which, unfortunately, meant Virgil ended up hitting the floor in a somewhat uncomfortable way didn’t affect his mission to grab his phone from where it was charging and frantically check the time at all. 

7:12am.

“Shit!” Virgil shouted. He realized that his partners were still sleeping. 

“Shit!” Virgil whispered. Problem solved.

“There is no point trying to be quiet,” a still groggy Logan said, sitting up. “I can assure you that we are all awake after that display.”

“Sorry,” Virgil apologized, around 1% sheepish and 99% worried. “My alarm didn’t go off and it’s 7:15.”

“Wha?” Roman asked, pushing himself up on his elbows. Patton’s head popped up behind him, squinting in Virgil’s direction, as he was practically blind without his glasses. Virgil dimly registered them, but was more concerned with opening his phone quickly and going to check his notifications. 

One email from his boss. Virgil scanned it quickly, then let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He slumped against the wall.

“Employees,

Thanks to the blizzard that blew in last night, all roads are closed. I can’t get into the museum to open it and neither can you, unless someone has a helicopter that I’m not aware of (in which case, 1. Rude of you not to inform me and 2. Can I have a test drive), so everyone has the day off. Enjoy the snow day, don’t contact me, I won’t answer. Not that I don’t like you, just that I see you every day and it gets old. Also I might just not like you, we’ll never know.

See ya.

-Remy Picani”

Virgil rubbed a hand over his face. That was a lot of anxiety for having just woken up.

“What’s wrong, V?” Patton asked, and he was actually looking at Virgil instead of to his left because he had put his glasses on.

“Nothing,” Virgil sighed, then shut his phone. He unplugged it and slipped it in the pockets of his pajama pants, then stood up and walked over to the edge of the bed. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Roman furrowed his eyebrows, still blinking sleep from his eyes. 

“Didn’t look like-” He cut himself off with a yawn, then tried again. “Didn’t look like nothing, baby.”

Virgil smiled softly at him as he perched on the edge of the bed. 

“My alarm didn’t go off,” he explained quietly. “Freaked me out, is all.”

Logan tilted his head, his bare face looking strangely empty without his glasses. Unlike Patton, Logan wasn’t totally blind without them and could get by fairly well, but he got headaches if he didn’t wear them for long periods of time. 

“Why wouldn’t your alarm have gone off?” Logan asked. Virgil shrugged, then looked over at Roman when he laughed sheepishly. He was more awake now, and was rubbing the back of his neck in the way he did when he was embarrassed. 

“That might’ve been me, actually,” he said. Virgil went to ask what he was talking about, but Roman explained before he could. “I was the last one to go to bed last night and as I was getting into my pjs my boss texted me to say work was closed for today because of the snow. I told Alexa to turn off my alarm, but she must have turned off all of them.” Roman twisted his mouth in apology. “Sorry, baby.”

Virgil huffed a little, but he gave Roman a small smile.

“It’s fine, I get it,” he said, and Roman smiled at him. “I still don’t get why I didn’t wake up, though. Even if something’s wrong with my alarm I always wake up on time ‘cause it’s habit.”

Logan waved his hand a little.

“That was me,” he admitted, and his hand went up to push his glass up his nose, only to meet air. He crossed his eyes briefly to look at his fingers before realizing what was wrong and reaching over to put his glasses on. He cleared his throat when he was settled again. “I was quite, er, close, to you last night-”

“Together for seven years and he still can’t admit he’s a cuddler,” Roman teased, and Patton whacked his arm playfully.

“Be nice,” he chided, and Roman stuck his tongue out. Logan rolled his eyes and continued.

“As I was saying, when you started to wake up it woke me up and in my state of half-consciousness I didn’t realize it was time for you to get up,” he explained. “I got you back to sleep before you were ever awake.”

Virgil nodded slowly, fuzzy memories of shushing and a quiet ‘go back to sleep’ coming to mind now that Logan had mentioned it.

“That’s fine, Lo,” he said finally, “but my backup alarm on my phone should have gone off.”

It was Patton’s turn to look sheepish.

“Sorry, honey, that was probably me.” Virgil raised an eyebrow, and he elaborated. “We all know I’m a light sleeper-” He was, Patton tended to wake up at every little sound, but he never had a problem going right back to sleep. “-and at some point I woke up and there was this buzzing sound. I got up and followed it to your phone, V, but I was super tired and didn’t realize why the alarm was going off, so I just turned it off and went back to sleep. Sorry,” he added, and Virgil shook his head.

“No, that makes sense,” he admitted. “I must have forgotten to turn my ringer back on after work yesterday.”

Roman laughed a little. “Sorry we ruined your routine, Virge,” he said, amusement coloring his words. “Can’t believe we all took part, though, that’s kinda funny.”

Patton shrugged. “We are a snooze-worthy team!” he exclaimed brightly, and Virgil groaned. Roman barked out another laugh, and Logan sighed.

“That was barely applicable, Patton,” he said tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Patton giggled.

“Don’t you mean bear-ly?” he asked, pointing to the worn teddy bear resting on one of the shelves on the wall. It was Patton’s from when he was little, and Bubbles sat contentedly to live out his days among their keepsakes.

“No,” Logan deadpanned. “No I did not.”

Virgil snorted, then stood up from the edge of the bed. He stretched and cracked his back, shaking his limbs out a little to start the wake up process. His partners started to do the same, stretching and picking up phones to check notifications, although they all stayed in the bed.

“Work’s closed today,” Logan said, and Patton nodded.

“For me too,” he agreed, and Virgil let out a tense “same” as he bent as far backwards as he was comfortable going. Roman wolf whistled teasingly, and Virgil glared at him as he straightened back up, before doing the same stretch forward, leaning onto his hands and walking them forward until he was in a pushup position. He did one quick push up, then walked his feet to meet his hands and stood back up again. His partners were all staring at him in fascination, and he felt himself flush up his neck and into his cheeks.

“What?” he asked self consciously, and Patton giggled.

“Nothing, honey,” he said, smiling fondly. “We’ve just never seen your morning stretches, ‘s all.”

“You are very flexible,” Logan added, and Roman choked on air. Virgil smacked a hand over his face to cover his steadily increasing blush, walking over to the bed and picking up a pillow to continuously hit Roman over the head with.

“It is too early to be horny on main,” Virgil laughed, punctuating each word with a whack from the pillow.

Logan seemed to finally realize what Roman had meant, because he closed his eyes and sighed even as his face flamed. Patton just giggled, making a noise of sympathy when Roman called out to him desperately.

Really, Virgil reflected as he brutally destroyed his boyfriend, sleeping in was pretty nice. Waking up with his partners was even better. 

Maybe he’d try and do it more often.

————

hope you enjoyed, sorry about the ending i know it was weird.

if you like this, check out my other works because personally i think they're better! also, you can read my stuff on my ao3 here (thepenguinclub) if you would like to.

reblogs and likes are loved with every fiber of my being, and i wasn't joking about the writing struggle so if anyone has any requests for no reason i would love to hear them, just pop them in a comment, the tags of a reblog on my tumblr, or a dm.

have a good rest of your day and go to bed at a decent hour. <3

#sanders sides fanfiction #ts virgil #ts sides #ts logan #ts remus #ts roman #ts patton #ts janus #penguin writes

[nomercymaster11]

It's complicated

@GOKUJOUNOMAGURO

W/C: 1,492 | Law x y/n , afab!reader, Heart Pirates daily life

A/N: How do you handle rejection? How do you cope? That's the theme of this series. (More interactions with the Heart Pirates crew too!) Please do comment if you want the next chapter. I hope you guys will like this... :3

The gentle rumbling of the submarine's engines filled the Polar Tang's hallway, providing a comforting background noise. The soft lights along the narrow corridor gave a cozy feeling, and at the end of the hall, a big window showed the calm ocean outside.

Law stood by the window; his attention focused on the marine life gracefully gliding through the clear blue water. It was a mesmerizing sight, yet the emotions brewing inside you threatened to cast a shadow over the beauty of the ocean beyond.

Taking a deep breath, you approached Law, your heart pounding with nervous anticipation. The silence in the hallway hung thick, broken only by the subtle creaking of the submarine as it navigated the ocean depths. The air felt heavy with unspoken words.

"Captain," you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours with a calm and collected demeanor.

The sunlight, filtering through the water's surface, painted intricate patterns on the window. The beams of light cascaded like liquid gold, casting a heartfelt glow in the confined space. The scene seemed to echo the complexity of the emotions swelling within your heart.

"I need to tell you something,"

you confessed, your words lingering in the quiet hallway. Law's expression remained unreadable, and a flicker of hesitation passed through your eyes before you continued.

"I... I have feelings for you... I needed to let you know."

Law's stern gaze softened for a moment, but he remained silent.

"I understand if you don't feel the same way," you continued, your eyes dropping to the floor.

"But I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. It's okay if you don't—"

Law gently interrupted, his voice steady and composed,

"I appreciate your honesty, but I cannot reciprocate those feelings."

A heavy silence enveloped the both of you, the words echoing in the confined space. The sunlight outside the window continued its dance, casting both light and shadow on the scene, as if nature itself mirrored the bittersweet revelation.

"Thank you," You uttered politely.

Your eyes met Law's, a subtle acknowledgment of the conversation that had just unfolded. With a dignified nod, you bowed your head, attempting to maintain composure, concealing the devastation that echoed within you.

The hallway of the Polar Tang seemed to narrow as you walked away.

As you retreated to your station, you crossed paths with Shachi and Penguin.

"Ei! <y/n>," Penguin's enthusiastic shout pierced through the solemn atmosphere. Ignoring him, you continued walking, as if the world around you had faded into insignificance. The duo exchanged puzzled glances; their curiosity piqued by your unusual behavior. They decided to follow you, concerned expressions etched on their faces.

Shachi's voice cut through the silence.

"What's wrong? Why the long face?" Shachi questioned, lightly tapping your left shoulder. In an instant, tears welled up in your eyes, and the intense emotions poured out uncontrollably.

"Oi...!" Penguin exclaimed, guiding you to the side of the corridor.

Shachi followed suit, both concerned for your well-being. Your hands covered your face as you wept, and Penguin, ever watchful, scanned the surroundings for any prying eyes. With gentle gestures, they ushered you towards your room.

The three of you arrived at the front of your door.

"May we come in?" Penguin breaking the silence.

You nodded, closing the door behind you. Shachi and Penguin found seats within your room, while you settled on the edge of your bed.

"Tell us what happened," Penguin urged, his concern evident in his voice.

A heavy pause hung in the air before you began to speak.

"Law rejected me," you confessed, your gaze fixed on the floor, your voice barely audible. Shachi and Penguin exchanged surprised glances, struggling to comprehend the unexpected revelation.

“What do you mean you’ve been rejected?” Shachi asked you.

Penguin subtly motioned to Shachi, silently conveying that he would take charge of the situation.

"You're not thinking of leaving the crew, are you?" Penguin's direct inquiry followed.

"No, of course not... but... I don't know," you answered hesitantly. Your response left them concerned for your emotional state.

"Do you want us to talk to him?" Shachi offered; genuine worry etched across his face.

"Please don't!" you pleaded, locking eyes with Shachi, the horror of the prospect evident in your gaze.

"I'll handle this. I'll be fine. Thank you for the concern," you reassured them with a faint smile.

Penguin sighed heavily. "We shall get going then. He might be looking for us now," he added, offering a comforting pat on your back.

"Don't worry. We're not going to tell him that you talked to us. For now, you rest. We'll cover your station in the meantime," Shachi reassured you, a genuine sincerity in his words.

"I'm really sorry for the trouble, but thank you guys," you expressed your gratitude, the weight on your shoulders slightly lifted by their understanding and support.

Penguin and Shachi walked away from your room; the corridor once again enveloped in the subdued lighting of the submarine. Penguin's fingers absentmindedly brushed his chin as he delved into deep contemplation, his analytical mind trying to unravel the complexities of the situation.

"I don't get it," Penguin muttered, a perplexed furrow forming on his brow.

"We always catch Law looking at her, but why would he reject her?"

His voice carried a mix of confusion and frustration, as if trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. The subtle hum of the submarine's engines seemed to echo the mystery surrounding Law's unexpected decision.

"Ngghhg," Shachi grunted, scratching his head with both of his hands, offering a non-verbal agreement to Penguin's sentiments. His brows furrowed in tandem with his friend's, both lost in thought as they navigated the narrow hallway.

The rhythmic sounds of their footsteps resonated against the metallic walls, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil that lingered in the air. The enigma of Law's actions hung heavily between them, leaving the duo in a state of silent contemplation. As they continued their stroll through the Polar Tang, the captain's motives were still unclear, and this made them feel uneasy. It kind of spoiled the friendly vibe that had been briefly disrupted by what was revealed in your room.

---

Bepo's casual stroll towards the kitchen was abruptly interrupted by Shachi's shout, causing him to turn around with a surprised expression. Penguin and Shachi, sprinting to catch up, reached Bepo, creating a small gathering in the corridor.

"Bepo!" Shachi called out, urgency in his voice. The trio quickly made their way to the nearest round table, their faces etched with concern. Penguin took the lead in explaining the afternoon's events between you and Law.

"Captain did what?!"

Bepo's eyes widened with disbelief, almost screaming at the revelation. Shachi shot him a stern look, his finger pressed against his lips, signaling for Bepo to keep his voice down.

"That sounds bad," Bepo remarked, reclining in his chair, arms crossed, and a visible frown etched on his face.

"Bepo," Penguin leaned forward, his arms crossed on the table, "did you see Law a while ago?" he inquired.

"Yeah, right before I got here in the kitchen. He went back to his office," Bepo responded.

"Did you notice anything about him?" Shachi questioned.

"Now that you mention it," Bepo paused, taking a sip of his cold water, "he seemed in deep thought."

"No, he's always like that!" Shachi retorted with a hint of frustration.

"But he seemed sad," Bepo added, his observation hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

Penguin grunted, placing his right hand on his forehead, a gesture of helplessness.

"He's technically got that poker face every day," he added, acknowledging Law's habitual stoicism.

The Polar Tang bore witness to the trio's hushed conversation. The enigma surrounding Law's emotions deepened, their faces cast in shadows that mirrored the uncertainty of the situation.

Penguin's deep voice cut through the quiet atmosphere.

"There's nothing we could do, for now. But let's keep an eye out for the two," he suggested, a tone of helplessness echoing in his words. The weight of the unspoken emotions surrounding Law and your revelation lingered in the air.

"And Bepo..." Penguin's gaze shifted towards the polar bear mink, a sense of seriousness etched on his face.

"Don't spill this conversation to anyone."

Bepo's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected directive.

"Why only me? And not Shachi?" he questioned, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Because you have the tendency to overshare with anyone," Shachi chimed in, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Fiinnnee!" Bepo sighed, reluctantly agreeing to keep the conversation confidential. The camaraderie between the three crewmates added a touch of humor to the otherwise somber atmosphere.

After the conversation concluded, the trio dispersed, each returning to their respective stations. The corridor, once filled with subdued voices, returned to a quiet solitude, leaving the unresolved tension to echo through the metal walls of the submarine.

CHAPTER 2

#law x you #law x reader #law x y/n #law x female reader #one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #law one piece #heart pirates #bepo one piece #shachi one piece #penguin one piece #one piece fanfiction #I've been thinking about this story for so long. I need to write it down NOW.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

:-P

#srry ive just been thinking abt avatar a lot lately. idk y bc im not even rewatching it #i just kinda wanna draw the creatures and it really annoys me that i cant draw sokkas hair right #also me: scheduling posts << posting whatever i draw immediate bc fuck it #im procrastinating writing and trying to not think bad thoughts lmao #atla #avatar the last airbender #sokka #katara #aang #turtle duck #otter penguin #its annoying bc my brains says i cant draw anything simple but also i have to draw and color as fast as humanly possible #so everything comes out a lil fucked up which is irritating #also i like that the water tribe using mutant mittens which is what my dad uses in the winter bc idk military supply store?

[penguinsr4ever]

how do write fights

#writing #penguin writes #im so stuck help #why do i do this to myself