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kalystatheevil · 6 months

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picture scaramouche bent over, hands tied behind his back, face pressed to a coffee table with you holding him from behind

tw: cursing, cnc, praise, humiliation, dom reader, unhealthy use of ellipses; (amab reader), 18+

you rub your glistening cock between scaramouche's spread asscheeks, almost moaning from the view alone. your precum is already leaking into the cracks, moistening them prettily.

"fuck, scara… what did i tell you, huh?" a sharp slap resounds, and scaramouche's right cheek immediately starts turning pinkish. the boy grits his teeth.

"go to hell you fucking psycho."

"mhhh…" your thumbs leave little indents in the supple skin of his ass. between them, a throbbing hole clenches nervously. "a psycho, am i."

scaramouche moans as you push the tip past the rim. you're sure he didn't mean to, but it still escaped his lips. slowly, you push just the tip in and out, watching intently as the skin spreads around the gland, swallowing it greedily.

"you stretch so beautifully, scara," you coo, a soft blush on your face. "so incredibly beautiful"

"stop— stop looking!" scaramouche growls. "it's—" he gasps loudly when the tip enters him yet again, face already red from all the blood gathering in his head.

"it's what, scara..."

"it's— ugly…"

at this, you click your tongue and stop. "ugly?"

scaramouche becomes angry, deflecting from his quickly rising shame. "yes, ugly. seriously, stop with this stupid game you're playing, i don't need you to act like you're into th—"

you thrust into him, deep and hard. scaramouche's words are lost in a strangled gurgle as his eyes roll back.

"it seems i need to fuck that thought out of you."

with one roll of your hands, you shorten the rope connected to his tied wrists, tugging them upwards. slowly, you start to roll your hips back, watching as the rim catches and slides over your cock. you moan. "aah, scara… you look so, so pretty like this"

"fuck… you… ngh— a-aahn…"

you breathe heavily. "fuck. fuck, scara. you take me so well. look at you, moaning like a slut..."

"shut— shut up. fuck. i'll kill you. i swear i'll fucking kill y— MGH!" you slam back into him. any further protest is drowned by the sound of thighs hitting flesh in sharp slaps as you start pounding into him. harder and harder you thrust back inside, needing to reach deeper, faster, harder.

it doesn't take long for scaramouche to lose his composure. on the surface of the coffee table, he rolls his head almost limply to the side. his eyes are blurry with pleasure, but still he tries to look at you out of the corner of his eye - to make you see exactly what you are doing to him.

you breathe a laugh, panting hard. under scaramouche's mouth, a steadily growing puddle of drool forms. he twitches, legs giving in.

you grab his hips so hard his skin will certainly bruise. scaramouche is not yet allowed to stop taking you. you stare and stare, fucking him until the world starts to tilt, until your cock feels numb from sheer pleasure, until you start twitching so hard that it's visible on the front of scaramouche's stomach—

you cum hard, gasping for air. white stars form in your vision, and you can feel your hands tremble on his soft skin.

"haha…" you laugh, out of breath. under you, scaramouche whimpers quietly.

after a moment, you pull out slowly. a thick line of cum connects the tip of your still slightly twitching cock with scaramouche's warm, fluttering hole. "ahh… fuck. my cum… hahaha… deep… deep inside you…"

scaramouche lets out another whine. his hole clenches before releasing a white drop of liquid. he whimpers, trying to say something.

"mh?" you ask, using your thumb to smear the droplet around the throbbing hole. "speak up, scara…"

amidst his wordless whimpers, you push your thumb inside and laugh again, feeling scaramouche milking it powerlessly.

"i wonder when you came…"

"mmglh…" scaramouche answers. when something warm touches his freely leaking cock, he flinches lightly. a moan tumbles over his lips. with the palm of your hand, you rub the tip of his soft erection.

"or rather… how many times." scaramouche's eyes slowly roll backwards. with a grin, you raise your hand back up and glide your tongue over the palm, humming appreciatively at the taste. "yum ~"

"no…more…" scaramouche finally breathes. "can't…" your arm slings around his belly. with ease, you lift him up. "ahn—"

"no more? no more, scara?"

"no... more..."

"but baby..." you place a soft kiss on his temple.

"we were just getting started."

[formatting shamelessly stolen from scara smut writer @hanxku]

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purplekissinger · 4 months

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deardiarydeardiarydeardiary

Y/N's been acting strange lately. She may contain the urge to run away, but Tom holds her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks.

🎵alt-J - Breezeblocks🎵

TW: manipulation, mental disorder themes. This is a full blown angst.

The cover: smooth, soft, fine leather. It feels nice to run your hand over it and you do it from time to time. Sometimes it feels warm. The corners: gold, darkened with age. They taste slightly salty (yes, you chewed them at some point, let's not talk about that). The paper: rough, thick, slightly yellow, clean pages like muddy water (there should be a bottom somewhere, but it’s not visible). Tom: soothing, gentle, funny, sympathetic, loving, the best, scary, all-knowing, affectionate, scary, witty, did I mention ‘scary’?

“Nothing special happened today,” you wrote and paused, thinking about your next sentence. He will know if you lie, he has proven it too many times. It's better to switch the topic quickly. “There is a small problem with the task on potions, maybe you can help me?..”.

Sometimes you use ellipses when talking to him. Poke, poke, poke. Writing lacks the timid intonation so you draw it with dots.

Tom doesn't buy it.

“And what was not special that happened today?”

You began to sleep worse and eat less.

‘Y/N, are you okay?’ - asks someone to your right. It takes you a second to realize that you are sitting at a table in the Great Hall and it’s unbearably noisy here. It takes two more seconds to turn your unseeing gaze to the girl on the right (is that Mary? Mary what’shername? Mary MacDonald? Do we know each other? Why is she talking to me? How did I end up here?).

“Yes, everything is great,” you smile weakly. “I’ll just grab something to eat and it will be even better.”

The plate in front of you is empty. Mary's face is distorted by some kind of emotion, and it takes you another three seconds to recognize pity and disgust in it.

“Molly Prewett said I've been weird lately.”

Molly Prewett said she's already seen you in that shirt for several days in a row. Molly Prewett said your eye is twitching. Molly Prewett said you scream at night.

“Molly Prewett? That fat red-haired girl?” - you can almost see his mocking smile through the pages, and you immediately feel better, as if the invisible fingers squeezing your throat have slightly loosened their grip. “Y/N, dear, please don’t say that she actually managed to hurt your feelings. You do realize why she says that, right? You are the most beautiful and the smartest girl in Hogwarts, and this ugly bitch is simply dying of envy. Damn, I'm dying of self-envy. I’m the luckiest bastard ever to know you. It's a pleasure talking with you. You yourself are a pleasure. Of course, she is jealous, the whole of Hogwarts is crazy about you, otherwise they are just blind. Do you have a mirror in your room right now? Come on, look in it. There’s a princess living in your mirror, go check yourself!”

In your mirror lives a princess who has lain in a coffin for a hundred years. Hair tangled, eyes dull, sweater inside out.

You walk along the corridor, moving your feet mechanically. You won't be able to remember what lesson is next on the schedule even if your life depends on it. Your peripheral vision has gone and all sounds seem to be distant as if there were cotton wool in your ears. Step. Step. Step. Step.

“Tom, this is just wonderful! I struggled over this essay for two hours, and you sorted it out in no time. Wait, don’t remove the solution yet, I’ll copy it…”

“Take your time, honey. I want my best girl to study well.”

Last week, for the first time in your life, you got a Troll in Transfiguration, which you used to love. You simply went to the pulpit and stood there with an absent look for two minutes. After class, professor McGonagall touches your elbow gently.

“Miss L/N, if you feel like you need to talk, I’m always ready to listen to you,” she says almost in a whisper. It's the warmest tone she can muster, but you already have someone always ready to listen.

“y/n sunshine my beloved dear y/n y/n y/n y/n i love you so please don’t go y/n y/n y/n if you have a heart you won’t leave me you're such a kind girl y/n you won't leave me here you'll help me you'll talk to me you'll love me you'll help me i believe y/n y/n y/n you're the best in the world if i find out that you told someone you’re dead dead dead dead dead dead you don’t know what i can do what i’m capable of you can’t escape me you’ll rot in azkaban forever if you tell anyone y/n don’t even think of that y/n you’re my sunshine you open the diary and i can breathe again i breathe you i live by you i will die without you don’t leave me help me i’m begging you i love you so i love you so”.

Choking with sobs, you look at the jumping lines. The pages are wet from your tears.

“What do you want me to do, Tom?”

It’s 3 a.m. You haven't slept for two days. How are you still able to write? How are you still able to think?

“The toilet is on the third floor. Write me when you get there.”

#harry potter #yandere x reader #tom riddle x y/n #harry potter x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle diary #angst #yandere tom riddle

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chronically-enthusiastic · 9 months

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Hello there, thanks for stumbling across my blog!

(Here's a lil comic I made for a school assignment)

I'm going to start putting my social energy levels in my bio... There's a lot of stuff I want to respond to but i currently dont have the energy to do so, and so if I don't respond within like a day, check my bio and see that... I always feel bad about being on tumblr when theres things people have sent me but responding to those things is a different level of interaction than reblogging a post... so yeah... Sorry to the people i havent responded to yet! I will soon <333 (writing this on low energy, sorry for the incoherence)

Who am I / Where else can you find me?

First of all, feel free to call me Eli!! I'm on the waiting list for an autism diagnosis. I am agender and aroace-spec.

I am verrryyy enthusiastic about the things I am interested in (hence the URL hehehe). And currently, those are: podcasts (theres a list at the bottom of the post), good omens, ofmd, bbc merlin, star trek!!!!, lotr, and probably more things that I am too tired to think of right now!

I am a very big fan of the oxford comma and double brackets. Semicolons are pretty cool too. And ellipses are incredible.

i love all of my mutuals dearly!! Making cookies and hot chocolate for you all <33

I try to use tone tags as much as possible!

Boundaries:

Things I am okay with sharing/doing:

My age, gender/sexuality, things about my guinea pigs!!, and most other things

Things I am not okay with sharing/doing:

The city I live in, pictures of me/anyone I know, my full name, my birthdate, my phone number/email address, meeting up with people irl, sending/receiving money/gifts, dms (<- though if we're mutuals and interacted a lot dms are fine!!)

^ this applies to everyone im not in the discord with

I will let someone know if they cross boundaries, and *really* would like other people to let me know if I cross theirs!!

DNI: people who are here to spread hate and anger. Just, stay away. I dont engage in discourse. I know DNIs dont deterr these people, but this is a demonstration of my core values :)

Updated to clarify - I do block the generic tags such as Israel and Gaza, which most of the posts are tagged with by the op, so if you forget its no big deal!!

Tags:

(At the top cause otherwise it will get lost) ALSO #tw body horror

I block quite a few tags but most notably #tw war and other ones to do with the war in israel/palestine. This is not because I don't care. I care so so so much about what is happening and I cry every time I see a post about it. It breaks my heart that such horrible things are happening. However, I really struggle with high empathy, and seeing a post about it can really affect me for a while, and I need tumblr to be a safe space away from the real world problems. If I follow you - please could you tag things to do with war. Thank you <3

A list of all the podcasts I listen to because y'know, its fun:

Fiction:

The Amelia Project

Wooden Overcoats

The Adventure Zone

Sherlock & Co

Alba Salix

Unseen

And a whole lot more that i no longer listen to either because they havent updated or they are a little too creepy (Welcome to Night Vale falls into the latter category)

Science:

The Sci Guys

Lets Learn Everything

Lingthusiasm

A podcast of unnecessary detail.

Comedy/other:

Dear Hank and John

The Unmade Podcast

Books Unbound

Lateral

A book list of recommendations from mutuals for my own use:

abigail by Magda Szasbo (@mack-anthology-mp3)

The Alphabet of Candice Phee (@jamie-dinow)

A list of music reccomendations from mutuals:

in the lap of the gods revisited by queen, why can't i be you by the cure, pyramid song, and lucky & the tourist by radiohead, when the sun hits by slowdive, dancing barefoot by patti smith, tangerine by led zeppelin, autumn sweater by yo la tengo, rubber ring by the smiths, water by pj harvey (from @/mack-anthology-mp3)

imi hendrix’s all along the watchtower (from @/catholickedd)

#pinned post #eli has a thought

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floofanflurr · 2 months

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Hi, have y'all seen the master list of Heart on the Table fanart recently?? We just got some new additions!!!

The absolutely wonderful and amazing @sunsestart made art for Heart on the Table (chapters 8 and 19) and it has DESTROYED ME. Here's a link to the master post. And here's the art for Chapter 8 (tw blood/injury) and Chapter 19.

These link to the image address as they aren't posted online. I am sharing them here with Sun's full permission!

Ramble about their amazing art under the cut:

OKAY SO. Chapter 8 art to start.

This is just GORGEOUS. And heartbreaking. So, so heartbreaking. You got all of the emotions that I wanted to convey in the scene, and I am OBSESSED with how you draw expressions. GOSH the tears in Papyrus's sockets and the way his brow bones and teeth are positioned are just. PAIN. He's so hurt and in shock. Like, I can FEEL his panic and shock and hurt from this.

And the COLORS!??!?! DAMN. Just the spots of red for Frisk's SOUL and the blue for Undyne's spears just really makes it pop and just... ties it together so well. It's so VISCERAL.

AND THE POSING. GOSH Papyrus's right (his right, our left??) hand DESTROYS ME. I cannot look away. Just... how did you convey in just one little hand how terrified he is to touch them? Because holy heck he just screams "I don't know where to touch or what to do without breaking them more."

And Frisk's expression. They're so HURT and gosh just. The shading over their eyes and their injuries... just. YOU GOT THE SPEAR THAT SKIMMED THEIR CHEEK!?!??! THIS IS PAIN. /pos I'M STILL FREAKING OUT OVER THIS.

ALSO THE INJURIES ON THEIR SIDE! IT'S ALSO THE Same one I gave them in story!!! This is brilliant, you are brilliant. Stars, I'm never going to emotionally recover from this. ALSO ALSO I adore the way you weight the lines. And the BLOOD. There's not a lot but it's so well done.

Gosh, I'm going to cry seeing Frisk's little hand in Papyrus's.

Everything about this. I adore. SO much. It's just got pain and tension and heartbreak and disbelief and desperation in every line. HHHHHHHHHH.

AND THE CHAPTER 19 ART!!! GOSH. MY HEART.

(I keep wanting to call it chapter 20 and I have no idea why.)

HHHGH. This whole thing. Just. This small strip of comic has the most palpable tension I've ever seen in a comic. The use of the exclamation marks and ellipses just really really really shows first the shock and then the pause before it all goes to hell.

And DAMN I love the angles and the poses so much. AND THE EXPRESSIONS. Holy heck I love the way you do expressions. Frisk's little smile and wave contrasting with Papyrus's slightly open mouth and brow bone quirked just so to show his shock/worry/distress right before it all hits him.

And then the close up panels on Papyrus and Undyne's faces- just-

HHHHH. The shadows across their eyes and the drops of sweat just. It makes it so that I'm really just. Feeling just as much tension as they probably are. Undyne clearly knows she's in a bit of deep shit, and Papyrus is just... processing. (and is not having a fun time while he takes in the sight in front of him.)

Also just. I love the way you do Undyne's fins. And Frisk's hair. And Undyne and Frisk in general. Also Papyrus's scarf and face and-

Okay I just love how you draw these characters so much. I wish to consume your art. GOSH I love your style.

And I also love how you have Papyrus's hand on the door and his pose. It really helps build the scene and to see that he had JUST opened the door.

Also I love the slight angle on the close up of Undyne since it's so dynamic. This whole thing is incredibly dynamic. It's a series of three still frames, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels almost like a scene from a video. They just flow into each other so well. You are just. So skilled at what you do.

And the line weights and the shadings and just- I will consume. I wish to consume. Entirely.

Thank you so so so much for making these wonderful pieces and allowing me to share them. I will never emotionally recover. The death sounds I made when I first saw them.... (You missed the worst of them when I saw the second one.)

It took me like a solid - 6 minutes(?) after I saw the first piece to stop vibrating and spinning and wheezing enough to type a response.

Also, cuz I saw someone ask this once and now I'm always curious- what was your favorite things about each of these that you made? Like what you did with the pieces. (Only if you want to answer of course!)

Just. Thank you so much. I'm gonna go stare at these some more now, thank you.

#undertale #heart on the table

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allhalesterekstilinski · 8 months

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For a show that revolves around the lunar cycle, no one did any research. It's easy to google. I know it's a fictional show where anything can happen and I think I'm the only person this really bothers, but I'm still going to complain about it.

Everything is so jumbled in this show, if I miss a full moon, let me know and I'll add my two cents.

Here is my source.

Season 1

According to TW (ATTW): The wolf moon is right after school starts for the semester. It's on a Friday.

Reality: The wolf moon was January 19th. It was a Wednesday.

ATTW: The snow moon was sometime after February 7th since that is when "Night School" took place and the full moon was in "Lunatic." February 7th was a Wednesday since the radio DJ said the school was closed Thursday and Friday and today is Monday, so the 12th.

Reality: The snow moon was February 18th. This was a Friday. February 7th was a Monday and the 12th would be Saturday.

Season 2

ATTW: There is a full moon in "Shape Shifted."

Reality: This would not be possible since there is very little space between the last and the next full moon.

ATTW: The worm moon is on Lydia's birthday.

Reality: This would make Lydia's birthday March 19th. It was a Saturday.

Season 3

ATTW: The sturgeon moon took place during "Chaos Rising" and "Fireflies."

Reality: This would have been August 13th and 14th. I have reason to believe it was August since California schools typically start then. The 13th and 14th was Saturday and Sunday, despite the fact there was school during both episodes.

ATTW: In "The Girl Who Knew Too Much" Allison says this, "So it's my fault that you've been lying to me for the past two months?" Placing the rest of 3A in October. And during "Lunar Ellipse" there was a lunar eclipse.

Reality: The hunter's moon was October 11th. The only total lunar eclipses in 2011 were in June and December. And no partial solar eclipses were in October, either.

ATTW: The news article about Malia says the accident took place on September 17, 2005.

Reality: The harvest moon was September 18th.

Season 4

ATTW: The wolf moon takes place shortly after Liam is bitten ("Muted" and "The Benefactor"). The full moon is also seen in "117" when Kate loses control at the gas station.

Reality: The wolf moon was January 9th. It was a Monday, which doesn't make sense since the previous episode (when Liam was bit) they had been at school. It could not have been in "117" and "The Benefactor." You could argue "117" wasn't the full moon and Kate was just struggling, but she has no problem shifting into the werejaguar at will in "The Divine Move."

Season 5

ATTW: Scott chains up Liam because he's having trouble with the full moon. This is also the day right before school starts.

Reality: There were two full moons in August 2012. The sturgeon moon was August 1st and was a Wednesday. Perhaps a little early for school to start, but not totally impossible. The blue moon was August 31st and was a Friday. We can likely rule this one out as the beginning of season five.

ATTW: At the end of 5A, they reference the super moon.

Reality: The only super moon in 2012 was in May.

I'm not sure when the end of 5A is, but the following full moons include Saturday September 29th, Monday October 29th, Wednesday November 28th, and Friday December 28th. I doubt 5A lasted from early August to anything later than October.

Season 6

ATTW: In "After Images" Brett and Lori die and Liam is exposed as a werewolf on the full moon.

Reality: This date is likely Tuesday August 20th.

#teen wolf #teen wolf meta #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #allison argent #derek hale #lydia martin #jackson whittemore #malia tate #liam dunbar #brett talbot #lori rohr #kate argent #isaac lahey #vernon boyd #cora hale #erica reyes #theo raeken #peter hale

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total-drama-shark · 2 years

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Like a month ago I off handedly mentioned in the tags of a reblog that Mike’s ROTI bio lived in my mind rent free and I want to share my thoughts on it in more detail!

The bio in question:

// TW for very mild discussion and insinuation of trauma

First thing I wanted to mention is that alters switching in the bio is represented by ellipses, which I really like! With the ellipses being used both to signal switching and as aposiopesis, it gives a sort of text equivalent of dissociating which I think is pretty clever.

Second is how all the alters featured in ROTI make a cameo in the bio. While I understand why they did that, I cannot imagine the headache that must be rapidly switching five separate times in the time frame of what must be less than an hour.

An interesting thing about the switches in the bio, actually, is how they take place without any of the triggers we were explained the alters had in the series, which could indicate that they have more than the triggers shown on screen or that they don’t always need a trigger to be the cause of a switch (and realisticly would probably be the both) I have some few speculations as to how and why the switches took place in this:

We don’t have much to go off as to why Mike switches to Chester in the first question, my best guess is Chester got pulled to the front cause Mike was anxious or he’s better at dealing with interviews?

Svetlana fronts after Chester at the mention of movies, I like to believe the topic of movies could be a positive trigger for Svetlana.

The switch from Svetlana to Mike is interesting, we never got to hear the end of Svetlana’s dream and I can’t decipher what would bring Mike back to the front besides just, wanting to get back to the front I guess.

Mike is read recalling a childhood memory which is presumably unpleasant in some way, before Vito comes to the front. I personally believe that Vito switched to stop or prevent Mike from fully recovering that specific memory, maybe because it’s traumatic or something Mike isn’t emotionally prepared to confront yet.

When Manitoba switches after Vito his tone reads as frustrated, and we don’t see any switches after this. Possibly Manitoba got sick of all the rampant switching and decided to front himself and stop the other front accessing the front in the meantime, which would best work if he was a gatekeeper.

Something interesting about the interview is that it’s stated twice that Mike doesn’t have the best memory, specifically regarding his dreams and his childhood. The childhood part makes a lot of sense considering the nature and cause of DID and it’s really the only time the show ever seemed to, even if vaguely, acknowledge the implications of Mike having DID.

Different alters also mention different family members; Vito mentions working with an uncle in his first job, which is presumably the body’s uncle, and Manitoba mentions having a wife, which very likely isn’t the body’s wife. Personal interpretation is that Manitoba is an introject and his wife is an exomemory.

Lastly, it seems that the way the alters refer to fronting is compared to driving? Like Manitoba refers to who’s fronting as “who’s at the wheel” in the last question and in AS, Mal (while masking as Mike) tells Zoey that he’s “back in the driver’s seat”. Kinda neat way to describe it tbh.

#total drama #td mike #td chester #td svetlana #td vito #td manitoba

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ink-beneath-her-fingernails · 1 year

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everything in grayscale

read it on ao3 | masterlist

Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender

TW: major character death, discussion of canon-typical genocide, discussion of canon-typical imprisonment, discussion of canon-typical death, discussion of loss of culture, children in distressing situations, dissociation, discussion of canon-typical past child abuse, self-blame. please let me know if there are any other warnings that should be added.

Wordcount: 2,939

Originally published: February 8, 2023

Summary: and this is the question you have to ask yourself (have been asking yourself, have faced from every person you've met in this new world, have been unable to escape in the past few weeks, have asked even your past incarnations who are so far removed from you that thinking their opinion could make a difference is almost laughable): are you going to kill the fire lord?

or, perhaps, a better question, the one everybody is too scared to ask you: are you going to watch the world burn instead?

there is no universe in which you can say no to both of them and not be lying.

(or: the lion turtle doesn't come. aang has a decision to make.)

Notes: inspired by this poll by @aboutiroh so... this is for her! i love the way it’s handled in the show, but something about the way that was worded just made my brain demand me to write this. i wrote the bulk of this in like an hour at 3am and did not let it sit in my drafts long enough for rested me to take a good look at so do with that knowledge what you will. this is in lapslock bc apparently that’s still a thing i’m running with. also i think there are more ellipses in this than in all of my other published fics combined and i am v sorry for that

Transfer Notes: n/a

you are twelve years old at the end of the world.

there is no waiting for the storm to pass, there is no letting someone else take care of things, there is no waking up, there is no giant lion turtle.

and this is the question you have to ask yourself (have been asking yourself, have faced from every person you've met in this new world, have been unable to escape in the past few weeks, have asked even your past incarnations who are so far removed from you that thinking their opinion could make a difference is almost laughable): are you going to kill the fire lord?

or, perhaps, a better question, the one everybody is too scared to ask you: are you going to watch the world burn instead?

there is no universe in which you can say no to both of them and not be lying.

but you are the last of your people.

kanna called them extinct. the mechanist blew through centuries-old mosaics and stories with rich history like they meant nothing. on ji and shoji and all the other kids from school looked at you like you were crazy when you told them the people who taught you that all life is sacred never had a military.

everyone's eyes are on you. you alone carry their legacy, can press their memory like flower petals on parchment or fingers of wind lacing through cloth. these people don't remember. it has been one hundred years, and they have spent all of them surviving.

you can hardly blame them.

but that means it's up to you to teach them.

this idea—it's not all there is of your people, not by a longshot. but it's still an important one, and if you can't respect and abide by this one belief you and everyone you know have held so firmly in your hearts for ages past, are acknowledging that it's there and actively choosing to just not follow it, how can you ever truly be respecting any of the rest of their customs?

how could you face them, if they knew that you kept the memory of your culture alive, thrust it back into a beating heart heard through the furthest corners of the world, cobbled it back together from dust and shaky breaths, all with bloody hands?

how could you face yourself?

how could anyone look at you, when you tell them that the air nomads were pacifists, and they considered all life sacred, and not think liar, liar, liar? how could you possibly make them understand when you can hardly wrap your head around the possibility of starting the sequence of events that will lead to you having to do so?

but.

all life is sacred.

you think about your home, about gyatso, about the dozens and dozens of suits of armor that surrounded him, dusty bones inside, leather portions stained darker than they should be, even the metal cracked and dented where they once were flung into walls, perhaps fatally.

you think about how very, very long this war has been going on, and how many people have died because of it—how many people will die, if you don't do something drastic in the next twenty four hours.

you think about how when you look deep inside yourself, the closest air nomad avatar you can reach takes one look at the traditions you hold so dear and tells you not to worry, that you could never do it anyway, that you have a higher duty.

you think about how you are only twelve years old, and you think that this might just break something in you.

but you've been broken since you came out of the ice, haven't you?

there will be time to heal, you think, or to try, at least.

you don't think you can live with yourself if you stand back and let the world burn down around you.

even if that means that you won't be able to live with yourself without thinking your hands are red for the rest of your life, or choking on screams and ash every night, or walking out with one or two or ten new shiny scars adorning your skin.

you can only hope they'd be able to forgive you for it.

even if i did defeat ozai, and i don’t know that i could, iroh says, when the idea for him to fight his brother instead is half-heartedly pitched. history will see it as just more senseless violence.

you do not ask him why he thinks that you could beat him if he’s unsure of his own victory. you do not ask what it is, then, for a child to kill a man and his entire culture in the same instant.

you look down at the man before you.

you're not the avatar, not anymore, not really.

it would be easier, if you were. quicker.

but you don't want it to end like that. because you've come to terms with your decision, really, you have, but that feels—

something other, with every force of nature and more at their fingertips, one thousand lives in every breath and thought and voice, using it all to blot one man—horrible, powerful, angry, terrible—still just a man—from the face of the earth with nary a thought.

and. all life is sacred.

you hate ozai. you really, really do.

more than you've ever hated anyone, you think, except for maybe sozin.

you don't want to kill him.

you're going to.

you hate him, and you don't want to kill him, and you're going to anyway, and he's an objectively awful person who's maybe never done a single good thing in his life and caused an immense amount of pain and suffering that will last for generations—and still he deserves for you to be present when you kill him. not safely distanced in the mind and heart like the avatar state sometimes allows lately, allowing so many other someones to take control.

you deserve to be present for it, too.

you don't want to be. but if you're going to betray the last of your people's traditions, willingly and intentionally, then you aren't going to do it carelessly, at the very least. you aren't going to let it be something easily forgotten. you aren't going to let it be any lacking in weight.

another mark upon this line, you think, that you have to do this for them. after everything, and even when in defeat, they gain another victory that can never be erased.

ozai looks at you with something like fear.

you look at him and try to convince yourself that he should die.

(on ji and shoji and all the other kids from school don't know the dances their nation was built on, you remember.

you don't even know how long kuzon lived, you remember. probably not long, after he turned fifteen. zuko said that's when they used to start drafting.

sokka can't even picture his mother's face anymore, you remember.

this war feeds their own people into a machine, you remember. enlistment quotas go up, age and skill requirements go down, propaganda squeezed into every play, spilled over every textbook, shoved down every throat, children and innocents sick and dying from the river that's cradled them for generations and suddenly turned rotten, struggling for food and medicine because the factory's taken it all, because without the factories there is no war, and because these people can't fight back, and have been told to trust, and the people doing this to them do not care.

hama was fed dry air through bound limbs and cracked lips until she learned that even life can be drunk, so even life can be controlled, you remember. until she learned that sometimes, to live, to preserve something on the brink of disintegration, you have to do things you aren't proud of, things you don't enjoy—or learn to. hama, you remember; a katara-that-could've-been, so different from you, too the same, you can't blame her for anything and you blame her for everything. still, not her fault, really.

the prison meant to keep the most dangerous prisoners in the fire nation, built to hold fire benders and non-benders and no one else, you remember.

dozens and dozens of children in tree-tops, you remember. their past burned by the fire nation in one way or another so they could never go back, had no one else to turn to but others still choking on smoke.

you remember, you remember, you remember.)

(ozai, you think, could never be someone who knows enough to remember.)

the list is long and the crimes are many—some so small they seem silly, some so vast you can hardly wrap your tongue around them. all of them, a horror that you've barely even started to comprehend.

you know, suddenly, with a great certainty that terrifies you—yes, this man should die.

(you still do not want to kill him.

you wonder if that makes you a worse person than he is, or a better one.)

you don't have a lot of time.

you've seen azula break out of earthen cuffs before, who knows what ozai is capable of? certainly doing the same shouldn't be beyond his capabilities. you have to act quickly.

even if there wasn't the risk of him getting away—

your friends are going to be here soon, if things went well (and you have to believe that things went well), and—you don't think you can let them see that.

none of them are new to death, really. you aren't either. but you're all still just kids. and it's different, seeing someone die, and seeing someone you know intentionally kill them. or, you think it probably would be.

you're not going to allow that, if you can help it. you don't ever want them to have to see you like that. this.

you don't want to give him a chance to get into their heads, don't want to look zuko in the eye when you haven't worked up the courage to do it yet, don't want toph to have to feel the squirming body, the fade of the fluttering heartbeat, the quaking lungs, the sudden absence of any organic vibration from the corpse.

you have to act quickly.

so you... do.

it's fairly anti-climactic, in the end.

you try to make it as painless as possible. you think some of your friends might say that it's better than he deserves.

you wonder, after, if the dirt on your hands is supposed to feel like blood.

there is... a body in front of you. it used to be a person once.

distantly, the buzzing in your chest begins to fade, and you think that means that maybe the comet's gone now, but it's been behind you for a while now and you don't quite have the will to check.

your friends land near you, and even as you barely register it, something tight in your chest loosens. they're alright, they're alright, it's okay, they're fine, it's done, it's over.

you can't stop staring at him.

suki leans into your line of vision, looking over the corpse with a furrow in her brow.

"did you... you know..."

she opens her mouth to finish the question, but toph cuts her off with an elbow to the side and a sharp nod.

you wonder where zuko and katara are. you wonder if they managed to defeat azula. you wonder how final their methods had to be.

she's fourteen, zuko had told you once.

half your friends are older than that.

(half your friends never got the chance to be older than that.)

you try not to think about what's happening in ba sing se right now.

"aang?"

sokka hobbles over with grit teeth and a pronounced limp. suki rushes to his side next to you to help take the weight off one of his legs. toph's taken one or two steps further, you notice, but nothing more than that.

there's a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"...are you—"

he sucks in a sharp breath.

"are you alright?" he asks, even if he probably knew the answer before the day even started, even if it's probably obvious just from looking at you.

you think that you appreciate the sentiment anyway.

it takes—more effort than it should, you think, but you nod—a shallow thing, that feels tired, and hollow.

your feet ache, your back, your calves, maybe something in your hip, but—nothing serious. it all feels dull, anyhow. distant, somehow. it's not a big deal. doesn't really bother you.

suki wraps an arm around you like she's holding you up, too.

it's a little sad, you think. zuko looks much more like ozai than azula does. none of them liked that much, probably.

toph is suddenly at your side, pressed firmly against you, arm to arm.

when did that happen?

he'd called you weak, a fool, a coward.

you are twelve years old and suddenly you understand with every bone in your body in a way you couldn't wrap your head around before, how this sort of man could look at a child begging for mercy and scar them for life with his bare hands.

you wonder exactly how many like him there are in the fire nation. you think of all the things you've seen and mentally correct that thought to include the rest of the world, too.

one less now, in any case.

you don't have appa. the airships are all down. unless you intend to walk all the way to the caldera, all you can do now is wait.

you're sitting. you think that might be toph's doing.

suki helps lower sokka to the ground, takes a seat herself.

"hey, aang?" toph whispers.

you're glad she's using your name. if she called you twinkletoes right now, you think—you think you might—

you're just glad she doesn't.

as she settles into her spot on the stone, legs crossed beneath her, earth accepting her in a welcoming caress, she folds her arms around your own, clinging in a way you've all grown used to.

"do you remember what we worked on?"

ozai's eyes are gold, and dull.

suki glances between you and him a few times, following your gaze, and you think she's maybe considering closing his eyes, but she doesn't.

of course you remember what you worked on with toph.

earth does not bend, earth does not give. you are sturdy and immovable, a lead weight sliding to the center of the world, dragged down by the body you've just created. you don't know if you will ever be able to fly again after this, don't know if you'll ever be able to stop.

you don't answer, though, so she keeps talking.

"close your eyes."

but if you close your eyes it might not be real anymore. if you close your eyes you won't see what you've done.

maybe that's alright, though. maybe you don't want to.

they shutter closed.

there's a moment of silence, of heavy breathing, and you wonder if she's waiting for some indication from you that you have, but you don't have the strength within you to give it to her. she must either just trust you to have done it, or one of the others gave her some sort of sign, though, because she moves past it without pressing further.

"listen. feel."

you do.

you're still not great at it, definitely nowhere near her level, but—good enough.

you can feel the palm of her other hand sinking into the rock without thought, the way suki's breathing oddly, with more effort than should be required, like something in her ribs is wrong, the way sokka is trembling as the adrenaline fades from his system and the exhaustion sets in. you can feel the wind moving and the trees below shaking under the weight of their char and the critters that are still around to call this place home chasing each other through cracks in the earth and divots in the rock. you can feel the jutting stone that restrains something that will never fight back again, the utter lack of any movement from that side of the platform.

"we're right here. we're okay. we're not going anywhere. it's over."

sokka leans in, stretches the arm he isn't keeping cradled to his chest around the three of you in an approximation of a hug. suki shifts her hold on you to bring you a little closer together. toph leans her head on your shoulder.

she says it again, and again, and again, a mantra you latch onto with both hands and burning eyes.

we're right here. we're okay. we're not going anywhere. it's over. it's over. it's over.

we're okay.

you don't think about the trees, or the restraints, or the animals, or the stone, or the body.

you focus on one, two, three, solid heartbeats, steady sets of lungs.

you don't open your eyes, don't watch the sky. it's okay, though, because they're okay, and they're watching.

you don't know how long you sit there, skin warm where they hold you, breathing deliberately like you've learned for years, focusing on the thrum of their cardiovascular systems, waiting for the last of yours to come home.

you think, if this is the rest of forever, after all that—

you think that maybe you might be okay.

and right now, you don't think you have it in you to care much about what that might say about you.

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 6 months

Note

Lonan dies 🥺 my heart 😭

hehehe I’m so evil <3 skip this paragraph after the ellipses if you want to read how he dies… BUT I should say upfront that Lonan does not actually die bc I don’t want to genuinely upset people & I am absolutely baiting!!! I can’t kill him tho! he was supposed to die in 2015 & I can’t! I love him so much! I want him to buy pearl necklaces & grow his hair out for the rest of his longggg life! I’ll tell you what happens tho! TW: death, implications of suicide.

so what if at the end of sunless ground lonan realizes the only way this interconnected inter-roost conflict (that’s led to many deaths) ends is if he dies, because for some reason, everyone wants to use him & his apparently very special powers for evil. & what if he’s tired of that & tired of not being in control of his own life & realizes his death is the only way to stop the madness. & what if he figures out a way for his powers to die with him while also still ensuring reeve stays alive (mini interjection to say if a Virtue in this world dies, the family underneath it all die too, & bc lonan is a Virtue, if he dies—which is seemingly impossible because he’s immortal—his whole roost dies too, including reeve)… & what if the way reeve lives is if lonan gives her the life source of humilitas, which would effectively erase all the dangerous Virtue power everyone wants from him & also wipe out his evil family, while the remnants of that immortality keep her alive. & what if, while he’s dying, harrison, who now independently wields the part of lonan’s power that can save a life, even tho it’s a long shot & even tho it probably won’t work, tries really hard to save him…

#tw suicide #tw death #a couple plot holes with his idea namely how to keep their other sibling alive but #this is the OG seventh virtue ending that I never had time to write #anyway I can’t tell u how much this ending matters to baby Rachel who clung to Lonan for emotional stability LOLLLL #I won’t get into it on main but yeah!!!!#he’s actually fine but we probably won’t find that out till book 3 if there is one

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squishmallow36 · 2 years

Text

Drawing: the Gathering

Part 1 of Sokeefitz: the Gathering

Written for day 2 of Sokeefitz Week: Family, hosted by the wondaerful @rainbow-frog-earrings and @gay-otlc

Also a big thank you to @uni-seahorse-572 for listening to my rambling about this fic

Word count: 1.4k

Tw: swearing, food, brief sex mention (played /j and not within the scope of this fic)

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-fruity-frog @poppinspop @crystallinewalker @solreefs @never-mourn-the-good @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @cotyledon-tomentosa @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @blossomsxgalorex @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @callas-pancake-tree

On Ao3 or below the cut!

Coming back from the kitchen with a mug of coffee at three in the afternoon, Sophie sits down next to Keefe to watch it draw.

A few moments later, he asks, “Hey, you can draw, right? Can you teach me?”

Fitz’s gaze flickers up from his book to watch Keefe’s response, signing in the reflection of the window.

“Does this have to be a now kind of thing?” it asks.

“Well, you’re drawing right now, so take a guess.”

Keefe sighs dramatically. “Fine.” It leans backwards, ruffling Fitz’s hair that’s pink in theory but it’s been a few weeks since it’s been dyed, so the colour has faded significantly.

“Yes, love?” he asks, already expecting its answer.

“Care to join us?” it signs above his head.

Putting his book down, Fitz answers, “Well, considering you two are probably gonna make a giant mess with all the new paint I bought you yesterday, I guess so. Even if it is solely for chaperoning purposes.”

“Aw, is the future Councillor mad?”

“I have both of you. I’m not allowed to be a Councillor.” Fitz stands, bracing himself on the table for the inevitable discomfort that always plagues his knee when he puts his weight on it.

“Not if you don’t get married, Fitzy.”

“Hm. I’m surprised you don’t want to be legally connected to me as soon as possible so I can’t run away.”

“Running away is my personality trait. You can’t have it.”

He walks over to their table. “You also say your hair is a personality trait and yet somehow I always find it everywhere.”

“How do you know it’s not Foster’s hair?” it asks, causing Sophie to exclaim, “hey!”

“Some of the hairballs were blue. Now, with your little photographic memory, can you remember a time when his hair was blue? And do you remember a time when your hair was blue?”

Keefe refuses to answer, which Fitz takes as a win, sitting down in his assigned seat. “What kind of portal to Exile will we be making today?”

It smiles. “Well, Fitzy, I’m glad you asked! Foster, do you have any specific requests before we start?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay, then. Fitzy, you like baking. And I like cake. So let’s learn how to draw a cake that you aren’t allowed to eat just to torture ourselves.”

Is this when I tell it that you can technically eat paper? No. I should not give it more ideas.

“Is that a reference to your ID cake from three years ago that I told you to wait five minutes before eating because I wasn’t done frosting it and then the frosting somehow ended up in your hair, which is still a mystery to modern science?” Fitz asks instead.

“It’s not a mystery, you flung it at me!”

I’ll take that as a yes. “You were like two inches away from the cake trying to lick the bottom frosting off. It’s not my fault some from the top was pushed off onto your head!”

“Guys, guys. Can we maybe save this for later? Like, after my drawing lesson?”

Keefe and Fitz glare at each other, but don’t say a word.

It breaks the tension by instructing, “Okay. So we’re gonna start with an oval in the approximate middle of the page. Go around a few times, we can clean it up later. Just try to make it vaguely symmetrical.”

Its ellipse is absolutely perfect--not a surprise but still annoying--while Sophie’s and Fitz’s are pretty much equal levels of crooked blobs.

Fitz tries to erase the worst of the messiness when Keefe grabs his hand, signing, “Not so fast. We finish sketching then clean it up. You never know which line will be the good one once you’re done so stop it. Pick two points on opposite sides of the circle and draw some gay lines going down as long as you want. The longer the lines, the taller the cake.”

“Are you expecting me to invoke physics to determine how tall it can be before falling over?” Fitz asks.

“Yes.”

“Fuck you. I’m too gay for maths.”

“Fuck me yourself, coward.”

Sophie sighs. “Please just let us finish this before tearing each others’ clothes off. I’m begging you.”

Keefe half stands, leaning over to kiss Fitz for the briefest second, signing, “No.”

It sits back down, and Fitz tries to ignore the urge to pull it back to him as it signs, “Okay, where were we?”

“Drawing a cake.”

“Cool. Mext we’re gonna mimic the curve of the lower half of the oval on the bottom of the two gay lines to make it a cylindrical cylinder. Don’t worry if it’s wonky or messy.”

Sophie and Fitz do as told, and suddenly it’s become an actual something.

“Now that technically can be your final cake and you could decorate it from here but let’s make it a little more interesting and obvious as to what it is so we’re gonna cut out and eat a piece. So we’ll start by marking the centre of the top oval with a dot.”

Fitz uses his hand to measure where the centre would be as close as he can manage to get. It’s probably off but, hey, if he’s cutting a slice out in the real world, it’s gonna be a little off-centre.

“Very good. Now we’re gonna draw a gay line from that point to the bottom of the cake. Then draw a line from the centre point to the edge of the oval. It can be as big of a chunk of cake as you’d like, although it is a bit easier if it’s roughly symmetrical. And make sure you save me some. I’m gonna require it as payment.”

Three wiggly lines later, Fitz is pretty sure he’s doing this correctly.

…at least mostly.

“Then from the point where the slanty lines intersect with the oval, you’re gonna draw 2 more gay lines down to the bottom.” Keefe instructs, shading something on one of its own projects.

Fitz really should’ve made this cake shorter, but he doesn’t have the skills to trim it down now.��

“Aw, look at it. It’s a little thing.” Sophie says, showing it to Fitz, and it is certainly a little thing. It looks better than his cake, that’s for sure. Although that might just be because it’s farther away.

His would look better from far, far away.

“You’re not done yet, you two.” Keefe signs. “Where those two gay lines meet the bottom, draw a line parallel to the top angled lines to the middle line on both sides. Erase the arc on the bottom between those two lines, the bit of the middle line sticking out, and the portion of the oval that’s inside the lines. And now it’s looking pretty good enough.”

Now that Fitz is actually allowed to use his eraser, it’s getting its fair share of use trying to even out the lines.

“Wait, before you start cleaning up your limes and destroying all your work, if you’d like to add some cake layers, add some lines parallel to the top and bottom of the weird rhombi--oh Mx. Stinkbottom, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever used that word in my life. I just lost a bet to our least favourite technopath--anyway, you probably know what cake layers look like I’ll just let you fuck it up yourself.”

“Thanks,” Sophie responds sarcastically.

“You’re welcome,” Keefe signs, smiling.

It’s such an ass. And I love it so much.

“Now you’re on your own fixing up the sketch and colouring it in because I don’t have nearly enough patience for that. You should’ve learned that in school.”

“I had the last half day kindergarten my school offered. I am superior to all of you elves.”

Fitz laughs, bowing slightly to his overlord Sophie before taking a sixty-four pack of crayons that just kind of exist in their house. No one knows how they got there or how many they have. They just suddenly appear whenever they need them and especially when they don’t.

Fitz inevitably ends up trying to put too much detail into his design which should’ve been expected as he does that normally, but still ends up with a drawing that looks like a seven year old made it.

Blame the crayons. Always blame the crayons.

A/n: (i felt like this deserved end notes and those are exclusive to ao3 so this is what i'm doing) Shoutout to that time in 5th grade when we were doing this in art class and this kid said i like your cake--not to me but the kid diagonally across from me--but rounded the a to an o...i like your cock has now lived in my head rent free for many years.

#yeah for this i literally went 'hm what can i draw'#and the answer is cake #that's it #and it works with the whole fic surprisingly well #thanks 4th grade art class #(different one from the a/n i did this twice #kotlc #sokeefitz week 2022 #sophie foster #fitz vacker #keefe sencen #kotlc fanfic #sokeefitz

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sesshy380 · 1 year

Note

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

🌙 What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

Thanks for the ask! I had forgotten I reblogged an ask game before I went to bed lol.

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

Wrapping up another hell chapter, and one scene coming out so amazing that I wanted to cry, because now I want to commission someone to draw the scene but I have no monies to spare 😭

Regardless, it was such an intense scene that something finally 'clicked' in my brain, and now I think my writing style is going to be a bit more consistent throughout the remainder of my longfic (fingers crossed!)

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

Ummm...so...many...ellipses...

And OC PoV chapters/too much OC focus atm.

Oh, and Marik currently being in a m/f relationship (I HC he's actually pan with a leaning preference towards asshole male presenting individuals)

🌙 What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

I answered this in another ask, so just gonna copy/paste my answer.

I do a lot in the later evening because that's usually the only time I have, but I prefer earlier in the day when the house is empty...which isn't something that happens as often as I like.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

I saved this one for last because my current WiP is a longfic chapter and I'm gonna hide below a cut. Keep in mind it's still WiP so flow/grammar edits are bound to happen before final posting. Just shy of 350 words. Small TW of Atem wanting to die (not in a self-inflicted way) directly below cut.

Atem felt defeated. He relaxed and closed his eyes again, silently praying Bakura would decide not to toy with him this time and just finish the job.

The blade at his throat shook.

“You’re not going to say anything?!” Bakura seethed.

“What’s there to say that you haven't? I’m a cold-hearted ass.”

Bakura’s irritated growl was the only warning he had as the blade left his throat and a mouth was crushed upon his.

Atem’s eyes opened wide as he tried to recoil away, failing to do so because Bakura was pressed too tightly. He quickly shoved the elemental back, swinging simultaneously. Fist met face, and the sound it made was satisfying to his ears.

Bakura stumbled back, his face one of shock as he brought his hand up to wipe away the small bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. He looked down at the crimson smear on his hand, then over at Atem, a sadistic grin slowly forming.

“That’s more like it! Let’s try this again now that you're a bit more lively,” Bakura said with a dark chuckle.

“What do you want from me?!” Atem shouted bitterly.

“Isn’t it obvious, Pharaoh? I want you to explain your heartless departure.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Bakura shook his head while tsking. “That may be true, but I’m not exactly asking for an answer. I’m demanding one.”

“And I’m refusing to give one,” Atem stated with a scowl.

Bakura stood up straight, his blade vanishing as he chewed the inside of his lip while slowly nodding in thought. “I see. So we’re gonna do this the hard way.”

He walked over to the wall of glass that overlooked the city and knocked on it. “Mal, you might want to get ready for a quick repair job.”

Bakura looked back at Atem, his grin becoming even more devilish than usual as his eyes began to glow bright. Atem could swear that a few tufts of hair had risen to take on the appearance of horns. “Hey, Pharaoh…can you fly?”

#ask game #answered asks #thank you for the ask!#it's 5am #why am i answering asks at this hour???#because i've lost all control of my life

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