A sea gooseberry snacking is quite a sight! This comb jelly lets its tentacles drift in the current to snag passing plankton. Then it reels in the tentacles and spins, passing the morsels of food over waiting rows of combs, which bring them to the jelly’s mouth.
The moment she opened the door and looked into
his eyes, Daenerys knew.
She knew he wasn’t there to talk about battles,
or alliances, or dead men coming for them, or of things that gave people
nightmares. No, Jon Snow knocked on her door that night because he wanted her. And gods, she wanted him.
Without unlocking their eyes, Daenerys opened
the door a bit more in clear permission and Jon stepped inside her cabin,
closing the door. Daenerys’ heart was beating like crazy inside her chest, she
tried to keep her emotions under control but when Jon stepped closer to her,
slowly as if he was afraid of spooking her (spook a dragon, what a thought). Her
breath got stuck in her throat when he put a hand on her cheek and leaned in.
Jon stopped right before their lips met, always
honorable and giving her a chance to say no or to pull back. As if Daenerys
would deny him. Perhaps she should, it was reckless of them to want each other
so much, their judgement became clouded.
Finally joining their lips, Jon pulled her
closer to him and Daenerys felt her body just surrender completely to him. The
way he kissed her, with firm tenderness for a long time, made her dizzy, made
her drunk on him, made her want more. Made her feel as if she was fire itself.
Yoongi awakens to something slimy and warm curling against his neck. It’s a bizarre feeling, with his mind still in that fuzzy dazed state of in between sleep, but not a feeling that is unwelcomed. Really, if Yoongi was to be honest, it was a feeling he loved.
The elder’s voice is raspy with unuse and he’s pretty sure it’s no later than three in the morning but that does nothing to stop him from bringing a hand up to rub at the snake curled around his neck gently.
“Did you miss me?”
Gentle words that fill with something like the way a father would speak to its child fill the room. It’s quite the sight really, Yoongi in nothing but black sweatpants with a tanned lithe body half on top of him and a black and red snake curled loosely around his neck. It was a sight Taehyung pouted at when he’s awakened not too long after hearing gentle coos leave his boyfriends mouth.
“ ‘m starting to think you like the snakes more than me.”
Yoongi can’t help but chuckle as he pulls Taehyung closer, only to get a warning hiss from the snake on him.
“That’s stupid, baby boy, the snakes are a part of your body. I could never love them more than you.”
Taehyung simply rolls his eyes lovingly before dropping a kiss to his boyfriend’s chest as he readies himself to drift off into dreamland again.
“Right, that’s why you’re asking one of them if they missed you.”
Description: You never expected falling in love to be so dangerous. Then again, you never really expected to fall in love.
Warning: Mentions of death.
Word Count: 2,850
Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to write this for a while and finally got the chance to T^T It’s a hanahaki au with our smol bun so I hope you like it~
e n j o y *^*
Almost two-hundred years ago it was pronounced a disease. Roughly ninety-eight cases had had no resolution. Today, there was a cure.
Hanahaki. That had been its name. Until then a mere myth, simply a legend that put children to sleep with an absurd sense of trepidation. The world had refused to believe it; how could they? Fairy tales were meant to stay as such—fairy tales.
The world had made a mistake. Promptly it became the number one epidemic, like a blight rippling through a bouquet of flowers—quite literally. Decades of inquiry and studies resulted in a clearer understanding of the plague, though their work was anything but done.
That love provoked it was what they’d learnt. How to stop it was their intent. But just how were they ought to go about? Love, adoration if you will, was something so inextricably yours, not one person loved the same way another did.
The solution appeared quite clear. Love on its own was to be forbidden; the mere sight or manifestation of it outlawed. And so, came the cure. Not before finding the appropriate name for it, that is. For the putrid sickness that blossomed from the most treacherous of feelings. Sine mercede they had called it, the scientists; the Latin for ‘lent’ or ‘unrequited’. The latter seemed self-explanatory. The former could only be but tragic for it signified the sole essence of it—I will lend you my heart, take it; my love, it is yours, and I can only pray you may return it.
And what made it so ironic, you thought. Remembering the few couple of years of basic, certainly mispronounced, Spanish classes in high school, you could only help but laugh at the simple misfortune, the fated pandemonium of it all. Sine mercede, you recalled, sounded painstakingly similar to ‘sin merced’. Merciless.
It wasn’t too funny now though it unmistakably summarized the entirety of it. Love was merciless.
You clutched your chest now, any tinge of humor and the shrill of laughter long gone from your voice. You couldn’t find it amusing anymore. Perhaps it’d been maturity, and perhaps you clung to the idea of it as the last of your pride. Or perhaps it could only be but that way for the strength to laugh had left your lungs, now occupied by the blooming buds of fear.
There had been a cure. No, there was a cure, N-99—given its name from the year it had been synthesized, 2199. Meant to prevent the illness, to annihilate it from its roots. A cure which was to protect you from the unbecoming, the ruthless, the deadly.
It was given at birth, immediately after the mother was finished with labor. It targeted the limbic system, primarily—a protein made fitting for neurotransmitters; a copy of their receptors meant to block their signals. Its effectiveness was to augment by the passing years until its prime at age eighteen. The cure served as a buffer for emotions, dwindling their power over a person and that person’s power over them. It was not meant to completely eliminate them, however, for a world like that could simply have been even unthinkable. Though diminishing those emotions had truly managed to provide a sense of peace and monotony.
It also made them more human, or so they wanted to believe, you thought. You couldn’t find humanity in the coldness of their eyes, the emptiness, the nothingness. And in the way they were so unmoved by it, as if having lost all feelings could only be adequate and right. You couldn’t blame them though; they’d grown into it like flowers in a pot.
You darted for the door now, silently cursing at yourself for your imminent eagerness. That’s what made it worst.
You coughed a couple of times, paused to rid yourself of the fragile things, and pulled the door open. You felt a ribbon tightening at your heart, tugging at your insides. You couldn’t refrain yourself from looking at him any more than you could refrain from coughing up petals of flowers.
“You’re here,” you said, out loud, though the fact was evident. You hadn’t been expecting his arrival to be this prompt.
“I am,” Minseok announced, stepping through to your apartment, already used to your behavior. “You said it was urgent so I became worried. Is everything alright?”
And now you wanted to laugh for the reality of it all seemed to be deserving of it. Worried, he’d said. You knew what he meant by that. Worried in the sense of a person that could only reach the level of concern of someone having just remembered they’d forgotten the lights on at home. The concern, the pity, of someone who couldn’t care less about their best friend dying because of them.
“No– I mean, yes. You don’t have to worry about me, I,” you inhaled deeply, talking had become a little difficult by now. “Just wanted to talk to you.”
Minseok smiled, one of his smiles that made you feel as if there could be hope—as if there could be hope to hope. A smile that reminded you of the little boy he’d once been, whom you’d grown up with. “So talk.”
You didn’t know what to say. Where to start, there was plenty to talk about and you found you couldn’t muster the words for it. You wanted to tell him many things. You wanted to talk to him in hopes of going back to that time when that’s all the two of you ever did, when it didn’t take much effort to do it, when your insides certainly didn’t burn with the liquid of petals and the touch of thorns.
You wanted to recall the time you two had met, the time you’d become inseparable. How you remembered his smile every time you made a mess out of yourself when trying to bake a cake, his constant teasing and seldom reprimands; the time he’d worried a greater worry when your mother had decided to take you on an impromptu vacation without informing the little boy of your whereabouts. That time he’d cried, in his pajamas and five years of age with all the Minseok-ness in him, because he thought he’d lost you forever and had afterwards made you promise, vow to him to never leave his side.
And how you remembered the time that all had begun to vanish, you wanted to tell him that too.
How it stung your little eight-year-old heart when he’d proclaimed he was done with games of hide-and-seek and treasure hunting. How it had scared you knowing you’d eventually follow the same path and how intensely if had frightened you when you didn’t. You wanted to tell him how you remembered him growing up, leaping to maturity in giant steps, how you realized there was no way to stop him, how you knew he’d soon be gone—and how he suddenly was.
Because he did, he left, left you—left you with you and your vow of not leaving him again.
“I am sick,” you said now, setting yourself atop the comforting familiarity of your couch.
Minseok sat beside you, frowning, if only, barely. “Sick? Are you not feeling well, should I take you to a hospital?”
You smiled, taking his hand in yours, you couldn’t resist. Resist the urge to be touched by him, if not ever loved. Perhaps that’s whathanahaki (you’d chose to call it like that for your sake) made you—the helpless victim of your heart.
“I don’t think there’s a remedy.”
His eyes were sharp, narrow. “There’s a cure for everything, you know that.”
And there was. Well, supposedly. N-99 was to provide a remedy for plenty of disorders. Hanahaki, depression—it also prevented those caused by emotional stress like high blood pressure, heart disease, obesity and even diabetes. But how were you to remain safe when the antidote hadn’t worked?
You knew something had gone wrong when you turned eighteen and didn’t feel anything—when nothing ever changed at all and you were still you.
You had tried to ignore it at first. You couldn’t but try to limit yourself to the feelings that seemed to want to burst out of you like a bird out of a cage. You told yourself that you would be okay, that perhaps you were just imagining things, that you could manage living with the virus.
“I’m afraid I don’t think there is a cure for this” you said.
His eyes were visibly larger; he seemed to have understood.
Living with the virus—you had managed to do so. But you had suddenly also managed to fall in love.
Minseok was shaking his head, “You don’t mean…”
“Yes,” your eyes were cast down as if you had committed something unforgivable. “Hanahaki.”
“But how? When?”
You didn’t know yourself. The cure not working had already been far-fetched on its own so much that realizing you were in love felt like being draped in sheets of ice. Cold and solemn and suddenly agonizing.
You thought you could make it—living in a world where love, or any emotion really, was forbidden. It couldn’t be too difficult, right? People were not kind nor aggressive, they were just there. You could live without much social interaction, isn’t that how everyone else lived? They wouldn’t approach you and you wouldn’t either. They wouldn’t be friendly and you had no necessity to reciprocate. Most importantly, no one could ever love you so you couldn’t love back.
And you were just fine with that—being unlovable. It made things easier. If no one loved you, you didn’t have to fall in love. You couldn’t…
“(Y/N).” Minseok’s hand was taut on yours coaxing you to look at him. You couldn’t possibly guess what he was thinking about. “How did it happen?”
…But you did.
“I don’t know, I really don’t,” you felt as if a storm was forming in your head, thunder rippling in waves through your skull resonating in your ears and clouding your vision. Minseok’s closeness didn’t help the buds of death that threatened to unleash and perforate your insides. “The cure never worked on me, I guess.”
“That…” He laughed humorlessly and seemed genuinely irritated. “How can you take it so lightly?
“Because we all eventually die, Minseok, only that while everyone eventually dies of age I die in a completely cynical way—choking on fucking flowers because I can’t be loved back because nobody ever loves in the first place,” you said. “Isn’t that hilarious— “
“Who is it?”
You stopped at that. You didn’t expect him to say it, not so sudden. You thought he’d nag you first, reprimand you for your foolish mindset. You expected many things that you were willing to respond to, just not that.
“Tell me, who–?”
Back then you had only been a teenager. Apparently—as you’d read on some smuggled banned books from around the epoch when Hanahaki was only a myth—hormones were supposed to work wonders during your teenage years. Kids became moody and simply all over the place. You knew you gave your mother a harder time than kids your age gave theirs and she started to notice. You distanced yourself from her right away, she couldn’t know the truth. Not that you understood much of it yourself either. You were alone then–though, somehow, you always had Minseok.
As promised, you didn’t leave his side and neither did he. He wasn’t as sensitive as his usual self, however, and you did recognize it. The moments when he began to slip away from your hands like water, one which you held onto so dearly for survival.
He never showed any intense emotions but he did notice yours and it made all a difference. He understood when you were melancholic or cross or bubbling in joy. He understood more than anyone and if often scared you, you couldn’t lie.
Somehow, you felt he knew what happened to you. You felt he knew the truth. Somehow, you wished just for that.
Minseok knew you were a bit strange ever from the beginning. You never really knew to how extent he believed you were strange, but you were aware of the fact. The fact that he knew how expressive you could be sometimes and how that could mean danger if seen by the wrong person and how that didn’t affect him in the slightest way. And it didn’t affect him–it never did.
You knew that if it were someone else there were only two options. Either that person would immediately run away from you or file a report against you. Minseok did neither of those things nor anything remotely similar. He accepted you, just the way you were, without regrets. He never seemed to regret anything when it came to you.
But now, him sitting there in front of you, wide-eyed and distorted, he seemed to do.
You wanted to ask him to say something but how could you when you couldn’t say a thing yourself? You imagined what he must be; horrified for sure. Disgusted, perhaps. It didn’t seem too far off. And maybe you wanted that to happen—for him to be revolted by you and your stupid little confession of love so that you could hate him. Maybe that could be the best outcome—
Your eyes darted back to his and you understood the distortion was more than an illusion. You rubbed your eyes viciously hoping he hadn’t seen you cry; so much for having your pride completely tarnished already. Tears stung at the back of your eyes and you had trouble swallowing.
“I’m sorry I can’t fall in love with you.”
Something coiled the insides of your chest, your voice strained and you couldn’t talk. Hot needles prickled one by one the length of your throat, the next one puncturing deeper than the one before. You coughed.
“I really am, I—”
“Stop,” you gasped. “Please, Minseok.”
And you realized you couldn’t hate him—not today, not ever. Because he did not love you and that was true. But he made you feel loved.
He managed to take ahold of your other hand, the one you kept closed tight in which white crescents had already formed where your nails dug on your skin drawing the tinniest droplets of blood. He opened it, removing the little things—a cluster of hues of blues and purples; forget-me-nots.
Minseok placed them aside cautiously as if lit on fire and you recognized the slight tremble of his fingers. He grasped them both, your hands, placing a kiss atop the one that had been holding the petals and placed them on your lap, lowering his head after.
You heard him gasp and whimper and your own sobs as if from a distance. You understood, this was normal, he could still feel the slightest. But for you that had always been more than enough. Because he made you feel loved but he also made you feel wanted.
Your strange self who had the most forbidden of conditions, he still wanted you by him. It wasn’t you the one that had asked him to stay. Not you who had only but him—but him who could have always let you go.
“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” Minseok said, as if it were him the one at fault here. “If only—”
“Don’t,” you gasped, breaking into a coughing fit that only frustrated your breathing. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” you assured him when he’d sat up to aid you, you couldn’t stand seeing him look at you in that condition. You retracted your hand to cover your mouth and later to stroke his head, leaning on your lap. His hair was soft, incredibly dark. His hand held yours where his head rested, you could feel him muttering it over and over again.
You’d asked yourself that before. If only the cure was never created—if only he had never taken it—would he had loved you then?
He seemed to be saying that know, though you could no longer hear his voice. It was as if he were shouting in that room—though it was really a mere whisper—willing you to listen, and it was carried through a dark tunnel that never reached you. And if it did, you couldn’t tell.
Minseok’s head was down in a bow, as if he was apologizing for an unpardonable sin. And he regretted, too—deeply at that. The little capability he had for emotions—it seemed to burst in blinding colors and sensations and it hurt. It hurt in such an inconceivable way he could have never believed it possible.
Your hand on his, your fingers threading his hair, however—it soothed him among the sudden despair. He thought his state of mind, having been under the influence of the cure, could never become calmer. That, and everything else he believed in, proved fallacious when it came to you, when—
Minseok shivered when your hand came to a stop. He didn’t realize he’d begun to fall asleep until he awoke. His grip tightened in your hand and he rose. His eyes fell on your lips—the pink in them alive, gracious like the petals of a flower that curved delicately into a smile.
Almost two-hundred years ago it was pronounced a disease. Roughly ninety-eight cases had had no resolution. Today, there was a cure.There was no cure. Today, you were the ninety-ninth.
Courfeyrac and Combeferre both realize their feelings at the same moment.
They’d grown up together and can’t remember a time when they didn’t know each other, and for years the only amount of time they had ever spent apart was a few days, maybe a week or two. Then suddenly, for what ever reason, they don’t see each other for more like a month or two. The second they see each other again, they think “damn, I got to see that person almost everyday my whole life? How lucky was I?”
Then begins the obliviousness that makes this damn ship.
Could u write bout Dan asks a innocent question like "I wonder what things you can do with your fingers" and Phil's "I'll show you" and then he shows dan what you can do with your fingers ya know ;))
why yes, yes i can anon ;)
-Everyone knew that Dan was a left handed person, which honestly was a struggle. It was hard for him to things that Phil, a right handed traitor could do easily.
-Dan and Phil were cutting up bits of paper and Dan was getting more and more frustrated as time went on. They had wanted to make squareflake video later and although it was meant to be a joke, he still wanted to at least test it out with Phil to see if it they could make it work. Only the best for their fans; they couldn’t just do a crafting video that ended up as a flop.
-Dan struggled with the scissors a bit, groaning when he nearly cut his finger off for at least the fifth time in ten minutes. He slammed down the scissors and glared at Phil who was already on his second squareflake, testing out different shapes and patterns.
- “How are you doing that?” Dan says while still scowling. “What the fuck? I barely started mine,” Dan continues to glare and maybe he’s being a bit dramatic but its been a rough day, okay.
-Phil just gives him a cheeky smirk and wiggles his fingers. Dan is transfixed on Phil, like usual; he always looked so good in his glasses and the plaid shirt he was wearing made him look so broad and Dan wanted to mark up those shoulders with scratches and hickeys so bad, he ached with it.
-And because Dan is alwaysjust pushing and pushing at their boundaries, he says, “You’re so good at that. Hmm, I wonder what else you can do with those magic fingers of yours,” while flashing a wicked smirk. Dan didn’t really expect anything to come of it because they always just teased like that, but on the off chance that it would…
-Suddenly, Phil tenses besides him and his cutting slows to a stop. Oh shit, Dan thinks because what if Phil wasn’t in the mood for flirty banter? What if I said something maybe I shouldn’t have? What if–
-The prickly tension breaks and turns into something much hotter, much more sexual, when Phil mutters, “Oh I’ll show you.” Those four words have a devastating effect on Dan; his heart skips a beat and he’s almost dizzy with how fast he’s gotten fully hard.
-Dan stops breathing when Phil pulls him out of his chair and kisses him hard but also tenderly and how the fuck does he do that? Its all fierce, rushed kisses with the occasional lip bite that makes Dan whimper but also Phil’s hands are soft on Dan’s waist and in Dan’s hair. Its perfect, amazing even, and they had barely gotten started.
-Phil moves them to the couch because there is no way they’ll be making it to the bedroom with how desperate they are. As soon as they’re naked, Phil is all over Dan, touching him wherever he can, taking the sight of him in. And its quite a beautiful sight.
-Phil grumbles when he realized that he doesn’t have any lube, but continues to kiss down Dan’s neck. Dan shakily pulls out a small bottle of it from a crease in the couch. Phil looks at him amused but also confused. “Trust me,” Dan starts off sheepishly, “you don’t want to know.”
- “Oh but I do,” Phil says and his voice has gotten even deeper, the low rumble of it making Dan’s breath hitch. “What’d you do, huh? Finger yourself open on the couch when I was only a room away? That’s quite naughty, Dan.”
-Dan whimpers and frantically nods his head because fuck that’s exactly what he did and the suspense of it all was so hot he almost couldn’t bear it. He thrusts his hips up, trying to urge Phil on, and thankfully Phil does.
-Phil fingers Dan and its a million times better than when he does it himself. Phil’s fingers are relentless on his prostate, massaging it almost, making Dan’s body shake with pleasure and punching all sorts of noises out of Dan every time Phil pumps his fingers.
-When Dan comes it unlike anything he’s ever experienced. His toes curl, and his eyes roll back and he may scream but he honestly can’t hear over the thudding of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears.
-His orgasm is so strong it knocks the wind out of him and lasts for so long that he’s sure that he passed out or something because the next thing he knows, Phil is groaning and there’s come all over his stomach and nipples, adding to his mess.
-Dan lets out a shaky laugh, still riding the aftershocks of it all, lacing his fingers with Phil’s. “Magic fingers,” he manages to sigh while playing with Phil’s clean fingers. Phil chuckles into Dan’s neck, and surely it says something that it doesn’t bother Dan like it might have with something else.
-(After the post-orgasm glow, they both freak out slightly, checking to see if they stained the couch because that shit is hard to get out. They didn’t, luckily, and they once again cuddle up to each other, sated and happy.)
Lmao I think fluffy endings are my signature thing it always ends up like that but i like it
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed (I’m so sorry that its been forever since I’ve written yikes)!! send me more prompts/ hc’s/ asks here!
❝ what is this ( christmas ) and why does an overweight old man climb his way into your home to leave you presents ?? if all , he sounds similar to that of keebo , the creature that comes each year on a certain day to simply consume every living thing that appears in its sight . keebo is a fat little creature and quite so , a myth among the children of galra . strange . ❞
I'm doing great!!! If you guys would like a little cheer, I suggest googling blue bees. Turns out there are multiple species of naturally blue bees!! ( last time I checked anyway, not sure if my memory is going though. ) or if bugs aren't your style, I suggest looking up a tapir or armadillo. They're both funny little creatures!! Or even if animals aren't your thing I suggest googling " bluebell forest " its quite a sight!! - Donald duck anon 💙⚓💙
It takes a while for Dipper to see past Ian being Bill's reincarnation, but once he does, they bond and enjoy eachother's company. Ian takes an interest in Dipper's pre-Transcrndence adventures and thinks, "I should pitch this as a show."
Ian looked up almost as soon as Dipper popped into the studio, even before Dipper turned physical. A broad grin split his face, the light winking off of the cybernetics of his right eye as it tracked onto Dipper. “Hey, just the guy I wanted to see! I’ve got something I need to pitch to you.”
With a flicker of effort, Dipper pulled himself onto the physical plane, grimacing at the way Ian’s other eye shifted slightly to focus on him. It had been - holy hell, nearly two years now, and he still wasn’t quite used to the prosthetic or the way its artificial Sight made it move almost independently, following things its twin couldn’t see. Then again, that was pretty low on the list of reasons why Dipper had preferred Ian with two natural eyes. “That is seriously creepy.”
“Right. I’ll just gouge out the other one so I don’t creep you out."
"That would be so much worse.”
Ian’s smile grew wider as he slipped down from his seat and headed over to the wall of cabinets across the room, pulling down a thick folder from the shelves overhead and pinning pages covered in brightly-coloured drawings to the wall next to him. “You know this gives me serious bragging rights. Not just anyone can make Alcor the Dreambender’s skin crawl just by looking at him.” He paused, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Do you even actually have skin?”
“Technically, no. Being of pure energy and all that.” Dipper floated a little closer, looking at the sketches Ian was pinning up. “Is that Mira?”
“Close!” Ian grabbed another sheet of thick paper from the stack in the folder, walking over to smile fondly at the drawing of a dark-skinned, smiling girl in square glasses and a ruffled, pale yellow dress with a massive train like a rainbow. “That’s Stella. Or, rather, that’s Stella’s magical girl alter-ego…” He tacked the page he was carrying onto the wall right under the drawing. A pale yellow star, trailing a rainbow train, was the first thing that caught Dipper’s eye, and his mouth went dry before he saw the rest of the rounded purple logo. “Mizar the Magnificent!"
Ian paused. “Well, actually just Mizar. Alcor gives her the title when he asks for her help. She comes up with the ‘the Magnificent’ part herself, but it never really catches on.”
Dipper tried to think of something to say, but it felt a little like his head was filling up with static. Obviously noticing his silence, Ian started to explain, words falling a little faster from his mouth the longer Dipper stayed silent. “The studio wants to produce a pilot for my own show. I think they were really impressed by the writing I did for Friendship is Prestidigitation. I thought about it, and realised that the only stories I really wanted to tell…weren’t actually mine.” He paused, staring up at one of the character sketches pinned to the board in front of him, a tall, almost abnormally thin man wearing a triangular eyepatch, a yellow tailcoat, and a shit-eating grin. “Or, at least, not mine alone.”
"You have a self-insert,” Dipper managed, with a little difficulty, taking in the brickwork patterning along the drawing’s cummerbund and the tails of his coat with a kind of horrified fascination.
Ian glanced away from the sketch and snorted.
“What, this guy? Hah, no way. He’s everything I thought was cool when I was like fourteen or fifteen - confident, sadistic, Machiavellian puppet master.” He turned back to the sketch, giving it a quizzical look. “Man, I was kind of a sociopath when I was fifteen. Thank goodness for therapy. No, I do have a self-insert, but not Bael, it’s…this guy!”
The sketch Ian pointed to looked a lot more like him, only perhaps about ten years younger - his face equally young-looking, but without the short beard Ian usually wore, a little shorter than average and noodly-limbed under a black T-shirt and jeans and red plaid flannel. “Sam Cyrus! Stella’s on-again-off-again boyfriend. And, uh, his alter-ego, Cipher, who we think is the main villain throughout season one, and season two until Bael shows up.” He tapped a knuckle against another drawing of a similar-looking boy in a dress shirt, bow tie, and suspenders, eyes yellow and slit-pupiled, a blue—flame aura surrounding him. “I don’t want him to show his hand too early. I’m thinking first season finale, we find out Cipher was actually Sam all along but Sam doesn’t actually know, and second season is about finding out who’s pulling Sam’s strings and causing all the weird stuff that’s happening. Honestly, Bael’s probably only going to have, like, twenty minutes of screentime total?”
Ian paused, turning to look over at Dipper, both eyes widening. “Oh, shit, sorry, I’m getting way ahead of myself. Um.” He scuffed one foot along the concrete floor. “I want to do a show based on you and Mizar, and your adventures in Gravity Falls.”
Dipper didn’t answer. Almost automatically, his eyes roved across the wall of drawings, character model sheets for Stella and Alcor (who did, indeed, look like him, although…was his head really that big?), rough sketches of Stella’s attacks, paintings of breathtakingly familiar landscapes in rich twilight colours, tall pines and crystal streams and a tiny town that was more home than home had been, sketches upon sketches of familiar faces he hadn’t seen in - so long, too long…
“I wanted to put together some material so you knew what direction I wanted to take it,” Ian said, snapping Dipper out of his reverie. “But none of this is set in stone. If there’s anything you don’t like, or if the whole thing’s too personal, then I can do something else, no problem.”
The disappointment in his voice finally helped Dipper find his. “This is…have you talked to Mira about this?” he asked, not looking away from the pencil drawing of Main Street and the crowd of backgrounders that Ian had carelessly sketched in, clearly to fill space. That girl looked almost exactly like Wendy Corduroy, right down to the freckles, and - was that Preston Northwest?
“Huh? No, not yet. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Ian smiled, and it was very different from his grin at the thought of creeping Dipper out, softer somehow. “She’d love it, a whole series about someone who’s basically her kicking butt and looking cute doing it. I didn’t want to get her hopes up in case they don’t order the series, though.”
Dipper nodded to himself, finally tearing his eyes away from the sketches pinned to the wall. “If you want to do this, then go ahead. I don’t know anybody else who could do it justice. Besides, it can’t be any worse than Twin Souls.” He shuddered.
Ian gave him a disbelieving look for a moment, before his face split into a broad, excited grin. “Seriously?” Dipper nodded, and he gave a little fist-pump. “Yes! I’ll credit you as a creative consultant if you want -“
“Really? Cool!” A thought struck Dipper, and he quickly added, “But, uh, list me as ‘Tyrone Pines’, please."
Ian looked blank for a second, before nodding in understanding. “Gotcha. Don’t really want everybody calling you up about stuff that happens in the show, asking you to make me put their ideas into an episode…“
Dipper thought about the things that Twin Souls fans had asked him to do over the years, and decided that he could leave Ian innocent of the true depths of fan depravity for a little while longer. “Sure. But if you put my name on it, it looks like you didn’t do the work to get there.” He settled back in midair, tucking both hands behind his head. “And seriously, you deserve all the credit you’re gonna get for this. So…tell me about your plot?”
The look Ian gave him almost made Dipper forget completely whose soul was hiding behind the baby face and scruffy reddish curls. He turned away, gesturing to a sketch of Stella in an oversized sweater with a shooting star on the front and a painting of a building that looked remarkably like the old Mystery Shack before it had been renovated to make room for the Library, but a small, proud smile still played across his lips.
“Well, it all starts when Stella Conifer gets sent to spend a summer with her great-aunt Carla in Gravity Falls. On her first day there, she gets kidnapped by gnomes, only to be saved by Alcor, who makes her a deal: he’ll give her the powers to save herself from any tight spots she might get into in the future, if she’ll help him get to the bottom of something strange that’s going on in town…”
A/n:So this is my story for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, And thanks, dear, because of you and few others people as well, I’m finally getting back to writing. Thanks a lot❤❤❤ Pairing:Lucifer x Reader Prompt creature:Famine
Word Count:1,919(heh, sorry)
You opened the door to your house and walked inside, turning around to lock the door. You took off your jacket and went straight to the stairs, which led to the basement.
There was not much time to do anything else as you had few things or rather one thing, that had to be finished. And you knew if you didn’t do it now, than you were going to have your ears talked out by your best friend, Lucifer. You didn’t think he would get like really mad, but one hell of a conversation was sure to be if you don’t do what you have to do. You let out an exasperated sigh and continued on your not so merry way.
Soft thumping sound of your boots echoed around the staircase down to the basement, bouncing off the stone walls. You walked down the stairs, taking each if your step carefully so not to fall over on these..not so reliable pieces of wood. Four more steps and you were standing before a heavy wooden door.
Iba: The Captain is a very devoted person. That’s why everyone in the 7th Division follows his example and also has loyal hearts. We don’t have forgiveness for anyone who flees from the battlefront.
Yachiru: Doggy? He’s so fluffy, his fur really feels nice! After we play, a lot of it falls out.
Kenpachi: Honestly, what he looks like doesn’t matter. The important thing is if he has the ability and strength of a beast. Do ya want to fight and see?
Shuuhei: Captain Tous… My former Captain, when I visit his grave, there are always flowers placed there. Who puts them there? Captain Komamura.
‘He is consistently dutiful to his Captain, the Vice-Captain with overflowing manliness’
Ikkaku: Previously when we were together in the 11th Division he was my senior. He’s 7th Division now, but he has the fight-loving nature of the 11th Division, for sure.
Shuuhei: Since Captain Tousen and Captain Komamura were old friends, I often spent time with Iba. He’s as dutiful as Captain Komamura is.
‘Soul Society’s foremost projectile weapon user’
Ikkaku: Jidanbou’s little brother… I don’t really know anything about him, but didn’t he aim to hurt Orihime-chan? I hate guys like that.
Shuuhei: When Ichigo and his friends intruded into Soul Society, I was surprised to hear that they stopped Jiroubou. However since Kurosaki’s group were enemies, I guess it couldn’t be helped.
‘With sunglasses and afro, the dazzling 7th Division Captain’
Shunsui: He has a different style than me, though he’s smartly dressed isn’t he? Somehow he gives off the impression he’s usually late, but he’s isn’t.
Rose: I wonder if Love and I are stuck with each other in a way. We were both on the team that looked into the konpaku disappearances and we fought side by side in the Living World.
1000 Year Blood War Arc
This page covers general info for Komamura during the Blood War arc. That is, his reaction to the passing of Yamamoto, going to seek out his great grandfather to learn the secrets of his clan and then joining the battle with his new strength.
At the bottom of the page it reads, 変わらぬ人事. It essentially talks about a problem a character has faced in the arc, or something that has changed about them or what they’ve done. For Komamura, it was the passing of Yamamoto and then making the decision to offer up his life in the ritual. For Iba it was continuing his complete devotion to his Captain. Due to this, he knew that if his Captain was willing to risk his life, so was he.
Poll Results and Japanese Fan Comments-
Zanpakutou Poll Results:
Japanese fans think that Tenken’s shikai is subtle compared to its bankai, which is really quite a sight to see! They also thought the link between Komamura and his bankai is strong.
33rd- Tsunzaki Garasu
Fans thought that the unusual release and shuriken style of this zanpakutou were really good!
Battle Poll Results:
21st- Komamura v Bambietta
Komamura’s dedication and adoration of Yamamoto was really moving for fans, and they thought that his convistion to give up his life was really cool!
44th- Komamura v Poww
Fans thought this fight was stylish, but especially liked that Komamura did a cute ear twitch in the fight.
44th- Komamura and Tousen v Kenpachi
The earnestness to fight between the parties in this battle was well received. The fans also liked Shuuhei’s worry for his captain.
47th- Iba v Ikkaku
Fans thought that the best sort of fight ends up with a game of janken pon in the middle, then having a drink!
Popularity Poll Results:
23rd- Sajin Komamura
Kubo writes that he tried to make it so that Komamura’s appearance under his helmet was supposed to be a shocking reveal as it was a contrast to the type of person he was.
Fans think Komamura is cute, fluffy, strong and heroic! They think his loyalty and devotion are great too! One fans notes that his human face was really handsome and manly.
33rd- Tetsuzaemon Iba
Japanese fans really want to see him fight! They also think his dedication, chivalrous spirit and loyalty are quite wonderful!