...everything is fine and normal

i write and edit things | commissions, support, and social links on my carrd | follow me on the twt @heavensturtle!

[s-leary]

Psst. Want to try out trope tagging for published fiction?

My MLIS Capstone team's project is live. We are asking: can we crowdsource a vocabulary for published fiction that addresses all* the ways people want to search, and manage it via an AO3-like tag wrangling workflow?

Like... not bad? And getting better, as people add tags.

(more details and screenshots under the cut)

Here are my tags for Check, Please! vol. 1:

And someone else just added "fish out of water," and I'm like oh, gotta go add that... and found family... and isn't Jack bisexual?... and... okay, I have to get some other work done today. You can lose a lot of time in this thing.

The search is very much based on AO3's:

*People really want to search by author demographics, but this is a short-term class project, and we didn't think we could ethically implement demographic tags for real people in the time we had.

Got a minute? Try it out!

If you'd like to participate, there's a brief research privacy agreement (your tags become visible, but they're not connected to your username and nothing about you is visible to other users on the site, only the research team) and then you can sign up.

If you have some time, we'd love to have more data. You might see some messy or incorrectly filed tags--that's okay. We're wrangling them as they come in. We might work on hiding newly-added tags until they've been reviewed if it gets to be too much.

Once you've entered a tag set, you can leave comments on it and tell us what you think. Are our categories more or less okay? Are we missing something? Is there a tag you think is misfiled?

This is just a demo.

This is an academic research project; it's not intended to be the new Goodreads or StoryGraph. (We love StoryGraph. I am a StoryGraph librarian. It's great.) We just wanted to explore what it would take to build the kind of search filters for published fiction that AO3 gives us for fanfic.

(A lot. It's a lot. Don't ask me how much sleep I've gotten for the last couple of months. And if you're curious on how I put this together, I wrote up a quick list of the WordPress plugins that went into it, which I'll expand later after I've had a nap. (WordPress??! yeah. I'm a WordPress developer. If I could have learned Ruby in a couple of months and forked AO3, believe me, I would have. It's a little awkward because you have to put in books separately and then enter your tags on a separate screen. Look, if I had infinite time and an actual budget...))

[writers-hq]

[saawek]

AFTER A LONG WAIT IT IS HERE!  My headcanon is that when Fafa has a very bad self-worth day, where he doubts of everything including his gege’s love, he shapeshifts into a smaller form because it’s easier to be vulnerable when you’re smaller.

Usually he shifts into Xiao Hua, but sometimes he needs to shifts into Hong’er. And his gege is here to give him all the love he needs to be safe enough to switch back to his true form.

4 pages to read! Please no repost/edit or crop out my watermark!

[hanfugallery]

chinese hanfu by 夫诸Fzz | recreation of xie lian from tian guan ci fu

[heavensturtle]

Nevermore - Episode 1

There is nothing definitive about life after death, except the involuntary enrollment at the mysterious Nevermore Academy. Now Lenore and An

obsessed.

[huahua]

postcards from the taiwanese special edition

[huahua]

postcards from the taiwanese special edition

[godlikecreatures]

Chapter 3: I Was Very Ill As A Child

<< Beginning

<< Chapter 2

Ere quickly retracts his hand as his mind seems to catch up to his actions. His gaze lowers for a moment before he looks back up at Ten.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ere asks.

Ten’s nerve endings have all been rewired to that spot where the tips of Ere’s fingers brushed his face. He manages to nod somehow. “Stomachache,” he lies.

Ere’s brow creases but he doesn’t say anything.

Behind them, Ju Na snorts. “Sure, stomachache,” he echoes. “You must really be from outer space, though, if you can’t guess. Kira uses Ere here to deliver her basil.”

On the surface, this declaration means nothing. Basil is just an herb, something added for flavor that can be grown cheaply and used abundantly. In fact, Ten has never not had too much of it. A small pot on the windowsill would be enough for a family. Maybe, he thinks, if a restaurant doesn’t have space for a garden they might need to buy some. But it certainly isn’t something worth smuggling.

Unfortunately, the surface is all Ten knows. So when Ju Na says Ere smuggles a garden herb, Ten just looks at him blankly. Then he notices the small crinkle between Ere’s eyes, the twitch of his nose as he reacts to Ten’s confusion.

His discomfort grows deeper. What is he missing?

Ere glances at Ju Na, who has sat up again and is leaning forward, forearms on his knees as he peers at Ten.

“My friend, where are you from?” Ju Na asks with a hint of true confusion.

This is the thing, among all other things, that Ten is least interested in talking about. He thinks about how to answer. “I really am not from the city,” he says finally, “I used to grow all my own food. I really didn’t know about the illegal goods.” He’s not lying, exactly. He’s basically not from anywhere, if he thinks about it. He wouldn’t say he’s from any particular place. He just exists.

Ju Na squints at him. He looks so intently at him that at first Ten thinks Ju Na is searching his soul; then he digs around on the couch until he finds a pair of wire-framed glasses and Ten realizes he’s just a little nearsighted. When he takes Ten in again, he pauses for longer on Ten’s features. “You were sick as a kid?” he asks after a long study.

Ten blanches. He wasn’t, but he’d undergone many procedures to try to suppress the thing inside him. “Sort of,” he admits.

“Hm.”

If there were a less helpful reply, Ten hasn’t heard of it. He continues to look between the two—Ju Na and Ere—with a slightly lost feeling, but his admission seems to settle something in Ju Na’s mind.

“I thought so,” Ju Na says, “You have the same look as Ere.”

Even Ere nods as though ‘being sick’ answers something. “I was very ill as a child,” he explains, pulling at the ends of his sleeves in one of the first gestures of discomfort Ten has seen him make. “I think it was—cancer? Leukemia? I was too little, they didn’t explain much to me. I grew up a bit… fine-boned.” It takes him some time to find the right words.

Ten spaces out for a moment. What about Ere’s ethereal beauty could possibly be reflected in himself? Furthermore, how do either of them look ill? Then, he snaps back into reality and looks aside quickly when he realizes it seems like he’s just been staring fixedly at Ere.

He coughs lightly. “What does this have to do with the basil?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Ju Na says. “I just noticed the similarity. So you’ve been living in the country for your health?”

This conversation is starting to feel like an interrogation. Ten nods, his gaze downcast.

“Brother Na, how about we leave him alone a bit?” Ere says, “He’s obviously not comfortable.”

Ju Na huffs, relaxes back onto the couch. He peers down his nose at Ten, his expression a cross between scholarly and impetuous.

When he’s certain Ju Na is done asking questions, Ere turns to Ten. “We deliver all varieties of basil, and a bunch of other things, but thanks to the wilting disease most of it won’t grow anymore, even the hardy types, without a certain modification. A patch. If they don’t have it, the plants curl in on themselves and shrivel from the roots up within a few days of sprouting unless you’re very careful.”

Ten latches onto that term, patch. He keeps his gaze lowered, but he turns his head slightly to focus on each word.

“Unfortunately, we’re not actually allowed to sell the patched basil. It’s considered inedible. So if a shop is found selling it, they’ll try to find the suppliers. It’s a rough treatment for those who break the rules.”

Ten purses his lips, just slightly. He’s never seen a plant display the wilting behavior Ere described. This means he’s likely only ever seen the patched basil. And it’s always been perfectly edible. So—

“When they say it’s inedible, that just mean there’s a taboo against eating it, right?” Ten finally looks up.

Ere nods, worrying the corner of his lip with his tooth. “Yeah. It’s affected some plants so much that even trying to sell them is too risky because there are no unaltered plants still alive. But basil is hardy by nature; you can still grow the unmodified kind, it’s just not as good and doesn’t grow nearly as much before it dies. The modified version is more abundant, so it’s cheaper.”

Though he pays attention to Ere’s words, Ten’s mind is also racing down its own track. He must have always been fed patched basil. Was it because he himself was patched? Food that was only half food was fine for the half-human?“

Of course, he knows there’s nothing wrong with patches. His may have gone wrong, but that’s because the human brain is too complicated. A patch to fight a disease—it’s almost too simple. Not a cause for distress. And eating it certainly wouldn’t change one’s own biology.

And yet.

“I don’t understand it either,” Ere says. “But this is how it’s always been, isn’t it? No one trusts patch technology.”

Ju Na pushes his glasses up and peers at Ere. “Is it really just the technology?” he asks.

Ere sighs in agreement. Ten waits for further explanation, but none seems forthcoming. After several seconds of pensive silence, he asks, “What else is it?”

“Oh.” Ere looks up. “It’s the social aspect. People don’t trust the companies who make the patches. It’s too unregulated.”

Finally, an answer Ten doesn’t need an explanation for. He himself is the product of an unregulated test. A failed one, at that.

He doesn’t mention this to the other two, though; just because they’re willing to deal with patches doesn’t mean they wouldn’t carry some prejudice if they found one in a human. Instead, he nods towards the game console and asks if they’re planning to play, and Ju Na turns it on.

A controller is pressed into Ten’s hands, and he proceeds to be roundly defeated in game after game of who-can-pick-up-the-most-with-this-sticky-ball-that-keeps-getting-bigger. He does not improve with repetition. It is, frankly, shameful.

From his position on the couch, Ju Na nudges Ere’s shoulder with his foot. “You’re supposed to go easy on your friends,” he says, his glasses slipping down his nose and giving him a professorial air.

“Oh, like how you’re going easy on me?” Ere asks, not taking his eyes from the screen. He rolls over something he shouldn’t, and his katamari breaks in two. “Crap.” He tosses down the controller, pushes a hand through his hair. He’s done this enough times that it’s mostly pulled free from the ponytail, so he takes off the hairtie and redoes it, higher on his head.

As Ere scoops the hair off the back of his neck, Ten feels a tickle run from the inside of his ear down to his stomach. It’s strangely mesmerizing, that spot where wispy hairs too small to pull into the ponytail hang down and touch the collar of Ere’s sweater.

Ten gathers himself and looks back at the screen. His own katamari has been reduced to almost nothing so many times that he’s numb to it. A few minutes later, Ju Na turns off the television without warning. It ends with him in a substantial lead.

“Ah? I was planning to win this one,” Ere complains, but it’s half-hearted and clearly untrue.

Ju Na just gives him a look, then gestures with his chin towards the door. “The landlords are back soon. You gotta go.”

“Can I use your bathroom first?”

“No.”

“What if I have to go along the way?”

“…fine,” Ju Na concedes with no further cajoling.

A few minutes later Ten finds himself standing under the little eave outside the basement door next to Ere and staring into the damp night. He watches their breaths mingle in front of them. Ten is wrapped in a smoke-scented coat that Ju Na has loaned him and the rain has slowed to a drizzle, but Ten opens the umbrella anyway to shield Ere.

Ere gives a small start when the umbrella unfurls. “You kept it?” he asks.

“You loaned it to me,” Ten says, his lips involuntarily hooking into a smile, “Naturally I would keep it.”

Ere gives him a look, and Ten isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it is novel to see that expression on someone when they’re looking at him. As though he’s the nice kind of mystery.

It’s neither a long nor a short walk to Ere’s house. They pass through the old quarter of the city and into an area with even narrower alleyways, houses stacked on houses all piled in a lively sort of disarray. Then, they break into an open space with barren tree branches crossing overhead, a dark black net against the dark sky.

Several paths meander through the park, and Ere chooses one with confidence. Ten follows a half-step behind, still holding the umbrella. They cross the park quickly and then they’re at another neighborhood, slightly more run-down and more colorful than the one they just passed through. After crossing down several alleys they stop in front of a shabby-looking building covered with climbing vines that are also bare this time of year. The apartments sit one on top of the other above a convenience store and a small laundromat.

Ere opens the door to the staircase, and Ten follows him to the top. The stairs are narrow, and steep, and covered with a threadbare blue carpet, but the railing is carved in great detail, twining branches dripping with peach blossoms.

There’s a tiny threshold at the top, with a mat and a red-painted door, and Ten drops the umbrella into a ceramic urn where it nestles in beside several others in various states of disrepair.

“It’s not much, but—” Ere warns, then pushes the door open.

Inside is an apartment that could have fit inside the entryway of the house Ten used to live in. It’s clearly furnished with odds and ends gathered from donations or picked up from street corners. There’s a tiny hallway with a few hooks to hang up coats and a door that slides open to reveal a bathroom with a small soaking tub and showerhead, a toilet, and nothing else.

The only sink is in the main room, around the corner, where a kitchen has been installed against the wall. The sleek cabinets and counter are new, but the appliances are antiques that must have been repaired many times. There’s a tiny table and a pair of mismatched chairs that look as though they were donated from Kira’s shop. Aside from the kitchen, the main room has a study area with a desk surrounded by built-in bookshelves, a couch that looks like it folds into a bed, and along the back wall, a greenhouse. It looks like an old balcony that’s been converted into a sunroom, with walls and ceiling made completely of glass, and can be closed off from the rest of the apartment with a sliding panel.

It might be small, but contrary to Ere’s words, Ten thinks it very much isn’t ‘not much.’ Because this sunroom is filled, from top to bottom, with such a profusion of plants that there’s almost no view of the outside except through the rain-streaked glass roof.

After nudging off his wet shoes and coat, Ten wanders into the greenhouse and takes a breath. He sees several types of basil growing, but there’s also a few pots with coriander, and vegetables, and other more exotic herbs that Ten isn’t as familiar with. They hang from hooks and clamor together on tightly-packed shelves, their fragrances mixing together into something appealing and fresh. In the corner, carefully pruned so it doesn’t outgrow its home, is a pear tree.

Ten turns to find Ere leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him with a smile. Ten’s heart prickles and his own face splits into a huge grin. “It’s beautiful,” he says earnestly.

“You like it?”

“Mn.” He nods.

“Would you like it as much if I told you they’re all patched?” The corners of Ere’s lips pinch in a slight frown.

Ten tilts his head, unconsciously mirroring Ere. “Why would that make a difference?”

Ere hums. “Do you even know what patching is?”

“Yeah. A lot of my food at home was patched,” he admits. He doesn’t know if that’s giving away too much or not.

Ere pulls in his entire lower lip and chews on it as he looks at Ten. “You really lived in the middle of nowhere, huh,” he says finally. “Well, for most people, this garden isn’t so beautiful.”

“Lucky for me then, that I’m the one to see it,” Ten says, without hesitating.

The worried pinch of Ere’s face smooths out again, and he crosses to the wardrobe beside the couch. He pulls out a towel and hands it to Ten. “The tub is a bit awkward, but you’ll get used to it. Just put the curtain inside if you want to stand up.” He pushes Ten into the bathroom.

While Ten’s in the middle of undressing, he hears a tap against the door. “Hm?” he says, sliding it open.

Ere’s eyes widen, and his cheeks flush. Ten remembers that he’s not wearing a shirt and also becomes instantly awkward.

“H-here,” Ere says. He holds out a stack of clothes, “For after your shower. We’ll wash your stuff tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Ten takes the clothes. “Thank—”

Before he can finish saying ‘thank you,’ the door slides closed with a light snap and Ten, reflecting on his shamelessness, feels his entire face and chest burn.

Author's note: Thank you for reading! If you like this story I'd really appreciate if you shared it with someone you think might enjoy it! I'm updating every Tuesday (maybe more as I get more chapters done).

[heavensturtle]

Chapter 3 is posted!

[floralpoetrydyke]

holy shit????? they’re talking about polyamory on the radio????????? and in a positive and understanding way?????? holy shit????

[floralpoetrydyke]

LMAO I TJOUGHT THIS DUDE AAS GONNA ASK SOME DUMBASS QUESTION ABOUT HOW SEX WORKS BUT INSTEAD HE GOES “okay so like…real important question here….who drives? like when u go places? do you call shotgun and then someone ends up all sad in the backseat?”

[polystromy]

The real polyam questions

[prokopetz]

I’ve only ever met one poly couple face to face, so I’m sure this is by no means representative, but they avoided the issue by taking turns pretending to be a high-class chauffeur.

Like, one of them would sit up front and drive while the other two sat in the back, and when they arrived at their destination the driver would walk around and get the door for them, all *nods* “madam”.

They did this every time.

[mademoiselleseraph]

That’s too fucking cute omg

[pigeonsuffers]

the yassification of crimson rain sought flower

[samairuart]

And they talked for hours 🤲🏽

[oficmag]

OFIC GIVEAWAY: ISSUE 1

Submissions are officially closed for Issue 1, and now it’s time to get excited for the release on April 1, 2022! To do so, we will be giving away free copies of Issue 1 to three lucky followers!

The giveaway will run from 2/14 – 2/18 and winners will be announced on Saturday, 2/19. 

First Place: a physical copy of Issue 1 and a bookmark/sticker pack!

Second Place: a digital copy of Issue 1 and a bookmark/sticker pack!

Third Place: a digital copy of Issue 1!

How to Enter: 

Follow us.

Reblog this post. 

That’s it! 

We will be cross-posting this on our Twitter and combining both participant lists to select our winners. 

*If you are a Patreon subscriber (aka you will already be receiving a copy of Issue 1) and you are selected as a winner, you will be offered the opportunity to gift this win to another person. 

site | subscribe | submit

[oficmag]

ONE DAY LEFT TO ENTER OUR FIRST GIVEAWAY!

[guerrillatech]

[simariethehawk]

and hilariously that is not why it is called that.

It is the circle of the bears cause of ursa major and ursa minor, and the circle without bears cause ya'know opposite part of the sky.

We lucked right into that one....

[nerdfighterwhatevernumbers]

#so what you’re saying is#the stars dictate whether bears do or do not exist in places

[team-bear-arms-deactivated20220]

Astrology is real but only for predicting where bears will be

[the-tired-tenor]

Bears do not travel to places they cannot see their gods

[godlikecreatures]

Chapter 1: Under Your Umbrella

It always starts the same way: a blinding light, a rain of glass like arrows piercing down. And there, in the center, an indistinct figure who smiles. Then screams.

- - -

Ten sits in the shadow of a doorway, the rain pelting so hard it turns the world around him to a blur. The shallow indent of the doorframe lends no protection; he’s soaked through.

The driving rain refracts the streetlights and triggers a flash of the dream. Ten closes his eyes against the strain.

The sting of raindrops suddenly ceases. He opens his eyes and sees a pair of wet sneakers, similar to his own, and tall, mismatched socks that disappear under the rolled-up hems of a pair of dark-colored pants. He lets his gaze wander up, then up further.

Above him, head tilted to the side and a small frown on his face, is a person. About the same age as Ten, maybe a year or two older. Twenty or twenty-one, at most. Tall, straight, his features muddy in the shadow of his umbrella.

He stands very close to Ten, so close that Ten has to strain his neck to see.

When Ten sees the frown, he instinctively tries to back away. In the past eighteen years, any time someone has frowned like that it hasn’t meant anything good. But there’s nowhere to go. He can’t retreat any further against the unyielding door, and if he tries to escape into the downpour he’ll be in an even worse situation than he is now. With no options for escape, he curls more tightly in on himself.

Seeing Ten’s distress, the other person’s lips draw down even further, and he reaches a hand down to pull Ten up.

Ten studies the hand. The fingers are long and graceful, the pads slightly calloused. It’s held calmly, without a hint of impatience. Tentatively, Ten reaches out to take it.

The other person’s hand wraps around his own, enveloping it in warmth, and he unhurriedly draws Ten up. Ten, for his part, gives the other person no help. It’s near freezing outside, and he’s been sitting in the rain for so long his joints feel rusted in place. Despite the other person’s gentleness, he winces as his frozen knees are forced to unbend, and blood rushes back towards his soaked feet.

“Here.” The other person speaks quietly and presses the umbrella into Ten’s hand. “Hold this, please.”

Ten takes it and watches with bewilderment as the other person takes off their coat and wraps it around Ten’s soaking-wet body. His first instinct is to pull it off, but the stranger pulls the collar closed with one hand while he takes back the umbrella with the other.

“Put your arms through?” he says. His his tone is gentle, as though coaxing a child rather than a full-grown adult.

Ten doesn’t require further encouragement. He sticks his arms through and zips it closed. The warmth from the other person has not dissipated, and he feels better almost immediately. He raises his shoulders a bit, buries his nose in the collar.

The other person laughs and adjusts his hold on the umbrella. Ten glances up, somewhat mortified, to find those lips have curved into a smile.

“That’s better,” the stranger says. “Are you hungry?”

Ten’s stomach growls and he purses his lips, embarrassed. He’d tried to enter a shop earlier today, but had been chased out. He knows why; with his current appearance he looks exactly like the sort of person who would rob them for food. Which is precisely what he had been planning to do, before his obviousness drove him out.

The stranger clearly understands a ‘yes’ when he hears it. His smile grows, and he leads Ten down the mostly-empty street towards the row of lights that spill out into the darkness from cafée windows.

Ten turns towards the first open shop, but the stranger doesn’t even look at it. Ten glances through the shop window as they pass. There’s an older couple inside, sharing a tray of food. It looks fine.

“There’s a place I like, just a bit further on,” the stranger explains when he sees Ten’s confusion.

Ten catches up and they walk together, close enough that Ten has to try not to brush this stranger’s shoulder. For some reason, the stranger doesn’t seem to mind the closeness. He gestures with his chin towards the umbrella handle. “Will you carry it for a while?” he asks, “The rain makes it heavy.”

A wave of guilt washes over Ten. He’s been inconsiderate. Taking the stranger’s coat, and now expecting him to carry the umbrella. Like a young lord. He reaches out to take the umbrell, and in his haste brushes the stranger’s hand. The stranger tenses, but doesn’t pull away until he sees that Ten has a firm hold on the handle. Only then does he take his hand away and puts it in his pocket.

The space between them suddenly feels very small and not at all empty. More like there’s a current running through the air between their barely-not-touching shoulders, almost tingling in his ear. Ten can feel his heartbeat in his throat and wonders briefly if this person has some sort of patch that lets them have this effect on people, but—as far as Ten knows—he’s the only one who was born with a functioning patch, and his gives him nothing but that same, recurring nightmare. He holds the umbrella tight and tries not to notice when his arm brushes the other person. He doesn’t mean to get too close; it’s only that the space beneath the umbrella is too small.

They finally stop in front of a tiny shop, only three tables inside, with a low wooden counter where it doesn’t look like anyone’s working. The stranger catches Ten’s eye and his lips curve upwards in a small smile.

It’s a good smile. Ten’s heart speeds up, and he follows the stranger through the door.

A small bell hanging overhead alerts the owner to their entrance and soon a woman walks out, her dark hair pulled up in a bun with wisps that stick out haphazardly around her head in a sort of messy halo. She smiles when she sees the stranger. “Back already?” she asks.

There’s a lilt to her voice that Ten thinks is her teasing, though he’s not sure. He’s rarely been teased, at least in a lighthearted way. He shakes out the umbrella, pulls it closed.

The stranger nods and glances at Ten, who’s standing slightly behind him. “My friend was hungry.”

“Hm.” The woman peers at Ten, looks down at his legs sticking out under the coat. “He’s worse than you were, when you first turned up.”

Ten suppresses the urge to hide behind the stranger.

“Ah, Kira, don’t be rude!” The scold is half-hearted, at best. Ten can hear the smile in the stranger’s voice. His tense shoulders drop, just a little.

“Alright. It’s on the house this time if you agree to eat whatever I give you. I have a bunch of leftovers that are about to go bad.”

The stranger glances at Ten, who nods; it’s not like he’s been allowed to have any say in his food choices before. They leads ten to a small table pushed against the wall. The chairs are rickety, and even though he’s not large Ten worries that he’ll break them by sitting down.

The stranger shows no compunctions about it though, and immediately sits and rubs his hands over his arms. “It’s cold! How long were you out there, anyway?”

It’s warm in the shop, but a chill runs down Ten’s spine anyway. He likes this person, but he doesn’t know them. If he tells them, then what? He answers with a shrug, then unzips the coat and hangs it over the back of the stranger’s chair.

The stranger starts to put it back on, feels the dampness inside, and lets it drop back onto the chair. “Hm. We’ll just have to stay until it’s dry.” He glances back up at Ten, gestures towards the empty chair. “It’s easier to eat, if you sit.”

Ten’s pants are still soaked. He’s afraid of damaging the shop owner’s property. He opens his mouth to answer, but the stranger didn’t actually ask him anything, so he’s not sure they want him to answer.

Luckily, Kira emerges at that moment with a blanket and a pair of folded towels. “Excuse me,” she says, and nudges Ten aside to place one towel on the chair, one on the floor. “Take off your shoes and socks, I’ll put them on the dryer for you.”

Ten: “…”

Despite Ten’s tension, the stranger is still smiling, relaxed. He looks at Kira and frowns. “You’ll take his shoes but not mine?” he complains.

“You already know where the dryer is,” she retorts. She drapes the blanket over the back of the chair and makes an impatient, grabbing gesture towards Ten. The gesture is somehow both patronizing and endearing. It makes her seem less like a business owner and more like a bossy sibling. “Come on,” she says, “Hand them over.”

Ten looks between Kira and the stranger, sees the stranger kick his own shoes off.

“I’ll show him, no worries,” the stranger says. “Come on.”

The stranger picks up his coat and discarded shoes and leads Ten around the side of the counter to a door marked ‘maintenance.’ He pushes it open.

Ten pauses at the threshold.

“I work here sometimes,” the stranger explains, “Kira’s my friend.”

Ten has a brief urge to ask the stranger when he worked here, how he met Kira, why he doesn’t work here any longer—but the stranger still hasn’t asked him anything, and he’s not sure if he’s allowed to talk. He follows the stranger into the room and removes his own shoes and socks when he sees the stranger put theirs on top of a shelf over what looks like an old, steam-powered radiator. It hisses and pops, filling the small room with warmth.

The lights are dim, and through the gloom Ten can see a few shelves filled with bottles and cans and folded towels. There’s a mop standing in a bucket. In the corner of the back wall is another door, streaked with rain. The whole thing like something Ten has seen in a movie—a set piece designed to look like a maintenance room. Nothing in the place he used to live would have looked like this.

He places his shoes and socks beside the stranger’s and watches the stranger drape his coat over a nearby hook.

The stranger seems attentive to all of Ten’s facial expressions, because he remarks, “It’s a really old building. It used to be a house, before the shopping district got built up. A lot of these buildings were houses.”

Ten nods. This answers why the radiator exists, but not the rest. He doesn’t ask, though. He simply puts on the slippers the stranger hands him and follows them back into the bright, cozy dining room.

When they sit, the stranger stretches out and his ankles cross between Ten’s feet, just barely not touching. Ten can feel it like an electric current running through his ankle bones and wonders, again, if this person has some sort of patch Ten isn’t aware of. Something that would make Ten feel like they’re touching, even when they’re not.

He studies the stranger seriously for the first time. He’s a young man—Ten thinks his original assessment of being close to his own age was probably correct. His long black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and he has large hazel eyes that seem to express his every emotion. Right now, they’re half-lidded as he rests comfortably, hands behind his head. He’s wearing a thick, cream-colored sweater and a thin silver chain around his neck, tucked into the front of the sweater. Aside from being uncannily beautiful, there’s nothing abnormal about him.

Ten wonders if he really is as normal as he looks.

The stranger notes the look on Ten’s face and sits up properly. “Ah,” he says with a self-deprecating smile, “I haven’t introduced myself yet, how rude! I’m Ere,” he says, pronouncing the word like ‘airy.’ He lightly touches his fingers to his own chest, “No family name.”

“Ere,” Ten says, testing out the name. Beautiful, just like its owner.

Ere tilts his head at Ten and his smile becomes genuine. “So you do talk,” he says.

Ten freezes. He can feel his own eyes grow wide before he squeezes them shut and bows his head low, hiding his face from Ere.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I—” he hadn’t waited for permission to speak. He’d just opened his mouth without thinking.

Ere clears his throat awkwardly. “Why are you apologizing?” he asks.

Ten looks up, and sees Ere’s nose wrinkle with his confusion. “I spoke out of turn,” he says. There are consequences for speaking out of turn. When he had lived alone, speaking to himself could lead to a new round of medication. Speaking to the staff without being asked a direct question or asking permission was even worse.

“I don’t know what that means, but”—a light blush appears on his cheeks—“You should talk whenever you want. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

This makes Ten feel uncomfortably warm and yet at the same time he shivers and pulls the blanket, which he has wrapped around his shoulders, even tighter.

The stranger also seems awkward after this statement and looks to the side. Now that Ten knows Ere is waiting for him to speak, he can’t bring himself to say a single word. They’re both quiet until Kira arrives carrying two huge bowls of noodle soup.

Ere’s dish looks like a fairly standard mix of noodles, broth, and vegetables, but the bowl she sets down in front of Ten is covered with a slick of oil, as though she’d accidentally spilled the whole bottle on top. Ten looks at it, a bit intimidated.

“You’re going to like it,” she promises, before handing them both their utensils and disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Ah, she gave you the best one,” Ere says, eyeing Ten’s bowl.

“You want to trade?” Ten asks. He frowns internally at the gravel in his voice, rough from disuse.  

Ere doesn’t seem to mind it though. He just huffs and says, “No way, she made it for you. I’ll get in trouble if I take any.” He takes a sip of his own soup, then glances up.

Ten is still staring into his soup. He knows, logically, that it’s fine, but this is the first outside meal that he’s had, and he’s unaccountably nervous.

Ere seems to understand Ten’s worries without having to ask. “I might want to try it, though,” he says as he holds up his spoon expectantly. “I haven’t had it in so long, I wonder if it’s as good as I remember.”

“Are you sure?” Ten asks.

Ere just smiles and makes a ‘give it here’ gesture.

Ten pushes the bowl towards Ere, who dips in his spoon and takes a sip. Then another. Then another, until Ten wonders if he’s forgotten it’s not his. He pulls the bowl back just as Ere is going for another mouthful.

Ere gives Ten a disappointed frown, then perks up. “You want to try mine?” he asks.

Ten thinks about the spoon, which has been on this Ere’s lips, dipping into his soup. About the same thing happening the other way around. His stomach swoops. “Sure,” he says, and Ere nudges his soup bowl towards him.  

He takes a sip. Ere’s soup is light and herbal, almost medicinal. Like something the nutritional staff of the Institute would make for Ten. But much more flavorful. He tries his own.

It’s rich. Much richer than anything he’s been allowed to eat before. And salty. He almost spits it out, forces himself to swallow. I would be illogical to waste food. “This—isn’t good for me, is it?” he asks.

Ere chuckles. “Maybe not for most people. But for you? It’s good.” His eyes meet Ten’s as he speaks, and then flit over Ten’s figure.

Ten feels every place that gaze lingers, and wonders for the first time if he hasn’t been fed properly, before this. He takes another sip of the broth. Then another as the taste becomes familiar.

Ere stretches out his feet again. His ankle brushes Ten’s this time before moving away, and Ten shivers, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“So,” the stranger says in a curious voice, “I’ve told you my name, are you going to tell me yours?”

Chapter 2 >>

[godlikecreatures]

Ten, the product of a failed experiment in genetic engineering, has lived in near-isolation since he was a young child and deemed unfit for normal society. And for as long as he can remember, he has been haunted by the same dream.

For Ten, this dream isn’t just a dream–it’s a warning. As he senses that the time of the events in his dream is drawing closer, he escapes his sheltered existence and goes in search of the person he’s seen so many times in a bid to prevent the worst from happening. Along the way he learns more about the society that has kept him locked away for so long–and befriends a group of people who might be closer to the old experiment than they realize.

Beautiful, God-Like Creatures is a love story featuring adventure, deception, and what happens when the world has decided that you’re the monster they fear.

[heavensturtle]

I’m starting a few original fiction series here on this old blog! I hope you like them!

[corvikae]

idk how to caption things but here’s a lil doodle, something something hua cheng and the jaws theme. 

[dear-ao3]