Save the World

Sam --- They/She | Fanfiction and Writing Blog | All NSFW fics are 18+

[lunarexo-writing]

some things still in abundance

Through circumstances largely out of his control, Crick ends up joining Temenos and his companions.

Octopath Traveler II | Crick/Temenos | Crick & Everyone | Temenos Ch 3 Spoilers | Found Family Adoption  Read on AO3

[lunarexo-writing]

To Gather Light

An investigation is better suited for two.

Octopath Traveler II | Crick/Temenos | Pre-relationship | Temenos Ch 3 Spoilers | Yes even in the AO3 tags

Read on AO3

[lunarexo-writing]

softest snow, sweetest sigh

A sudden blizzard splits Cyrus and Therion off from the rest of the group, and they find themselves waiting out a storm in an abandoned cabin.

Things escalate from there.

Octopath Traveler | 18+ !!! | Cytheri | No major plot spoilers | Getting together | A sort of 5 + 1 Fic | Aroace-spec Cyrus agenda Read on AO3

[lunarexo-writing]

the titles we seek (and the ones we earn instead)

"I called him dad,” Eleven admitted over dinner. Erik laughed so hard he fell out of his chair, and Eleven didn’t offer to help him up.

Eleven slips up, and six people have a meltdown about it.

Dragon Quest XI | Found family | Hendrik & Eleven | Minor/Background Erik/Eleven and Hendrik/Jasper | Post-Canon and Fix-It Adjacent Read on AO3

[lunarexo-writing]

sorry for appearing after several years to post old fics but if twitters bouta splode i may as well make sure as many people as possible are forcibly exposed to my hot takes 

[romijuli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Our valenslimes are done and uploaded, so I might as well throw a link to mine!!! Breaking from the luminerik trend (it’s still there, just not front and center) in favor of an absolutely galaxy-brain ship, thank you Sam

[lunarexo-writing]

Temporary Normalcy

Cyrus’ office was a welcome reprieve from the isolating loneliness of the outdoors. Where outside felt vast and cold and indifferent, Therion felt the space in his mind close up like a vacuum, his worries sucked away as he toed open the office door, sneaking in.

cytheri or bust. thanks ellen for always letting me hash out increasingly angsty aus with you!

i actually really dont know if this will show up in the tags because it links to ao3 but oh well!

Read on AO3

The sky darkened earlier now. Therion should have appreciated it—the dark made his work easier, made people tuck away in their homes and stop loitering in dark alleyways in favour of brightly lit streets. But it just made him melancholy, walking along the already abandoned campus Cyrus worked at. Thousands of students attended, but somehow he only saw five as he made his way down a paved path, a hot coffee tucked into each hand.

If the early dusk made him moody, it seemed to make Cyrus downright miserable. This felt like the least he could do, trekking through this miserable, hollow, lifeless imitation of a community for him. He knew he had an excess of work to do, perhaps coffee and company would help.

Cyrus’ office was a welcome reprieve from the isolating loneliness of the outdoors. Where outside felt vast and cold and indifferent, Therion felt the space in his mind close up like a vacuum, his worries sucked away as he toed open the office door, sneaking in.

The room itself was dark, lit only by the soft orange glow of Cyrus’ reading lamp and the harsher blue glow of his computer screen. (Cyrus, of course, being the health-conscious man he was, used an orange light program, but the light remained harsh all the same, if a little softer around the edges.) Soft piano music played off a Bluetooth speaker shaped like a rabbit’s head, and a blanket was draped over his shoulders.

That the scene alone could render Therion’s heart full was a testament to how hard he’d fallen for this simple domesticity. Perhaps past him would be embarrassed to see him so doe-eyed, but he didn’t mind.

Cyrus must not have noticed his entrance, because he jumped when Therion placed the coffee on the table, leaning down to kiss his cheek. He had a pretty bad five o’ clock shadow going, his fingers rubbing at the stubble affectionately as Cyrus turned to give him his full attention. “This is a surprise. I didn’t know I’d see you today.”

‘I missed you, I wanted to see you so much it hurt’ he thought, but swallowed down the sentiment before it could bubble out of his mouth. “You sounded tired last night. Figured if you’re doing the same thing tonight, you’d need a pick-me-up.”

Cyrus’ smile turned softer, his hands warm when they came to cup Therion’s cheeks and pull him into a slow kiss. He rubbed their noses together when they parted, so sweet and casual Therion’s knees quaked. “If I’d known cheap coffee would be this popular I’d do it more often,” he deadpanned, feigning casual disinterest.

“I suppose we can pretend it’s the coffee I’m happy to see,” there was a twinkle of mischief in Cyrus’ eye, slight dread pooling in Therion’s stomach before he even continued, “that’s why I kissed the coffee cup, right Therion?”

“You’re an idiot and I’m not going to visit anymore. I definitely won’t bring you food and drink.” Smartass. Cyrus only laughed at him and his half-baked threat, pressing kiss after kiss to his face until a smile spread across his lips again, hands shoving at his boyfriend’s face so he could speak. “How much longer are you going to work?”

“An hour. Two at the most. You’re welcome to stay, if you want to get dinner afterwards.” A domestic dinner date after a day of work. It was so normal it hurt, some small, persistent part of Therion convinced it was all an elaborate ploy. Maybe Darius had hired Cyrus as an actor to fuck with him. His only reprieve was knowing full well that nobody could have pinned Cyrus as his type—not even Therion himself—until they were already sucking face in the alley way of some shitty, overpriced bar.

Sometimes, he couldn’t believe it. The life he’d carved out for himself following Darius had seemed so inescapable, so permanent. To think he’d managed to trade it in for such an easy life… It was no wonder he was nervous. His borrowed time, his borrowed freedom would run out eventually. What he’d do then was uncertain.

His face must have grown distant with thought, because Cyrus’ hands settling surely on both his cheeks without his noticing. He blinked back to the moment, breathing out slowly as he came back to himself. They stared at each other, silent assurances passing between them, an unspoken, ‘you can leave anytime,’ a silent, ‘I want to stay,’ because he did, because if he worried so hard about the future he’d miss these quiet, perfect moments. And then Cyrus kissed him. Gentle, at first, but when Therion tangled his hands into thick hair it grew deep enough to wipe all thoughts from his mind, Cyrus licking into his mouth with such confident thoroughness that his worries melted away.

They were both panting when they parted, Cyrus stealing another kiss to the corner of Therion’s lips. “There’s this new ramen bar that opened on the south side I’ve heard fantastic reviews about. What do you say?” His thumb stroked along the curve of Therion’s cheek, voice barely a whisper. Therion had half a mind to pin him to his office chair and make him forget about work and ramen altogether.

Instead, he untangled his hands from Cyrus’ hair, admiring him for a moment. Even as unkempt as he was, he was handsome. Not that he’d say so, not when his ego was already so big. Therion pulled away completely, flopping unceremoniously on his shitty office couch, nabbing Cyrus’ coat to use as a pillow. Before Cyrus could even begin to repeat his question, he waved a hand dismissively “Just wake me when you wanna go. You know I’d eat from a dumpster, whatever is fine.”

The dark still wasn’t all that pleasant, but in the quiet sanctuary of Cyrus’ cramped office Therion felt less drained by it. His eyes closed as he enjoyed the familiar sounds of his boyfriend working, tapping at his keyboard only to hum and hmm and sigh in thought. He didn’t even notice himself doze off properly, nose buried in his makeshift pillow.

(He’d see the picture Cyrus took later, when he borrowed his phone to get directions and instead saw the photo of himself set as his lock screen, his nose buried in Cyrus’ coat, eyes smoothed over with sleep. Cyrus wouldn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed about it, the bastard, but Therion knew he wasn’t really all that bothered by it anyway. Not if it was him. )

[alwayskaysanova]

send me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a drabble

(Part one: 1-50)

51. “What the hell are you wearing?” 52. “Can I kiss you?” 53. “Who crawls through someone’s window at 4am to go for ice cream?!” 54. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” 55. “Our first date is a picnic on a beach under the stars? Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?” 56. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” 57. “Teach me to fight.” 58. “I’d die for you. Of course, I’d haunt you in the afterlife but really, it’s the thought that counts.” 59. “Tell me to go and I will, but if you ask me to stay I’ll never leave you again.” 60. “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…” 61. “I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.” 62. “It’s only one night, we’ll just share the bed.” 63. “Stop running from this. I know I’m not the only one who feels it.” 64. “Are you ticklish?” 65. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” 66. “The only thing I want is you.” 67. “Of all the people I could’ve gotten stuck in an elevator with and it just had to be you.” 68. “PILLOW FIGHT!” 69. “Why the hell are you bleeding!?” 70. “You’re so beautiful.” 71. “Kiss me, quick!” 72. “I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it.” 73. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 74. “Don’t let go.” 75. “I’m going for a swim. Do you wanna join me?” 76. “I need you to pretend we’re dating…” 77. “There was never a choice.” 78. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 79. “That’s the third time I’ve saved your life!”  80. “How can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?” 81. “I need you to leave.” 82. “This is all your fault! I can’t believe I listened to you!” 83. “It’s always been you.” 84. “I’m dying.” 85. “I will never apologize for saving your life, even if it costs me my own.” 86. “I guess dying with you isn’t the worse way to go.” 87. “You were never just my friend.” 88. “Don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…” 89. “I’m not leaving you!” 90. “I can’t do this anymore.” 91. “I remember everything.” 92. “What do you want me to say?” 93. “I tried, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore.” 94. “I bet I can make you scream my name.” 95. “There’s no going back if we do this.” 96. “I never thought you’d hurt me but I was wrong. You hurt me the most.” 97. “I want you and I know you want me too.” 98. “I can’t watch you with someone else. It’s tearing me apart.” 99. “We’re in an abandoned lodge in the middle of nowhere. Sure, you’re totally right, nothing bad could ever happen here.” 100. A quote of your choice.

[lunarexo-writing]

25 for cytheri

Prompt: “Where have you been, I was ready to call the police!”Ship: Modern AU Cytheri

I talked at length abt this with Ellen abt a modern au. uh. mostly the equivalent of what happens with therion with more cars and bridges! but cyrus is there and really doesnt mind that therion is gay and does crimes

“Where have you been, I was ready to call the police!”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, hanging his coat carefully despite the exhaustion in his shoulders. “You—a career criminal with what I am sure is a very extensive record—were going to call the police on me?”

“Well, you hadn’t come home, or texted.” Therion shrugged, as if it was entirely natural for him to make such dramatic claims. Cyrus rolled his eyes, dragging tired feet to hug his boyfriend to his chest.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Sinking into his hold, Therion wrapped his own arms tight around Cyrus. His hold was firm, and Cyrus thought to joke about how clingy he was when Therion spoke up, voice muffled by his shirt, “I’m going to get you a taser.”

Cyrus’ first instinct was to object. Such a dangerous weapon was unfit being in his possession, and it wasn’t as if anyone would attack a professor. Therion’s fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, hiding his expression. Would he put himself in harms way, if he thought Cyrus had been assaulted?

For the first time, he grew wary of the metaphorical target on his back, staring at the large windows that made up his apartment, at the light curtains that provided a façade of privacy. He shuddered. “You can give me a can of bear spray, and that is it.”

Therion exhaled, his grip relaxing. He nodded.

[lunarexo-writing]

22 for primphilia

Prompt: “What do you mean by leaving?”Ship: Primphilia

(thuccy i know what u want from me i know u want the hurts)minor spoilers for octopath ending/prim chapter 4. and i mean like, "i said a character's name" minor. similarly suggstive content ala pg-14.

“What do you mean by leaving?” Ophilia stood, finding herself frozen in place, her thick cloak doing nothing to ward off the chilly atmosphere Primrose’s words had settled over the room.

“I mean going away,” her tone was clipped, lacking its usual flow, gaze trained down at her hands. Away from Ophilia. “I’ve no way of knowing how long.”

“But…” She found her footing, stepping forwards, and there was no denying the way Primrose stepped back in tandem, a dance at a distance. “Can you not take me with you?”

“You’ll be a burden,” Primrose replied, hands curling into tense fists.

Ophilia scoffed. She’d heard that before—more often than not from her own mind. And, more than that, she’d grown confident in her abilities, a weak attempt to insult her would do nothing. She took another step forward, “A healer is no burden.”

Primrose stepped back, pressed against the wall, “A member of the church will draw undue attention.”

Another step, “then tell me what to wear to blend in. What to say.”

“It’s dangerous.” Her voice came out more like a plea, less and less characteristic of the sure woman she knew.

“That has not stopped you from taking my hand before,” with Simeon, with Galdera, with every bump in the road and every small danger and every lingering moment where they needed touch.

Ophilia had her cornered, their noses nearly touching. She could feel each breath Primrose exhaled, fluttery and nervous. Slowly, her hands took Primrose’s, thumbs smoothing over trembling palms. “Prim… What’s the matter?”

“I have to go,” but she didn’t move, still shaking as Ophilia’s hands travelled up her wrists, her arms, shoulder neck jaw face, holding her steady.

She was a healer, in service under the flame. It was only right that she find comfort in soothing the nervous trembling of her lover, her fingers gentle but grip unwavering, forcing Primrose to meet her eyes. “You can stay,” she promised, her voice more certain in her own ears than in her heart.

Primrose’s boldness returned with a kiss, her lips soft and plump and smelling of the fresh aloe gloss she so diligently applied. Her hands were still trembling, but they pressed into Ophilia’s hair, holding her, clinging on tight. It was a veritable flood of emotion, and Ophilia was set to drown in it, set to drown in her.

They fell to the bed, Primrose’s fingers already deftly undoing the button of Ophilia’s cloak, her lips pressing to the hollow of her neck, “you are no burden.”

Ophilia gasped, her own fingers catching at the pin holding Primrose’s hair up, pulling it free, rich brown hair cascading over her face. “And neither are you. How could you be? Your heart burns as bright as Aelfric’s flame, and I am blessed to bask in its warmth." You can stay with me, please, I can protect you.

Primrose’s chuckle was warm against her skin, leaving the residue of her lip gloss with each soft kiss. When Ophilia brushed fingers down her bare midriff, she shuddered in a different way.

I won’t leave you to suffer alone.

Ophilia stirred, groaning as she stretched her arms above her head, arching her back. She was… Pleasantly stiff, but her mouth was dry and her hair was in awful tangles. Even still, she rolled over, expecting to meet the solid presence of her love beside her.

But the bed was cold. Her cloak was gone.

[harpers-mirror]

First Sentence Writing Prompts

Send me characters/pairings (and setting or anything else you want to see) and the number to one of the following first lines:

“I know you’re afraid but we can’t hide in this closet forever.”

“Nope, I absolutely refuse to touch that.”

“How exactly did you manage to get stuck in there?”

“Why is it suddenly purple?”

“Pass me the sledgehammer.”

“Explain it to me again - why do we need to pretend to be married?”

“In my defense, I thought this would go a lot more smoothly.”

“I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations.”

“Careful, don’t drop – “

“And that’s how I ended up standing naked on the Brooklyn Bridge on Christmas Eve.”

“It’s sticky.”

“You need to stop.”

“Well that’s the single most impressive thing I’ve ever seen someone do.”

“What’s with the pigtails?”

“How have you made it this long without someone throwing you out an airlock or something?”

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Ugh, why did I eat that?”

“In my defense, it seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.”

“Run!”

“Come on, give me one good reason not to jump in the lake.”

“We’re going to be late if we don’t leave like 5 minutes ago.”

“What do you mean by leaving?”

“I’m trying very hard not to see all this as a metaphor for my life.”

“Please tell me you know how to defuse a bomb.”

“Where have you been, I was ready to call the police!”

“No, the house is definitely not haunted, why do you ask?”

“Get over here now and bring a tarp.”

“I don’t care that it’s 2:00 am, we need pie.”

“I’ve got everything under control.”

“At this point, what else could possibly go wrong?”

[lunarexo-writing]

ill post.......... new stuff soon............................ i just hate working on tumblr and frankly i hate not being in word at all

call me when my italics can be automatically read so i dont have to go <i></i> all the time like a fool

[ladyadrestia]

five stages of love: un: amitié (ch1)

title: five stages of love fandom: octopath traveler pairing: primrose/ophilia word count: 758

summary: the five stages ophilia clement goes through while falling in love with primrose azelhart

preview: “in primrose, she had found a partner—a confidant of sorts; someone to watch her back.”

[ao3] 

[ladyadrestia]

THERIUS AND KISS 3 B INCH

prompt: hesitant kissship: mafia!au therius

a/n: binch!!! hope you enjoy sorry if this sucks ily uwu <3

Keep reading

[lunarexo-writing]

Wingman

A ruffle of wings fluttering to stillness, a clearing throat, and then a grating voice going, “HEY. HELP ME OUT HERE.”

Day Six: Fairy Tale or Legend

caw caw

Read on AO3

It’d been a relatively normal day, initially. John had woken up, showered, and dragged himself out of bed. He had no work today, but his Dad had asked him to go pick up some groceries from the farmer’s market. On the way back he’d stopped to get himself a sandwich, sitting at a nice picnic bench. He was going through the food he’d got when he heard it.

A ruffle of wings fluttering to stillness, a clearing throat, and then a grating voice going, “HEY. HELP ME OUT HERE.”

Immediately John had turned to glare, only to find himself face to face with a crow, talons dug deep into his poor ham and cheese sandwich. “Oh, come on, that was my lunch!”

The crow turned its head, as if analysing him, and then slowly stepped off of the sandwich, turning to preen a wing for a moment. “SORRY.” There was the distinct sound of throat clearing then, and John’s situation went from ‘oh god, this bird knows a few words,’ to, ‘oh god, this bird can actually talk,’ when the crow stared up at him and confidently proclaimed, “I need your help here bud. Think you can spare a moment to help a feathery fucker out?”

“Uh… Maybe? What do you need?” He stared dejectedly at his sandwich, before tossing it into the bushes for something else to eat.

The crow watched the sandwich go, but then hopped freely across the table, before stopping right in front of John, “I’m cursed. I was a hot guy once, and I need a kiss to get that hot guyness back before I get fired from my job for going MIA.”

“So you’re telling me that you got cursed.”

“Yep.”

“Was it by an old lady?”

“She wanted my sandwich…”

“And you didn’t give it to her?”

“It was my sandwich! I ain’t made of money here dude, I was working minimum wage and now I’m working fuckin’ bird wage! I ate a bug this morning!”

“Alright, alright! So you denied an old lady her sandwich opportunity, and she turned you into a bird?”

“That’s pretty much it. Damn you’re a smart one, that only took five minutes to get through your head.”

John flicked the bird in the beak, watching him caw impudently in response. “It’s not that, dumbass. It’s just… This is pretty Princess and the Frog-like, you know? Or Beauty and the Beast, or, fuck, even Shrek, and I don’t know if you’ve seen those movies—”

“Of course I’ve seen Shrek you pretentious dweeb—”

“Okay, shut up! So then, you should know this kiss won’t work, because we aren’t in love. True love’s first kiss, birdboy! And I don’t even know your name!”

The bird was preening his wings again, and if birds could look exasperated then he’d nailed it. “It’s Dave. So, is that a no for the kiss thing? ‘Cause you’re real fun and all, but I’m a bird, and I want my body back real fucking bad.”

“My name’s John. And I’ll kiss you! But I’m telling you, it isn’t going to work.”

It was weird, holding his hands out for Dave. His talons were a little bit sharp when he stepped onto John’s hands, especially when he clenched as John lifted him up. Dave looked a little nervous about the whole situation, and John felt stupid and goofy, but that didn’t stop him from pressing a tender little peck to the side of his beak, holding him steady as he did.

When a minute passed and Dave was still a bird, John gently put him back down. “I’m sorry. But I told you it wouldn’t work!”

Dave stepped sadly back onto the wood, and then turned to look at John, nuzzling against his still outstretched hands “Be my wingman.”

“Uh… What?” He scritched the side of Dave’s head idly.

“You’re the only guy who took the damn time to give me a smooch. So, you know, help convince other people I’m cute and lovable, gotta find my soulmate. I’ll get you a new sandwich.”

It’d been a normal day. But now John found himself picking a talking, probably-cursed bird up, putting him gently down on his shoulder. “Okay, fine. Get me the best gas station sandwich you can, let me stop at home to put the groceries away, and I’ll take you down to the pier to help you pick up your true love so you can be a hot guy again, or whatever.

As he stood up, he heard a sigh of relief, and then felt the gentle bump of a head against his own, Dave settling in comfortably on his shoulder. It was endearing, and John ruminated on how he could use Dave’s cute bird visage to his advantage. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

[lunarexo-writing]

Hidden Meanings

John Egbert gives an unorthodox interview to Hollywood hotshot Dave Strider

Day Five: Rom-Com or Slice of Life

this is the real rom-com experience

thanks Harvey for a hot collab also u3u

Read on AO3

“And, cut!” Dave dropped his megaphone onto his director’s chair, turning to point at the hunky, up and coming star he’d chosen to play Hella Jeff in this iteration of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff: The Moive Expierence. “You ain’t giving me enough emotion here, come on, I want to feel like you really are watching your best friend drown slowly, still balls deep in your grilled cheese sandwich. How would that make you feel?”

“Uh… Bad, probably.”

“Probably ain’t gonna fuckin’ cut it! Alright, everyone break for lunch, our resident hunk has gotta work through some grilled cheese-based emotions and this might take a while. You’re all still getting paid so don’t fuckin’ go anywhere.”

Frustrated, Dave turned to walk away from the set to get himself some food, thanks much, instead nearly walking into a mischievous looking reporter. “Alright, nice, cool. Who the fuck are you and why are you standing between me and my fried chicken?”

“Oh. You mean this, Mr. Strider?” Miraculously, the reporter pulled a nice sized bucket of the chicken from seemingly out of nowhere. Dave cursed under his breath, already too stressed and too tired from dealing with his crew to properly fend off this devilish media fiend. The fiend who, as if reading his mind, revealed a small black recorder in his free hand. “Mind if I ask you a few questions while you get your snack on?”

The thing was, Dave could say no. It was his fucking set, he could do what he wanted. But Dave knew Hollywood, and that the higher up execs were hungry for promotional material, and most of all Dave knew full well that if he didn’t satisfy this sneaky fucker’s demands, he’d go around bugging his set until he got something, no matter how fucking private it should be. And at that point, who knew what he’d end up digging out of Dave’s crew, work weary and disloyal as they were. He sighed, the long-suffering victim of the media’s victim that he was, guiding the reporter to sit with him somewhere a little quieter.

“My name’s John, by the way. John Egbert,” both hands were full, but he shot a toothy grin at Dave anyway, making himself look way younger than he must have been. He was cute, obviously, but Dave was still annoyed he’d been cornered into this situation, offering nothing more than a curt nod, hands shoved very carefully into his pockets to convey how little be cared about the situation.

There was an abandoned set piece over behind the refreshment’s table, an overlarge set of stairs he’d used for an earlier shoot. Now, it served as a quiet place to sit, stretching his legs out as he plucked the chicken right out of John’s hands, grinning smugly as he dug into his reward. “Alright,” he took a bite from one drumstick, wagging it at John, “no questions about mommy issues, daddy issues, or whether or not I’ve taken hard drugs. Got it?”

“Alright, yeah, I can do that,” he watched John drag a long line across his paper, but when he peered over there was nothing written on the page at all, and John shot him another cheeky, mischievous grin. “What, you thought I needed notes? Nope! I’ve been waiting to do this interview for a year!” He held up his recorder at that, and after a moment a red light turned on, a steady glow in the otherwise dim area. “So, anyway. First question. What made you want to start directing?”

“I’m an artistic genius and the funniest person alive. Next.” He abandoned the bone of his first piece of chicken back into the bucket, cementing it as Dave Chicken with his man germs.

“What, no artistic inspirations?”

“Ben Stiller had a pretty inspiring ass, back in the day.”

“Alright, cool, great. I am just going to publish that then, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Dave shrugged, leaning back, “I told him once, so it ain’t like it’d be a surprise.”

“What, you just go around rating guys asses?” John looked incredulous, and, honestly, a little offended.

“In my defense, I was drunk off my ass and fresh from the success of my first film. Dude came up to me, what the hell was I supposed to say?”

“Uh, I don’t know! Maybe hello?”

“Man, Egbert, my guy, his pants were so tight. Fuck off with that ‘hello’ shit, I couldn’t not say something!”

“So you’re the reason Ben Stiller only wears loose pants now?”

Dave jabbed a finger in his direction at that, “so you have been looking! Fucking hypocrite! But no, it just deflated. Dude lost his youthful vigor and his ass left with it.”

John stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide with disbelief before he finally shook his head, laughing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll believe you! Ben Stiller’s ass deflated because he got old. But what about you, when’s the expiry date on your shapely rump?”

“My shapely rump is—” Dave stopped himself, squinting at John from behind the safety of his trusty Ray Bans. “Now wait just a fucking minute. How in the fresh hell do you know my ass is shapely?”

“Uh, I looked. Duh! And I’m the one giving an interview here!” He grinned, and the twinkle in his eyes had Dave feeling a little more overwhelmed then he wanted to be.

Dave leaned in, voice lowering, “what the fuck sorta magazine is this anyway?”

“Hmm?” John’s grin only grew, leaning in close, “I could try and shop it to some online publishers, but I was honestly asking for myself. Whiiiiiich reminds me, what other things inspire you?”

The change from unprofessional (and stupidly fucking enticing) to completely normal had Dave reeling, leaning back against the painted wood with a solid ‘thump’. “I, uh. Fuck, I don’t know. I like advertising, the really shitty Bro kind, where everything is all video games and food and stoners without the stone. Taking that aesthetic, you can create some weird things if you amp up the absurd and stop tryina’ play it straight.”

“But the hyper formal costume choices?”

“Could call it a purposeful juxtaposition if I really wanted, but I just ain’t willing to sit here ten hours a day watching people walk around in grubby ass t-shirts and jeans. Got a costume budget for a reason, y’know?”

John nodded agreeably, straining to see the actors lounging around in their nice suits. “Favourite designer?”

“Dolce and Gabbana. Calvin Klein underwear though, hands down. Keep it simple and familiar.”

“…You want me to write that last part down?”

It was Dave’s turn to grin then, slouching confidently, “that one’s just for my new favourite voyeur.”

They kept going like that for an abysmally long time. At first, Dave really had believed John had a plan, but by the time he was done it became clear there were only two realities: John was a master manipulator, or he was just having a normal ass conversation. Considering it was hard to imagine him—all messy hair and bright smiles as he was—as anything but a normal (if shockingly forward) guy, Dave hedged his bets with the later.

By the time he actually picked his ass back up off his set, his poor crew was starting to look like a herd of lost animals, all turning to him when he let out a loud whistle. “Alright y’all, time to get this shit on the road so we can go the fuck home and get drunk.”

He turned back to John as he walked away, blowing an obnoxious little kiss his way, “call my agent to book another interview sometime, why don’t you? Maybe you can shop it to Playboy.”

[lunarexo-writing]

Forbidden Spaces

There was a chain connecting Prospit and Derse. It started in the ground of Prospit, and emerged like a tail behind them, going up for miles to where it ended, buried into the ground of Derse.

Day Four: Psychological Horror or Dystopia

we on the final stretch now y'all

Read on AO3

There was a chain connecting Prospit and Derse. It started in the ground of Prospit, and emerged like a tail behind them, going up for miles to where it ended, buried into the ground of Derse. Between them, the only landmark was a giant padlock, shimmering gold when the sunlight hit it around four pm.

All were forbidden from walking on the chains. They were fragile, and someone breaking what linked the planets together would doom them all. So the reigning empress of Prospit had banned it, and the one before her had banned it, and the one before her, for as long back as history books could remember.

But they didn’t seem quite so fragile to him.

He was eleven when he’d first walked on the chains, a rebellious young man running away from home so he wouldn’t have to eat his dessert, carrying only his backpack with his most treasured items (his book of magic tricks, a pack of cards, a big soft blanket, and all of his secret stash of potato chips he’d stolen from a school fair when nobody was looking.) Even then he’d known of the so-called ‘fragility’ of the chains, but he was small and young and didn’t really care.

He’d gotten just ten chains up when his Dad had found him, tearfully begging his son to come home. (John obliged, with the promise of less cake in the future.)

After that, the chains became a source of curiosity. They’d been so study under his feet, it went against everything he’d been told. He threw rocks at the chains, surprised when they didn’t dent or make the chains sway. He’d spent hours stacking more rocks onto the chains as well, expecting to see them weighed down by the weight, but even his massive pile changed nothing.

It was weeks before he had the nerve to actually walk on them again, weeks of leaning against their metal base and reading, or of putting steadily heavier things onto them. It was childish rebellion, John told himself, more convinced it was because he was a scrawny kid than because of the small chance of a conspiracy led by the empress. She was kind and beautiful, surely she had her reasons. But again he found himself walking on them, sturdy with each steps, the massive metal unwavering beneath his weight. It was like he weighed nothing as he walked, first slow and then faster, scrambling as high and far from Prospit as he could.

A year passed and John made little progress. The rainy season kept him home altogether, and school sapped his energy. But school also made him stronger, organized sports raising his stamina while a lucky growth spurt gave him a wider stride. An unlucky summer sent to camp by his Dad dampened his progress further, and then another year of growth and learning, leaving John thirteen years old. He’d almost entirely forgotten about the chain, letting it become nothing but a backdrop in his life, until he walked by its base and saw a child throw a rock at it, gleeful in his senseless aggression. It was… Inspiring, in a stupid sort of way.

It was easy enough to shoo the kid away, yelling out a quick, “hey! I’ll tell your mom and the empress is gonna get you for throwing those rocks!” It was all it took for him to go running with his tail between his legs, dropping rocks the whole way. Certain the way was clear, John stepped onto the base of the chain, and found himself struck with nostalgia as he made his way higher, the metal warm beneath the thin sandals on his feet. He walked until the sun set, and then went home, silently vowing that this time—this time he would reach the midpoint.

He came the next day and walked a little higher. And the next, and the next, and the next. By the fifth day he figured his spry legs would be able to carry him all the way to the padlock, so he brought a picnic lunch with him, intending to settle there, if only for the humour of doing something so mundane on such forbidden ground.

Beginning his walk at nine thirty, John found himself stepping onto the padlock at noon, panting heavily from the long uphill climb. He thoughtlessly plopped himself down onto the sun warmed metal, nuzzling into it as his heartbeat slowed down.

He opened his eyes to someone staring at him, mouth just slightly agape.

“Uh…”

Immediately, John bristled, sitting up and hugging his bag to his chest, “who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I could say the same thing to you! Who the fuck said you could come here?”

John gasped, scandalized, “you swore! You’re not supposed to do that, the empress can hear you! And I said I could come here, so,” he stuck his tongue out, blowing a raspberry in the other boy’s direction.

He looked unimpressed, rolling his eyes, “alright, fine, lets pretend for a minute that your dumb empress can hear us, which she can’t, by the way, because that’s fucking stupid, but lets pretend. First of all, if she could hear, wouldn’t she hear your dumbass panting all the way up here to this padlock we ain’t supposed to be on? And second of all, I ain’t from Prospit, so whatever your empress is telling you she isn’t telling me, so I can swear all I fucking want.”

“Well, uh… Wait, you’re from Derse?”

He was met with an exasperated sigh at that, the blonde across from him looking annoyed, “yeah, and you’re from Prospit. Thought that was obvious from my ashy complexion and all that dumb bullshit. This is the only place where I can get some goddamn sun. So do me a favour and don’t fuck it up for me, ‘cause Dersites ain’t supposed to be up here, and from what I’ve heard neither are you. Name’s Dave, by the way.”

“My name’s John,” he relaxed a little, letting his bag slump in his hold, “how do you know all this stuff about Prospit anyway? I’ve never even met anyone from Derse except you! Nobody has. Sometimes I hear rumors that Derse is just an empty husk, and that all the lights that turn on at night are actually swarms of mutant fireflies that ate you all.”

“Man, I wish. Shit ain’t that fun,” Dave leaned in closer, his voice growing to a whisper, “I’ll tell you some secrets if you gimme those chips in your bag. I can hear ‘em crinkling and I’m real interested in it.”

John stared him down for a long moment, before reaching into his bag and tossing the bag over. “Okay, spill.”

---

The people of Derse and Prospit should never have been separated. There was only one empress. It was all a big test. John didn’t know what to think of all the information Dave had given him—had no way to verify if it was true—but he found himself ruminating as he went home, staring at the chain below him as he went. What did it mean for him—for them all—if this massive forbidden thing separating them wasn’t meant to exist at all?

Stepping off the last chain, John sighed to himself, turning to look back at the space between him and Derse. Dave’s final words to him resonated in his mind, loud and clear. “Things are going to get a whole hell of a lot worse around here, unless we do something about it.”

The lights on the houses of Derse began to turn on, yellow specks on a purple horizon, and John frowned. What would worse look like, if he didn’t even recognize bad?