#I’m trying to get better free handing them instead of beginning with guidelines

[gothamsfinestdummy]

Some Pinkys

[sourpatchys]

Hi, I wanted to ask if it would be okay if you could do Dabi, Spinner and Shigaraki (separately) Helping their girlfriend’s Recovery after her surgery?😊 I love those boys they always bring me comfort🥹

(last year, I got both of my fallopian tubes removed because I didn’t want kids and wasn’t planning on having any at all whatsoever! and honestly best decision I ever made, because. I’m already dealing with stress and anxiety bad enough as it is!!!😱)

Hi!! Yes, of course I will! I’m happy to hear you got to make that decision, I definitely understand the want to do so haha

Notes: no real setting, I wanted reader to have a warm bed to sleep on, so this could be before the summer training arc or afterwards in a nice hideout! (potentially PLF era?)

A/n: just so that everyone can read, regardless of whether they want kids or not, I made the surgery in question a little vague! It can be whatever your heart desires

Guidelines Masterlist

—

Tomura wasn’t really sure what to do with you.

He knew you were hurting and had to take it easy, and, honestly, he had no real issue with that— but everything else had him a little lost.

You slept more often than not, waking only to take your pain medication or to ask for a cool or hot compress— which of course he’d always get for you— even if he complained first.

And that’s really all it was. He took over as your caretaker, not even thinking twice about the decision. And why should he? You were someone he cared deeply about, and even if it showed a side of him to others that he didn’t necessarily want them to see— he was nothing if not adaptable.

He never went off on his own to get what he thought you needed, choosing instead to wait for your airy voice to mumble out a request. Though, he sat by your bedside, waiting for the next one to stumble out of your lips.

Getting food and water in you was difficult, the pain had made your hunger subside, and your sleepiness didn’t create many openings to help with potential dehydration, so he did bitch at you a few times to make you drink and nibble on a granola bar or some blended up soup.

Other than that it was quiet, tame and comfortable. At night he’d sleep beside you, making sure to put your medication and water bottle on your nightstand, allowing you to take the reins of your own fate while he slumbered— though— if he woke up every time he felt you shift— that was no one else’s concern.

Dabi was not the best caretaker. And by that I mean he basically took all free will away from you and completely took over, refusing to let your requests or opinions sway his decisions.

He’s well aquatinted with surgery and recovery, one doesn’t get to look the way he does and not understand the basics of both.

He made you drink when he felt it was appropriate, he would shove easily digestible food at you with such ease— as if it would be criminal for you not to take it.

He bitched at you the entire time,

“don’t do that”, “shut up”, “lay down.”

There was really no room for what you wanted. But really, all of your needs were met, and you felt better much quicker than you ever thought possible.

He made sure you took all of your medication, down to the last pill, regardless of how well you felt. He was both patient and not patient with you at all.

He stayed by your side the entire time— dressing you in silk pajamas as to not irritate your skin, fluffing your pillows when you weren’t looking, calling you names when you’d hurt yourself by moving around too much.

But the recovery was a success, and though it was agonizing, it really could’ve have gone any better.

Spinner was clueless.

He was at your every beck and call, fluffing your pillows, running around with every medical device he could get his hands on.

He was frantic, concerned and worried, with utterly no idea how to help you. He did try— oh boy did he try.

From the beginning of your bed rest until the end, he couldn’t keep still. Every groan that left your lips, every sigh, he was up and he was moving.

Your medicine was always distributed on time, sometimes even a little earlier than was necessary. You were stocked up with snacks, water and juices, and you were sure you had every pillow and blanket ever created.

He would cook for you, run his clawed hands up and down your scalp to sooty your aches and pains, he even got compress to put on a silly little magic show for you.

Anything to distract you— anything to make you laugh.

And while it was definitely overkill, and you were definitely more stressed about his well being than you were with your own— it made for a wonderful recovery.

You found yourself not worrying about weather or not you’d have to be out under again— because you knew that, above all else, you could laugh all the while.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Rudely in Love

MAIN MASTERLIST

Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1,650ish

Summary: You and Tony are in love with each other, but neither of you can see it. Tony is afraid of his feelings, so he starts treating you poorly.

Notes: Requests close in a few hours! Send yours in before it’s too late! Guidelines are in the pinned post on my blog.

“Hey, Tony,” you greeted, coming into the lab. “I finished the paperwork for you. I thought that you—“

“I really don’t have time, right now, Y/N,” Tony said, quite rudely, as he continued working.

“Just, Fury wants these tomorr—“

“Then just leave them on my desk. I’ll get to them later.”

“Okay,” you mumbled. “See you later, Tony.” The man didn’t even make it seem like he had heard you. You sighed. “See you later, Bruce.”

“Have a good day, Y/N,” Bruce replied with a small smile as you hurried out of the lab.

You had been a part of the Avengers since the beginning. You had been a free lance shot for hire until Fury found you and convinced you to help him, just mere weeks before the Battle of New York. Your skills had been helpful during the battle and on missions since. And you got along with everyone on the team. Well, you used to get along with everyone. For the past few months, Tony had been growing increasingly more rude to you. For no obvious reason. And it hurt. The two of you had been close friends until the change of attitude. And you had even developed feelings for the man, but it was clear to you that he didn’t feel the same.

You couldn’t have been more wrong though. Tony had fallen in love with you. But he struggled to show it. He was scared, ever since Pepper broke it off, that you’d leave him for the same reasons she did. He was an all night workaholic with serve PTSD. You had understood that as a friend, but you hadn’t ever seen the full extent. And Tony was afraid of what would happen if you did. So, he decided to push down his feelings and, in turn, push you away. 

It hurt the team to watch what was happening. They all knew that the two of you had feelings for one another. And they thought that someone was going to confess before Tony started acting so rude. You had always been so fun loving and happy, but you were slowly losing that as Tony grew meaner and meaner. But you refused to say anything mean about him, cause, sadly, you still loved him.

Bruce watched with worried eyes as you hurried out of the lab, which you used to spend hours in, keeping him and Tony company.

“You know, you could have used a nicer tone,” Bruce suggested as he got to work. “Y/N was just trying to help you.”

“She was just trying to annoy me,” Tony said. “And I’ve finally started to see it.”

“She has never been nothing but nice to you. And it hurts to see you treat her to poorly. Everyone, but her, knows that you actually love her. You’re just too scared to get hurt.” Tony ignored Bruce. “Just, please, be kinder too her. I could feel the Other Guy wanting to come out because of the way your were acting, and we really don’t need him making a mess of things too.”

~~~

It was team movie night, the first one in months. And, usually, Tony and you would sit next to each other, basically cuddling on the love seat. So the team, who was already seated, had left the love seat open. They were all silently hoping that it would help with whatever was going on. Tony arrived into the room first, immediately going to his usual spot. But as soon as you arrived, he propped his legs up, taking up your spot. You saw what Tony did and looked around the room to see if there was another spot. Sadly, there wasn’t and you sighed before heading over.

“Hey, Tony,” you said quietly. “Mind if I sit next to you?”

“Sorry, the seats taken,” he answered, not even bothering to look at you. All the team though was trying not to stare at the seen.

“Oh. Cause, well… I just thought, since we usually sit by each other that we could—“

“Well you thought wrong, Y/N. Just like you always do.”

You stepped back, kind of shocked at the words leaving Tony’s mouth. “Tony, I—“

“Oh, would you just shut up already!” He finally made eye contact with you, but barely. “Nobody wants to hear what you have to say!”

“Tony,” a few gasps and reprimands were heard throughout the room.

You stood there, staring at Tony with wide eyes, before keeping the tears back became too hard and you ran out of the room. The team were frozen until they heard the slam of your door.

“You crossed a line, Tony,” Steve stated, standing. The rest of the team followed suit. “That’s no way to treat anyone.”

“Especially the woman you love,” Natasha added.

~~~

You spent most of the next days in your room, crying. You were trying to figure out what you ever saw in the man. If you did venture out, you would always ask JARVIS where Tony was. The AI always willingly answered, he seemed to have chosen your side in all this. With the team and JARVIS on your side, you were lucky enough to never have to see the man.

“You know, he just has a hard time expressing his feelings since Pepper,” Natasha said one time after bringing you dinner. “He’s actually in love with you.”

You scoffed. “Yeah right. He’s been pushing me away for months.”

“Trust me, he’s still in love with you.”

“Well he sucks at showing it…. And I want to move on.”

“How about we give something a little test run?”

“What are you taking about Nat?”

“We’re hosting a charity gala in a few days, right?” You nodded. “So, what if you made Tony jealous? We get you all dolled up from head to toe, get to an attractive date, and see how Tony acts. If he doesn’t absolutely lose his shit and make his move, then you can move on.”

“Seeing him squirm might be fun. Alright, I’m in.”

~~~

Natasha had bought a dress for and convinced Steve into being your date the next morning. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you couldn’t help but want Tony to get jealous and finally apologize.

Natasha helped you get ready before the gala and Steve, ever the gentleman, picked you up at the door with nothing but uplifting compliments. You had been nervous, but having Steve by your side helped a little. He escorted you into the room and the two of you made your rounds, trying to get money from all the millionaires there. As you and Steve made your rounds, you could feel eyes on you. Following you wherever you went.

Tony couldn’t help himself with the staring. You looked absolutely stunning. It was killing him. Just like seeing you smiling and laughing on the arm of Captain America was. He was frozen at his spot at the bar, taking angry sips of his whiskey as he continued you watch you. He had felt terrible ever since that movie night. It broke his heart when he saw your eyes fill with tears and you run off. He was really being a jerk to you. Tonight, he hoped to begin to mend that, but you seemed to have come with Steve tonight. Making him jealous.

“Woah there, Stark,” Natasha said as she watched him down the rest of his second drink. “I think your turning more green than the Hulk.”

“What is she doing with him?” Tony growled. “Are they like a thing now?”

Natasha shrugged. “She was down, and he saw an opportunity to make someone happy. I think it’s sweet.” 

Tony’s jaw clenched and his gripped tightened against his glass, all things Natasha noticed. She smirked. 

“Why don’t you just go over there and steal her?” She suggested. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind after an apology.”

“I need another drink,” Tony grumbled, walking away to find a bar tender.

~~~

You stuck to Steve’s side all night. You two always made sure you were touching, whether it was arm in arm or his arm around your waist. Anything to try and make Tony jealous, and it was working. Tony watched as you excused yourself from Steve for the first time tonight, and headed for the restroom. He downed the rest of his drinking, hoping for some liquid courage, before he followed. He waited outside the restroom, quickly grabbing you by the arm once you exited and dragged you down the hall.

“Tony, what are you doing?” You asked as he dragged you along. 

He didn’t answer. He simply turned the corner, pinned you up against the wall, and kissed you. It was hard and desperate. 

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me all night,” Tony whispered after pulling away. “I am so sorry, Y/N. I should have never treated you the way I did. You deserve way better than that, way better than me. But, Y/N…. I can’t stop thinking about you…. I love you. And I understand that you might not feel the same after what I’ve done. But I just needed you to know.”

“You stupid, stupid man,” you shook your head as you spoke. “You should have just told me instead of being so rude.”

“I understand. I’ll just—“

You grabbed his hand, stopping him from leaving. “I wasn’t finished. The reason I got all dressed up and spent the night on Steve’s arm was because I was trying to make you jealous. Because, Tony, I love you too.”

A smile broke out on the billionaire’s face. “You do?”

“I do.”

Tony quickly kissed you again, putting his hands on your back to hold you to him. 

“I’m never letting you go,” Tony whispered.

“I sure hope not,” you replied.

[the-scooby-gang]

Us... But not quite

Part 7

Summary: After falling thought a portal while they were being chased by their most horrifying monster yet, The Scooby Gang finds themselves in a place they have never been before. A place called Crystal Cove. 

“We are here!” Younger Fred said.

Here, is a large white Spanish style building with red roofs were the front wall read City Hall in big brass letters.

The trip over here was mundane. It was a nice town, composed of small buildings, built like a picturesque Spanish village. Most buildings were painted either a soft cream or vibrant welcoming colours. If it wasn’t for the “Most haunted place on earth” sigh at the beginning of the town they would have happily stayed there relaxing a little and taking their sweet time researching until they found a way to go home.  

“I will go inside. You guys wait for me here?” Young Fred was already outside the van. He had the coffee holder in one hand, one foot on the steps of the building.

“You got it, Little Me.” Older Fred gave him a thumbs up. The gang made their way outside moving towards the young man who by now had walked up the steps, looking at them expectantly.  

“Ok, be right back” he waved at them as he went inside.

“He’s such a cutie,” Daphne said when young Fred was no longer on hearing range. “Remember when we used to be his age?”

Fred and Velma sat down on the third step, leaning against each other. Scooby laid on the sidewalk by their feet while Daphne and Shaggy perched themselves on the stone bannister. They took a deep, long breath, taking in the sea air into their lungs.

It was indeed a beautiful town.

“Like, bold of you to assume I remember anything at any point in time” Shaggy turned his head lazily towards his girlfriend.

“What you had for breakfast yesterday?” Velma’s left eyebrow disappeared under her bangs.

“That’s, like, different and you know it” Shaggy pointed his finger at the sweater-clad woman.

“Rood is unforgettable,” Scooby added from the ground.

They chuckled, a soothing silence fell over them. Scooby made himself comfortable, his head on Velma’s lap with Fred scratching behind his ears. Daphne turned Shaggy’s back to her and resumed braiding his hair. It was past his shoulders again, she noticed. They would have to decide what style they were going to cut it this time.

“What are we going to tell his gang, man?” Shaggy asked, looking at the street while Daphne’s fingers carted through his scalp.

“What do you mean?” Daphne asked, halfway through a five-strand braid.

“Well, are we going to tell, like, everything to them? Everything? ”

“I don’t see why not, it’s not like we have been the face of secrecy with him, you know,” Fred said, gesturing with his one remaining hand as the other was occupied turning Scooby into goo.

“Dude, I ain't talking about the powers and college degrees, that is a different can of worms, I’m talking about us.” Shaggy also started gesturing with his hands, pointing them towards his chest at the end of that particular statement.

“Us?” Fred was confused until Shaggy took his hand, a meaningful look on his hazel eyes.

“Us.”

“But Shaggy, what would be so bad if they knew about our relationship? For all we know, they may be right in the path of starting their own version of it.” Daphne questioned, undoing the five strand braid and starting a french one.

“And that is the problem. We don’t know anything about them. They may be us, but, like, not really us. Maybe nothing goes as they did back home. Then we parade into their lives, like, without knock or warning…”

“And you are afraid that we may accidentally start influencing their decisions or something.” Fred completed, his eyes wild when the information dawned on him.

Velma sprung to her feet, pacing furiously in front of them, her serious face on. “Jinkies, Shaggy is right! At that age, the world was new to us. If an older version of me had appeared to my fifteen old self and told me about my future, I would use all of it as a guideline.”

“But we are not even their future selves, we are from a different dimension altogether. Our lives were shaped by entirely different circumstances.” Daphne contra argued, finishing the french braid carefully to not pull Shaggy’s hair too much.

“It won’t matter. They will see in us models to follow, versions of ‘what could’ or ‘should be’.” Velma sat down once again, both hands under her chin.

“But Shaggy, if you had all these concerns, why didn’t you stop us from talking about our cases? Why expose him to your magic?” Fred asked, looking at his boyfriend expectantly.

“Because these types of things are, like, manageable on the long run, man” Shaggy rubbed his face “Dude, there is a difference between ‘things that I may do when I’m older’ and ‘My future relationship status’. What if we tell them we are together and then they, like, I don’t know, try to force it to happen between them? We,” he pointed to all of them “Clicked together after years of knowing each other, and like, late-night star seeing, but for them? I don’t know where their destiny was going to send them, man. Maybe they end up together. Maybe they would pass the rest of their lives in a harmonious platonic relationship. Maybe they will find love outside of the gang, I don’t know. We could inadvertently cause a sea of heartache.”

Silence fell between them. Fred had to admit that he hadn’t thought about it like that. Daphne hugged Shaggy from behind, her chin on his shoulder, pushing the now made french braid over the other.

“So you think we may cause them harm just by being here?”

Shaggy shrugged “That’s the thing: I don’t know. Not for sure. That’s the problem with interdimensional magic, the rules aren’t as clear cut as, like, time travel ones.” he groaned, resting his head against Daphne’s  “Dude, I hate interdimensional magic. This shit is, like, way trickier than it has any right to be.”

Velma put her finger over her chin. After a minute of silence, she turned towards the gang “I think I get it. In time travel, everything you do affects you personally because you are meddling with your timeline. But once you start interacting with a different dimension you-“

“Your timeline is no longer in the equation.” Daphne completed.

“Exactly, but we are still present in a sense, so our actions will affect the world none less.”

“Just with zero consequences to us.” Fred laid lack on the steps of the city hall entrance, dissociating after such a bomb was thrown in his lap.

“So, we could tell this younger gang about our relationship and then go back to our dimension unaffected…” Daphne turned her body away from the bannister, no longer using it as a seat but as a support. Her arms crossed and her face contorted into a frown as she looked at Fred on the ground.

“But live behind a gang that may not be compatible romantically with each other trying to force themselves together and end up with a nice bucked off emotional issues” Shaggy also turned towards the gang, but remained seated on the bannister in a lotus position.

Daphne covered her face with both hands, her voice muffled “God, I hated having this kind of discussions in Philosophy class, applying them to real-life doesn’t make them better.”

“Well, we have left the room of hypotheses and entered headfirst in an actual ‘non-consequences free’ zone, so is bound to suck harder now. Be glad that you are not being graded by this particular dive into madness.” Velma smirked at the purple-clad girl who threw one of her patented glares.

“Thank you, Velma, for your kind words.”

“I’m here to serve” she mockingly bowed.

They laughed over the girls’ shenanigans. They were giggly since they arrived in this weird new world and they sure hoped it was no psychological effect of being so unceremoniously launched into the unknown. They, still laughing, set all in the steps of the city hall, side by side. Scooby was giving them worried looks. Not a good sight.

“So, what do you guys suggest we tell them?” Daphne was the first one to sober up from the laughing fit, cleaning the tears from the corners of her eyes.

“What they ask of us. Our best tactic now is to not lie. Lies have short legs and can easily trip” Fred said, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“Especially when you are lying to a bunch of junior detectives.” Added Velma.

“Exactly, so if they ask about something that we deem reality shattering we tell half of the truth or we find a way to change the subject until we figure out if the information could or not have lasting effects. That way we would not be technically lying to them and at the same time we avert any emotional fallout.” Fred had a faraway look in his eyes, probably thinking about all the topics that he simply didn't want to touch again even with a ten feet long pole.

This dimension Jones Sr. better not be a masked villain too or he was going to deck him in the face.

“…When I had that one dream about becoming one of the faes, these were not the circumstances that I thought it would go down.” Daphne had a disbelieving look on her face, looking at her back as if she was expecting a pair of wings to sprout from there.

“I, like, will have to explain the magic, even if not all of it. Even if I erased his memory of the van merging -with by the way I will not do- magic always finds a way of being discovered. It’s, like, better we explain to them now instead of them finding out later by other means.” Shaggy said, remembering that one memorie in Salem where he and Daphne were accused of witchcraft. He was partially offended that the thing that put her in the stake by his side was not any magical prowess on her part and it was more in the line of “Adult Woman With Opinions Are The Devil”.

“Yeah, you said something about mind magic being volatile” Velma turned to him, always curious about magic and its applications and side effects. She was dead set in proving that magic was just another form of science, albeit more flashy. Shaggy thought that if anyone was going to prove that would be the small woman.

“It’s like magical brain surgery. Like, one wrong move and I give the boy an aneurysm. This kind of spell is for casters that have, like, one-third of my anxiety and nothing more.”

The day barely began in Crystal Cove and they had all these problems to think about. The exhaustion was slowly but surely creeping on them. Fred was feeling old. They were all feeling old. Everything was moving at a breakneck pace and seemed to never stop. A new world, new people, new gang, new problems. They prayed that nothing more was added to the list.

“I can wait for this all to settle down so I can find the closest bed and bloody shut down all my bodily functions.” Fred groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“Same.” Was the unison response.

Silence.

Is either silence or laughter. That could not be healthy.

“Wait, does this mean no kissing???” Shaggy exclaimed which earned three hands flying over his mouth.

“Not in public, at least. It's a small town on the coast, isolated from major cities by some good miles, most people know each other one way or another” Fred said, removing his hand slowly.

“Yeah, and they would especially notice if the mayor's son was caught kissing all four of his friends” Added Velma, her hand leaving his mouth to find a place on his shoulder.

“Or, like, kissing said friend’s necks and behind their ears” Shaggy sighed, resigned to the ‘non-affection beyond normal friendly’ future.

“Nice just what we- Wait a second, ‘behind their ear’? Since when does Fred kiss behind ears??” Daphne turned her head so fast that Shaggy was afraid she may break her neck with the speed. When her head didn’t fall off her shoulders, Shaggy finally registered what she said.

“Like, since that one afternoon in grad year, on the roof of the culinary building. I thought he did it to all of us ” Brown eyes looked confused between blue and purple eyes, while said purple eyes were now glaring a hole thru the blue eyes owner's skull.

“Fredrick Jones, what affection partiality bullshit is this?”

“Yeah, Fred what gives?” Now pair of brown eyes was glaring at him, the glare somehow amplified by a pair of glasses, and Fred wanted nothing more than to flee towards the nearest desert to avoid vaporization.

“Ok, in my defence, none of you girls does the little shiver that he does when I kiss you guys there and believe me, I checked” He could feel the intense blush in his face and he just knew that he looked like a blond tomato right now.

“Shivers?” Daphne’s glare lost some of its intensity, her curiosity about new information about one of her lovers superseding her perceived slight.  

Velma’s glare also mellowed down, her eyes now zeroed on Shaggy, who was doing his best to turn into a strawberry from how red he had suddenly turned.

“Yup. They run up and down his spine like a bolt of electricity. He gets all flustered, the most beautiful shade of carmine I have ever seen.” No longer under fear of vaporization via death glare, Fred perked up, a smile of one thousand volts on his face. He loved talking about his loved ones.

“Like, Freddie, man, come on” Redder by the second, Shaggy’s shoulders were perked, covering his ears. God, why didn’t he study those morphing spells more? He would give anything to be a rock right about now.

“Oooooh, so our Norvy darling is a shivery shiver boy, huh?” Daphne smirked, leaning against Shaggy, one arm going around his shoulder, essentially caging him from any last-minute spring to the mountains.

“I will pay you actual money to never say that again” He turned his head in the redhead direction, officially reaching ‘completely red’ status.

“Oh? But is the truth, isn’t it? Freddie is not one for lies.” Velma piped in, a mischievous look on her face.  

“Are you lying, Freddie?” Daphne turned towards him, her own mischievous look making her purple eyes shine.

“I would never. Scots honour” Fred, the traitor, put a hand over his heart, the picture of sincerity. On second thought, maybe instead of turning into a rock, he could turn Fred into a rock.

“What do you say to me and Daph test it out? Just to see it for ourselves…” Velma gravitated to his other side. With Fred right in front of him, he was completely trapped.

Note to self: LEARN THE GODDAMN ROCK MORPHING SPELL!!!

Giggling like the villains they are, his lovers got closer and closer, their minds probably a mile a minute in all the ways they are going to make him have a cardiac arrest from the blushing alone when...

“Ah, ruys? Rhat rabout that rhing rabout rublic?” Scooby, the one that was the current owner of the brain cell of the gang apparently, commented from the ground. Those kids took too much influence from that Addams couple they met all those years ago. It had to be, because Scooby could NOT, for the life of him, remember them being THIS horny.  One of these days he was going to get a cardboard box and write ‘HORNY JAIL’ in it to live them in time out.

The trio deflated, the wind completely blew out of their sails while Shaggy signed in relief, no longer trapped in the soon to be kiss cocoon…

And he was disappointed for some ungodly reason!

Lined side by side on the stone bannister, the gang groaned in frustration.

“I hate this already,” Shaggy grumbled, his red cheeks puffed.

“Yeah.” The other three agreed.

Scooby muffled a laugh. God, these next days are going to be an amazing shitshow to watch unfold. He gave them one week before they broke down.

Another groan came from the young adults, shoulder to shoulder, their heads touching, soaking in the small scrap of contact that they could have.

On second thought, a week may be too generous.

All of sudden, they could hear footsteps approaching from inside the building. Young Fred had a smile on his handsome face, putting his phone away as he walked.  

“Hey, guys. Hope I didn’t make you wait too long” He was waving at them, smiling.

Young Fred was really happy with the presence of this new gang. They seemed so comfortable together, he hoped that they could all hang out. They could go to the beach, eat some Fruitmeir’s. They could even build traps together! He should ask them later.

“Nah, we barely noticed.” Daphne waved back “We were just chatting a little bit, nothing big.”

They had become really good liars along the years, huh.

“So, where now? Did you talk with your gang?” Fred, the older, asked his younger counterpart, making his way towards the van, Scooby softly head butting his left hand earning him a nice pat.

“I called them and told them to meet me at the radio station. It’s owned by a friend of ours that helps us from time to time”

“Groovy! Lead the way” Shaggy smiled, snapping his fingers in rapid succession, making Young Fred laugh. 

We talk about this more later after we meet their gang and take a good long nap.

Three different winks of affirmation. Morse code is coming in handy in these weird times.

“Hey, does that radio station have any maps of the town? Not that I don’t enjoy you helping with directions, but I was hoping to familiarize myself better with the place” Daphne casually hopped to young Fred’s side, looping her arm over his shoulders, a sweet smile on her purple lipstick.  

“Sure thing, Angel must have some lying around. I could show you the library too so you could look for them yourself” Young Fred suggested, lining on the embrace. He and his Daphne should do this more, it was nice.

“Really???” Her smile got impossibly brighter, bouncing in place like a child at a candy store. Young Fred soon found himself locked in a bear crushing hug, the older woman long red hair tickling his nose. “Thanks, Little Freddie, you’re the best”

He hugged her back, a soft look on his face. He had hugged his Daphne before, but this hug felt fundamentally different. Maybe it was her age difference with his best friend or the way she looked at him like he was the most precious thing she had ever seen. Maybe it was the effect of having talked with her about all his trap ideas during the journey here, her attention never wavering.

Maybe it was a combination of all of them. He didn’t know.

That didn’t stop, however, the small part in the back of his mind telling him that this is what a mother embrace felt like.

“Ah chucks, it’s nothing really. What are friends for?”

[mulletcal]

memento mori - an ashton irwin one shot

a/n: hi friends!! i’m reposting this bc the first time i completely didn’t give the proper credit and i wanted to correct that!  this whole thing was inspired by @sexgodashton​‘s answer to this ask. and while i could have just edited the original post to include the credit, it wouldn’t have sat right with me personally to do that and just pretend like it was there the whole time. lau’s brain blows my mind every day w her creativity and she inspires me so much, thank you lau. thank you also to @myloverboyash​ for reading this over for me i appreciate u sm! word count: 2.5k

warnings: talks about needles, ashton being tattooed, smut, there’s riding, voyeurism (sort of? i don’t know rly but i wanna put the warning there just in case), ashton having a pain kink, light dom ash, spanking, i reused two things in these that i’ve used in the past but you know what??????? i kind of love it

****

Ashton’s felt the pain of a tattoo before; he kind of enjoyed the sting, the drag of the needle. Ashton also enjoyed pain, but he never noticed how erotic the pain of a tattoo could be, the intimacy of being so close to someone’s skin, until he began to date a tattoo artist.

You met Ashton when he came into your shop one day, on the hunt for his typical tattoo artist. He was nothing short of a gentleman, something you weren’t used to when men came into the shop that you owned; Men didn’t take kindly to women being the boss of men they saw as the epitome of masculine, let alone the owner, the ultimate boss if you will. You would never forget the way his eyebrows shot up when you said you were the owner, a small grin on his lips as he asked if he could get his tattoo from you instead.

That was for his snake tattoo, and he was so excited at how it turned out that you did his rose tattoo as well. Ashton kept coming back to you, insisting on the rest of the guys coming to get tattoos from you; it wasn’t until you finished touching up Michael’s finger tattoos did he ask you out.

“I appreciate the boost in clientele, but if you wanted to take me out you could’ve asked sooner,” You had replied, slipping him your card with the business phone number crossed out and your personal written above it.

After that, the two of you had talked nearly every day while he wasn’t on tour, and he often slept over, leaving you being taunted from your employees the next day due to marks on your skin.

It wasn’t until the lockdown did you truly see how wild Ashton could be; he had chosen to quarantine with you, the most responsible option you felt because you would have tried to find a loophole to see him anyways. Ashton encouraged you to try new things with him you never thought were possible, and you were surprised at how much you loved it.

You were shocked to realize that he enjoyed not just the pain of being tattooed, but he had a little bit of a pain kink in general. He tried to shy away from it at first, but when the two of you seemingly had run out of exciting news hobbies to learn, Ashton brought up the idea of watching porn together, to get a feel of what the other person liked. You wish you had felt safe enough to record his reaction when you put on a favourite video of yours, watching him take an invisible pencil from behind his ear and pretending to jot it down.

A few moments after that, with Ashton and you definitely quite in the middle of something, your phone went off, alerting you that you would be allowed to reopen with a set list of guidelines. You’d tried to get as many of your clients in before the shutdown as possible, so you didn’t have too many to reschedule when you got back.

You and the rest of your team had decided to operate on a weekly basis, your employees being allowed to have the shop for the week, with the rules of you setting up additional cameras so you could check in to ensure they were following sanitary guidelines, and all transactions were cashless unless absolutely necessary.

The reopen was going well so far, from what you could tell. Your week had finally rolled around, and you made sure that you left yourself a free day so that you could deep clean the shop; however, that didn’t exactly go according to plan as Ashton asked if you could tattoo him, stating how it had been so long since he’d gotten one and he missed it. Of course, you immediately agreed, pulling up the list of ideas you both had brainstormed throughout the course of the lockdown.

When he got there, you enthusiastically unlocked the door, greeting him with a kiss. You were excited to use him as your canvas, even though it would likely only be something small.

“You ready love?” You asked him, scrolling through the list before looking back up at him.

“Mhm, I’ve been thinking about the list and I’ve really wanted that coin of mortality piece you drew, would you do that one on me?” Ashton had placed his hands on your thighs, tracing his thumbs in small circles against them.

“Well that makes it a bit easier for me, since it’s already drawn, let me just pull it up. Where do you want it?”

You cocked your head, your eyes slowly scanning down his body, checking him out in a way, but also curious where he would say to put it.

“M’thinking on my ribs, yeah?” He pulled back, eagerly lifting his shirt to show his left side.

You nodded, reaching out to gently trace your finger over where you thought the tattoo should go, “Like here, maybe?”

Ashton shivered at your touch, simply nodding before letting his shirt fall back down. With that, you went to print the stencil, definitely not unaware to Ashton’s eyes burning a hole into your skin.

When you turned to him with the freshly printed stencil, you grinned, “You know the drill, Irwin, hop on the chair.”

Rolling his eyes, he made a big show of stripping off his shirt and sitting in the chair. You decided it was probably the best option to have him lay on his right side with his arm just out of the way.  You prepped his skin, cleaning it and shaving it to make sure that no stray hairs would be in the way before you laid the stencil.  Ashton shivered once again, this time at the cool touch of the cleaning solution.

“Okay baby?” You asked gently, tattoo gun poised in your hand and ready to begin.

He hummed in acknowledgement, licking his lips though you couldn’t see.  You started with one small line, not missing the way Ashton sucked in a breath at the drag of the needle. Pausing to wipe at the ink, you briefly glanced up at him to see if he was alright.  Since you didn’t hear him oppose, you continued on with the outline.

Once the outline was completed, you wiped the area once more, sitting back to admire it so far, “Wanna see the outline or do you wanna wait till it’s done?”

Ashton’s breathing was slightly irregular, goosebumps raising on his skin as you cleaned off the area some more, looking for any spots in the outline that you may have missed, “I think I’ll wait til the end, thanks love.”

“Are you doing okay? We can pause you know, I know the ribs are a bit harder.”

“No, no.  It’s not that,” He was quick to say, glancing over his shoulder at you.  You could see something in his eyes, but it wasn’t pain or discomfort, instead his pupils were blown wide and he seemed aroused, maybe? “I’m just kinda enjoying the pain and I’m bracing myself for the shading.”

As you continued on, Ashton would occasionally, which would cause you to pause instantly to check on him.  He would wave you off, saying instead to keep going, that it felt good.  Had the two of you not been dating, Ashton may have felt a little embarrassed the way his cock was straining against his pants, but he knew that should you have free time afterwards, you could make complete use of the empty shop - or at least, he hoped you would.

With the shading completed, you wanted to finish off with some small white detailing.  Glancing up at Ashton, you sucked in a breath, “It’s time to do the white.  You gonna be alright or are you gonna cum in your pants if I do it?”

Ashton let out a laugh, swatting at your hand holding the paper towel, “Would rather cum in you, so hurry that ass up.”

You laughed, but the way he spoke made you press your thighs together as you changed the gun for the white detailing.  It took you a moment to get everything switched over, your mind continuously wandering to the very man whose back was facing you, lingering on the night before.  His bite marks on your breast and collarbone were still sore, but it made the anticipation of what was to come after you finished the tattoo even better.

Ashton let out quiet curses as you started the white detailing, the goosebumps returning to his skin.  He couldn’t believe how on edge he was, just from the sensation of the tattoo alone.  It was almost as if he understood now what Calum had meant when they discussed his chest tattoo, the vibrations sending chills up his spine.

He had to remember to keep breathing, that was the only way he was going to even be able to hold out long enough to make it through the tattoo, using your breaks in tattooing to take a deep breath, rolling his lower lip between his teeth.  Once you were done, you smiled brightly at the piece you had just finished, enjoying the fine detailing you were able to fit within the tattoo.

“Alright baby it’s done, go look in the mirror,” You spoke, touching his shoulder lightly so he could come down out of the daydream like state he seemed to put himself in.

Ashton stood, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the very obvious bulging in his jeans, your eyes unable to look up from that as he headed to the mirror to check it out.  “Shit, baby, it looks amazing.  You did a really good job.”

“Don’t I always?”

Ashton chuckled, nodding his head and headed back over so that you could clean it one final time and put the protective bandage over it.  As soon as that had been completed, you looked up at him.

“Alright, Irwin, sit in the chair laying flat,” you demanded, standing to your full height and looking him in the eyes.

“Oh she wants to be in control, does she?” Ashton asked with a quirk of his brow, but sitting in the chair and doing as he was told to anyways.

“I mean, sure, but it just makes the most sense to ride you while we’re here.  Also it’s easier to clean this up than the floor.”

“How do you know all of this?” “You wanna ask dumb questions, or do you want to fuck me?” You asked, hands on your hips.

Ashton smirked, running his fingers through his black locks before he reached down to undo the button on his jeans, tugging them down.  By the looks of it, he had gone commando, almost as if he was anticipating this.

You shimmied your leggings and panties down, checking behind you to make sure that you had the curtain fully closed.  Though the door was locked, you didn’t want passersby on the street to see into the shop.  Taking Ashton’s hand, you straddled his waist, placing your hands behind his head on either side of the chair once you got your balance.

“Finally can check something off our list, hm? Fucking in my shop.” You spoke next to his ear, removing one hand from behind his head so you could line his cock up with your entrance, sinking down slowly.  Both of you moaned at the feeling, now all too familiar for you.

Ashton grabbed your hips, keeping you steady as you got adjusted.  He had only been in you 12 hours before, but the size of him made you take a moment to adjust almost every time.  It was something you weren’t sure you could handle the first time you and Ashton had slept together, but that was also one of the first times that you didn’t need to be afraid of sex if it was with the right person.

Rolling your hips as a test, you groaned at the pull of his length against your walls, clenching around him.

“Keep that up kitten I really am not gonna last long,” He purred, squeezing your hips as you began a slow and steady rhythm.

You pressed kisses to his lips, his neck, just below his ear, anywhere you could reach really; you also took to tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging gently at each delicious thrust.  The pace of slow and steady didn’t last too long though, Ashton usually the type for hard and fast, which anyone could have guessed just by looking at the drummer.

While you were on top, Ashton decided he needed to take control, so his hands slipped to your ass, gripping tighter as he started to meet your hips at a brutal pace.  Tossing your head back, you gasped, digging your nails into his scalp; this only seemed to drive Ashton more, an almost animalistic growl tearing from his throat.  

His right hand left you for a split second, only to come crashing down against your cheek in a harsh slap that brought you forward so you could bury your face in his neck.  

“So good for me kitten, you like being spanked, don’t you? You love the pain almost as much as I do.” Ashton’s words were low in your ear, causing you to shut your eyes and nod in response.

“Yes, fuck.  Please more,” You begged, fingers clutching at any expanse of skin you could, dragging your nails across.  You began to nip at his neck as he delivered more slaps to your ass, the sting bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Ash, so close…”

“Yeah, baby? You gonna cum for me?” He moved lower in the chair, giving him a different angle so that his cock was dragging against your g-spot each time, “You wanna fuckin’ scream for me? Come on, who’s gonna hear you?”

His words drove you over the edge with you calling out his name, loudly at first, but then softly whispered like a prayer as he fucked you through it.  Ashton wasn’t far behind, his thrusts only growing more and more sloppy until he finally came with a low curse, your body shivering as he filled you.

When the two of you came down from your highs, you lifted off of him, whining at the loss of him, and also the warmth beginning to trail down your leg.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Ashton chuckled, still panting from the exertion.

“Please,” You laughed, bending down to pick up your pants when you had a thought.  “Hey Ash?”

“Yeah love?”

“Ever wanted to make a sex tape?” You asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“Never really thought about it, why?” Ashton looked at you, confused before brought over a dry paper towel and a wet paper towel to clean up the mess.

“Because we’re on not so candid camera,” Motioning to the newer camera you installed, the two of you burst out in a fit of laughter at the idea that you almost didn’t need to watch porn together, as you could watch yourselves if you really wanted to.

tag list:  @haikucal @talkfastromance4 @calmlftv @canyon-moan @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @notinthesameguey @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @mantlereid @irwinkitten @n-ctarinenga @g-l-pierce @thecurlsofgod @idontneedanyone​ @boomerash @clemmings @cthofficial​ @ashtonsos​ @yikesguys​ @blackbutterfliescal​ @mashlums​ @ohhoneyofmine​ @monimickell​ @petunias-pet​ @treatallwithkindness​ @castaway-cashton​ @tea4sykes​ @begluketostay​ @wheniminouterspace​ @another-lonely-heart​ @ghostofmashton​ @myfavfanficsever​ @xsongxbirdx​ @stardust-galaxies​ @karajaynetoday

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 8

WARNING. HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Richie watched as the sun sank steadily towards the horizon, lighting the sky red, orange, yellow, begging the clock to tick just a bit quicker so he could be free from his job. Britney and Mason, douchebag 1 and douchebag 2, were chattering away like hormone-driven starlings right behind him rather than wiping down the counters like they probably should have been. It was 30 minutes until his shift was up and the flow of customers had more than ebbed by now. Normally, Richie wouldn't want his shift to ever end; normally meant he had Bev or Ben at his side to keep him from drowning himself in the backroom sink. Tonight, neither were here, so he was stuck with the two preppy assholes he was so desperately trying to tune out. On any other occasion the music leaking from the tinny speakers would have been enough to get him through the day, but tonight things were different and the radio was instead tuned to bark out the score of some sports game Richie couldn't care less about but had the one or two patrons (who were already served and seated) tilting one ears towards the sound in interest. If given the chance Richie would have been just fine talking with Britney and Mason; he didn't like them, not really, but his big mouth was begging to run after almost a straight 45 minutes of near-silence and professionalism, and the problem was that they didn't seem too fond of talking to him.

And so, Richie simply stood. And waited. And grew more and more bored out of his mind. His fingers began to drum against his chin which was rested on the palm of his left hand which was- in turn- propped up by his elbow on the slightly-sticky surface of the counter. He fought the urge to tap his foot and he fought the urge to hum or dance or bop his head all because he didn't think he could stand knowing the other two would judge him for it. Judgement wasn't often something that bothered him but the memories of last night's talk with Beverly kept trying to pop up into his brain. Yes, that was another reason he was desperate for something to do- Richie just couldn't stop thinking about that talk. The door to the cafe popped open and, golly, it was Richie's lucky day- in stepped one bite-sized brunette with a tentative scowl on his face full of freckles. Just like that, Richie perked up again, his smile splitting his face right in two and his stomach beginning a circus performance consisting of backflips and pirouettes.

"Well, wouldja lookit that!" Snapping his fingers, Richie leaned forwards and across the counter to greet Eddie with his bright eyes, "Spaghetti-man, welcome! Just in time, I was tempted to throw myself into one of the ovens!" Eddie's scowl vanished and instead came a confused little grin that looked pretty goofy and melted away the last of any problems the world had to face.

"Christ, Rich, that's a little dramatic," Eddie pulled up to the counter and began to say something else but, well, Richie was a little distracted taking in the sight of him alone. It had been nearly 24 hours since they'd interacted and, after his little talk with Bev, Richie couldn't really get Eddie out of his mind. Fitted in a fluffy coral-toned knitted sweater and a pair of black jeans, he was looking adorable. Imagining Eddie with some accessory like a bracelet or black nails was even cuter- suddenly, Richie felt very much like Bev said she did whenever she went digging through his wardrobe. Eddie quirked a brow and snapped Richie right out of his thoughts.

"Sorry? What was that? My head's still a lil' out of it tonight," He straightened his back, blinking his scattered thoughts away and cracking his knuckles as if he were being thrown into a cage match, "Can I get you something to drink? To eat? A seat at the bar, maybe? I could use someone to talk to, I feel like I'm going crazy around here," As he said 'crazy' Richie spun a finger around his temple, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

"I actually just came by to say hello, since... y'know. The party and... and all that shit. We had a deal, didn't we?" Eddie took up Richie's offer for a barstool, leaping up onto it and folding his hands on the counter. He glared down at the tabletop as he spoke, bashful. It warmed Richie's heart and he smiled even wider, clasping his hands and holding them up to the side of his face; his eyelashes battered wildly and then he was the Southern Belle.

"Well, my oh my, ain't you a doll? Stoppin' by just to get a glance at lil' ole' me?" With another roll of his eyes (that seemed to be an Eddie Kaspbrak trademark) Eddie finally looked up again and rested his cheek on one hand.

"I regret it now, Trashmouth. You're gonna make my ears bleed." Laughing, Richie spun on his heel, briefly catching Britney and Mason's gazes and then went straight for the cups to whip up a signature drink for his friend, even if it was against company policy both to create anything original and to give out anything without it being paid for. Who gives a shit, Richie thinks to himself, and gets right to it.

"How's a mocha sound, Eddie Spaghetti?"

"It's- It's fine, but how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Especially not with, like-" Eddie didn't need to finish his sentence, nor did Richie have to actually see him to know he was passing discreet glances at the two coworkers most likely listening in. Eddie was embarrassed about his silly little nickname. Challenge accepted- Richie had plenty of those. Flipping switches, tapping buttons, spinning around the kitchen with practiced ease, Richie pumped out a perfect dark chocolate mocha with steamed vanilla milk and caramel sauce drizzled artistically across the mountain of whipped cream on the top. It was a masterpiece- no surprise there.

"And here you are, Eduardo." the cup was set down and Eddie gave Richie an awkward, thankful smile. "Enjoy it- and here, dip one of these in it," Sliding open one side of the bakery treats display case Richie pulled out a slice of banana bread, "It's fantastic. Like, seriously, Eds. Ten out of fucking ten."

"When did your shift start today? I didn't know you worked," Eddie's cheeks flushed a soft red thanks to his own curiosity and he hid it with a sip from his drink. Richie shrugged,

"Nine. I was exhausted. Had to steal a coffee or two throughout the course of the day like the rebel I am." Richie reached up, popping the collar of today's brightly coloured shirt (pink, blue, yellow, purple, an amalgamation of triangles and circles and squares) and hunching his shoulders in, grimacing dramatically and sauntering back and forth like a biker dude who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and loved the road more than anything else, "I run 'gainst the law, dawg," Eddie cracked a toothy smile and let out a dancing chuckle, "I rob gas 'tations and pick pockets for a livin'," Richie reached a hand up and began to fuss with his hair in an attempt to transform it into an impromptu mullet. Bringing the attention towards his curls Eddie's face screwed up but his smile still lingered.

"You need a fuckin' haircut, dude, like- wow. It's like a whole mop, Richie," And then Eddie's eyes grew wide and he recoiled, "Did you make my drink with that mane exposed? What if- what if you got your stupid hair in it? You know you're committing a guideline 37 health code violation? It's literally against the law not to wear a hair net, you know. And did you wash your hands?" Richie flipped his collar back down as Eddie spoke, letting out a huff and stumbling over to the sink to jam his hands under the faucet. "I heard people's hands carry up to almost five million different kinds of bacteria. You'd better not be putting that into people's-" Richie's hands now soaking wet, he lifted them and flicked them violently in Eddie's direction. The shorter boy cut himself off and let out a startled cry as he was assaulted by these droplets of water, half-jumping-half-falling out of his chair to scramble out of range. "You asshole! This sweater is a gift from my mom you know, and it could get damaged or-" Someone in the shop barked out a hissing 'shhh!' and Eddie went silent, his face bright red.

"The patrons request silence, my lo- friend, jeezly-crow," Richie dried his hands on the towel just near the sink, acting like he hadn't almost called Eddie 'my love' (he only didn't say it because of his coworkers and Eddie's pride) and returned to standing across from him. As soon as he was near enough Eddie delivered a half-assed punch to his forearm that was more teasing than actually harmful.

"That was quite the show," Britney, for once in her life, regarded Richie with a glitter of amusement in her eyes, and then glanced over at Eddie who was now smiling sheepishly and clearly dreading meeting a new person. Britney stuck out a hand, "Nice to meet you... Eduardo, was it?"

"Ah- Eddie, actually, my name is Eddie- Richie is just... just stupid sometimes, sorry," Rapidly, Eddie wiped his hands on the front of his shirt and took Britney's hesitantly within his own. Only Richie noticed the way his brows flicked a little closer together- Eddie was uncomfortable. That much was obvious.

"It's part of my charm, isn't-"

"Oh my God, I know, right? He's such a goofball!" With a horribly dopey grin, Britney pushed at Richie's shoulder and let out a high-pitched titter, "Imagine having to work with him every day!" Both boys let out an awkward chuckle, sharing a glance that said a multitude of different things; Who the hell is this chick? and Well she's just a little rude. and Can she maybe leave us alone? and many, many other things as well. "So, Eds- can I call you that?-" Britney didn't give him a chance to protest even though he wanted to, "How long have you and Richard been friends? How'd you meet him?" Britney leaned in just beside Richie, basically elbow to elbow as she crossed her arms and leaned into them to- oh- everything clicks together just like that, just as Britney uses her arms to push her chest higher. She was trying (and, well, failing, frankly) to flirt with Eddie. It seems that the asthmatic has yet to notice.

"Well, I... Not long, we just met a little over a week ago, I guess. It's actually kind of funny we-"

"Only a week?" Britney batted her lashes and Richie debated on telling her that her interrupting was not a good flirting technique, "But you two seem so close already! Gosh, I'd have guessed you two were high school friends at least!"

"Nope," Richie interjected before she could continue, "Just new friends. He's great, I'm great- that makes double great- Anyhow, Britney, we should let him enjoy his drink shouldn't-"

"Quite the mouth on him, huh?" Somehow, impossibly, Richie had failed to get her attention. Demanding all eyes on him was his specialty, but it was as if Britney had garnered some sort of tunnel vision, like a race horse with blinders perched on either side of it's head. Flirt racing. Place your bets. Richie felt a flame of jealousy and immediately squashed it down, feeling like some bitchy schoolgirl. "Chatter chatter chatter, all day long. How do you deal with it?"

"I don't, usually," Eddie was fiddling with the hem of one sleeve, his cheeks puffed out lightly in irritation. Who knew one man could have so much patience. "I... Well, I kind of like the chatter, actually. My own thoughts race so fast, it's cool to finally have someone who can keep up with them." Shrugging, Eddie turns to Richie and opens his mouth to speak, but, what a surprise, Britney beats him to it.

"I'm sure I could keep up with them, hon, if you gave me the chance," Britney let one eye fall down in a wink and Eddie gaped, frozen. His face drained of colour, a ghastly white that highlighted each and every one of his freckles- then it flooded red and he gripped the sides of the counter, looking at Richie again but this time as a silent plea, a save me oh my God- "What's your number?" She smiled, her rose red lips curling up in a way that could only be described as evil, "Or I can give you mine. I'd like to get to know you better." One part of Richie wanted to let this play out just because it was such a wonderful opportunity to watch Eddie flounder. The other part, the moral part, was screaming at him to intervene.

"Oh- I, I uh- I'm so-sorry I don't-" Eddie's tongue was tied. He swallowed hard and shook his head, his breath beginning to come in hitches, "I- I'm not interested I'm s-sorry if you got the- the wrong idea or-"

"Oh, come on, pretty please?" Britney leaned in closer and Eddie leaned away. "With a cherry on top? I promise it'll be fun-"

"Fuck off, Brit, he said no," Richie tried to keep his tone level, knowing that if he didn't his jealousy would show, but it seems he wasn't firm enough and that Britney didn't quite get the message. Eddie was still shaking his head, patting at his pockets as if searching for something, something to get him out of this more than awkward situation and turning up empty handed.

"We can maybe go to dinner tomorrow night or something like that, I'm a pretty fun girl when you get to-"

"Britney, that's enough!" Slamming one hand down on the countertop and raising his voice, all eyes turned to him- even those of the patrons, though this time no one hissed out a shush. After a beat of silence, Richie continued with a calmer tone, "You're clearly making him uncomfortable, I think you should just get to wiping down the counters or something so we can start closing up," Someone behind Richie scoffed; Mason. His other coworker. Rounding on him, Richie crossed his arms, trying to look somewhat intimidating in the face of this super-jock. "What's your problem, huh?"

"Well, I just think your little friend there's really makin' a mistake," Mason shifted his weight onto one foot, peering around Richie and staring the poor flustered Eds straight in the eye, "She really is a great chick, and... Well, you look like you could use a ride like her." Eddie's jaw dropped and his face went redder. He looked as if he were about to pass out, and Richie was stunned all the same.

"Jesus Christ, man, you can't just say that! What the hell's wrong with you?" Richie took a step forwards, glaring even harder but Mason wasn't deterred, wasn't afraid, was still dead set on either picking on Eddie or maybe actually attempting to give some sort of skewed advice.

"She'll do nearly anything you want if you ask nice," Britney was smiling though she looked a little stunned herself by this show of boldness, "And it seems she likes you, too. You're her type- short, thin, kinda... well, kinda girly to be honest," Eddie stared down at the tabletop, fighting to control his erratic breathing and seeming to have given up on patting his pockets for- oh shit, his inhaler. Was Eddie having an asthma attack?

"Mason, you fucking idiot, give it a rest. Eddie isn't interested. Leave him the fuck alone!" Richie was growing irritated- something about Mason felt off today. Usually the boy didn't outright pick on other people, he was always at least subtle about it.

"Oh, shit-" Mason let out a little chuckle, and stepped around Richie to approach the counter, "Unless- wait, unless you're not into her?" Richie was so close to slamming a fist across Mason's stupid face. After years of not understanding why everyone called his own face punchable, Richie finally got it. Some people just looked like good boxing practice.

"No fucking shit Sherlock of course he isn't into-"

"Unless you're some sort of fairy?"

Oh, the silence that followed this statement was suffocating. It was as if a thick blanket of quiet had throttled the room; Eddie's hitching breaths had stopped- in fact, so had his breathing altogether. His eyes had hollowed out, his face had lost all colour for good this time, and his shoulders had jumped up to his ears. Britney's mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide, breath stolen away in a more figurative sense. Richie was entirely and utterly shocked. He had known Mason wasn't the ideal fella. He cheated on girlfriends and drank too much and stole things, but this- this was... more than Richie had expected. It took a lot for Richie to dislike someone and he disliked both him and sort of Britney for quite the big book of reasons; but downright homophobia was not in his book until today.

"What. The fuck." Richie's voice had gone low, dangerously low. Mason turned to face him instead, his eyes dancing with quite the colorful array of emotions yet somehow appearing haunted, dead, all at the same time. If Richie had to get all poetic and describe it he'd say those eyes were reminiscent of an ocean- chaotic in the crashing of the waves, and yet endlessly empty. He was smiling wide. Proud. Like a shark. Eddie was still silent.

"Maybe I've got things wrong, maybe that was wrong," Mason held his hands up defensively, and Richie made the mistake of letting him continue, "Maybe... Well maybe he's not a fairy." A pause, blood thrumming loudly in his ears, "Maybe you are, Tozier. Maybe you're the little fag-"

"Shut up, Mason. Just shut the hell up." Mason leaned in, arms crossed, smile smug,

"You know, as sick as you are, it doesn't even surprise me." From Richie's right there was a gasp, a choked sound reminiscent of some form of words.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I swear to God-"

"I probably should have realized sooner, to be entirely honest. I mean, your hair, your clothes, your stupid nails and your stupider voices-"

"Richie- Richie I-" Richie's head was spinning with red hot rage. His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, his teeth gritted tightly.

"You don't know a single thing about me you asshole,"

"I guess it's possible both you and your friend here mingle with that crowd, huh? Maybe the- Oh Jesus, maybe the reason you're so defensive is because the two of you are, like, boning or-" And, that was the final fucking straw. Richie didn't register his hands flying out to shove, hard, at Mason's chest until the boy was stumbling backwards, right over Britney taking them both to the ground. Richie was taller than Mason. Mason was heavier than Richie. With the right momentum, the right force and angle, he could- and did- send Mason almost flying.

"You're a fucking pig, you know that? Jesus- and to think I might actually, one day, maybe be able to tolerate your obnoxious ass here at work?"

"Rich- I c-can't-"

"Wow, I was naïve! Do you have a single scrap of human decency in that tiny frocking brain of yours or are you only powered by fucking and alcohol?"

"R-Richie! I-"

"Well guess fucking what, you dog? I've got quite the gift for-"

"Richie!!" Just as Richie was about to spit right onto Mason's stupid face Eddie dragged him out of his furious haze with a choking wheeze. His head snapped right, gluing onto Eddie's trembling form; one hand was grasping at his throat, the other supporting him on the countertop, shaky, pale. His face was as white as a sheet and he looked positively awful with his mouth open wide and his chest heaving painfully up and down. "Rich- I- I-I-I c-ca-can't breathe I-"

"Shit, Eds, I'm so sorry," Richie didn't waste a second in hopping over the counter, tearing off his work apron and tossing it to the floor, discarding his anger with it, "Come on, let's go, let's get you some fresh air okay? We can hurry to your place and get your inhaler, yeah?" Despite the hate, the disgust, Richie couldn't care less about how he must have looked as he took Eddie's hand and began to drag him to the door, half-drunken mocha and quarter of banana bread left for the other two to clean up. On their way out Richie was almost certain he heard one last snide comment, some slur, but his only focus right now was Eddie and the way he was sucking in rasping breaths like a drowning man. Rich shoved the door open with one shoulder, holding it ajar and letting Eddie pass by, resting a hand on his back as he did so and beginning to steer him down the sidewalk in no particular direction. "Where's your house? What's your address? Should I call Bill or Stan or- We have to get you to your inhaler, don't we?" Cowering like a hurt puppy, Eddie shrunk into Richie's side, still gripping and clawing and gasping. "W-What do I do where do I go what-"

"No-" Eddie forced the words out through gritted teeth, shaking his head and holding up a single finger- just give me a minute. The two came to a halt underneath the golden glow of a streetlamp just recently lit. The sky was a dark purple now, growing into blue.

"Eddie, don't you need you inhaler?" He shook his head again, and Richie screwed his brows together, "But your asthma, we can't risk it we should just-"

"NO, Rich- Just-" Eddie gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, "Just give me a- a fucking minute!" Richie shrunk away, pulling his arms to his chest and taking a tentative step back. Eddie turned, hiding his face, and continued to sputter, refusing Richie's help and planting one hand over his eyes and forehead. A minute passed- Richie tried to suggest once more that the inhaler was the safest option. Eddie denied it with another string of breaths and curses. At last, an agonizing three minutes later, the rise and fall of Eddie's chest grew steadier.

"Are... Are you sure you're alright? I... I don't know how asthma works but I don't think ignoring it is healthy." Risking being yelled at again Richie stepped forwards and placed a soft hand on Eddie's frail shoulder. For one quick moment those big brown eyes stared up at him and then they flicked away, down to their shoes instead. The smaller boy's ears burned red with shame.

"I don't-" Eddie scoffed, "I don't fucking- I don't fucking have asthma okay? I'm fine. I just- need to- calm the hell down."

"You- what? You don't have asthma? Then what was all that stuff at the party-"

"It was nothing, okay? It was just my stupid brain being all messed up! It's not asthma, jackass, so just- let it go, please. Jesus," Eddie shook off Richie's hand and took a few steps back, one hand rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He started to pace. "I can't believe that guy, what an asshole! And that girl, I just-" He cried out incoherently, too frustrated to piece together another phrase, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Eddie, I really am. I don't know what got into them- Mason especially, he isn't usually that bad and I... Well, that wasn't cool. Something was wrong about him tonight and- fuck," Richie brought his hands up to his face, underneath his glasses to scrub it vigorously, "I don't know, man, I'm so sorry." When Richie's hands fell again Eddie was looking at him, one hand on his hip, the other pressed against his chest, concerned. A pause.

"Are you okay?"

"What...? Of course I am, I'm not the one who almost choked on-"

"Then what the fuck did you think you were doing in there?" Eddie surged forwards and, this time, pushed Richie with both hands, though the outcome was very different and Richie hardly budged.

"Woah woah Eds what-"

"He could have hit you! Are you stupid or something? That guy would have had your fucking neck snapped before you could even do anything about it and you were just going to let it happen because he said some nasty shit to me?" Again, Eddie thumped a fist into Richie's chest, and then another.

"Of course Eddie he can't just-"

"People have said that shit to me all my life, Richie, you don't have to go risking your stupid neck because of it!" This time Richie caught Eddie by the wrist before his shove could connect, and then caught the other hand right after, holding them tight, "Let me go, Richie I can't deal with you being like this right now it's like you're not even listening to me and-"

"Eddie, calm down you're gonna throw yourself into another fit!"

"I'm okay, asshole, I'm not gonna break down and die right here and now because I'm angry at you! I-I get angry all the time I'm not some child- I-" Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and then he spat out the words coated in acid, "You don't get to act all 'night in shining armor' just because some airheaded asshole wants to tell me what's good for me! I can take care of myself and I fucking hate it when people treat me like some stupid kid!" Eddie was gasping again, though this time he kept his mouth shut tight, trying to hide that he was struggling. He looked furious and terrified and hurt, a trio of emotion that Richie never wanted to see on his face again. Richie let out a sigh, closing his eyes and letting go of Eddie's wrists. As soon as he did Eddie crossed his arms and took a step back, averting his gaze. The tips of his ears were burning brighter.

"I... Eddie, I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to- to belittle you or talk down to you or anything like that. I just saw that you were getting badmouthed and I acted before I could really think."

"That doesn't surprise me, Trashmouth, you seem to be a little fucking impulsive." His voice strained, it was evident that Eddie was trying to reign in his temper, his 'asthma' already calming down once more. "Just... just please let me handle myself in the future. I can do it, I swear,"

"Yeah, I... I know you can. You're," Richie chuckled, and punched Eddie weakly, tentatively in the shoulder, "You're all sorts of spunk in one tiny package," Allowing himself to grin just for a split second Eddie slapped offense onto his face and wore a pout that would better fit a toddler.

"Are you calling me short? That's real low, Rich, that's just-"

"Low, is it? Yeah, I guess it is, huh?"

"Oh- fuck you!" Eddie rolled his eyes and turned away to conceal his smile as Richie let out his bright cackling, ripping through the silence of the night in a way that was more pleasant than Eddie thought possible. "God, you're just such an asshole, I hope you know that," He jabbed out an accusatory finger and Richie shot up his hands in mock surrender as if that finger were a gun.

"Don't shoot!" He hollered, stumbling a step back, "I have a wife and kids to get back to!" Eddie laughed, dropping his hand, and just barely stopped himself from asking if Richie had a husband to get back to instead. That was a can of worms for another day.

"I'm exhausted now thanks to you. You're like a baby, always whining and shit. Come on, Stan works and Bill's probably asleep by now. Wanna come watch a movie or something? I think we have a copy of Die Hard lying around." Eddie began to walk back in the direction of the cafe- Richie had taken the complete wrong path in their hasty escape- waving one hand for him to follow. Richie was now beaming, knowing just what to say to (hopefully) piss off Eddie even more.

"Oh, awesome! My favourite Christmas movie!" Eddie spun on him. Mission accomplished.

"What the fuck did you just say? Christmas movie?!"

[cheshiresense]

Ok so Im going to take this chance and go wild: GiottoxMukuro + Bad Vongola AU

UM. So, I sort of just sat on this last one cuz what even lmao. I checked AO3 and omg this ship exists??? but there’s like just two fics under it. But alright, here’s my stab at this very random pairing, it doesn’t even quite get all the way to a pairing, but I gave them both page time and at least you gave me something new to try XD Sorry it’s so late.

ALSO YAY I FINISHED ALL TEN

1. Ok so! First thing’s first - how do I stick these two into the same time period? Either full AU or time travel/reincarnation fuckery. Let’s go with reincarnation. Sort of. Where Neo Primo is literally Neo Primo ;)

Tsuna is dead. They’re in the future arc, he’s being forced to take the boss trial, and Hibari suffocates him just a little too long. So Tsuna dies at the feet of his ancestors, and Giotto is forced to witness the death of a fourteen-year-old boy who had never asked for any of this bloodshed but had also never backed down from it, never folded, even under the pressure of so many Vongola bosses. And Giotto is angry. He has spent centuries watching his beloved Vongola become mired in blood and sin, built on an empire of corpses and suffering. He is so sick of it, of not being able to do anything about it, but his latest descendant is dead, and his body is empty of a soul, and in that moment, more than anything else, all Giotto wants is a chance to act, to be something other than helpless, to fix even just a little of what his bloodline has broken.

Will and Flames and desperation are powerful things when combined.

Next thing Giotto knows, he’s opening his eyes to a cold-looking training room, the remains of a cage that killed a fourteen-year-old boy splintering around him, and it barely takes a thought for his Flames to surge up and out and slam the Cloud - Hibari Kyouya - into the far wall with a viciousness Giotto had spent the majority of his first life keeping under wraps. For a split second, he almost kills the Cloud for his gall. A Guardian who could murder his own Sky - however well-intentioned or unknowingly - is no Guardian at all, but then, out of all of the Tenth Generation, as far as Giotto can tell, not a single one of them had had a real bond with Tsuna. The one who’d come closest had been the Mist, but after ten years and the weight of Vongola’s sins on his shoulders, even that connection had dissolved.

If Giotto is honest, the person Tsuna had become ten years later under the crushing pressure of that Sun Arcobaleno and the Vongola had been near unrecognizable compared to the boy Giotto had so admired. But that man is dead, at least for now, dragged under by too many enemies and too many bad decisions, and all that’s left is this younger version, dragged to the future against his will and forced to fight a war of someone else’s making.

Not even that anymore obviously, and all that’s left is Giotto, a bloody legacy to his name and too many regrets to pay for. All he can do is live out Tsuna’s life now and hopefully undo some of the damage Vongola has wrought. Tsuna wouldn’t want him killing this Cloud though, and so Giotto lets him go in the end. Hibari gets to his feet, something bloodthirsty and thrilled gleaming in his eyes, completely ignorant of the fact that he’d killed his Sky, and all Giotto can think as he recalls the way Tsuna had always had to bribe this man for him to even consider helping is how Alaude must be rolling in his grave.

“I’m done,” He says instead, slicing a cool look around the room, and then he walks out, back to his room. Nobody stops him, but Giotto wouldn’t have stopped him either, with the shadow of his Flames licking across the concrete floor.

2. Giotto does his duty. Ten years in the future is far too late to really change anything significant, so the faster he takes care of business here, the sooner they can all go home. In the meantime, it amuses him - in a funny world-burning sort of way - how none of Tsuna’s friends seems to realize anything is wrong, that the boy they profess their loyalty to is gone, and his body has been usurped by an interloper. Giotto considers himself a decent enough actor, but for a bunch of Flame-actives with Vongola rings on their fingers and Guardian titles to their names, they’re a rather oblivious lot.

(All of Tsuna’s past and present and future sits in his memories now though, and Giotto can’t say he’s terribly surprised. The person these children wanted to follow was never actually the boy Tsuna had been, not entirely. They pay attention to the parts of him that they like, and ignore the rest like they don’t exist. It infuriates Giotto, because Tsuna deserved better, but Tsuna is dead, and even if Giotto has every intention of at the very least demoting them from their Guardian positions once they’re finished here, he cannot truly harm these children Tsuna had called friends.)

So he does his duty, fights the battles people want him to fight, and smiles blandly back in the face of Reborn’s suspicious glances. That hitman at least can sense something is off, if only because his student no longer cringes or screams, but no one save the Vongola bosses knows the details of what happens in the Vongola Trial, and it’s easy enough to balance Reborn’s misgivings with that.

It’s fun though, messing with the pseudo-baby. The last time Reborn tried to shoot him awake in the morning, Giotto had set the entire room on fire and ended up singeing off Reborn’s sideburns. The resulting training session had been grueling, but it had been worth finally getting back at the man first responsible for more or less browbeating Tsuna into obedience.

Pettiness aside, Giotto does put effort into training. Tsuna’s body is in decent shape, but it could be even better, so Giotto does his best to make it so. The weapons of the future are something of a marvel too, and he smiles indulgently at the full-grown wing-adorned flame-pelted Leone di Cieli that gracefully leaps out to greet him, but in the privacy of his rooms, he lets his Flames swirl free and summons the phoenix that had been his constant companion in his first life, the soul of his Flames, his will made sentient.

“Natsu,” He names the lion, after Tsuna, and welcomes Persephone home as she does a sweep of his bedroom before landing light and delicate on his shoulder, the way she’d always done in battle.

The looks on everyone’s faces when they see her with him is enough to make Giotto smile for the next week.

3. It becomes clear soon enough that they’re going to need all hands on deck for the final confrontation against Millefiore, but even before that, Giotto begins asking some pointed questions that Tsuna had thought but hadn’t quite been brave enough to ask.

“When are we getting my Mist out of Vendicare?” He enquires one night over dinner, and smiles pleasantly as everyone freezes. “We require all the aid we can get, yes? And Mukuro has always been strong.”

“Jyuudaime!” Hayato is the first to burst out, chair skidding back with how emphatically he stands up. “We don’t need that bastard!” Giotto looks at him, not a twitch in his expression, impenetrable as ice even as he keeps his features soft, and Hayato falters. “Or- Or even if we do, he can just possess Dokuro! He can’t be trusted if we let him out!”

Giotto stirs more sugar into his coffee - rich and sweet, gave G a minor aneurysm every time he saw it - just the way he likes it. “So we make him serve, and offer nothing in return?”

Giotto waits out the confused spluttering around him. Reborn is drilling holes into the side of his head but he pays the baby no mind.

“He has been imprisoned for ten years,” Giotto continues in mild tones. “And has remained loyal all this time, si?” He glances briefly at Chrome, the younger one, who stares back, meek and mute. She is loyal to Mukuro above all others, and it would’ve been so very easy for him to influence her into betraying Vongola - betraying Tsuna - anytime.

That he hadn’t, in all this time, is… something. It’s something. The lingering threads of a frayed potential bond. The stubborn refusal to give up something he’d once perhaps considered his. A promise once given - keep my people safe and you will have my allegiance - and never broken, not by Mukuro.

People have often remarked on how similar the First and Tenth Generations are. Personally, Giotto has never seen two sets of people so different.

“I wish to free him,” He says at last, over the voices of those trying to convince him otherwise. “Loyalty deserves loyalty returned. Whatever else he used to be, he has bled in my service for ten years. Surely that is enough to justify his release?”

It is not a question, and everyone knows it. Reborn is all but glaring now. He doesn’t like this new Tsuna who does not cower even in the face of his bullets.

Giotto is spiteful enough to enjoy every moment of it.

It is Takeshi who relents first. “Okay,” He says, all easy agreement and assessing eyes, and maybe this one at least is not so far removed from Ugetsu’s blood after all. “But how are we gonna do that? Vendicare’s hard to break into, right?”

Hayato - the only mafia-raised of the lot - looks positively horrified. “It’s not hard, Baseball Freak, it’s impossible!”

“But Mukuro already broke out twice, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Giotto interjects, smiling at Takeshi, who preens a little under the attention and is in some ways possibly the most insane of them all. Giotto does have a fondness for those who consider laws as guidelines at best. “So, I suppose we need a Mist.” He takes a gulp of his coffee. “The Varia has a new one these days, don’t they?”

Three conferences, five one-sided shouting matches, and a hefty sum of money transferred over to the Varia accounts later, Giotto has secured Xanxus’ partly baffled, mostly irritated agreement for Fran’s services. Fran turns out to be a rather… precocious young man, but he has Mist Flames and skills that almost rival Mukuro’s, and Giotto is relatively content to leave the breakout to him.

His confidence is not misplaced. Days and half a dozen more battles later, with Byakuran grandstanding across from him, Giotto’s entire ill-fitted, misfit Family is gathered, and the First Generation appears at Giotto’s silent command to unseal the Vongola rings.

(All of them know what he is, the soul peering out from behind Tsuna’s eyes. But in this one moment, not even Daemon gives him away, and Giotto is free to finally unleash his carefully controlled wrath on the Family that had decimated his.)

Millefiore doesn’t stand a chance.

4. “You are not Sawada Tsunayoshi,” Mukuro - the older one - says in deceptively light tones as he joins Giotto on the balcony. It’s late, the night before they would all finally return to the past, and the two of them are probably the only ones still awake.

“No,” Giotto confirms, because there’s no hiding it from this man. “I’m afraid Sawada Tsunayoshi perished in Kyouya’s Box Weapon when he and Reborn attempted to force a Vongola Trial.”

Mukuro, staring out at the sprawling woods before them, does not visibly react, does not even move. For a moment, it doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing, and that’s what gives him away.

Giotto does not say he is sorry. He is, for this, and for too many other things to list, but whatever connection had formed between Tsuna and his Mist had been lost a long time ago, and sorry only sounds trite in the face of such a travesty. The only reason Mukuro had never drifted away, Giotto suspects, was because the Mist had refused to let go. Mukuro himself would never admit it, perhaps never even acknowledge it to himself, but if there was one thing Giotto had always envied Tsuna for, it was his ability to earn a Mist’s devotion so completely.

(And so it had hurt all the more to watch the years go by as Tsuna allowed Vongola to convince him to leave Mukuro in Vendicare. Hurt most of all to realize, one day, that Tsuna no longer cared so long as Mukuro continued reporting in and doing as he was told.)

“What will you do with my younger self?” Mukuro eventually asks, carefully void of every emotion save for the thinnest veneer of detached interest.

“Free him,” Giotto replies promptly, seeing no need for word games here. Reborn had tried to interrogate him about his Vongola Trial, and Giotto had given him every answer but a straight one. It had been highly entertaining. “If he wishes, he will have a place in my Famiglia. If he does not, then I will ensure he is able to start a new life elsewhere with his people, without Vongola dogging their every step.” He pauses, absently considering his hands, more solid than they’ve been in four hundred years. “Even Tsunayoshi’s fear of Reborn was not enough to stop him from asking repeatedly after you. This is the least I can do for your younger self when Tsunayoshi worried about him so often.”

Mukuro scoffs, a hollow puff of air that fades to nothing. “Had he a few more years in him, you would’ve had nothing to concern yourself with.”

Giotto inclines his head in acknowledgement but says nothing more. There is probably no one who knew Tsuna - who fought him and lost to him and understood him - more than Mukuro. The Mist doesn’t need Giotto expounding on the rise and fall of one of the brightest and most short-lived Skies the world would ever see.

“You will not tell the others about me?” Giotto asks instead, more curious than any kind of anxious about it.

Mukuro tips a mocking facsimile of a smile in his direction, looking him straight-on for the first time since his arrival. “What business is it of mine, if Vongola wishes to destroy itself?”

Giotto half-smiles, half-grimaces. He supposes this is hardly a surprise either; it was never Vongola that Mukuro swore unspoken fealty to.

So instead, he reaches out, gently catching one of Mukuro’s hands in his own and knowing he can only because Mukuro allows it. Mismatched eyes watch him like a hawk, a derisive curl on his lips that freezes when Giotto presses the flickering heat of a piece of Sky Flame into his palm.

Then he steps back, once, twice, enough room to sketch an esoteric bow, too formal for this age but recognizable enough here and now if Mukuro’s sharp intake of breath is anything to go by.

Gratitude. Apology. And a dissolution of debt and duty between Guardian and Sky.

If Mukuro so wishes, even after Giotto is gone, the shard of Sky will ensure a clean break from Vongola, and not even Sawada Tsunayoshi will be able to track his former Guardian down. It is all Giotto can offer him.

He straightens, glancing at the piece of Sky now settled into the shimmering form of a phoenix feather. A new life, if Mukuro wants it.

He meets the Mist’s gaze. Mukuro is the first to look away, fingers curling around the feather, eyes on the horizon, and he doesn’t speak again.

Giotto nods, takes his leave, and he does not see the Mist again, not this version at least. Once time straightens itself out, the adult Tsuna of this universe will return, and while Millefiore is no longer a threat, Vongola - and its Decimo - will still be the same stagnant bloodstained mess.

There is nothing Giotto can do about that, but at the back of his mind, he wonders if it wouldn’t have been better after all to have let Millefiore wipe Vongola out.

5. Later, much later, after a jailbreak and Daemon and a broken curse, Giotto and his Guardians - still no bonds, but he can’t seem to find a good time to get rid of them, so maybe instead of that, he can educate them to be better - sit down for a Family dinner at the most upscale banquet hall Namimori has to offer, with the Ninth and his men, the CEDEF and even Varia. They’re in public so everyone has their law-abiding citizen face on, but (a redo of) the Inheritance Ceremony is imminent, and Timoteo smiles, sly and pleased that all the pieces have finally fallen into place. He waves Giotto into the seat on his immediate right and doesn’t even question how very little Giotto resembles Tsuna these days, ascribing the changes to Reborn’s training and recent battles and growing up, and looking no further than that.

The food is good, Italian but cooked by the best chefs on Vongola payroll. Giotto stares Kyouya into grudging silence over the fare, and then he focuses on chatting amicably with Timoteo, weaving smooth flattery into casual but attentive conversation the way he’d learned to do a lifetime ago.

Giotto watched Timoteo grow up. There is no skeleton in his closet that Giotto did not witness him stashing away. But he is old and past his prime and he will soon learn that his successor is not as easy to control as he’d hoped, as he thinks, so Giotto can smile back now and give him his momentary triumph, smile and sip his wine and not let his eyes linger on every bite of food Timoteo takes.

During a lull in the conversation, he turns and catches Mukuro’s eye. His Mist is seated beside his female counterpart, all the way at the end of the line, farthest from his Sky to any outsider’s eye. But Mukuro smirks back from behind his cloth napkin, and as the Nono’s dessert is carried in, the faint twist of Mist Flames - unnoticed by all except two - darts into the panna cotta.

Timoteo eats his fill, compliments the chef, beams at Giotto’s gently filial fussing again like the kindly grandfather he excels at pretending to be, and nobody thinks to question how masterfully Giotto draws all attention to himself and his rowdier Guardians, never letting the generally jovial mood falter, his Sky Flames a subtle pulsing encouragement beneath it all to distract them from the knife at their backs.

The whole affair is a success. At the very least, nobody threw any food, no fights broke out, and no one lost their tempers. It almost feels like a miracle.

They part ways in groups, and to their credit, Hayato and Kyouya only try to kill each other after the elder Vongola party is gone. It doesn’t take long for Ryouhei to join in, and at a glance from Mukuro, Chrome scoops Lambo up and picks up her pace to catch up to a laughing Takeshi.

Mukuro falls into step beside Giotto. Giotto had asked, after the Arcobaleno business was finally over, if Mukuro would stay. Mukuro had asked what Giotto would offer if he did.

“A place in my Family, for you and yours,” Giotto had sworn. “And a hand in toppling the Vongola Empire once and for all.”

Mukuro had smiled, ten years’ worth of another world’s memories behind it, and six lives’ worth of suffering driving his answer.

“Tsunayoshi would never have chosen this method,” Mukuro says now, voice pitched low but as idly as if he were commenting on the weather.

Giotto smiles, grim and long past the point of any return.

Tsuna was his favourite. He reminded Giotto of the man he used to be, when Vongola was still a goal wrapped in optimism and determination, before they’d become embroiled in the mafia and Giotto had spent the next four hundred years after his death watching his life’s work build itself a throne of corpses.

Tsuna was his favourite, but he was also an ideal Giotto won’t ever be again, and cannot be if he truly wants to see this iteration of Vongola dead in his second lifetime. Tsuna would’ve been eaten alive by Vongola - Giotto had seen an entire future’s worth of proof of that.

“I am not Tsunayoshi,” Giotto says, and it is another regret he will have to carry, but their world is neither kind nor fair, and Tsuna as he was would never have survived it.

Mukuro studies him, a thoughtful tilt to his head, and something like fascination glitters in his eyes. “No, you are not,” He agrees. “But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Giotto glances at him, then ahead, at children who had almost killed and been almost killed mere days ago, now roughhousing amongst themselves. “The world could do with more Tsunayoshis.”

“The world needs more of you,” Mukuro retorts just as swiftly, a sardonic sort of amusement in his smirk. “In that other future, Tsunayoshi proved beyond a doubt that everything he promised, he couldn’t keep, didn’t he? And yet here you are, Vongola Primo, poisoning your enemies over dinner, and just yesterday you had me hide you while you met with Gesso and Simon and Giglio Nero in private. You certainly don’t waste any time.” His smirk widens. “If Vongola isn’t careful, you’ll turn half of Europe against the older generation before they realize it.”

Giotto hums and doesn’t deny any of it. “You would be willing to aid me though?”

Mukuro arches an eyebrow, and his right eye flickers briefly with Mist Flames. “Have I not been doing so already?”

Giotto nods. “Yes, and I am grateful. But lending a hand now is not the same as devoting at least the next ten years of your life to a goal most would consider impossible. And I am not Tsunayoshi.”

Mukuro’s steps slow, then stop entirely. Giotto blinks and halts as well, half-turning.

“Does that matter so much to you?” Mukuro asks, peering at him with surprisingly genuine puzzlement. “Do you think it matters so much to me? That you are not Tsunayoshi?”

Giotto half-shrugs, and Mukuro shakes his head. “Tsunayoshi had a heart that I will never fully understand,” He says, blunt in a way he almost never is. “He was naive and foolish, hopeful and soft, and it made him as weak as it made him strong. I could trust him to never turn on Chrome or Ken or Chikusa, even if they or I tested his tolerance, but by that same logic, I could never have trusted him to stand firm against Vongola’s ideals, no matter what he proclaimed. And I was right, wasn’t I? In the end, Vongola destroyed him, and he became one of them.”

He pauses, his gaze sliding away, hands coming together to twist one of the rings on his fingers. Then he looks back at Giotto, and his next smirk is equal parts challenge and approval. “You though. You have witnessed the results of letting your previous Mist Guardian walk free, and spent years watching your descendants commit atrocities in the name of strengthening your organization. If I were to promise you my loyalty, and then betray you sometime down the road, you would slit my throat yourself. But at the same time, at least I know - you are both ruthless enough and determined enough to see your objectives through to the end, with a conviction that’s centuries in the making. The current Vongola would have to kill you to stop you.” His right eye flares indigo again. “So I suppose that is where I come in.”

Up ahead, the others turn a corner, still bickering. Giotto thinks Takeshi has probably noticed that he and Mukuro have fallen behind, and of course Chrome knows, but neither of them stops to wait either.

Mukuro steps back, once, twice, and Giotto’s eyes widen as the Mist lifts a hand to brush over the earring he hasn’t stopped wearing since he got it. And then… well.

The Mukuro from the future must’ve known how because this Mukuro doesn’t even look awkward as he drops to one knee and bows his head, just a dip, slow enough to look deliberate, proud enough to meet Giotto’s gaze again afterwards.

“You asked for ten years, Neo Primo,” Mukuro announces. “So, very well, I will pledge you ten years of my life, for you to use as you see fit, so long as you keep your word. We can revisit this in a decade, but for the next ten years, I will make you untouchable to your enemies and sow discord amongst them in your name.” He smiles and it’s a mad and bloodthirsty thing, the same furious hateful beast he’d aimed at Daemon Spade when he’d sought to rip Chrome from Mukuro’s side. “And should the worst come to pass and I go the way of my predecessor, may my life be forfeit at your hands.”

He reaches up, catches Giotto’s hand in his own, and his red eye glows as orange and indigo burst into existence between their fingers, a blaze of light under the night sky as they twine together, fierce and unyielding and true.

They both gasp from the surge of power that rushes through them as the Guardian bond snaps into place, the first one Giotto will ever have in this body, the first one in over four hundred years, a core of Flame that promises a home, something Daemon had never been able to give him, and Giotto doesn’t even think before he’s yanking Mukuro to his feet and reeling him close.

Tsuna had been short for his age so Giotto isn’t quite eye-level with his new Mist, but it hardly matters when he curls a near-bruising grip along Mukuro’s jaw and sees the same hunger and possessiveness he feels reflected in the illusionist’s eyes.

“A Guardian bond is not something I take lightly,” Giotto murmurs, and he knows even without a mirror that his own Flames are burning in his eyes. “You are mine now, and I do not share. In ten years, you will pledge another ten, and another ten after that, and any who dare to try and take you from me, I would run rivers red with their lifeblood.”

(These oaths are old, old and binding and near-forgotten, bastardized ten ways to Sunday but still echoing of power, and even in Giotto’s time, only G and Ugetsu had sworn them. That his new reign would begin with one, when as far as Giotto knows, none have spoken them in centuries - perhaps it speaks of the dawn of a new age.)

Mukuro inhales shakily, not at all prepared for the sheer depth and intensity of a true Flame bond. But the grip he has on Giotto’s wrist is just as tight as Giotto’s, and it only takes him another breath to regain his bearings.

“As you Will it, Giotto,” Mukuro murmurs, and it crackles over Giotto’s skin. No one has spoken his name since his resurrection.

The bond settles between them, calm now but no less potent. Giotto lets go, tickling a tongue of Sun-tinted Sky Flame along Mukuro’s skin to soothe the sting left behind. Mukuro only huffs a breath of laughter, gaze still unwavering on Giotto’s face.

“Well then,” The Mist - Giotto’s Mist - smiles, quieter, more serene, like a glass-spun secret cloaked in shadow, but exultantly bright all the same. “Long live the new King. May your reign be long and prosperous.”

[lazywitchling]

Dabbler’s Week - research proposal edition

I say “Research proposal” because this isn’t so much going to be what I’d ACTUALLY use as a guide, it’s just the STRUCTURE I’d use to write the guide, and why I chose what I did. For a little background on what the hell is going on, see @asksecularwitch‘s post here.

Monday - Spellwork

What: A simple candle-and-petition-paper spell. Dabbler chooses what they want, but with the instruction that it is straightforward, specific, and tangible. The Drake-Meme format would be: “I want to increase my wealth” ✋ - “I want ten bucks in the coming week” 👈 The spell is written out exactly as performed, really hand-holdy, Do This, Then This, Next This, Finally This.

Why: Look, if I were brand new and gonna pick a “dabble in witchcraft for a week” thing, I’d want to start out doing some effin’ witchcraft. So we’ll start with casting a spell. It’s written super hand-holdy because at the beginning, you really just want some step-by-step instructions on what to do. Also a week is a good time frame to give a spell, and casting it at the beginning gives it a chance to manifest by the end of the week. And FURTHERMORE, it’s a surprise tool that will help us later...

Tuesday - Cleansing a Space

What: Dabbler picks out a space to cleanse, told that the space they choose will be made into a sacred space tomorrow. They will play music of their choosing (with a few suggestions to get them started, just so nobody’s floundering, aka “relaxing yoga music, or something loud and peppy, your favorite childhood song, a meme song that makes you laugh, etc.”) while they also mundanely clean the space.

Why: Cleansing is one of those Cornerstone Witchy Things that everyone talks about offhandedly, like “cleanse your space after this spell”, and giving the Dabbler a simple way of doing that is a good first tool to have in their bag. Music is freely available, and it’s customizable, and playing music while doing a mundane cleaning associates the Magical Cleaning with the Mundane Cleaning in their mind, so they get a sense of “clean vibes” as related to “clean space”. Sidenote: the space can be a shelf, a box, a corner of the room, whatever. Might have some notes in there about other things they can add to their cleansing, like the usual magical washes or sprays, lighting a candle, or whatever. Nothing too complicated at this point, though, we’re still taking baby steps.

Wednesday - Creating a Sacred Space

What: The Dabbler picks out items they already have on hand to create a sacred space in the area that was cleansed the day before (the shelf, box, corner, whatever). Sacred here meaning “Set apart; special”, not necessarily “holy; religious”. Dabbler is encouraged to decorate and arrange things until they feel it has the proper vibe.

Why: This is to encourage the Dabbler to think about the mundane things around their own home, and how those things can be magical just by Deciding That They Are. The idea is not necessarily to create an Altar, though it can also work as practice for that should the Dabbler later choose to have one. In my own practice, I don’t have a permanent Sacred Space, because it doesn’t really fit what I do or how I live. But I tried making some when I first started, and I think it was an important learning point. Now, when I feel that I DO need a sacred space, I’m able to whip one up with whatever is around, and I think that’s a great skill to have. It’s helpful to know and feel what “Sacred” or “Special” feels like to the individual, what it takes for you to really vibe with a space or setting. My spaces are more about reining in my hyperactive brain and creating a boundary for it to focus on, not about creating a holy circle of ground, but I know what that distinction feels like BECAUSE of the times I dabbled in creating sacred spaces. This is when your brain gets to learn what It’s Witchin’ Time feels like.

Thursday - Herbal Correspondences

What: The Dabbler goes to their own kitchen or garden and picks out three spices, herbs, and/or flowers (that they 100% know what they are). At this point, it isn’t necessary to actually gather them, just to write down what is easily accessible at that moment. They then check out the Wikipedia article on their chosen herbs, and build their own correspondence list from that article.

Why: “Whoa whoa whoa, Jes, why are you suggesting Wikipedia??” Oh easy. Because it’s accessible, it’s free, and it’s not witchy. Wikipedia gets a bad rap as a resource for a variety of reasons, but for what it does, it does well. It’s an encyclopedia, so it is by nature a surfacey resource. That’s okay. That’s all we need right now. Instead of googling magical correspondences of cinnamon and finding 1000+ lists that all copied from a copy of a copy of a copy of Crowley and then not knowing WHY that thing has that correspondence, the Dabbler is going to learn to make their own by starting a (very basic) relationship with that herb. Example: I was trying to research magical correspondences of base oils, but everything I found was one-word answers, most of which was “fertility”. Which was... entirely not helpful. So I set out to make my own. Specific example: I looked into castor oil (according to “magickal” sources, it’s correspondence is simply “protection”), but my mundane research taught me that it’s been used for hydraulic and brake fluids, used in food preservation, sold as a laxative, and historically has been used as torture and humiliation (with the laxative effect, I’m sure you can figure out exactly how). Well NOW we’re getting somewhere, because now I associate it with “getting things moving”, whether in a negative or positive way. Having the Dabbler learn to do mundane research like this helps strengthen their relationship with what they use, teaches them that they can research their own materials without needing another Witch (or an Amazon Lisa) to do it for them, and teaches them that they can use what they have on hand rather than consulting a magical list of things they don’t have and wondering where the hell they’re supposed to buy white willow bark.

Friday - Divination

What: The Dabbler will gather small trinkets that they already have and collect them in a box or bag. They then ask questions (possibly with the aid of a list of suggested questions?) and draw a trinket (or cast a couple, if they’re feeling adventurous!) and interpret.

Why: I love Tarot as much as the next witch, but it’s not always practical for the starting witch. And in my experience, I can be dragged just as hard by my trinkets as I can by my traditional tarot decks. Gathering trinkets is (again, as you’re starting to see a theme, I hope) a way to use what is already on hand. And after the Wikipedia exercise from the previous day, the Dabbler should have a little bit of practice in thinking about associations. The action figure their nephew left at their house can mean “lost” but it can also mean “found”, or it’s Spiderman and means “responsibility” or Wonder Woman means “truth”, etc.

Saturday - Crafting a Charm

What: The Dabbler will create a simple charm (most likely a protective one, but I’m not married to the idea). They’ll use their own skills to hand make something tangible, however simple it may be. Could be crafting a keychain using their beading skills, or embroidering a small design onto their jeans pocket, or as simple as wrapping a colored thread around a ring they wear. Whatever it is, it will be a thing that they make with their hands.

Why: We’re falling away from the railroad guidelines at this point in the week, and encouraging the Dabbler to start thinking on their own about what they can do. There’s still suggestions so they don’t get totally lost, but it’s far less hand-holdy than the first spell of the week. With two whole exercises about thinking through associations of things, hopefully they can start to come to conclusions on their own (”You know, I think I’ll hang a safety pin from the keychain, because that just Feels Right to me” or “This string should be blue, because that’s the color of my protective gloves at work”). And the second purpose of the charm is... it’s a tangible thing. It’s a souvenir. If at the end of the week the Dabbler decides that they had fun but witchcraft isn’t for them, cool. But maybe three years down the line, they find that keychain they made during Witch Camp Week, and they think “Oh hey, I remember doing that...” and perhaps it comes to them at exactly the time they need it and they decide to pick it up again. (Or they find it and go “lol that wasn’t for me” and chuck it in the trash. Failure is always an option!)

Sunday - Spellwork Redux

What: Get in losers, we’re casting the same spell again. Well, not the SAME spell, but the same sort. That candle spell from the beginning of the week? The Dabbler will now repeat it with similar purpose. BUT, this time they are to modify the spell somehow. Even less guidelines here now. Maybe they want to perform the spell in their sacred space. Maybe they want to cleanse before performing it. Maybe they want to sprinkle some herbs on the candle, or steep some herbs in hot water and use a brush to write on the paper. Whatever they do is theirs to decide.

Why: EXPERIMENTATION. Really, how often do any of us see a cool spell and then perform it EXACTLY AS WRITTEN? I don’t know about you, but I always always always have to modify it somehow, whether it’s to fit what I have, fit my paradigm, or just because personalization is important in my craft. Redoing the spell with a little bit of tweaking means the Dabbler gets to close off the week with a little more of that Witches Casting Spells stuff that they probably expected, but with a chance to see how they can change it now, how they can make it more suited to them, or how they think it might work better. Maybe it will work better. Maybe it will be worse. Either way is a result.

Conclusion - or the TL;DR

Guidelines at the beginning of the week, transitioning to more creative freedom by the end of the week. Heavy encouragement of using what’s freely on hand and easily accessible, rather than buying specialty materials that may or may not be helpful or ever used again (not to mention could be hella expensive). Some spells, because let’s be honest, some people just really really want the spellz. And mundane research, because it’s too often neglected even among the veteran witches.

[drawlfoy]

Undertones

masterlist request guidelines please feed my inbox. she’s starving. requests are more open than ever!

pairing: draco x nonslytherin!reader

request: yes! thank you anon!

summary: non slytherin reader offers draco her scarf when she realizes he’s cold. he secretly wants to accept but he’s too afraid to ruin his reputation.

warnings: fluff idk. maybe foul language because *that’s me* but i write warnings before i write fics and i cannot foresee this going anywhere dirty

a/n: i’ve made spaghetti how many times? too many times. and yet every time i misjudge the amount of pasta sauce i need to heat up to match the amount of pasta. every single time. i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i can never fix this problem. i’m sorry this is random but i don’t think many people actually read this part so i’m kind of going off. the pasta is good  tho, i’m eating it right now. reply with “pasta” down below if you actually read this

music recs: shoot i’ve been listening to alvvays tbh

also, last thing: Y/H/N means your house name, Y/H/C means your house color(s) :) also O/H means other house... as in not your house or slytherin!!

word count: 1,435

The wind was howling outside, cold and biting, as Y/N settled into the bench next to her “friend”, Draco Malfoy.

They’d only begun to be civil to each other that year after they’d been forced together in potions. At first, it had been horrible, but eventually, Y/N and Draco came to a truce. The merciless teasing about her house ceased and Y/N stopped reminding him how much she hated him every day. 

And then there was Quidditch. You were both big fans of getting high marks in potions, but you were both even bigger fans of the game. Y/N was unfortunately rendered unable to play in 4th year, after a particular nasty crash messed up her leg, She was perfectly capable of attending games, however, and she was especially supportive of the Y/H/N team. 

This particular Saturday, Y/H/N was playing O/H. It was the first time this year that Slytherin wasn’t playing, so Y/N had thought it appropriate to invite Draco along with her.

She was beginning to regret her decision as she watched the blond boy sitting next to her complain.

“Why does it have to be so cold out?”

“Uh, I don’t know, Draco,” Y/N shot back. “It’s wintertime, maybe that plays a role?”

He huffed and dug his hands into his cloak pockets.

“Y/N, please at least let me feel sorry for myself in silence.” He pouted, pulling his hands out of his pockets and blowing on them. “I never should’ve come. It’s too cold out for this.”

Y/N’s heart stung a little at this comment. They both loved Quidditch, and sometimes it was all they talked about. She was cold too, but the love for the sport kept her glued to the spot. 

“Didn’t think you were such a wuss,” she grumbled, pulling her own down jacket tightly around her body. She’d abandoned their uniforms and had instead opted for her muggle winter gear--except for her Y/H/N scarf, which was pulled tightly around her neck. 

“I prefer realist,” he shot back. Draco’s voice wavered just a slight bit, and Y/N cast him another glance. She was shocked to see that he was actually shivering. 

“I’m cold too, Draco,” she retorted “But for some reason, I’m still here.”

No response was returned. Instead, comfortable silence between them rested as the yells of the other onlookers pulled her attention away from Draco. 

After the first 45 minutes, Y/N felt positively chilled. A quick glance at Draco confirmed that she was not alone in this feeling. Both were ill dressed for the occasion.

“Hey,” she began, inching a little closer to her potions partner, “Do you want my scarf?” 

Draco turned to look at her, eyeing her neck. He looked like, for a second, he was considering it.

“No,” he finally told her. “You need it more than me.”

“What do you mean, Draco?” Her voice cracked slightly from the cold air rushing into her mouth. “You’re just wearing a cloak. I have a full coat.”

“And you’re still shivering!”

“So are you!”

At this point, neither of them were paying any mind to the game in front of them. 

“Even if I was...cold,” Draco told her, his teeth chattering comically, “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a Y/H/N scarf. Y/H/C doesn’t suit my pink undertones.”

“Oh. My. God.” Y/N rolled her eyes so hard they nearly reached the back of her head. “You are such a diva. Do you know how many people die during the winter from hypothermia? And you’re out here, refusing a scarf because it doesn’t compliment your undertones?”

“You know that’s not the real reason, dimwit,” he told her with a hushed voice. 

Y/N’s cheeks were no longer being bitten by just the wind--now they were red from Draco’s scathing words.

“No one really cares,” she whispered, her eyes falling to the ground. She knew that that was a blatant lie. 

“You know they do,” Draco answered, sighing and turning his attention back to the game.

Y/N only pretended to watch the game. In reality, she was trying to get her cheeks to stop flaming red with embarrassment. Perhaps she could blame the sudden flush on the cold, but Draco had to know. He had to know that he had, in a sense, rejected her, proving that his reputation was more important than sharing a sweet moment between the two of them.

Without the heat of an argument, Y/N settled back into her chilly state, quivering slightly with every new gust of wind. Pins and needles began to rush into her bare hands, forcing her to resort to sticking them inside her jacket like some kind of deranged penguin.

“Are you cold?” Draco asked.

“Er....yeah? Duh,” she responded, turning her head to face him with an unimpressed expression. “I thought we already went over this.”

Draco swallowed. His hands were shaking, harder than they were before. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was nervous, but it was cold enough out to excuse the behavior. 

“Give me your hands,” he demanded.

“Excuse me?” Y/N asked, bewildered from the sudden suggestion.

“You heard me. Give them here.” As if to prove that he was being serious, he stuck his own hands out expectantly,

Hesitantly, Y/ drew her hands out of her jacket and held them out to him. He grasped them, pulling them to his chest and rubbing his hands back and forth. She was pleasantly surprised with how warm his core was. (a/n: the word core is ruined for me because of smut and i promise that that isn’t what i was trying to imply)

“I thought you said you were cold.”

“I thought you appreciated my dramatic flair.” Draco exaggerated a frown, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. 

This was new. While they were on better terms and had done a fair bit of things that friends did, one line they never crossed was legitimate physical touch. Y/N couldn’t say that she minded it, though.

Feeling slowly tricked back into her hands as they sat like that, Draco still stroking the outsides of her hands and Y/N standing ramrod straight in disbelief. Once her hands were no longer numb, she cleared her throat and shifted in her seat.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, withdrawing her hands from his chest and tucking them back into her pockets. “I can feel them now. I think I’m alright.”

“Ooooooookay,” Draco responded, raising an eyebrow in slight disappointment. “If they ever get cold again...”

“Okay.”

The tension between them only thickened as Y/N realized she’d made a horrible mistake. She was starting to feel positively frozen at this point, and to make things worse, the Y/H/N seeker had decided to hang out over the stadium seats where Y/N was seated. Every few seconds, she’d dive down and another rush of freezing wind would hit Y/N and Draco. 

Within a few minutes, both were shivering messes. Y/N considered offering her hands back to him, but her pride kept her from going  back to it. She withdrew them. She couldn’t ask for more again. 

“You’re still cold, aren’t you?” Draco’s voice pulled her back from her plotting. 

“Was it that obvious?” 

The laugh Draco let out was small and involuntary. 

“Well, I mean....” He sucked in a deep breath before meeting Y/N’s eyes. “You can....you can sit closer.”

“Oh?” The words left her mouth before she could revise them. 

“Er.. yeah, come over here.” Draco patted the already rather small space on the bench between them. 

Y/N cautiously scooted closer, closing the gap until their shoulders were almost rubbing. 

How was this supposed to accomplish anything?

Draco answered her question before she could even voice it out loud, taking one arm out of the sleeve of his cloak. He draped it over Y/N’s shoulder so they were sharing the garment, pulling her close.

Y/N almost gasped but caught it just in time. Draco’s arm was now wrapped around her shoulder and her head pressed up against his warm chest.

She could hear his heart racing as his free hand slid under the cloak, taking hers and stroking them like he had done before. 

“And what was this about being ashamed of my house?” she managed to quip, lifting her gaze upwards to meet his soft grey eyes. “You won’t wear my scarf but you’ll allow...this?”

He blushed, turning his fair pink skin an even deeper red as his thumb rubbed lazy circles on the back of her hands. 

“I told you,” he whispered, dropping his head down so his face was mere inches away from her, “Y/H/C looks ghastly on me.”

final a/n: this kind of took a u turn from the original direction that was requested and i deeply apologize for that haha. i’m not the best at writing fluff, i’m a little better at writing build up, so i’m going to have to work on that. thank you for reading!

[darksidekelz]

Last 20

Credit to @writingwife-83

Thanks for tagging me, @hanuko​

Guidelines: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20,  just list them all.) Choose your favourite opening line, tag some friends!

I may have skipped a few of the more … content warn-y ones.

1. Living in a Lightless World (TFP) -  The scenario was a familiar one.  A hard, unyielding table beneath him, the sickening sound of Autobot voices drifting in the surrounding space, powerful restraints around his wrists, his chest – cables deactivated, as well as his audio transmitters.  Soundwave was helpless, again at the Autobots’ mercy.  But this time, he didn’t care.

2. I Know What You Did (G1) -  Praxus was a surprisingly good city for business.  Sure, it had always carried the image of pristine totalitarianism – the home of the Enforcers, of the most uptight mechs on the face of Cybertron.  And yes, everyone had laughed when Swindle had voiced his intentions to open shop there.  'No one will buy from you.’  'You’ll be arrested in a week.’  Well, the laugh was on them!

3. All My Decepticons (Transformers) -  Our show begins in a lovely little suburban neighborhood.  The sky is clear, and a slight breeze rustles the leaves in the trees.  We zoom in on a house, picturesque and welcoming, like something out of The Brady Bunch, only, instead of being scaled to humans, it is scaled to giant robots.  Why?  Because how else are the giant robot inhabitants going to fit inside?

4. Call Me Master (TFP) - It hurt to see him like this.  Soundwave had always come across as untouchable - like a benevolent deity who had, through some miracle of fate, chosen to grace Megatron with his undying loyalty and devotion.  

5. Hope for the Hopeless (TFA) -  A flash of metal, a distorted scream, the biting sting of claws in his plating.  Deadlock was fighting for his life, and nothing else mattered. 

6. Fear Itself (Red vs Blue) -  Felix had been expecting a little more fanfare when he’d stepped through the gate - a small army of people he’d wronged in his life, for starters.  That useless pirate had claimed to have been confronted by his own victims when he’d been shoved through earlier. Judging by the whistling abyss that greeted him, however, the gate had something different in store this time.

7. A Single Thread (G1) -  It had been a long and arduous road, but finally, Swindle’s work was starting to pay off.  He smiled at the message he held in his hands:

8. Sentinel Prime and the Quest for Booty (TFA) -  Sentinel Prime was kind of a big deal.  He led the Elite Guard, second in power only to the Magnus himself.  His presence inspired awe amongst the peons beneath him.  He was handsome, powerful, a master of strategy, and a beacon of charisma.  There was not a bot alive that came close to rivaling his glory.  And yet, he had one small problem.

9. Mercy for the Damned (MTMTE) - Primus, spare my spark. 

Pain came first – the pain of his body being systematically torn to shreds from the inside out, through a means and manner that defied the laws of nature.  

10. Dodgeball (Beast Wars) -  Megatron loved being the center of attention.  He loved watching the time tick down on the big clock 9, 8, 7, counting the seconds to their victory.  It was close enough to taste, intoxicating.  He could see Optimus, several yards ahead of him, wide open.  This was his time to shine, the moment that would go down in history.  There was no time to savor it.  It was do or die.

Megatron threw the ball.

11. Shall We Dance? (G1) -  It had been a year, now, since Cybertron last witnessed bloodshed.  After eons of fighting, anyone would be ready to call it quits, even Galvatron, it seemed.  In the aftermath of the hate plague, and the subsequent return of Optimus Prime, a peace treaty had been hastily drafted, and much to the surprise of everyone involved, it had been obeyed. 

12. Remembering Altihex (G1) -  There had been no battle for Altihex - no blaze of glory, no honorable sacrifices, no heroic speeches to go down in the history books - it was just gone, taken in the night as its citizens slept in their beds, blissfully unaware of their own impending demise.       

13. Reaching for the Sun (G1) - “It’s not enough.”  

With tense shoulders and narrowed optics, Onslaught sifted through the mass of information that Blast Off had handed him, divided between five different data pads, all confirming his every fear.  

14. Exceeds Expectations (IDW 1) - “Were you able to find it?” Perceptor glanced up from his data pad, cold blue eyes scrutinizing Prowl, trying to uncover his every uncouth motivation and secret.  As smart as Perceptor was, he was hopelessly outmatched in this respect.

15. Irresponsible Infatuation (IDW 1) -  Prowl was a sensible mech, sometimes the only sensible mech, a fact which he was all too aware of.  He could scheme with the best of them, plan for every contingency, and he wasn’t afraid to let his spark interfere with what needed to be done for victory.  

16. Living in a Box (G1) -  Okay.  This ain’t so bad.  I mean, I’m absent one body – I can’t see or hear, feel or taste or touch or smell.  It’s like my worst nightmare come to life, and y’know?  Can’t say what I was ever scared for.  

17. I’ll Follow You Forever (TFP) -  Step left, stoop low, lean away, cross-counter, go for the throat.  Soundwave’s opponent wasn’t a big mech, but he was broad, heavy, and well-armored – though the last wasn’t uncommon for a gladiator.  The ring wasn’t kind to fragile mechs – even Soundwave had piled on the armor as soon as he could afford it.  But even so, the extra protection didn’t change the fact that his light build was ill-suited for his chosen profession.  

18. Sacrifice (Armada) - The job was a means to an end. That was what Sideways told himself day after day.  When he woke up in the morning, dreading the upcoming drudgery, working his poor frame to the core, ungrateful customers – the creepers, the swindlers, the complainers.  And likewise, before the fell into a deep recharge at night, broken both body and soul.  

19. Maybe Tomorrow Will Be Better (MTMTE) - Some days were worse than others.

Drift wasn’t a happy mech; he wasn’t exactly unique in that regard.  Most mechs had baggage – four million years of war would do that.  Drift knew this.  But that did exactly nothing to make him feel better.

20. Guilty Conscience (IDW 1)-  Wing had always had a little rebellious streak.  It had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count.  And yet, though it condemned him on a weekly basis, it was also his second most valuable trait, after his compassion.  

I sure did forget I’d written some of these. Bummed I didn’t make it far enough back to get any of my big Shockblurr stuff up here, ‘cuz I still really like those ones. Also, I like the lone non-TF fic sitting in there (we ignore the OW one).

Feel free to do this if you want. I am too anxious a bean to tag.

[lablass-2882]

How the Akuma Class handles Social Distancing. Part 1

So. I’m a little board and tried of either cleaning, editing pictures or more cleaning. So, I decided to try my hand at a little bit iof fanfic just to keep my creative mind active but focused on a different skill set.  Editing pictures will really take it out of you after a while.  Any who, here is my take on who the akuma class from ML handles social distancing during these strange times.  Enjoy.

Marinette: She is handling it pretty well.  If she’s not out doing her ladybug thing, she is helping her parents with the bakery or working on commissions and projects.  Speaking of the bakery.  It’s doing okay.  Tom and Sabine re on top of everything, even before the virus hit Paris.  Sabine has family in Wuhan and was actively sending care packages to them when this whole mess started.  From the moment that the virus hits Paris, they were on the move; face mask, hand sanitizer, gloves, the whole nine yards. They knew it was to coming and they know what they’re doing. With the mandate, the shop part of the bakery has closed.  Instead, they’ve switched to an online store that does home-delivery and curve side pickups.  When they can, all three of them drop of box-lunches at the hospitals for the nurse. Doctors and nurses alike adore them. Marinette as hosted a few furnishes for a variety of causes through her website (common head-canon idea).  She posts specialty outfits, items, and even some helpful DIY videos.  About once a week she hosts a live chat where she talks about sew tips, baking recipes, and even some meditation cycles to help with anxiety. She doing her part on both sides of the mask.  As Ladybug, she’s doubling down on her public messages.  Follow the guidelines, obey the rules set up by the stores, respect people's wish but most of all be kind to one another. We’re all in this together.  Thankfully Hawkmoth isn’t trying to capitalize on this mess.  Even he knows not to F@%# with this virus. On the first day of the mandate, his butterflies delivered a message to Ladybug and Chat Noir. No Akuma Activity until this virus is beaten.  Stay Safe and Stay healthy. She still patrols but she trusts Hawkmoth enough to know that he’s being honest with them.

Adrien: He’s doing okay, not terrible but not great either.  If it wasn’t for plagg and his bodyguard Gorilla, Adrien would have gone crazy from all the silence.  Thankfully he can still sneak out as Chat Noir but that only helps so much.  Nino decided to host weekly therapy sessions online, to keep his bro’s hopes up.  He gets it. There’s only some much isolation a boy can take.  To lessen the isolation, he helps out with both Marinette and Chloe's furnishes. He even does one of his own for the local hospital. When his father allows it, Adrien makes a few appearances at the hardest hit hospitals. In the correct project gear of course. Gabriel may be a super-villain that preys of negative emotions, but he’s a man who lost his wife to an illness.  He won’t dare touch a hospital. Period. They at least tried to help his wife and for that he is grateful. If there is a silver lining during this whole mess it’s that Gabriel can’t ignore Adrien if they are both stuck in the house together. By the end of the first week Adrien, Gabriel, Nathalie, and Gorilla are all playing board games with each other of an evening. Adrien even starts to feel like he has a family again.  As Chat Noir, Adrien does what he can to help Ladybug, and has even taken to dropping off lunches to police officers, doctors, and nurses on the night shift.

Lila: She is having a terrible time.  If she’s not the center of attention then what is she DOING! She tries every which way to spin this disaster in her favor.  From claiming that she doing charity work to that she helping find a cure for the virus.  She even tries to claim that she has the virus itself. The class offers to help various way but they all come up bust. The class’s parents aren’t buying her lies and they certainly are up for letting their children send this random girl money. Her ideas become more and more desperate as time goes on. The last idea ends up with her entire building being placed under quarantine.  People are relieved when the test comes back negative, but slightly less relieved when they find that she lied about the illness and causes an issue for attention. (Especially after Rose gets sick from trying to help Lila by getting her supplies and other items she wanted.)  Lila and her mother have a very long talk and she later makes sure that Lila publicly apologies for lying.  All of her electronic get taken away except for weekly online therapy sessions with a specialist.  Her mother is in attendance for most of these.  She can’t even get Hawkmoth to send an Akuma her way.  When she tries, she gets a message/scolding to take this virus seriously.

Alya: She’s not doing so hot, better than Lila but she is struggling.  She’s hunkered down with her sister and thing escalate quickly from there.  All normal methods of stress relief are thrown out the window on the first day.  Nora can’t train, Alya can’t hang out with her friends and the twin are mini tornados in their own right.  By the end of the first week, Mr. Cesaire is just about ready duct-taped their bedroom doors shut for a moment of peace.  It’s bad enough that this virus is out of control but top that off with all four of his daughters being confined to their apartment and his wife struggling to keep her job afloat.  The breaking point has be reached.  When one of Mrs. Cesaire's staff workers gets sick, things get real for the family. Mrs. Cesaire is quarantined and isolated for her family for a solid two weeks.   This ends up bringing the girls closer together. They put aside their bickering and work together for ounce.  Nora does a lot of the cooking, Alya helps with the cleaning and the twin do what they can.   Together they find why to make both of their parent's smile and brighten both of their days. As for Alya’s blog, she switches gears and temporally becomes a virus watch blog.  She doubles down and finally; fact checks things to bring her followers information on the virus and not just here say.  By the time the whole Lila mess goes down, Alya is starting to come to her senses.

Nino: He doing pretty alright. He ends up working on his music and even does some Tik-Tok videos with his brother.  He misses being able to see everyone but understands why he can’t. Nino talks to Alya daily and tries his best to help lessen her arguments with her sisters. (He’s just thankful he and Chris get along so well.) He also talks a lot with Adrien and tries to help his bro out with some music therapy sessions. Both of his parents end up working from home during the mandate, which puts pressure on Nino to help out more around the house.  Surprisingly he finds it quite relaxing to do housework.   He ends up rearranging his room to accommodate his music better, sets the kitchen up for quick lunches when his parents need a break and even stages a mini theater in their living room for plays.  Turns out Chris likes musicals and Nino is all for help his little bro find his talent.

Rose: She gets sick. Nothing life-threatening but she still mangers to catch the son-of-a-bitch virus.   Rose ends up getting the virus when running earns for Lila. At the beginning of the mandate; Rose tries her best to spread joy and to helps where she can.  She posts daily self-help videos, sing-a-longs to lighten everyone’s mood and art projects with positive messages.  When she hears that Lila has gotten “sick” Rose springs into action.  She becomes a whirlwind of positive energy and dedicates herself to helping her “friend”.  This results in her getting sick instead.  When Juleka finds out she heartbroken (and super angry at Lila who isn’t even sick.).  But true to Rose’s nature, she still finds ways to lift everyone's spirit.  During her entire quarantine, Rose post daily vlogs about her progress and health.  Prince Ali, immediately sends over the best doctors he could spear to help poor Rose. She ends up turning them away but she does suggest that they visit the local hospitals for support.  She ends getting pretty sick for a short while, thankfully it passes quickly and she back to normal by the end of the spread.

This ends part 1.  Part will be up shortly..... just as soon as I grammar check it..... Like I said, I was board and I’m getting tried of the “whoa is me” attitude on the news and social media.  I prefer the more up lifting attitudes of people spreading joy and love during this dark times. (P.S. I’m basing this off of what currently occurring in the U.S. I think Pairs followed Italy example but feel free to correct me) Feel free to add in your own ideas.  And remember; we’re all in this together. 

Enjoy!

[nthnstrky007]

Unit Alias #1: “The Flow of Water Breaks the Dame!”

As the bullets whizzed passed my head, only one thought stood out from all the noise and panic around me: I know I should have eaten toast instead of that bagel this morning. It’s just, I get so tired of the same old whole wheat toast and almond butter; it’s not my fault the fabric of reality starts to fold in on itself everytime I choose something new for breakfast. After another twenty seconds of some mindless brutes trying to turn my apartment into a modern artist’s tribute to swiss cheese, a voice of remote reason finally speaks up:

“Leonardo Crews, please step away from the bean bag chair”.

I can’t help but roll my eyes. It’s her: Sharon Winstead. The woman who would surely be my handler if the US government had their way and I became a secret agent or lab rat or whatever the heck they’d want me to do with these powers. I stand up and make a couple steps to the right as I put my hands on my head. At least the government sent a nice pair of legs to yell at me.  

One of the armed boneheads she brought with her speaks up, ‘Why would you hide behind a froggy bean bag chair?”

“Cause who the hell would ever shoot a froggy bean bag chair?” I challenge him and the two other armored doofuses.

They all mumble and meet eyes until one of them sheepishly says: “he’s right…” 

Sharon, the not so love-able stick in the mud that she is, won’t let me have fun for too long. “Your work here is done unit Alias. Go downstairs and do the usual routine with the landlord; come back, as I planned, when you’re done”. 

A couple ‘yes ma’ams’ and military mumbo jumbo is thrown around as they leave. I can’t help but feel sorry for guys who would willingly join an organization that has the loyalty of a teenage boy after a positive pregnancy test. 

“Real smart fellas you have there.”

Sharon looks at me, I guess with a hint of disappointment. “You know as well as I that if they were going for the kill, you’d be dead”. 

“Along with a couple billion realtites and, knowing how much the universe seems to adore me, time itself. And what’s up with ‘your plan’ anyway? The military never came in guns blazing before. Don’t you geniuses know how important I am?” 

“Are you threatening us now Leonardo?”

I relax my arms at my side as I walk into the pantry. The universe is on my team, as always, when I see one of the only undamaged things is what I’m looking for. I walk out in a sufficiently better mood with my packet of poptarts. “I’m just asking questions that pertain to the continuation of existence itself”. 

Sharon scoffs and continues on: “Do you understand the magnitude of such threats, Leonardo?”

 I wave her off with my free hand after opening my second breakfast. “ What threats? And please, it’s Leo; I’m not an award winning actor, just a potential destroyer of the timestream” I see the red emerge in her face and can’t help but chuckle. It's a mystery to me how she was able to secure one of the most secretive and ‘important’ jobs in the world with such a short fuse. Despite the fact that she is totally unlikable, the babe has grown on me over the years so I give her restless mind a break: “Y’know I’m not gonna go awol, especially when you pay for all my streaming service. And, uh, time wouldn’t be destroyed, just altered in some terrible heinous way. Such as your occupation being changed to stripper.” 

She gives me one more uneasy look before moving on. “You have a place I can sit?” 

“You mean a place you geniuses haven’t shot up yet? Don’t make me say it.”

“The frog chair?” She groans.

“I do believe it's pronounced froggy bean bag chair.” 

She gives her eyes another roll as she sits down in the thing. “Can you sit with me?” 

Sharon likes to remind me that in some ways I’m still a normal human. An example of 

this being a woman with a face and a body like hers asking me to sit down with a voice like hers using a tone like that,  regardless of if she is a facist pig or not, I’m probably gonna sit with her. 

“What’s the prob Bob?” I sit criss-cross applesauce a yard or so across from her. 

To my disappointment, not exactly my surprise, she grows serious as soon as I sit down. 

“We can’t keep doing this dance Leonardo.” 

“Doing what dance?” I let out the question with a bit of playful innocence.

“That.” She takes a moment to think before she begins her spill. “The U.W.O is not going to remain patient. The fate of existence potentially depends on what you have for lunch and you refuse to follow the guidelines that we give you. You probably can’t count how many times you’ve been told this, but you’re an anomaly. The only thing we have to go off of is my father’s theories: the regular flow of time is completely dependent on you. Every decision you make can drastically change our world’s past and half the time we can’t even detect those changes. Not to mention, if certain parts of that theory are true, the effects you can be having on our future. Leo, history is a book that you can rip up on an unknowing whim and the future is more uncertain that it has any right to be”. 

“And yet we keep dancing…”

“Excuse me?” 

I look at her for a second thinking that she for sures knows where I’m going, but it becomes clear to me she doesn’t. “You’re coming here to warn me. The U.W.O  knows that you’re the only person I can stand getting yelled at by so they send you here every time I decide to live my life so you can flutter your eyes and tell me not to. How many times have you been here this month? I admit the whole shoot-em-up bit is new, but other than that this is the same old routine we’ve done for the past year. The  only difference is I’ve been doing it my whole goddamn life and you’ve been doing it for a fraction of yours”. 

The woman actually cracks a smile as she comprehends what I’m saying. I don’t know if it’s mocking or understanding me, but, seeing as I have nothing else to do, I let her spill. “You call this living Leo? I don’t know what you do to mess up the timestream, but, judging by the hours of footage that features you exclusively watching ‘He-man’ reruns, I sure as hell know it’s not living. What, you played a new video game? Flushed the toilet too fast? You’re not living; the life you’re leading is not worth risking history for”. The sarcasm and aggression starts to leave her eyes as she looks at my face. I begin to open my mouth in defense when she shushes me with a new, almost maternal, attitude. “But I didn’t come here to play our twisted game of house. I’ve been in contact with my father”.

The news strikes a rare chord of hope in me. Sharon’s father was the closest thing I had to a dad when I grew up in the compound. He was also the one who convinced the board of directors to let me out when I turned eighteen. “Let out” is an odd way of saying letting me live in a heavily guarded cell that just happens to be in an apartment building. He ended up deciding he didn’t want to be a mindless puppet and left the U.W.O along with all his research. Last I heard, which was a very long time ago, he was up to a more scholarly pursuit. “How is he?”

She smiles as she thinks of her father. “He’s getting philosophical in his old age. After he left, he started living like a hermit in some remote island in the Atlantic. A place they’d have trouble finding if they ever were to look; he’s getting into some rebellious stuff there Leo. He wants you to leave and come see him. He wants to end this dance.”

“By ‘rebellious’, do you mean some dooms-day shit?” the words come out as the hope comes out of me. “We don’t know what the reaction will be if I get in a boat or plane. We barely know what’s gonna happen if I leave this building again. Make fun of me all you want, but, you basically said it yourself, 80s tv is the only life I can safely lead”.

“He told me to trust him. If he’s wrong, the situation will be no worse than it was before”. I could easily read the doubt in her face. “Or at least to him.”

“So what? The world ending is the same as the world not ending? Existence is all a lie and it doesn’t matter anyway? Don’t tell me he’s become some quasi-intellectual pothead who posts on psychedelic-themed online forums.” 

She rolls her eyes in response to my joke. “He’s disillusioned with our current world authority. He lived his whole thinking a plantery world order would be a good thing, so much so he helped to achieve it. Apparently after all those years and work, he thinks their practices are going to end us all. The way he sees it, the world may just end tomorrow; it’s any day now to him. In a certain manner of words, he’s desperate.”   

“And you?” 

She gives me another genuine look. “I trust my father as a leader and I care about you. He believes it's the right thing to do and you can’t keep up like this. Some of the things I’ve had to do this past year is enough for me to give up on doing the right thing through the government. Your problem is a problem that we might be able to fix on our own and trying is a lot better than you just rotting here waiting to die. Any ‘director’ who doesn’t like that can screw off.”

I let my eyes widen. “No one’s in on this? Why’d you bring the unit with you? Surely the bigwigs wire you up before you take their dogs for a walk?” 

“Watch your words; dogs we are no more, unit Alias, at least, is on this. No wires or strings attached. The general consensus is the current plan of keeping the world safe from you is eventually going to collapse without change; I can’t say they have the personal stake that my father has with the way he views us as siblings”.   

“Can’t really blame them for being worried or not particularly liking me, but they’re not here because of  what happened because of my bagel?” 

“What?”

“You came here to break me out, not to punish me for eating a bagel instead of toast?”

Sharon pulls a phone out of her pocket and scrolls through. “Oh…”

“What?”

“The ephilfel tower was built in Germany”.  

[winetae]

:: modern loneliness

⇨ prompt : android!hoseok x reader. 2205 words. drabble with a possible follow-up. it’s been 38 days since you’ve last seen and interacted with a living, breathing person and you’re slowly going insane.

.

[Week 1 of lock down.]

At first, you’re optimistic. 

Working from home comes with its own set of non-negligeable perks. Notably, no more commute time! No more squeezing in between sweaty men on the subway during rush hour just to get home. The new arrangement means that you’re no longer obliged to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to blow-dry your hair or meticulously put on makeup while stuffing a bagel into your mouth because you’re short on time. 

On Day 1 of quarantine, you roll out of bed and don’t even bother to change out of your pajamas. It’s quite the sight. Not that you care whether or not your hair looks like a bird’s nest or if there’s a small hole in your shirt. You’d gladly take your flannel pants and old university sweatshirt with the coffee stain by the collar over the rigid pencil skirt and stupid obligatory heels they force you to wear to the office. Ironing? You don’t know her. 

That’s not to say there aren't any inconveniences but as of now, the pros outweigh the cons. For one, you’re now allowed to add as much sugar into your coffee without susciting your coworkers’ judgement. You can blast angry rap songs while finishing your reports and no one will stop you. The list goes on. 

With all this newfound time on your hands, you have no more valid reasons to procrastinate. You start off by cleaning out the kitchen cabinets you’d been meaning to re-organize for months. Then you rearrange your wardrobe, dust off the top shelves of your bookcase that you usually skip over because no one can see them, and water the potted plants you’d been neglecting. 

It feels great to be so productive. Your friends tell you via FaceConnect that your productivity streak won’t last long, but you’re quick to shake off their doubts. 

“I’m a new me!” You insist when Mia’s laughter echoes around your empty apartment. “My life is back on track. I feel like a proper adult now that I’m not struggling so much to get everything done.”

“Sure,” she humors you. “Just don’t get upset when I tell you I told you so.”

.

[Day 8 of lockdown.]

Now that your apartment is cleaner than it’s ever been, you need to find other means of entertainment. According to the internet, now is the ideal time to learn a new language or acquire a new hobby, like crocheting or playing the guitar. But while it might be technically possible to learn a language, you’re definitely not an overachiever. You’re aware of your own limits. 

Today you try your hand at baking. To some it might not seem like a big deal. But for someone like you who solely uses the kitchen to boil ramyeon packets and chop the occasional vegetable, today’s venture into the world of cooking is the equivalent of a quantum leap. 

The molten lava cakes that come out of the oven 15 minutes later don’t look like the picture advertised in the online recipe. They don’t taste like how you’d expected, either. 

You try not to be too disappointed with your failed attempt. After all, it’s only your first try. Dry cakes aren’t that bad in comparison to the horrors that could have occurred. At least nothing is burnt and your oven is still intact. You’ll try again tomorrow with hopefully a little more success.

.

[Day 16 of lockdown.]

It turns out that baking is not for you. After numerous trials and errors you learn a few days later that you have no vacation to be a baker. You end up abandoning all attempts to acquire a new hobby and instead look for new ways to pass the time. 

Thankfully, your home server is offering free VOD for a limited amount of time, so you’re not short on distractions. You consume around half a dozen cult movies, the kind people always reference and quote without actually watching, before you finally begin crossing TV series off your to-watch list. 

You yawn. It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night and you’ve just finished binging the entire season of Tiger King. It’s the third show you’ve watched from start to finish since quarantine began and now you’re wondering whether you should start a fourth. 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you say before a grimace crosses your face. “Oh great... Now I’m talking to myself.” 

That can’t be a good sign, you think to yourself. How long has it been since you’ve last talked to someone? You used to call your parents every day but when there’s nothing new to report, the conversations become repetitive and dull. 

You should call Mia. Just to see how she’s doing.

.

[Day 24 of lockdown.] 

YOUR WEEKLY BASKET FROM FOODCONNECT HAS ARRIVED. ALL PURCHASES WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR MONTHLY EXPENSES CARD. REMINDER THAT DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES, CONNECT CARDS ARE ALLOWED A 5000 EXCESS OVER FIXED LIMIT. TOTAL EXCESS HAS NOT YET BEEN REACHED.

.

[Day 38 of lockdown.] 

You’re browsing BH, hoping to restock your vitamins. Lately you’ve been feeling tired and mentally drained, despite your workload not being what it used to be. Why you’re so exhausted is a mystery you’ve yet to solve. In all logic, your energy level should be at an all time high now that you’re working less and spending all your free time lounging on the couch surfing the internet. 

According to the national health guideline, you’re supposed to be exercising an hour a day minimum in order for your body to remain in good condition. Your BODYCONNECT watch monitor beeps every hour to remind you that you haven’t completed the suggested activity. 

Ugh. 

You press the button on the side of the watch to turn the reminder off. It’s the fifth time you’ve had to silence it today but you can’t bring yourself to work up a sweat right this minute. You keep telling yourself that you’ll exercise later but like all things lately, later ends up being never. 

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself slacking off. Where did all your motivation during week 1 of lockdown go? You don’t even have the strength to do ten jumping jacks anymore; it’s like your bones belong to a person three times your age - feeble and brittle and threatening to break at a moment’s notice. 

LOW ON SEROTONIN? WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED. Flash promo over in 00:32:43! Limited offer while supplies last.

A bright yellow advertisement flashes on the top right corner of your screen. Intrigued, you follow the link without expecting much. The last thing you expect is to be brought directly to BH LAB’s homepage. 

“Um… I don’t think I have the budget for this…” You mutter under your breath and prepare to exit out of the page. 

Androids are usually employed by the government but the ones for sale to the general public are known to be exorbitantly expensive. 

A message reads: EXCLUSIVE 1 HOUR PROMO, 40% OFF YOUR FIRST PURCHASE. Click here for more details. Offer valid for new customers only. 

You pause and decide to click on the link. Looking around won’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not like you’ve decided to buy anything yet. 

The seven Dwellers available for sale are just as good looking as you expected them to be. Their unnaturally good looks and vibrant green eyes are what makes them easy to pick out from the crowd. 

You skim through each Dweller’s description. It seems that apart from the physical differences like their facial features and build, they each have their own specialty and characteristics. One of the best-selling models boasts the cooking ability of a 5-star chef, which you admit sounds very tempting since your skills with a knife are pathetic enough to make Gordon Ramsey cry. 

Another best-selling model specializes in...sex. You blink, your cheeks warming as you read over the model’s description (the “thick, vibrating cock that guarantees an orgasm every time!” comment makes you choke on your saliva). You can understand straight away why this particular model would be so popular. All of the models are pretty, but this one’s face doesn’t look like it’s from this world. Confinement would make anyone horny, and when promised a godly sex bot equipped with a vibrating dick, well…

Too bad you’re too tired these days to even think about having “mind-blowing sex for 5 hours straight.” Having such intense intercourse would probably make you pass out on the Dweller’s artificial cock, and there’s no way in hell you would want someone from CONNECT to intervene after receiving distressed signals from your body monitor. That would just be embarrassing. 

You’re about to exit out of the page, curiosity sated, when the last model catches your eye.

SEROTONIN BOOSTER. Low on energy? Feeling sad or depressed? Need a companion? 

This model is perfect for you! Model JHS is equipped with emotion sensors. They will fulfill your every need even when you’re not able to vocalize them. Stressed? They specialize in massages and are proficient in: Swedish massages, Aromatherapy, Shiatsu massages, Reflexology, among others. 

Personality : This model is energetic. They are very active and therefore requires a minimum 6 hours to recharge. They are extremely tactile and will easily engage in skinship such as hugs or holding hands. They are talkative and will hold passionate conversations with you about almost any subject. 

Likes : cleaning, working out

Dislikes : horror movies, strong smells

When reading the description, it feels they’re talking about a person rather than an android. You’re surprised to see that the Dwellers are programmed to have a certain personality that caters to specific needs because the only androids you’ve ever come across before are the government ones, and they’ve always been stoic and devoid of any distinguishing characteristic. 

It would be nice, you think, to have a companion. Someone you could talk to for real instead of through a pixelated hologram. As much as you enjoy your time alone, each passing day locked in your apartment makes you realize how much you long for a hug. You miss holding someone in your arms, feeling their heartbeat against your cheek and the rise and fall of their chest as they squeeze you back. 

Model JHS looks like he could fill that vacancy. Their smile is blinding, like they’re physically radiating sunshine through their expression alone. You don’t doubt their capacity to bring positive energy into your life. 

Before you can think twice about it you’re adding the model to your shopping cart. The site asks you if you want to pay more in order to customize them. For an additional fee, you’re able to tweak the Dweller’s personality or modify their physical attributes to your liking. You skip over the option. For one, you don’t have the funds to afford a vibrating dick enhancement and two, you’re more than satisfied with your Dweller as they are.

It’s not until you finish supplying all your information including your Connect Card details and shipping address that you realize what a monumental purchase you’re about to make and how empty your account will be by the end of it.

You stare at the price listed at the bottom of the screen and weigh your options. Even with the 40% reduction, it’s not a negligible sum. You could buy several models of the new Birkin bag you’d been saving up for with this money. 

Why purchase designer bags when you can’t even go out and use them? a voice argues. And - uh. Fair point. 

In any case, you’d have to stop shopping, eating out all the time and going on frivolous trips overseas. Not that you really have a choice, given the circumstances. 

You look at the laptop screen again. Are you seriously so touch-deprived that you’re willing to fork over that much money for a live-at-home android? Really? 

Fuck it. 

You click on [VALIDATE PAYMENT] before rationality has time to kick in and you change your mind again. Just as the screen changes and the new page loads, you feel your heart leap to your throat but it’s too late to back out now. 

PROCESSING ORDER …

...

CONGRATULATIONS! 

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ORDERED (1) DWELLER - JHS MODEL. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE. 

(!) Your order is eligible for Instant Shipping (delivered to your door in 24 hours or less). 

(!!) Due to exception circumstances, your order might encounter delays. We are taking multiple steps to ensure the safety and hygiene of all products and shipments. For more information click here.

(!) All BH products are covered by a limited two-year warranty. Please refer to warranty details regarding your product in the Dweller E-HandBook, free for download here. Please register your product after purchase in order to qualify for future claims, returns, and support.

You expel the breath you’d been holding. Your father will throw a fit once he finds out you’ve blown all your money on a bot. The criticism is warranted.

What are you even supposed to say to defend yourself? You’ve bought a  Dweller on a whim while browsing for Vitamin C supplements.

Quarantine is really making you lose your goddamn mind, huh.

[dessarious]

Writing Craft: The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing Ch1

AO3   Intro   Next

The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing Chapter 1: Taming the Beast by N.M Kelby

In this article the author compares creating and refining your story ideas to training a dog. I’m going to leave out the metaphor and just give the bare bones of the advice.

The biggest take away from the first section is: “Ideas often start with boundless energy, vying for your attention. But when you get them on the page, they don’t always live up to how you thought they would be” pg. 5

This is a huge issue, especially for new writers. You finally get words on a page but immediately get discouraged because it’s not as good as it seemed in your head and/or your inner critic takes hold and trashes your efforts. (Whether that trashing is justified or not is a moot point) Sound familiar? You’re not alone. Before I get into this specific author’s take I want to throw out a couple ‘standard’ thoughts on the subject.

‘You can’t edit a blank page.’ It’s one of those truisms that make me want to bash my head into a wall whenever I encounter it, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Basically try to think of your writing, especially first drafts, as practice. You’re not going to start out perfect but the more you work on it the better you’ll get at it, and by extension the better the piece itself will get. If you come to the table thinking your writing needs to be perfect, you’re just setting yourself up for failure.

‘All art is a work in progress, even when it’s finished.’ I don’t think I’ve seen this stated anywhere but given the number of times I’ve seen authors complain about parts of their published works they wish they’d done differently, I’m just going to throw it out there. Perfection is unattainable and someone will always find fault in what you do. So don’t try and be perfect, try instead to a) be consistent and b) improve your vision. And what I mean by that is develop a writing routine that works for you and make sure when you write and edit you’re making the story clearer for the reader. For first drafts that’s simple because anything you write will be clearer than nothing. (okay, given some of the garbage that’s come out of my head that’s not strictly true but even bad writing is practice on the way to good writing so it’s still useful)

Establish a calm, centered mind

In this section the author gives their thoughts on creating your writing space, writing routine, and not siking yourself out.

“Nonexistent boundaries, unfocused expectations, and lack of routine are the writer’s downfall.” pg. 5

Okay, I’ll agree with this to a point. Especially when you’re first starting out developing your writing habits, and making sure the people around you respect that, can be crucial. However, don’t get so rigid that you can’t adapt to change. Shit happens and you may need to adjust either for life or because your writing needs themselves evolve and change. The best way for you to write right now, may not still be the best way in six months or a year. It’s best not to assume what does and doesn’t work for you now will always be the same. As to the part about expectations… that’s going to be very specific to each author. It’s good to have goals for your writing but if the thought of a specific word count or getting an entire chapter out stresses you out to the point you can’t write, chose a less concrete goal. Anything from I’ll spend at least ten minutes free writing or brainstorming and then see what I can get done on my current WIP to I’ll spend ten minutes thinking about ideas are completely valid. Yes, at some point you want to get words on paper, but forcing yourself to write on demand is a process and it’s usually a bad idea to frustrate yourself to the point you just give up.

The author makes some other points that I’ll summarize: Don’t panic, nothing’s perfect the first time around. Some writing days are better than others, it’s okay to take a break or sleep on it. Don’t place yourself in competitive situations while you’re working on a book. Don’t compare you WIP to the latest bestseller. Write from an authentic part of yourself. Set a pace that works for you and don’t compare it to others. (pgs. 5 & 6)

This is overall good advice in my opinion. The words ‘Don’t Panic’ always bring to mind Hitchers Guide to the Galaxy for me and it’s sound advice. Unless you’re working on a deadline there really isn’t a need to panic, and even then, all it’s likely to do is make things worse.

Some writing days are better than others. This is true no matter who you are. It doesn’t have to mean that your actual writing is bad either. All this means is that some days you won’t be on your A game, at least not for the project you’re currently focusing on. If you need to step away, do it. If you need to work on something else, do that. If you need to completely rework something you already wrote, go for it. Don’t get upset if your brain won’t focus where you think it needs to be. Trust your subconscious to know when you need a breather.

Don’t place yourself in competitive situations. Okay, this one is person specific. Some people thrive off of competition while others shut down completely. You need to feel out what’s best for you but at the beginning it can be one more stressor that sets you up for failure. My suggestion would be to get into a seminormal writing habit before you add something like this into the mix, but again, everyone is different.

Don’t compare you WIP to a bestseller. This should be self evident but almost everyone does it. You think about how much better published works are compared to yours and it freaks you out. The thing about published works is that you don’t see everything that happened before. All the starts and stops and horrible prose that was edited out. It’s the difference between seeing a car for sale at a dealer and seeing it at the beginning of the assembly line in the manufacturing plant. Comparing the two is obviously going to make your WIP look like garbage, at least to you, and that’s not conducive to keeping you excited about your project.

Set a pace that works for you. Basically everything is about what works for you, but in this case it just means don’t compare yourself to authors that put out a book every six months and assume you’re lacking in some way. Especially as a new writer you need to figure out so much before you even worry about pace. Fast is not necessarily good and slow isn’t necessarily bad. Just find your own rhythm and screw anyone who thinks it’s wrong.

Study Your Breed

This section is basically a suggestion that you should figure out the standards that your readers will expect from you in a certain genre so that you know what you can and can’t put in a story. It’s sound advice to a point, and certainly it’s helpful to know what the conventions are before you break them, but this is another one of those issues that’s writer specific.

Yes, if you label a book as a mystery and there’s no mystery people will be a bit peeved. This goes more to story structure in my opinion and some writers my find it constricting to even label their work as a specific genre at the onset, let alone force their writing into a certain mold.

The writer of this article strikes me as a plotter, so if you’re not this may be something you need to look into after you’ve finished a draft to help with getting it published, but if you get stressed out thinking about it before you even start, just ignore it until then. If, on the other hand, you plan everything out in advance, it's very helpful to have genre guidelines to add to your roadmap so you know you’re hitting the right concepts.

Also don’t confuse structure with how you tell a story. The author gives the example of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Wicked. Two stories set in the same basic world and time with vastly different tellings. Given the same plot, it’s unlikely bordering on impossible that two authors will come up with the same story. (I only say bordering on because someone will find an example of it happening just to spite me if I say it’s actually impossible)

Train Your Focus

This section more than any other is what tells me this Author is a plotter. I had to try and read it a few times before my brain didn’t immediately ‘nope’ out. This is one of those things that I needed to read with the thought that I could implement this in the editing rather than the creation stage, but here’s the jist of the authors advice.

“Everything in the story must work to tell the tale.” Pg 8 Sound advice but this author is talking about making all these decisions upfront and not working on anything that doesn’t fit into your outline. Personally I can’t do that, but it seems rather rigid even for a plotter. To each their own though. She says to brainstorm but when it comes time to write, don’t put things in just because you like them. Again, as a pantser this advice is useless to me until the editing phase when I need to fix things because I’ll have no idea if it advances the story until I’m done with it. For plotters it may make sense to do it this way. I will say that no writing is wasted writing. Even if you can’t use it for what you’re currently writing, save everything because you may find a place for it later. The same goes for research. You took the time to do it so don’t throw it out just because you decided not to use it for one project.

Walk Your Inner Dog

This is basically a summary and example of her advice so far but there are two things that are new.

“While you write a book, it’s art. When you’re finished, it’s business. Never confuse the two.” Pg. 10 In other words, don’t worry about marketability until you’re finished writing. This is a highly contentious subject. Some people will tell you you have to consider marketability from the start, others say that it will destroy what will make your writing stand out. As I’ve never published a book, I don’t have a good opinion, but considering I have an issue with ‘write with the reader in mind’ I’m pretty sure it would break my brain if I was constantly trying to decide if my writing would sell.

From Idea to Page in Four Simple Steps.

“You need to realistically outline and throw out what bogs readers down.” Pg 10 Okay, again, this isn’t something that will work for me in the creation stage but it’s something I need to implement in editing. If you can do it at the onset, it will be less work later, but not everyone can see the story in advance.

Step 1: Always begin with your protagonist. This advice is more about making sure they show up within the first page or so of the story than saying that you have to begin your brainstorming around a specific character. It’s solid advice so that your readers have a character to be invested in at the onset.

Step 2: Establish time and place. This is again for the reader. If they’re wondering where the characters are they can lose focus. I don’t necessarily agree that it’s always necessary but it’s a fair general guideline to follow if you’re unsure.

Step 3: Announce the Stakes. In other words, why should we care? Conflict drives story so the sooner you introduce it, no matter how small, the better in most cases. Not many readers are willing to go through five pages of description before you tell them why any of it matters.

Step 4: Organize. For plotters this happens at the beginning and all the way through. For most pantsers it happens at the end, but eventually it does need to be done.

That’s it for Chapter 1 and I think my thoughts were longer than the actual chapter, so sorry about that. Let me know if this was helpful or if you’d rather I be more succinct.

AO3   Intro    Next

Kofi

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[vengfulfate]

One Bad Coffee

Summary: Weiss Schnee spends her time in two worlds, but one bad coffee begins a chain of events that leads to her worlds coming together in a beautiful way.

One Shot written based on the White Rose 2019 prompt Coffee/First (yes I know it's late)

AN: The last few years I have noticed the phenomenon knows as White Rose Week, and it's subsequent partners, and I've always told myself I'd get involved at some point. I, however, have the misfortune of never seeing it coming before it's here and I have no time to prepare for the prompts. Another White Rose Week comes and it is the same story. But I did have this idea based on the day 1 prompts 'Coffee/First', and felt the need to write it regardless. I know it's technically 'late' for the day 1 prompts and I'm still not sure if I'm going to do the other prompts at all, so I was hesitant to officially tag this as 'White Rose Week 2019', but worst case scenario is I drop a tag if it becomes an issue.

'Coffee' takes the form of a coffee shop, 'First' takes the form of 'first IRL meeting'I hope you enjoy!

   ---

Weiss Schnee was a busy woman. She was trying to get her own company off the ground to spite her father, dealing with the social and political backlash of openly attacking him in the process, and subsequently got little time to herself. A quick coffee from a café in the early morning was one of her few short moments, so was it too much to ask the universe for things to go smoothly?

Apparently not.

For starters, her go-to café had apparently closed, and she had no idea until the was staring at the sign on its door apologizing for the permanent shutdown. And with her free time to get a coffee quickly shortening, she didn’t have time to decide where to go next based on any research or recommendations. So, she quickly searched for the closest coffee shop and headed straight there.

SunnyKat Kafé was one of those coffee house names that clearly meant something to the owners personally, and so was clearly small-time. It didn’t matter, as long as Weiss could quickly get some decent caffeine. She would look for another coffee shop tomorrow. She barged through the door, looking up long enough to see no one at the counter. Her attention was firmly re-planted into her phone, trying to damage control her inevitable late-ness before it came to pass.

“Welcome to SunnyKat!” A disturbingly cheerful and strangely familiar female voice rang out. “What can I get you?”

“Vanilla latte made with soy. Please,” Weiss added after a pause like it was an afterthought.

“Coming right up!” The voice seemed to shrug off Weiss’s impoliteness and seeming disinterest.

Her energy almost reminds me of Crescent, Weiss realized, before quickly squashing that thought. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about her nightly activities.

She did manage to smile that morning. It seemed her pre-emptive mitigation for her impending tardiness paid off, and she may even be able to stretch a moment to enjoy her caffeine rather than simply consume it. Maybe the universe only placed a small bump instead of a large pothole on her day. Until she received her drink.

“Here you are, ma’am!” The cheery voice called her to her beverage.

“Thank you,” Weiss nodded to the barista a bit more sincerely along with her slowly rising mood. She raised the cup to lips and took in a mouthful before promptly spitting the mouthful right back out.

“AAIIEE” The barista jumped back.

And so the universe rears its ugly head! “Are you deaf and dumb!? I said soy!” Weiss shouted.

“I’m sorry!” The barista screeched quickly.

“Sorry!? Is that all you have to say!?” Weiss’s day was already bad before it began, and it didn’t help her mood.

“Well, what am I-” the barista began before being cut off.

“It’s not even a complicated order! How hard is it to get right!?” Weiss interrupted.

“I just-” the barista tried again to get a word in.

“I am a paying customer, and you don’t even have the decency to listen!?” Weiss continued unabated.

“If you would let-”

“Do you have anything at all to say for yourself!?”

“Can I-?”

“Oh, never mind, you’re clearly useless. Where is you manager?”

Silence fell while Weiss waited to the barista to do something. “Well?”

“I go get them, ma’am…” the barista walked away, dejected and slightly frustrated.

Weiss impatiently tapped her foot while a barely audible discussion took place in the back rooms. She had managed to buy herself a few extra minutes, and now they were spent dealing with an ignorant barista and a likely apologetic manager. She couldn’t remember having a worse morning in recent memory.

“Hello,” the apparent manager, a woman with amber eyes and raven hair, finally stepped out of the back room. “Allow me to apologize for our mistake. I am willing to make you the correct drink myself, and charge you for neither.”

Weiss didn’t have to time to continue her tirade and nodded. “Vanilla latte. With. Soy.”

The manager nodded and quickly made the correct drink, handing it over with a nod. “I hope you have a better morning.”

“Just tell me that dunce will be reprimanded appropriately,” Weiss demanded.

“We have our policies, I assure you,” The manager spoke vaguely.

It will have to do, Weiss nodded and finally left. With no time to enjoy her coffee, she couldn’t even tell the quality as she downed it.

   ---

Thankfully, the rest of Weiss’s day was not nearly as terrible as her morning. Aside from her father’s usual shenanigans trying to kill her career, things went quite smoothly in the office. She was in a much better mood by the time she got home, and it would only get better before bed. Because, you see, Weiss Schnee has a secret.

Between work and bed, Weiss had more free time than all the rest of her stolen minutes throughout the day put together. A solid few hours where she can do whatever she wants, and in the privacy of her own home no one would even question her chosen indulgence. An indulgence where she could truly be herself, casting aside the cold demeanor that dominated her life even after breaking free of her father and wearing a personality that, she dared say, was a little ‘warmer’.

An indulgence called Remnant Online.

Weiss grabbed a box of takeout and headed right for her computer, booting it up as she quickly sated her hunger. This was where she could be her true self. This is where she found her true friends, even if she has never met them in person. This was where she found her true happiness these days.

Myrten Aster has logged into the sever.

The virtual world loaded around her character, a white-dressed ‘battlemage’ with significant specialization in the ‘mage’ part over the ‘battle’ part. Three other player characters were already in the inn she loaded in to. Ember Celica, a gold-scaled draconic specialized in bare-handed combat and high defense. Gambol Shroud, a black dressed trickster who didn’t fight so much as use tools to inflict status effects on their foes. And finally, Weiss’s closest in-game friend if she had to choose, Crescent Scythe, a very high-level player who managed to combine high speed with using a great-weapon, a legendary scythe she’s apparently had for years before Weiss joined their group.

Crescent Scythe has sent you a party request, for Ember Celica’s party.

You have joined Ember Celica’s party.

Weiss put on her headphones in time to be assaulted by Crescent Scythe’s greeting, “AAASSTTERRR!!!”

“OW!” Weiss flinched, “I have better headphones now, Crescent, you don’t have to scream to get my attention!”

“Sorry, Aster…” Crescent’s voice sounded through the party chat. “I just couldn’t wait for you to get here!”

“I’m not late, am I?” ‘Aster’ asked. I don’t think I am.

“Nah, Crescent’s just excited for the boss!” Ember Celica, the party leader and apparently Crescent’s older sister, spoke up.

“As long as she remembered to place the warp crystal before we logged out this time,” Weiss teased.

“You forget one time…” Crescent bemoaned.

“We lost three floors of progress in that dungeon,” Weiss reminded her.

“One time! One little mistake, I’m sorry I was distracted!” Crescent shouted.

Weiss noticed this outburst was a little out of character. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything…” she apologized, “Are you okay?”

“Crescent had a rough morning at work,” Gambol Shroud informed her. “A, to use her delicate language, ‘butthole’ customer, has been stuck on her mind all day.”

“Warp crystal or no, I just need to beat something up,” Crescent confirmed.

“If they were so in the wrong, why didn’t you say anything?” Weiss’s question was met with giggles and laughter from the other three party members. “What?”

“You’ve never worked in customer service, have you?” Celica asked, “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘the customer is always right’?”

“It doesn’t literally mean ‘the customer is always right’?” Weiss was confused.

“Wow, you really don’t know anything about this, huh?” Crescent commented, “Lucky.”

“C’mon,” Gambol cut in, “Let’s get on with it. We can continue this conversation as we play.”

The group gathered around Crescent as her spell allowed them to pick up the dungeon where they left off the night before. They quickly fell into their battle routine, their roles so clearly defined and practiced between themselves communication wasn’t necessary unless someone had a plan that would take them off-script.

Myrten Aster handled a lot of long-range spells and healing, usually of Ember Celica who drew a ton of aggro and tanked the damage. Gambol Shroud made sure to make the enemies weak to certain spells and damage types. At the front of the charge was Crescent Scythe, hitting for multiple strikes per tick and causing bleeding damage with her legendary scythe.

“So, what does ‘the customer is always right’ really mean?” Weiss picked up where they left off once they had settled into their lull.

“It’s a guideline, in a way,” Celica answered, “The customer is always right, even when they’re wrong. It doesn’t always apply; we can’t give away drinks for free just cause a customer demands it. It’s more for when a customer is being rude.”

“Yeah, when someone’s being a butt, we just have to grin and take it,” Crescent vented.

“If people were to start hearing we regularly shout at customers, we’d begin to lose patronage,” Gambol explained, “Even if we had reason, people will trust a customer’s review over a manager’s assurance.”

“So we have to play nice, even if a customer doesn’t deserve it,” Crescent continued, “And yes, I did make a mistake, but it was a small mistake and she didn’t have to be sooo mean about it!”

“What happened?” Weiss didn’t mind Crescent venting to her. It was strange to hear Crescent angry, and she wanted their happy-go-lucky speed reaper back.

“Have we ever told you where we work?” Celica asked.

“No,” Weiss confirmed, “I do remember you guys saying you all work together once, though.”

“Well, Gambol and I run a coffee shop together, and Crescent is one of our loyal baristas!” Celica announced happily. “It’s our pride and joy.”

A coffee shop? The comment tripped a small twitch that she couldn’t identify in her mind.

“One of my first customers this morning was this important-looking woman I’ve never seen before,” Crescent picked up, “She ordered something with Soy, but I was… distracted, while I made the drink and forgot the Soy part.”

That made Weiss freeze. It can’t be… I mean, what are the chances we all live in the same city? I met them online, after all…

“And, yeah, she might have been lactose intolerant and that could be bad, I know I made a mistake,” Crescent continued uninterrupted, not being able to physically see Weiss’s reaction, “But it was still an understandable mistake, I’d like to think anyway.”

Weiss quickly shook herself and resumed her healing duties before Celica died and she was called out for going AFK mid-combat. “And, um, how did she react?” she asked, still holding some hope.

“She literally spit the coffee in my face, soaking my apron, and yelled at me,” Crescent vented, dashing Weiss’s fleeting hope.

“And you weren’t allowed to say anything because of ‘the customer is always right’?” Weiss pressed, surprised to learn these things. Do I really act this way? Is this how all my waiters and waitresses see me?

“Even if I could, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise!” Crescent shouted, “She demanded I explain myself and then gave me no room to do so before demanding to speak to my boss! I think she was hoping I’d get fired.”

“You didn’t get fired, right?” Weiss asked.

“You think I’d fire my little sister!?” Celica seemed offended.

“Of course not!” Weiss quickly corrected, “That’s not what I meant. I meant would you have if it were anywhere else?”

“Only if the boss was a real jerk,” Crescent affirmed, “Boss-types know how to talk down someone without making promises.”

“And when it’s a customer being unduly rude, there’s usually some silent understanding between manager and employee,” Blake added.

That made Weiss feel slightly better. “Maybe she was just having a bad morning,” Weiss found herself saying without permission from her brain.

“I’ve seen her type plenty,” Gambol countered, “Some self-important VP or CEO or something high up in some corporation. It’s like they don’t understand that the people serving their coffee and cooking their meals are human beings too. I don’t doubt this is far from the first time she’s done this.”

It was only thanks to plenty of practice with her party that Weiss was able to keep fighting while her mind was thrown into turmoil. Is that really how I act? I know I spend most of my day cold and emotionless, but I’d like to think I’m warmer underneath it all… but if I did it to Crescent, I’ve probably done it to others as well… I could blame my father’s method of raising me, but I’ve already broken free of him, so is that really any excuse?

“Aster, you in there?” Celica called out, bringing Weiss back, “You’ve been healing me for the last ten rounds, except we’re not in battle.”

“Sorry!” Weiss quickly returned her mind to RO and her party.

“Can we stop talking about butthole customers now?” Crescent asked, “I’m pretty sure this is the boss gate!”

“Let’s do this!” Celica cried.

“I’m ready to go!” Gambol cheered on.

Weiss pushed the conversation back in her head, promising herself to meditate on these thoughts later and returning to the ‘Aster’ mindset. “He won’t know what’s coming!” She was ready to support her friends.

The fight was long and tedious, but well within the party’s level. The loot was automatically generated based on their characters, and Weiss got a rare rapier for landing the last hit. “Aw, lucky!” Celica complained, “I wanted the last hit bonus…”

“You don’t use weapons?” Gambol reminded her.

“Still, I never seem to get last hit bonuses,” Celica argued.

“We can re-do this dungeon starting tomorrow?” Crescent offered.

“Nah, I’d rather start a new one,” Celica answered, “I think there’s still a couple new dungeons we haven’t touched yet in the far regions.”

As they returned to the inn and wound down the session, Weiss continued to stare at Crescent’s character on screen, imagining the barista from the morning standing there in Crescent Scythe’s place. “Hey, Crescent?”

“Yeah, Aster?” Crescent spoke up.

“I’m sorry about this morning. You’re too sweet to have to deal with… people like that…” Weiss tried to apologize.

“It’s okay, Aster,” Crescent assured, “It’s not like you’re the one who spit on my clothes and shouted at me.”

A pang of guilt shot through her heart.

“I mean, if that’s how she reacted to misplaced soy, can you imagine if she discovered why I was distracted?”

Weiss’s head perked back up. “Why were you distracted?”

“Yes, my hopeless little gay-by sister, why were you distracted?” Celica spoke in a clearly teasing tone that told Weiss the older sister already knew.

Hopeless little what now?

“I… umm…” Crescent didn’t sound like she wanted to confess the point.

“C’mon, don’t be bashful now!” Celica continued to press.

“She was just… pretty…” Crescent admitted, “Like… really, really pretty…”

Not for the first time that night, Weiss’s world was rocked. She had no idea Crescent was even into women, and now she knew where she worked, what she looked like, and that she thought Weiss was pretty? “O-oh…”

“Do you mind…?” Crescent asked carefully.

“Mind what?” Weiss asked, confused. Crescent couldn’t have known Aster was her rude customer.

“Me being gay…?” Crescent clarified.

“Oh, that?” Weiss decided to be cheeky and made her character shrug, “It would be hypocritical of me, honestly.”

“Woah, really!?” Celica seemed more surprised that Crescent.

The night finally ended soon after, giving Weiss plenty to think about. It’s not like you’re the one who spit on my clothes and shouted at me. Except she was. And it made her feel like… well, like a ‘butt’, to think that was how she treated anybody, let alone Crescent. If Myrten Aster couldn’t apologize for Weiss, then Weiss just had to do it in person.

   ---

SunnyKat Kafé stood in front of her once again. This time, Weiss headed straight here, and that meant she had the time to enjoy her coffee and – most importantly – apologize. She stepped inside with a new mindset that had her examining the store around her. Nice and homey, bright art on the walls, little snacks that could be served alongside the café’s coffee, were all visible from the door – and things she failed to notice yesterday.

“He-EL-llo!” The barista with Crescent’s voice called out to her, hoping her squeak went unnoticed.

Of course she’s worried I’m going to yell at her again… Weiss frowned. She approached the counter, examining – and totally not checking out – the woman she knew to be Crescent Scythe. A short mop of messy dark-red hair seemed perfectly in style for Crescent’s personality. A cute, round face perfect for things Weiss really shouldn’t be thinking about. Finally, Gray eyes that looked over Weiss herself expectantly, reminding Weiss she was a customer in a coffee shop.

“Hello, again-” Weiss caught herself before she called the barista ‘Crescent’ and looked to her nametag, “…Ruby.”

“Um, hello again,” Ruby tried her best to be cheery. “It was a, umm… ‘something’ with soy, correct?”

“Vanilla latte made with soy,” Weiss ordered mechanically, “yes, please.”

Ruby blinked, feeling that today’s ‘please’ was a bit more genuine. She quickly got to work while Weiss sat nearby. Ruby was making a point not to let herself get distracted. Weiss could tell because she herself couldn’t take her eyes of the cute girl.

What the hell is wrong with you!? Weiss scolded herself, you’re here to apologize, not to ogle her!

“Here you go!” Ruby handed over the coffee carefully. Weiss took it with a smile and a nod, but her smile failed when she noted Ruby actively taking a step back. As to not get spit on.

Weiss lowered the coffee, figuring now was the time. “Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

It clearly wasn’t what Ruby expected. “What?”

“Last night I was speaking to… a close friend,” Weiss explained, “And they made me realize I had treated you unfairly.”

“So… was it just a bad day?” Ruby asked.

Weiss decided to open up to Ruby. After all, if she were to open up to anyone in her life, it would have been Crescent. “I was raised to believe myself better than everyone else. It took me a long time to break away from that life, and it seems I’m still learning about how to treat people properly.”

“That… kind of sucks,” Ruby nodded. “I think I get it, though. You’re trying to be better, right?”

“Yes, I am…” Weiss admitted shyly.

“Well… this is a good start!” Ruby smiled genuinely, “If it’s not too much for me to say, of course…”

“It’s not,” Weiss smiled. She finally took a sip of her coffee and was pleasantly surprised to discover it was a genuinely good coffee. Maybe I don’t need to find another coffee shop after all…

“Well, enjoy your coffee! I’ve got customers, so…” Ruby awkwardly shuffled away.

Weiss nodded, deciding it was time to go to the rest of her own day. As she left, she found her mind stuck on Crescent’s – or rather Ruby’s – eyes. The had been gray at first, but after her apology they changed. As Ruby’s mood brightened, so did her eyes, until they shined a beautiful silver.

   ---

“Oh, Aster, you’ll never guess what happened today!” Crescent cheered happily as they worked through the next dungeon.

“Oh?” Weiss didn’t have to hide her knowing smile since Ruby couldn’t see it, “Something good, I hope.”

“That mean girl from yesterday came back,” Ruby told her.

“What?” Celica cut in, “You didn’t tell me that. Do I have to smack a- ow!” she was interrupted by taking a massive hit from the mini-boss they were fighting.

“Language,” Gambol chided.

“No, no! She actually came to apologize!” Ruby defended.

“Really?” Gambol seemed surprised.

“Yeah!” Ruby’s voice seemed excited, “She said she was trying to be a better person.”

“Huh,” Gambol sounded thoughtful, “Do you think she meant it?”

“I do,” Ruby acknowledged, “she told me other things that… I’m not exactly comfortable sharing, and I’m positive she meant it!”

“You’ve always had that effect on people,” Celica sounded proud, “So… you crushin’ on Customer Lady?”

Weiss’s heart skipped a beat.

“What? Nooo,” Ruby denied, a bittersweet feeling washing over Weiss, “I don’t even know her. We’ve only spoken twice. Not even. Once, really.”

“I take it by the teasing, you’re not in a relationship?” Weiss asked.

“You’re not gunna start hittin’ on my sis, are ya Aster?” Celica responded. It sounded a lot like a threat.

“Shut up, sis!” Ruby intervened before Weiss had to respond.

“Is there anyone you’re interested in?” Weiss, once again, couldn’t help but ask.

“Is there anyone you’re interested in!?” Ruby countered in a tone Weiss couldn’t decipher.

“Touché…” Weiss nodded. While she felt she knew a lot about her RO friends simply by interacting with them, questions had never become that personal before now. She herself often rebuked questions about her history or career so she could understand wanting to stay quiet, especially online where you never know who is listening.

“You didn’t answer the question…” Gambol pointed out.

“Wait, was I supposed to?” Weiss was sincerely confused. She heard Ruby giggle. “Something you want to say, Crescent?”

“So much you still don’t know…” Ruby teased, “It just reminds me of when I first found you in the Beacon Guild’s hall. You barely knew what a hit point was!”

“Quiet, you!” Weiss’s scold was met the laughter of her friends.

   ---

Weiss’s mornings improved immeasurably once she became a regular to SunnyKat Kafé. She would go so far to say that ‘Weiss’ and ‘Ruby’ had become fast friends. Several weeks passed to reach this day, which started as any other. Weiss entered the store to Ruby’s cheery cry of her name, before the barista immediately set to work on Weiss’s drink that Ruby had long since memorized.

“So how was work yesterday?” Ruby asked, a habit she defended by arguing she didn’t have any way to talk to Weiss in the afternoons.

“It’s getting easier,” Weiss smiled, “I think my father is finally backing off. Or he has some new strategy, and this is just the calm before the storm.”

“I really hope it’s the first one,” Ruby’s smiled that smile that could light a pitch-black room.

“Thank you, Ruby…”

They had their usual short and pleasant conversation, and Weiss felt her resistance waning. She couldn’t hold back anymore, and her next question had been a long time coming. “Hey, Ruby?”

The barista made sure no one was at the counter before turning her attention over, “Yeah, Weiss?”

“Are… you doing anything later today? Around lunch or… maybe dinner?” Weiss gripped her latte tight as her nerves rose.

“Um… are… are you… asking me on a date?” Ruby questioned slowly.

“I… yes,” Weiss cleared her throat, “yes I am.”

“Oh…”

Weiss didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh…’.

“I… don’t get me wrong, you’re great,” Ruby tried to soften the blow, “You’re pretty and I know that you are a good person, even if you don’t think you are yourself, deep down… And I am single… But my heart already wants someone else…”

“…I see…” Weiss nodded slowly. “I’m sorry… to have put you in this position… I need to go to work.”

Weiss retreated quickly, and Ruby didn’t stop her.

   ---

Weiss debated logging on to Remnant Online that night. She knew Ruby had no idea Weiss equaled Myrten Aster, and the party would certainly be missing her. Celica in particular had come to rely on Aster’s healing. I just don’t know if I can separate Ruby and Crescent Scythe. Instead, the young CEO simply stared at the RO launcher.

Private Message received.

Weiss’s eyes were drawn to the corner of the launcher. It was linked to her account, so she could receive private messages even if she wasn’t technically ‘logged in’ to the world of RO. She saw the message came from Crescent Scythe, and hesitated to open it.

Crescent Scythe: Hey, you not logging on today?

Crescent Scythe: I mean, it’s cool if your not, the party just needs to know before we head out.

Crescent Scythe: Not to be ‘that person’, but I can see your reading my messages…

Myrten Aster: You’re** and yes, I’m logging in soon. Just had a rough day, I didn’t know if I was up to questing.

Crescent Scythe: No pressure! If you’re not up it I totally understand! I used you’re right that time, right?

Myrten Aster: It’s fine, I think questing might be a good distraction, in retrospect. And yes, you used it right. ‘See’ you in a moment.

Weiss put on her headphones and jumped into the game. The inn built around Myrten Aster and her party was waiting for her as always.

Crescent Scythe has sent you a party request, for Ember Celica’s party.

You have joined Ember Celica’s party.

“Hey Aster!” Celica greeted, “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, Celica,” Weiss assured.

“You sure?” Celica pressed, “Cause you don’t talk about your real life, but you’ve never skipped a night online either. I doubt this is your first bad day in almost two years.”

“Has it really been that long already?” Weiss was surprised by the knowledge.

“Yeah, and you’ve come so far from the n00b I found in the guild hall!” Ruby laughed.

“Must you always lord that over my head?” Weiss groaned.

“Not until the student surpasses the master,” Ruby replied, putting on a cheesy voice.

“That’s literally impossible. You’re almost twenty levels higher than the rest of us,” Weiss pointed out, “You know I’ve gotten messages asking what blackmail I’m using to keep you around?”

“Really?” Ruby asked, “I… don’t know how to process that.”

“Actually, I have too,” Celica confessed, “I usually just ignore messages unless I recognize the screen name.”

“Same here,” Gambol spoke up.

“That is so weird…” Ruby’s character ran a ‘shake head’ emote. “So! Shall we quest? Maybe Aster will open up once she’s distracted by being knee deep in slimes!”

“Must you lord that over me as well!” Weiss scolded, knowing exactly was Ruby was trying to tease her over, “I didn’t know how to fight back then!” Her comment was only met with laughs.

Teasing finally over, the group made their way into the fields for some basic leveling for Celica, Gambol and Aster. Crescent didn’t need it, clearly, but she still wasn’t going on the next quest alone – even if she could theoretically handle it – and said quest was still a level or two above the rest of them.

“So, are we going to hear about your terrible day, Aster?” Celica asked.

“If you must know,” Weiss searched her head to pick her words carefully, “I was turned down today from something I thought might have been a sure bet…”

“Oh, that does suck,” Celica seemed to properly empathize for once. “Don’t get ice cream all over your keyboard!”

Weiss didn’t retaliate for two reasons. One, she knew Celica’s teasing came from a place of love. And two, she was totally right about Weiss indulging in ice cream while she played. “I know how not to make a mess,” was how she eventually decide to respond.

“So you are eating ice cream?” Celica was surprised, “Damn.”

“That’s… kinda funny,” Ruby responded, somewhat subdued.

“Excuse me?” Weiss asked.

“Nonono!” Ruby panicked, “I mean, I uhh… actually had to turn someone down today, is all.”

“Really?” Celica questioned, “Why am I not hearing about these things?”

Weiss quickly wracked her mind for how she would react before she knew who Crescent really was. “I bet she’s just turning down people all the time!” Weiss winced at herself. She’d call that a 50-50 success.

“Not really,” Ruby admitted, “The only social interactions I really have are with customers in the coffee shop.”

“So it was a customer,” Gambol quickly deduced.

“Who?” Celica quickly jumped in, ready to be Ruby’s big sister.

“It was that regular who was mean to me a long time ago, Weiss,” Ruby confessed.

“I could have told you that would happen,” Gambol told them.

“Why did you turn her down?” Weiss quickly interrupted before anyone could try and dissect Gambol’s comment. She quickly cursed herself for her choice in question doing so.

“B-because… I…” Ruby was hesitant.

“Because she’s already got an eye on someone,” Celica spoke up for her sister.

“YA- I MEAN CELI- AH, YOU… SISTER, YOU!” Ruby screamed, “SHUT UP!”

“What? You’re turning people down for a crush you’ve never pursued,” Celica rationalized, “It’s time to crap or get off the pot.”

“Ew,” Weiss scrunched her nose at the vulgar metaphor.

“So, Crescent does have a crush after all?” Gambol teased.

“If you only talk to people from the coffee shop, is it another regular?” Weiss asked, deciding she’s gone too far already and might as well go all in.

“No, I don’t really talk to any of them. Except Weiss,” Ruby answered, defeated.

“That just leaves Remnant Online,” Gambol seemed interested in unraveling this puzzle herself, “Do you play with anyone else regularly when the rest of us aren’t online?”

She plays without the three of us? Weiss learned, I guess that explains how she maintains her level gap over us.

“Not anyone specific, just anyone who’s free at the moment in the guild,” Ruby continued her slow, defeated reveal.

“So…” Weiss pressed.

“That means…” Gambol seemed closer to the truth herself.

“Well…” Ruby sighed, “Celica is my sister and my boss, and Gambol is both straight and my other boss…”

“That just leaves… Aster…” Gambol finished.

“Yeah…” Ruby confirmed quietly.

Weiss completely froze, her character taking hits from the enemies around the party.

“A-Aster…?” Ruby squeaked, clearly seeing Weiss’s motionless character. “Aster, say something… please…”

Myrten Aster has left the server.

Weiss smashed the log-out button. Her next discernable thought was her curled into her bed, desperately trying to process. She had panicked, oh hell, she had panicked. Her brain just couldn’t take being rejected one moment, and then approached just a few hours later by the same girl. Sure, that girl thought she was talking to two different people, but in all the emotional drama Weiss’s brain was having a hard time comprehending that fact.

When it finally came through as she calmed down a little, Weiss still faced the issue of what exactly she was going to do about it. Weiss had fallen for Ruby, and Crescent had fallen for Aster. The only issue is that Ruby/Crescent didn’t know Weiss was Aster. Weiss did, though, and the ball was in her court now. It was time to come clean, especially if she had any hope of things working out between the two of them.

The next morning, Weiss awoke and noticed RO’s launcher was still on her screen, with twelve new PMs.

Crescent Scythe: Aster! I’m so sorry! Please log back on so we can talk!

Crescent Scythe: Aster? Please log back on…

Crescent Scythe: I’m sorry I freaked you out. Can we still be friends?

Crescent Scythe: We can meet up IRL?

Crescent Scythe: Not in a girlfriend way, of course! In a friend-friend way.

Crescent Scythe: That was stupid of me, wasn’t it? I don’t even know if we live close by. You could be halfway across the world!

Crescent Scythe: You probably would have called me a dolt or something for trying to pull that, haha.

Crescent Scythe: Aster…?

Crescent Scythe: At least you’re not leaving me on ‘read’…

Crescent Scythe: I get it…

Crescent Scythe: If you don’t want to play anymore, I understand… just please let us know. You can message Ember Celica if you don’t want to talk to me.

Crescent Scythe: Goodbye, Myrten Aster.

Reading Ruby’s messages broke Weiss’s heart. Ruby clearly thought she had massively screwed up and was losing Myrten Aster. Weiss knew what she had to do. She had learned lot of things the past few weeks, and while it wasn’t the most important lesson, she knew which one would serve her here. She had to apologize in person.

   ---

From the outside, no one would know something was amiss inside SunnyKat Kafé. But stepping through that door, Weiss could feel it. The energy within was different, and she had a hunch she knew the cause. Behind the counter, Ruby half-heartedly cleaned out the machines. Her eyes were gray.

“Hello, Ruby,” Weiss called out cautiously.

Ruby did a double take. “W-Weiss!? You’re still coming here…?”

Weiss stepped up to the counter, nerves making her bite her lip. “Yeah, I am.”

“I mean, not to be rude, but… why?” Ruby asked. “Isn’t it… awkward…?”

Weiss shook her head. “A little, but… you did ask to meet IRL, Crescent Scythe.”

Weiss could tell Ruby completely shut down for a brief second, blinking blank eyes rapidly. She finally began returning to the world, her mouth flapping and her fingers pointing around randomly. “I don’t under… how did you… that means…” Ruby finally met Weiss’s eyes once again, “Myrten Aster…?”

Weiss nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, properly.”

“But t-that means…” Ruby was struggling to process. Weiss imagined she looked much the same way the previous night. “YANG!” The young barista suddenly called out.

“What’s up, sis!?” Celica’s voice returned the call.

“Can I go on a break!?” Ruby continued to hold a long-distance conversation.

“If no one’s up there, sure! Sun said he’s just around the corner!”

“Thank you!” Ruby shouted one last comment before leading Weiss to one of the few tables. “So… you’re really Myrten Aster?”

“I first met Crescent Scythe in the guild hall for the Beacon Guild,” Weiss answered with indisputable facts, “I had chosen my character based on appearance, and knew nothing about my own stats. I didn’t like being accidently forced into a support role, but you taught me everything I needed to know to survive Remnant Online. You constantly tease me about dying against a group of slimes in my first dungeon. You were my first online friend, and honestly… probably my first friend period.”

Ruby nodded, absorbing the info slowly. “How long have you known I was Crescent Scythe?”

“Since you complained about me to Myrten Aster,” Weiss answered honestly, “You were the ‘close friend’ that taught me the error of my ways.”

“So… you asked me out, and I turned you down…” Ruby articulated her thoughts, “Then I asked you out… no wonder you vanished… that must have been confusing…”

“It was,” Weiss nodded.

“And you’re here now to say…?” Ruby questioned, clearly unsure of herself.

Weiss smiled, “I go to lunch around ten-thirty, eleven… Are you going to be free?”

Ruby’s jaw dropped. That was clearly the last thing she expected. “Y-yeah! Of course!”

“I can send you a message when I’m coming to pick you up, if you’re willing to trade numbers?” Weiss asked.

“Definitely!” Ruby whipped out her phone and followed Weiss’s instructions to add her contact info. “We can do – oh what do people do for a first date – this is a date, right? – Of course it’s a date, dummy! – We can do… coffee…?”

Weiss giggled throughout Ruby’s rambling, even as the redhead became less sure of herself by the end. “A coffee date? Seriously? I can’t a do a coffee date with you.”

“Oh. Why not?” Ruby asked innocently.

“Because then it wouldn’t be you making my coffee,” Weiss answered, turning slightly red herself, “And then the coffee wouldn’t be perfect.”

It was Ruby’s turn to blush, “You think my coffee is perfect…?”

“It is for me, at least,” Weiss nodded.

“Hey, Rubes, I need you back on the counter,” a blonde, large in more ways than one, stepped out of the back while speaking with Celica’s voice. “Sun said he’s going to be late… oh hey. You must be Weiss.”

“Hello, Yang, was it?” Weiss skimmed her memory for whatever Ruby called her big sister a few minutes ago.

“That’s right,” Yang stepped protectively next to Ruby. “No offense, but why are you here? After yesterday… What exactly do you want with my sister?”

“Yang, wait,” Ruby cut in. “Weiss, this is my sister, Yang Xiao Long. Or, Ember Celica.”

“Why are you-”

“And Yang,” Ruby cut her sister off, “This is Weiss Schnee. Or, Myrten Aster.”

Yang blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yup,” Ruby nodded.

Yang stepped back, taking in the information. “So… everything is good here…?”

“Yup,” Ruby nodded again.

“Okay, cool… I’m gunna go bug Blake.”

“I’m guessing Blake is the black-haired one from ‘that day’?” Weiss asked as Yang retreated, “As well as Gambol Shroud?”

“That’s right,” Ruby confirmed.

“As much as I would love to meet everybody, I am already late for work,” Weiss stood up.

“Wait!” Ruby dashed back behind the counter and started working the machines. In record time she had made a vanilla latte with soy. “It’s probably not as ‘perfect’ as usual, but you still need your coffee!”

“Thank you, Ruby,” Weiss smiled, taking a sip. “It is still perfect,” she assured, “I’ll see you around lunchtime!”

“See you then!” Ruby smiled brightly, her eyes once again a gleaming silver.

   ---

This is most likely my only WRW2019 post, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless

[glapplebloom]

Well, if the comics are gonna continue why not let these two meet?

(image  by sonigoku)

Let's pretend that IDW hired me to write a script for a crossover between My Little Pony and Sonic the Hedgehog. Can this actually happen? Well on the Middle Ground we do host Ghost of the Future by Evan Stanley. But that would be like Rooster Teeth hiring me to write an episode of Red Vs Blue because I'm a researcher of Death Battle. Chances are very, VERY small. But in this hypothetical situation, what if I get that shot. For this crossover I'll be following the guidelines of how I presume what Sega allows for IDW. I'm also going to ignore the comics from both sides since I'm going with the assumption people are going to buy this because its a crossover and not because they're fans of said comics. And this will be basically the ideas behind it, nothing concrete. It'll take place after the Coordination and Sonic Forces.

Issue 1 – The Set Up

It begins with Eggman working on a portal with the Chaos Emeralds. Sonic and crew (this being Tails, Knuckles and Amy) coming in to stop him. In one last attack, Sonic knocked Eggman with Cubot and Orbot into the portal, which explodes. Sonic looks worried but Tails reminded him that he was in a similar situation way back and came back. So this isn't likely the last time they've seen him. On the other side, Eggman turns out to be in Discord's realm. Seeing his computers picking up nothing but Chaos Energy all around him, he begins his next big plan. A few moons later, Discord and Fluttershy were having a tea party. Discord doing his usual thing. But the things he creates don't seem to have the same energy they used to. Worried, Fluttershy suggest they go to see Princess Twilight. (Since Discord's realm is so big and he just teleports from his house to anywhere, I doubt he would notice Eggman.)

At the same time, Sonic has been a little restless since there's still no sign of Eggman. Tails told him to relax when Rouge comes in. She asked for their help with Shadow, who is not feeling 100%. When they get there, Shadow still acts cocky but Tails uses his technology to discover Shadow's Chaos Energy is diminishing. If it keeps going like it, he will lose everything. Sonic then makes the connection that Eggman maybe behind this. He's hiding in some dimension where he's draining the Chaos Energy and is likely planning something bigger. So they vow to find Eggman and stop his latest plan. In the Pony World, Twilight discovers the same thing is happening with Discord. And if he doesn't have Chaos Energy, he's going to disappear (like in Discordant Harmony). Discord still has enough magic (with the help from Twilight) to open a portal to his world. Twilight thinks this is something the entire crew have to take care of.

In Sonic's World, Tails manages to recreate the machine and use the Chaos Emeralds as well as a bunch of generators to open the portal to the Chaos Realm. Sonic, Shadow, Amy, Knuckles and Tails will go in to solve the problem while Rogue, Omega and Cream make sure the portal stays open for as long as it can. Because if it closes, its likely they may not come back. With the Ponies, the Main Six are gathered and Twilight and Discord opens the portal. Discord is going to stay behind because as soon as they fix it he can open it again without trouble. Twilight has delegates to keep watch of Canterlot while she's away. Because whatever is happening to Discord can possibly affect all of Equestria. So Twilight, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Spike enter into the Chaos Realm. And as soon as they get in, they are right across Team Sonic.

Issue 2 – The Fight

(Image from Amy Vs Pinkie)

Before the comic, you see a random city background. Then suddenly a big crack appeared. Back in the Chaos Realm, Applejack wonders if those creatures are normal for this world. Fluttershy, who frequently visits Discord, never seen them before in her life. Tails scans them and finds that the seven creatures have the exact opposite frequency of the Chaos Emeralds. That's more than enough for Shadow to go for an attack on them. Shadow goes for a kick but Applejack dodges. This begins the two sides fighting each other. They fight randomly until eventually the party splits up. Sonic takes on Rainbow Dash and after some impressive speed feats one is impressed with the other. Rainbow Dash is impressed someone could keep up with her and says its a shame he can't fly. Sonic then does an impressive stunt and tells her that even without wings, he can still fly.

Tails and Twilight are opponents and while they seem to have a battle of blasts, the fight eventually ends with Twilight commenting on Tails technology. To her, its all theoretical but Tails begins to talk about how it can be done. Applejack takes on Knuckles and between the two of them they're too stubborn to stop fighting each other. Fluttershy, since she's free, is the one who convinces the two of them to stop fighting. Amy takes on Rarity and Spike and she does pretty well against them. Their fight stops when Rarity begins to compliment Amy's outfit. She's flattered and even is open to having modifications done by Rarity. That leaves Shadow to take on Pinkie Pie. Between her own randomness and Shadow's weakened state, he doesn't do well against her. Luckily before he can manage to land a blow, Sonic stopped him. By this point, they got a better understanding of each other and stopped fighting. Shadow reluctantly doing so.

They begin to introduce themselves to each other and agree to work together. Meanwhile Eggman had his security system notice the newly formed team. Eggman has no real concern, but feels he should do something about it. Since he controls the Chaos Energy, he's using Discord's powers to create an army of robots instantly. Cubot and Orbot finds a journal that they think Eggman would like. In it is Discord's plans for Season 9. So with this information, he creates three Metal Versions of Chrysalis, Sombra and Tirek. He gives his three new generals a small army of Badniks and command them to destroy Sonic and his friends. Fluttershy leads the group as they continue to exchange information. Pinkie Pie wonders how one guy can control Discord's Magic and Sonic tells her that Eggman has a lot of experience with Chaos Energy. Then the Metal Villains attacked.

Issue 3 – The Mid-Bosses

(Image from @derangedhyena-art)

Before the comic, a bunch of random islands background. Another big crack appears. Back in the Chaos Realm, the three Metal Villains attack. Metal Chrysalis has her changeling powers, but its more like transformers than magic. And instead of changing into others, she changes into various parts of Eggman robots. Twilight, Spike, Amy and Tails take her on. Spike, Amy and Twilight provide cover as Tails try to hack her. Metal Chrysalis realizes the plan and tries to attack Tails. Twilight stops her with her magic. She's struggles as Tails tries his best to break through her programming. Sadly, its in a chaotic mess and he can't find any sense in it. Before Twilight could lose her hold, Amy jumps on Metal Chrysalis and decides to smash her head off her body. Metal Chrysalis is defeated.

Metal Tirek instead of absorbing Magic he absorbs life energy. Rarity, Knuckles, Applejack and Pinkie Pie take him on. He grabs Pinkie and slowly drains her life energy but a combined punch/kick from Knuckles and Applejack stopped that and restored her. Rarity notices the details of Metal Tirek's designs and instructs the two Muscles to target those parts. They happen to be weak points that help take down the machine. Metal Sombra is basically Sombra. Sonic, Rainbow Dash, Shadow and Fluttershy take him on. To deal with the smoke, Sonic and Rainbow Dash uses their speed to keep him solidified. And with a combination Light Speed Dash and Sonic Rainboom, Sonic and Rainbow destroy Metal Sombra. Shadow wanted to fight but he is growing weaker, so Fluttershy kept an eye on him.

Eggman sees the machines did their jobs: they distracted them long enough for him to complete his latest invention: the Egg Draconequus. With it, he'll finish absorbing all the Chaos Energy in the realm and use it to conquer his world. And eventually all other worlds. The others recover from the attack and try to come up with a strategy. But then they begin to notice the cracks forming around the realm. Twilight theorizes that since Eggman is messing with the Chaos Energy its affecting not only their Chaos Fueled Friends but also other worlds. If they don't stop Eggman, other worlds will be messed up or even destroyed. With this knowledge, they resolve to stop Eggman. Shame for them that they're suddenly teleported to Eggman in his now completed Egg Draconequus.

Issue 4 – The Final Boss

(Image by Combatkaiser)

Random locations, cracks shown. In the Chaos Realm, Eggman begins to show off his powers. He removes the wings and horns off the ponies and Spike, the tails off Tails, makes the hammer too heavy for Amy, Knuckles into a paper cut out (think Thanos to Drax in Infinity War) and Sonic, Shadow and the Earth Ponies stuck in something sticky. Eggman continues to boast saying he is truly unstoppable. But Twilight tells him a friendship speech that activates their Inate Elements of Harmony Powers. With those powers activated, everyone is restored to normal. But that doesn't stop Eggman. If he can't control them, he'll destroy them. This leads to a comic long fight between Eggman and the Heroes, with Eggman eventually getting the upper hand. After getting them all in one spot, Eggman goes for one last blast. But to his surprise it was stopped.

The heroes were protected by a Diamond Shield. The Equestrian Girls Seven (in their human forms) showed up to help. They're not the only ones as Blaze also arrives to attack Eggman's Machine. The comic ends with a splash page of all the Heroes united.

Guaranteed to be in it:

Equestria Girls – Seen above.

MLP Generation 1 – The original classic series. Definitely Twilight, Applejack and Firefly. Others maybe.

MLP Generation 3 – The last Generation.

Sol Dimension – Blaze specifically.

The Future – Silver specifically.

Not sure:

Classic Dimension – They got to have some representation since we're going to have the Classic Generation of Ponies. But if not...

IDW Sonic – Whisper and Tangle to represent the IDW Sonic Comics.

Not likely:

MLP Generation 2 – They don't really have a canon. They just have one PC Game. And even ignoring that, that'll give MLP one more dimension unless we include...

Sonic Boom – For some reason, Sega doesn't want to reference this in IDW. So I doubt they'll allow it.

SatAM – As in just SatAM and not Archie. Super doubtful they'll allow this to be referenced again.

Issue 5 – Endgame

(Image by Dragnmastralex)

All of them fighting the Egg Draconequus. Insert various interactions between generations and interdimensional pairings. Twilight eventually realizing that their best chance is to combine the Magic of Friendship to overcome the Chaos Energy. So the Main Six and the EQ Seven combine their Magic for one blast. But Eggman counters and the two are in a beam struggle. Tails then realize that just because Eggman's machine is absorbing Chaos Energy doesn't mean no one else can use it. So he gets Sonic, Shadow and anyone capable of using Chaos Energy to absorb as much as they can. So we get a bunch of Super Forms from the Sonic Side and Burning Blaze for good measure. With their combined power, alongside the Magic of Friendship, they defeat Eggman. The Main Six offer to give him the stone treatment, but Sonic refuses. Eggman is their problem and they should be the ones to deal with it.

It ends with each pairing giving a goodbye. Sonic saying they hope to meet again and Twilight assuring friendship will last.

And these are my ideas for a proposed IDW Crossover between MLP and Sonic. Think it would work? Do you have better ideas?