#I’ve been picking at this sketch for like a month so here have it

[mikeystrawberry]

Today is Dungeons & Daddies’s 5th Anniversary!

I haven’t been listening for nearly that long but the podcast and all its characters means a lot to me. Happy Anniversary!!!

Throwing the cropped sections under the cut because there’s a lot of stuff going on and I know Tumblr likes to throw half the pixel quality out the window. And also so I can ramble a bit about this piece!!!

This piece has been months in the making, possibly an entire year. And by that I mean I’ve had a sketch of the comp scribbled on my whiteboard for ages because I wanted to save this specifically for 5th anni art. Now onto design stuff!

(First off a random thought: I really love how the garlic knot came out, I kind of want it as an enamel pin.)

I knew I wanted to make this a stained glass piece since the beginning, but I was also going to add flowers at one point but quickly dropped the idea. It felt like too much and I also didn’t want to fuss over flower language assignments for everyone. I was also going to add Doodler tentacles, but also dropped that idea pretty early. Kind of on accident, right at the end, I figured out how to make it even more stained glass-like but taking a duplicated lineart underneath the regular layer and turning the brightness all the way down, then setting it to overlay and adding a guassian blur. It’s very subtle but it adds that tiny bit of depth that makes it look more real. As for shading on the lineart/gold, I tried adding more highlight on the characters who died but once I evened everything out it wasn’t as noticeable anymore so I’m throwing that thought here so the attempt at least known lol.

The order of characters only changed a little bit from my original comp, I flipped the Wilsons and the Oaks so the rainbow could work. As for the anchors, specifically in season 2, I lined them up to the teens since the season 1 anchors lined up with each dad:

Tony —> Scary: his death was the beginning of Scary’s betrayal arc and also Willy killed him.

Guitar Pick —> Taylor: it’s not really aligned with Taylor at all, but the anchor was with Glenn so I put it next to his blunt.

Scroll —> Normal: was only because it was the last left to give him, but there’s the whole scene of him and Hermie in the Green Room so it still works!

Garlic Knot —> Link: one of two that he broke, but the more significant of the two with him telling Grant he never wants to see him again.

Small notes on the season 1 anchors: I put the layer of mold in the overnight oats but you can’t really tell with the overlay. And to make the supper bowl more interesting I added the fantasy sodas mix they dumped into it. The lure of actually drawn before so I just traced my own art lol.

As for the other smaller triangles, it took me a bit to figure out what I wanted to put there. I didn’t even think of adding the vehicles until two days ago but I’m so glad I did. I don’t really have my own take on the mascot version of the Doodler (yet?) so I borrowed the design from one of the stickers in their merch shop. Teeny was terrifying as just a front facing head so I made him cute again.

In the outer circles, I put what I felt was the most significant quotes for each family. I really wanted to use “It’s okay to be angry, it’s not okay to be cruel” but it was just a little too long.

That’s all I can think of! If you read all the way through, thank you for indulging me in my excitement to gush over this piece.

[mactavishwritings]

Fresh Ink

Ghost x Tattoo Artist!Reader

fluff mainly. this may end up becoming multiple parts. I'm not sure yet

you become ghost’s artist and therapist in a way

tw: tattoo needles, retelling of injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four

Being the only tattoo shop within a 10 mile radius of a military base, you’ve seen it all. New recruits who just finished basic wanting to celebrate. Veterans wanting to honor their comrades. Drunk soldiers who’ve lost bets. Soldiers about to be shipped off on suicide missions wanting a way, some way, to be identified.

You’ve seen everything and you did your best to honor each story to the best of your ability. You’ve held the hands of soldiers who would go out and recommend your shop to others, telling them that you were safe and would honor them.

As you set up shop for the day, you looked over your appointment book. You mainly took appointments, but would sometimes take walk-ins. Today, you had a three appointments pretty spaced out so you decided to take a couple walk-ins. You posted on your shop’s social media accounts that you would talk two walk-in and started to sketch your first appointment’s tattoo.

You got pretty far into the tattoo when you heard the bell chime. “Hey, welcome to Dead Shot Ink. My name is (Y/N). How can I help you?” You looked up and saw a man standing in a balaclava mask. You raised an eye brow at him and looked him over. No ink.

“My friend said you tattoo?” A rough british voice came from under the mask and you nodded. “Yeah. The masks stays on, I'm guessing?” He nodded in return, tensing up.

“No worries. I do have a private room if you need it. What’s your name? I’m guessing you want to take one of the walk-ups?” You grabbed your appointment book. He nodded and pulled out his phone. “I'm Ghost. You did my friend, John Price, his tattoo a few months back and he recommended I check out your page. I’ve been meaning to make an appointment, but then I saw you’re talking walk-ins today…”

The name he gave you, John Price, sounded familiar. You nodded along to his words and guided him back to your room. You wrote his name down under your 11:00 spot and had him sit on your tattoo chair. It was a pretty small tattoo parlor since you had just opened, but you were trying to hire more artist.

“So, I do have an appointment coming in at 2. It’s about 11 now so that give us a little under 4 hours. What did you have in mind and where did you want it?” You sat down on your roller chair and grabbed your tablet.

"I'm not really sure. I know you do a lot of like soldier tattoos." Ghost said and he started picking at the skin on his thumb. You forward and gently placed your hand on top of his. "Let me grab something that may help." You stood and quickly walked back to the front of the shop. You grabbed your flash book and brought it back to Ghost.

"Here this may help you decide. What we can do is pick something you like and customize it to your story." You handed him your book and sat back down. Ghost slowly started flipping through the book before settling on a pair of dog tags. You nodded and started drawing.

Soon the stencil was on, dry, and you were ready to go. Ghost was laying back in the chair and you pulled your hair up. "Any particular music you want?" He looked at you for a moment before requesting whatever you wanted. You smiled before putting on (your fav artist). You pushed your sleeves up and got to work.

Every few minutes, you would check in with Ghost. You had your free hand was resting on his bicep since the dog tags were going on his inner forearm close to his elbow. You were on his side, listening and watching for any discomfort. You nodded along to the music and smiled at the tattoo. It was going good and Ghost seemed to like it.

After you finished, you wiped it down and had him look at it in the full body mirror. While you couldn't see his full face, you could see his eyes crinkle into a smile.

-

It had been about 5 months since you had first tattooed Ghost. He would come in every time you posted about taking a walk-in. You were slowly building a half-sleeve for him that was coming together very nicely. He would sometimes come in with new scars or injuries. Never on the side of your tattoos.

"How come you never get hurt on this side?" You asked casually, half way through the next piece. You were slowly getting him to talk to you. "I don't want to ruin your art." He answer oh so casually. You felt your heart skip and your face flushed. "It's art work. You put a lot of time and work into it." He looked down at the other pieces you had done.

"Makes sense." You nodded, your focus shifting back onto the tattoo. Your eyes shifted to the newest scar, "How'd that one happen? Am I going to be turning it into art soon?" You smiled up at him and he chuckled a little.

"Maybe. We'll see how this mission finishes out. I'm lucky I got these three days. This one was a knife fight. Got a little clumsy. You should see the other guy." He smiled. You felt proud that he was opening up to you. As a tattoo artist for soldiers, you had heard tons of mission stories. Ghost's stories were always intense, but told casually as if he had just gone to the grocery store.

"A knife fight? Seems intense. Looks like you won, though. You'll have to teach me." You smiled, dragging the needle down, making a straight line to finish the piece. "All done, Ghost! Go take a peek." You said, wiping away any excess ink.

"Simon...I'm Simon." He said as he walked towards the mirror, not facing you. You smiled and nodded. "Noted. Whatca think? This one pretty much finishes up the half-sleeve. After this, we could go up the arm for a full." You came up behind his hulking figure and showed him what you meant, moving his arm around.

Simon shivered at your touch. He looked over your hands, stained with dried tattoo ink. You arms were covered in your own tattoos. Your nails were painted black and pointed to the uncovered skin on his upper arm. You always worn dark colors, letting the attention fall on your tattoos. Your hair was pulled back and out of your face, but Ghost knew it was soft from the couple of times it touched his arms.

"I like it. I think after this mission we can complete it. Full sleeve sounds nice." Simon whispered, suddenly feeling the closeness between you two. "Thank you. Thank you for being so gentle with me." He looked up at you through the mirror and you nodded.

"Of course. You face so much hardship. You know my shop will always be open for you." You leaned your head against his shoulder and pulled back. "Let me get you wrapped up and you'll be all set." You grabbed your wrapping and wrapped up his fresh ink.

Months had gone by and you hadn't heard from Simon. You had finally gotten enough money to hire a receptionist and it made your life a million times easier. You walked into the shop and your receptionist greeted you warmly. "Morning (Y/N)!"

"Morning Emma! Can I see my book? I wanna see what I have over the next few days, got a client blowin' up my phone." You laughed as she handed you the book. "Oh! Speaking of, you had a call last night. Said you knew him and wanted to make an appointment so I book him for a couple weeks out. He said you would know what he wants. Sounds either crazy hot or crazy mean." Emma winked and you rolled your eyes. "He's booked for the 26th."

You flipped to that day and your smiled brightly. "He's the crazy hot."

Simon Riley.

-

part two?

[minty-mumbles]

Linked Universe Survey 2023

The long awaited results of the survey. Sorry it took me forever, making graphs is hard.

There were 452 responses to the survey as a whole, which is almost double what we got last year, so thank you to everyone who participated!

If you want to see the raw data, you can find that here. I had thoughts about the data, but compiling that into another post would be too much of a hassle. Feel free to send me asks about it though!

The rest of the post will be under a read more as it it large

Demographics

Other: Demigirl (4), Transmasc (3), Grey genderfluid, Unlabeled, Demiboy, Demiagender

Other: Omnisexual (4), Poly (2), Trixic, Abroromantic or Bellusromantic, Demisexual

General Questions

Other: Quotev, Discord, their own google docs

Other: Discord, Variations of "I haven't posted yet, but I pan to" and "I haven't posted my fics in ages",

Other: Wattpad, Deviantart, Discord

Other: Crochet dolls, Custom dolls, Roleplay blogs (2), Fan translations, Headcanons (2), Piano music

The purple section in the “Warriors vs Warrior” chart is supposed to read “Warrior.” I made a typo.

Favorites and Least Favorites

Selected Free Response Answers

im sorry warriors i just can't play your game (it is very very hard. i am stuck very early on in the game)

I love cats meow meow meow

was extremely tempted to put twilight for least favorite. unfortunately he is my favorite to write from the perspective of (he has taken over most of my wips. help) and that probably counts for something. WILD on the other hand. hooo boy how the hell do i characterize this gargoyle. why is he Like That. least favorite it is

Twiddy

very good fandom to be in :) everybody is very nice

It's a straight up crime that Wars lost the aesthetics poll so quickly. He has such a peak Link design with the best colors. Ugh I'm getting wistful.

FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS.

I will fight Hylia herself and the next person who implies Twi can't handle spice. If we're going to lean into him being southern/Midwestern, which is an alright stero type for our rancher, please keep in mind the culture you're basing him off. The south and midwest can handle their spice, I assure you. Have you ever had authentic Louisiana gumbo? It will melt you tongue off. Or some good old fashion spicy fried chicken? I promise the real stuff has quite a kick. (In all seriousness, though. It's more important that you're having fun. And even I can admit the idea of Twi being an Ordonian who can't handle his spice is more than a little funny.)

I am an OoT Link edgelord and have been since early 2017. So, in September of that year, when an artist by the name of jojo56830 puts out a lineup of nine different Links and the Hero of Time is there – the oldest, no eye, Hero’s Shade armor? I saw that one sketch and just thought “oh this is gonna be bad.” Yeah of course he has the coolest design. By the way, it’s only a matter of time until Fierce Deity shows up in the comic and I have reason to believe it could be this current Dawn arc. Dawn … Dawn of a New Day … and who brought about the Dawn of a New Day? Fierce Deity. Twilight is recovering but still injured and what will happen if he falls again? Fierce Deity is coming and we need to be prepared. In this essay I will—

Remember that time when someone put the whole script of the bee movie in here? I’m not that dedicated, and I don’t have that time, but let us remember and hope someone else does it again this time. Cause someone is bound too. We’re all crazy enough to do it. Alright, love you and stay hydrated pls!

Hi! I joined this fandom really recent but i’ve always seen LU stuff on pinterest and elsewhere. Only recently have i actually took the time to understand the fandom and get back into LOZ stuff and i adore the characters and story! The more and more fanart, fanfics, and comics i see about the different Links the more i love them all. It’s such a pain to pick just one i like or one i don’t like because they’re all so unique. I love this fandom and hope to get more involved!! Have a wonderful rest of your day :]

Epona is an underrated queen

your mom

I really don't get why Zelda is called Artemis. Athena makes more sense???? It perplexes me

Anyone seeing this should check out Breanna’s E!Wild AU

Something something queer every Link into oblivion!

[writingpromptsworld]

Prompt #56

When villain broke into the hero’s agency, they didn’t expect to see their posters hanging on every wall of the hero’s office. Pictures from years ago, little drawings lay around on their desk, scraps of their clothes held in a frame like some kind of precious diamonds. It was ridiculous.

They knew to some extent that they and the hero had something between them. A strong pull, a powerful desire, holding them both together. Attached to each other like a delicate string. But what they hadn’t expected was this. This obsession. This mad, crazy obsession that they could feel radiating off the hero’s entire office. It was like the place held every part of the villain. From the smallest detail to the biggest one. They felt a kind of unease, perturbed.

They looked around through all the memories from the little objects splayed everywhere. From the newspapers that displayed their headshots to their over-the-years changing costumes. Everything was so admirable and terrifying at the same time.

There was a clicking of a door opening, and the villain froze in mid air, whilst they were holding up a ring that they remember losing the last time they had fought, which was months ago. They couldn’t believe how long it had been since they had seen the hero.

“Oh, look who’s here.” The hero chuckled, locking the door behind them and coming forward to where the villain was standing, their hands now putting down the ring back on the table.

“I was wondering where my ring went. So, it was here. You’re such a dirty little thief, aren’t you.” The villain murmured, leaning back on the said table. The hero raised their eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t call myself that. I saved it from the cliff where we were fighting and thought to give it back to you after, but unfortunately forgot.” The hero explained themself, as they crossed their hands in front of their chest before uncrossing them again and strolling to where the ring was placed. They picked it up and examined it carefully.

The villain scoffed. “So, you’re a liar too.”

“How so?” The hero asked, not taking their eyes off the ring.

“You’ve been collecting all these things of me like a psychopath. And, I’m supposed to be the crazy one here?” The villain rolled their eyes, moving their hand to take the ring back from the hero. But the hero just snatched it away, frowning.

“I haven’t been “collecting” them. I’ve been merely storing them for you.”

“Oh yeah? Sure. That’s what people say when they are caught, hero.” The villain muttered, moving their feet to the suit they used to wear two years ago. How did the hero even find that?

“Hmmm. No comment”. The hero replied, putting down the ring and coming to stand by the villain.

“Where did you find this suit?” The villain questioned, turning their head to the side to look the hero in their eyes.

“It was in your closet, I found it thrown on the floor like some garbage. I couldn’t believe it. It was and is my favorite costume that I liked the most on you. I had to take it in.” The hero went on, staring at the villain back. A blush adorned their cheeks.

The villain’s eyebrows arched. “You liked it on me the best?”

The hero nodded hesitantly.

“Huh. Interesting. What about those drawings? Are you gonna say you were bored and thought of sketching me, your enemy, to get rid of that boredom?” The villain dared, their body now facing the hero as they stared them down with an intensity in their eyes.

The hero shook their head, and looked down. Not able to hide how flustered they were. “No, no. It definitely wasn’t out of…boredom, so to say. I like drawing, and-and you have an attractive face that I could use as a reference.” They gulped.

The villain smirked. “Do I now? Do you really think I’m attractive, hero?”

The hero’s eyes widened as they lifted their head. “You know, for a well-known person like you; I didn’t think you would be such a hideous thing.” The villain continued, amused.

“I’m not a thing.” The hero said, simply. Their blush deepening, as they tried to move away from the villain. The villain grabbed their wrist and pulled them back. The hero hissed, the grip was tight. Perhaps a little too tight and the villain knew it, because they smiled a little before tutoring their head.

“You don’t care that I called you hideous, but that I called you a thing? Tch.” The villain snorted in what felt like a very disappointed manner to the hero.

The hero swallowed, as they tried again to snatch their wrist away but the villain’s hold on them was too strong. They felt weak, just like how they have been feeling for the past few weeks, thinking of the villain. They couldn’t stop thinking about them, it was like a musical record playing on repeat for hours on ends. It felt undefinable. They felt defeated. The force of the feelings that they had for the villain nearly crushing them.

The villain tugged them closer and brought their face closer to the hero's face and smirked. "Does someone have a little crush on me?"

The hero faltered. "W-what? No."

"You're red as a tomato. What else am I supposed to make of it if not the fact that you're clearly blushing?" The villain wondered, their unoccupied hand moving to the hero's face to brush back a strand of hair from their eyes. The hero flinched at the action, taking a step back even though they wished so hard to let the villain continue, this was no time to get lose in their feelings.

"I am not blushing. You should get your eyes checked." With that, they turned around and broke the moment. The villain raised their eyebrows but said nothing and soon enough, left.

The hero sighed.

[eliotbaum]

FAQ

I made an FAQ about Commissions, online store, brushes etc here a while ago! I'll do a more informative pinned post for people who access tumblr only from their dash, so please refer to the FAQ here under the cut.

What program do you use?

I use Adobe Photoshop CC and Procreate. Photoshop for painting and colouring, Procreate for sketching and inks. 

What brushes do you use?

I can’t share most brushes since I bought them ages ago and don’t have the source for them anymore, sorry. For Photoshop, I use flat or rake brushes, and one flat, calligraphy-like one that tilts with pen sensitivity, and an airbrush that has some kind of grainy paintspray effect. For Procreate, I most commonly use Max Ulichney brushes for textury brushes, standard procreate pencil brushes and Joe’s Fine Ink Line for inks. 

Do you do commissions?

Not right now, no. If I do, I’ll announce it, but on Patreon first. 

Do you have a patreon?

Yes, you can find it here. Support is much appreciated. 💛 

Do you have an online store?

Yes, thought it’s currently closed. Will reopen hopefully in 2024, for abouth a month. Later half of the year more likely.

What’s Heart of Gold? 

Heart of Gold is a mystery/drama webcomic with overarching religious themes that revolves around the tenuous relationship which grows between the main characters Dunant and Ionel.

Is Heart of Gold on Hiatus? Will I be able to purchase volume 1 and 2 in print someday? 

Yes, it’s on hiatus. We sell volume 1 at conventions, and will do our best to sell it online as well. There are some plans for volume 2 in print.

What about your Curse of Strahd campaign/CoS art?

I love to share about our campaign! I have an artbook about it, or rather, the relationship between my PC Kasper and the NPC Lydia. I’d like to make a 2nd volume of it, and maybe something more gen too in print. Feel free to ask… Hoping to do more stuff for it, as always with a big LydiaKasper & Fiona focus haha

How do you color/do you pick your colors?

Honestly, I just experiment a lot. Use the color wheel! Look at how other artists you like use colors! This helps me more than anything. This, and curves sometimes. I’ve been planning to do a tutorial for patreon for a while now, but haven’t gotten around it yet.

What pronouns do you use?

They/Them and He/Him.

[typosandtea]

Got tagged by @irradiatedpiratebooty (Thankyou!) to post some wips…. 😅

No pressure tags for: @sirmanmister @acorncoffeeformysweetheart @charliesvarietyhour @fuzzydreamin @bokatan :]

I’ve got so many abandoned sketches / concepts and very few wips that make it past that because usually by the time I’ve hashed out the sketch I’ve figured out if I like it and if i have the ability to pull off what I am picturing yet ahahah and the ones past sketch are often abandoned for ‘I cant figure out why I don’t like this’ rip

(I’ve also tacked a half written danse fic on the bottom!)

Some active wips✨ (Danse like its 2015, silly comic based on this post, sketch of Murphy and Nathan)

Some I’ll hopefully come back too??????????? (Tacky mug, Danse and Frankie in Far harbor (based on Night Letter by @/watchyourdigits, I paused for falloutober and never picked up again sorry :/ ), Sweetbrew fallout 76)

Proper abandoned rip (Danse as a dnd paladin (a request that I didn’t finish since the vibes are bad, sorry @/never-gonna-danse-again :/), and a silly comic based on this screenshot of mine)

And some writing since I’m trying to figure out how to do that yay ⤵️

(Untitled, unfinished) Danse, 2nd person, Danse is kinda oblivious, ‘How does Danse deal with loving and being truly loved by a railroad sole, even after the events of rr fallout 4.. (poorly)’

Dawes, Worwick, Brach and now Keane. All good soldiers dead too soon, too young, under your command. With a heavy heart you know now that soon you'll watch as you lose Haylen and Rhys too, before succumbing yourself to the ever growing tide of ferals that has been ebbing closer over the course of the battle, it feels like an eternity has passed since you saw Keane fall to the abominations, time seemed to have broken, though you know that its only been half an hour at most. If you survive the onslaught you'll have to organise a proper memorial.. if..

Reload. Aim. Fire. Assess the situation, update tactics. Breathe. Reload. Aim. Fire. Godless heathens! Rhys is injured! Breathe. Reload. BREATHE. Aim. Fi- Fire rains down on the ferals from outside the compound. Reload. Update tactics with Haylen, while more gunfire and another molotov begins to part the irradiated sea of scum. Aim. You catch a glimpse of them. Fire. The remaining abominations are dealt with swiftly, and while thankful for the well timed assist you can't help but to be cautious of them after all of the opposition your team has faced in the commonwealth. You ask them about themselves and they ask about you in return, thinking back you never got a straight answer out of them but no time to think about that now. Leading the way, you fill the silence with a debrief of Gladius' disastrous mission here, after all they had seemed interested in the Brotherhood, even if the sunglasses clad man with them had frowned. Arcjet brings more surprises, in both the unwelcome form of gen 1 synths, and the strangers' apparent combat effectiveness and familiarity with facing them. Between both of your combat prowess, the dilapidated laboratory is soon devoid of any synthetic 'life'.

Choosing to debrief outside you stumble through attempting to compliment their outstanding combat abilities, for a civilian. You part ways after gifting them Righteous authority and an accepted invitation to join the brotherhood, much to the dismay of their companion it seems. On the walk back to the station you realise that you feel lighter than you have in months, if just a little bit crispier too.

Months pass and things have been going well for the soldier, their already good combat skills have been steadily improving, Maxon has promoted them already! They are turning into a model knight, albeit with some unorthodox choices sometimes, but you want them to succeed you know they can!

After a particularly gruelling day of clearing out yet another super mutant nest you mutually decide to camp out in a suitably defensible old house, "you're quite the soldier" you say for not the first time, casual conversation comes easily with them, easier than it has for you in years you realise with a pang. And so you tell them about Kreig and how you are pushing them the same way he pushed you, to grow into the potential you see in them, and then you apologise. For being like Kreig, pushing too hard without explanation or reward. The soldier is silent for a while, before replying, but you see a new glimmer in their eyes, of understanding. They take first watch, and you drift off to sleep easily for the first time in recent memory.

Much progress has been made in the brotherhood's hunt for the institute, with the both or you being assigned more missions near constantly it seems someone has noticed your effectiveness as a team. You've heard whispers of rumours and caught the occasional stares drifting around the prydwen, but you pay them no mind, speculative gossip has never been of any interest to you, especially not something so obviously false as those rumours, that would be inappropriate after all. Your thoughts drift to the soldier, and realise just how much they have come to mean to you and how little you've told them anything about you, how could you have been so selfish after they have bared so much of their soul with you? Their life prewar, the death of their spouse at the hands of the cruel institute mercenary, the hunt for a way into the institute and their overwhelming fear at what they will find there. How much pressure they feel from everyone to be the perfect soldier, you sigh internally thinking about that, you owe them an apology it seems. With your mind made up now you just wait for them to return and for a suitably private moment to present itself. The opportunity arises later that day, they have just returned to the prydwen after a week away, and much to your surprise beeline straight for you with a smile before even turning in their documents or missions. They seem to be oblivious to the stares and raised eyebrows of the mess's other patrons, and a round of suitably authoritative glares ensures they will remain so. Brandis just smiles, damn him.

You warmly accept their request to join them on a routine acquisition for Haylen, but you know by now that no mission will ever be ‘routine’ with them, not that you mind the challenge. En-route to the target zone you cant stop thinking about what you are going to discuss with them, how will you open such a sensitive topic with them? Its been a substantial period of time since you’ve spoken to anyone about back then, not that you could ever forget him, after all how could you when he haunts your sleep like some sort of sorrowful spectre of loss, guilt and pain.

Lost in your ruminations as you are you nearly walk right into the Soldier as they signal ‘hold’ and ‘danger’. Snapping back to reality while cursing yourself for your inattentiveness internally, you spot the obvious threat almost immediately: a roving band of super-mutant scum and worse yet, a suicider. Outstanding. Your friend signals for stealth and for a flanking manoeuvre, you never did understand their insistence on such quiet methods when you both have access to power armour, but you’ve seen enough of their handwork enough to trust their tactics, even with their continual overestimation of your lacking stealth capabilities. As quietly and you can in full power armour you move into position on the opposite side of the pack to them, shoulder your rifle and wait for their signal. You can feel your heart rate quicken in time with the warming thrum from your charging laser rifle as the anticipation and adrenaline flips the switch to combat mode. They don’t keep you waiting long as a well placed laser volley from them sets off the unsuspecting suicider right in the middle of the pack. As the stragglers stupidly turn in the direction of the apparent danger you fire on their backs with deadly accuracy. With the element of surprise now used to its fullest, you charge into optimal combat range as one of the remaining brutes correctly picks you as the bigger threat, Good. Its better if you are the target. A few more well places shots from the both of you and its over as quickly as it started, “Outstanding!” you complement their marksmanship and tactics as they walk over. You notice of the charred abominations still writhing nearby and you put it out of its disgusting misery with a well placed stomp.

The Soldier shows you the location Haylen specified on their pip-boy, its just on the other side of this small commercial district, if the mission goes smoothly you could be back on the prydwen by nightfall, sharing a whisky to chase away the taste of messes’ latest attempt at dinner. You both freeze as you hear the distinctive sound of laser fire nearby, one look and you both move towards the commotion weapons hot. At the first sign of creepy plastic and blue lasers you charge with an “AD VICTORIAM!” but you barely get a round in before mini-gun fire tears through the remaining machines. After ensuring that they were in the clear you join the soldier as they approach the heavily armed newcomer. You meet the strangers glare with a level one of your own, before they can say anything your friend asks what they are doing here, “kicking ass, though it looks like HQ messed up scheduling again” the stranger answers. Ah this must be one of their minutemen acquaintances, you had heard they were getting more active lately, and poor organisation is expected from the civilian militia. The strangely dressed silver haired minuteman explains that the subway has been overrun with gen 1 synths, your friend offers to help, “it would be an Honor to assist in exterminating these abominations” you agree, though this earns you a strange look from the minuteman. No matter. Unbeknownst to you the Soldier and the minuteman share a significant look behind your back. No pathetic synths stand a chance against the three of you as heavily armoured as you all are, you briefly considered extending the minuteman an invitation to join the brotherhood, though you reconsider when they lament the ‘deaths’ of the machines, such a naive outlook would never be allowed to continue in the brotherhood, don't they know how dangerous synths are? With the battle dust settled, “damn!, you’re one ass-kicking angel of death” the stranger compliments your friend as you all backtrack to leave the dingy subway, “agreed, outstanding work as always” you contribute, they are positively beaming at the combined praise. The minutemen leaves with more crude but positive words, its good to see that the minutemen have at least some capable fighters on their side, it is a noble cause.

The target artifact is soon acquired with minor resistance from some more mutants, but the hour is too late to return to the prydwen now. They suggest that a settlement nearby will be a safe place to camp for the night, you agree, and privately hope that the arrangements will be secluded enough for the difficult conversation you have planned. A short walk in the dark later and you both arrive at the small nursery and are immediately accosted by a group of hysterical settlers. Eventually the soldier calms them down enough to learn the location of the kidnapped one, an older man. The mutants are just across the road as it turns out, why on earth they have tolerated living a stones throw from these monstrosities for so long is a mystery, but at least the proximity makes for a brutally quick rescue, you both use the night to you advantage and the monsters are dead before they can even take up arms. The man is injured so you carry him, trusting your friend to have your backs on the way back to the settlement. You mentally resolve to make significant note of how much mutant and synth activity there is in this region in the next mission report. With the settler returned, sustenance and a semi-secure place to set up camp for the night acquired (to be continued oops, 1/4 affinity talks written, the 4th being romance dialog)

[tomato-bird-art]

SF ZINEFEST 2024! Some pictures from the San Francisco Zinefest last week! I had a wonderful time, and it was SUPER busy! thanks everyone who swung by to pick up prints and zines from me, I really appreciate it. It was really heartening to see people enjoy my art and remember me from over the years—I’ve had a very busy year and not as much time to “be an artist” as I’d like, so it was very invigorating to be around other queer artists again in a dedicated and enthusiastic space. When online a lot, you tend to forget how it is to be around art in person, and this was a great reminder of it—also every year, I’m always excited to see the beautiful outfits and fashion of the attendees! Someday I’ll dress up more special, but alas it’s just work and apron for me XD

I also finally got to meet longtime mutual and incredible artist @megamoth in person, and got a copy of their Devilman zine series here I contributed to some years ago! Here’s a pic with a cool itabag as well.

This year, I debuted a few new works:

“Fujo X-Ray Visions”

is a collection of personal comics from the past year I’ve been posting here and on Patreon, mostly about trying to balance life as a cartoonist and as someone pursuing some new career experiences in the healthcare field. Like “Voids and Visions” before it, there’s a bunch of personal stuff and angsting along with regular goofiness.

It’s available now both as a physical zine, as well as a digital download!

“If All The World Were Mine!”

My collection of artwork and comics I’ve done for my medieval rpf side account, @angevinyaoiz over the past couple years. It’s a mix of some serious historical illustrations, goofy cartoons, and nsfw works. It’s probably one of the most “niche” things I’ve ever made or gotten into as of late, but I’m happy for the audience who has appreciated my work over the past several months. It’s available currently as a physical zine purchase on storenvy, and I’m planning on making an expanded digital zine version available later—fill out this form to be notified!

“Best Yaoi Movies of 20th Century Hollywood”

In this collaborative project I did with my friend @titilvating, in the style of classic cut and paste, copied zines, we offer our takes on 19 movies made before the year 2000. Many are acclaimed classics; some are underrated gems.  We made this zine to both introduce folks to the richness possibilities of classic movies; whether longtime cinephiles familiar with queer subtexts,  or young fujos looking for more material to sink their yaoifangs into.  Our sample size caters to our personal tastes rather than “good representation” and reflects a fraction what’s out there, with a focus on western US/European media, but hopefully can serve as a fun introduction and celebration. Old movies are a lotta fun, who would’ve thought?

It’s available now as a free digital download, but contact me if you’re interested in a physical edition as well!”

Other Works:

My print version of “The Sons of God” was very well received! I realized sometimes giving little titles to print pieces make for great conversation starters, and I got to chat a lot about my inspirations for the respective pieces. Grab a physical print here!

Ending Thoughts

Overall, I’m glad I got to meet lots of people this year and also pick up lots of zines! I didn’t have a chance to really browse this time around since it was so busy, but I got to trade a lot with folks and also pick up some cool zines and stickers myself.

For those who’d like to keep up with what I’m doing, follow me here, on Patreon, either as a member or free-follower, since I tend to post my sketches/WIPs there first. For me now, it’s back to the grind of school and also continuing creative projects. I have a lot of stuff I dream of doing, and it’s always a challenge to balance that with what needs to get done. If I learned anything from this event, it’s how valuable it is to connect with people in the real world art space (Something I always learn and forget like every few months.)…also, always bring water and snacks—can never be TOO prepared!

Wishing you all a good autumn,

-Allie

[tippenfunkaport]

Introducing MAYbe I’ll Make This, the easiest month of prompts you’ve ever participated in happening this May 2023.

It’s a chance to share all those ideas you’ve been toying with that you might draw or write someday with no pressure to actually commit to finishing anything!

Participation can be as little as sharing a few words or a single sentence or as involved as a sketch or plot summary, it’s up to you! 

What’s the point?

To fill our fandom tags with fun new ideas and stimuli to get everyone’s creative juices flowing. For fan creators ourselves, it gives us a chance to talk about our ideas with no pressure to deliver. And who knows, hopefully seeing people excited about our ideas might give us extra inspiration and motivation to maybe even work on them someday!

Here’s how it works:

Throughout May, post anything from a few words to a snippet from an idea you’ve been kicking around that you MAY draw or write someday and tag the related fandoms, if any. (Ideas that you've started, have actively in progress or have even started but abandoned are also welcome!) A few sentences about a fic you might write, a sketch you’re still figuring out, or even a long infodump about the AU of your heart, share as much or as little as you want!. It’s not a commitment to make anything, just a fun excuse to talk about your ideas. 

Don’t have any ideas of your own? No problem! You can still participate by boosting the ideas that others post, asking questions and expressing your excitement about the ideas that appeal to you. 

Anyone from any fandom is welcome to participate as well as original writers so please spread the word!

We’ve got 30 days worth of prompts to get you started that you can interpret anyway you like… or ignore entirely and do your own thing. Do all 30, pick and choose, do them out of order, whatever you want! The point is just to have fun and share your ideas! 

That’s it! Just a super chill, low effort way for us all to celebrate those ideas taking up space in our brains that we aren’t quite ready to commit to making yet (or maybe ever). 

Notes

Participants retain all rights to their ideas and first dibs on the writing / drawing of them.

Want feedback on your ideas? Encourage brainstorming? Happy to let someone else take your idea and write it themselves? Add a note to that effect to your post so people know what kind of interactions are welcome. 

Please be supportive of others' ideas and keep overly negative opinions to yourself (especially if they did not ask for feedback). If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all!

You’re welcome to tag your posts with “MAYbe I’ll Make This” or link back to this post to explain the challenge but your host (me) won’t be sharing every post related to this challenge. This is just something I wanted to do for my own purposes to share all the ideas I may never get a chance to write but I’m opening the prompts list to anyone who might like to do the same. 

Questions? Drop me an ask! 

May 2023 Prompts

No Plot Just Vibes

Lives In My Head Rent Free

Sometimes One Must Torture The Blorbos For Enrichment

Completely Self Indulgent

I Just Want Them To Be Happy 😭

Canon Divergent

Inspired By A Movie

Galaxy Brain Of Me, Honestly

No One Wants This But Me

All The Tropes!

Where We’re Going, We Don’t Need Canon

Idea Fueled By Spite

Shameless Excuse For Hurt / Comfort

Inspired By A TV Show

Slaps Idea: This Baby Can Fit So Much Projection!

Yes, I’m Cringe But I’m Free

One! More! Time! 

Totally OOC But Hear Me Out… 

Role Swap

Inspired By Someone Else’s Au

I Hurt Myself With This Idea

Old Tropes, New Tricks

Pretend I’m Good Enough To Pull This Off

It’s Really Just All About This One Scene… 

Crack Treated Seriously 

Seriousness Treated Like Crack 

I’ve Actually Started Working On This

Yes It’s Been Done But Not By Me So

More Of What You’d Call A Character Study

Casually Slides in My OC

Inspired By A Book

[isfjmel-phleg]

@inklings-challenge here is my contribution for day 18's prompt, "friendship."

This is another piece of what will hopefully turn into a full story about Amarantha's visit to Elystan during his holed-up at Endean era. We get to see more of what their friendship looks like at this point, but something is off...

Elystan sank back into the pillows and went silent longer than was strictly comfortable. Amarantha shifted the parcel under her arm to a more visible angle. That got his attention.

“What have you got there?” he asked listlessly.

She shoved it into his hands. “Happy Christmas!”

“It’s not—”

“I know it’s not, but I had no way of getting it to you then. I’ve been waiting for so long.”

He turned it over a few times. “Well, it’s not a stereoscope. Pity. I wanted one of those.”

Amarantha rolled her eyes. “You probably already have at least five.”

“Or six.” He shrugged. “I’ve lost count. And it’s too flat to be one of those souvenir statuettes of Queen Edella that they sell. ‘A Gift from What’s-the-name-of-that-town.’ That sort of thing. That would have been my second choice. You really are dreadful at knowing what to give me.”

“Just open it!” she nearly shouted, bouncing the mattress a little. She couldn’t help fidgeting as she watched him tug at the ribbons and slowly slit the paper with one finger.

Weeks of careful work had gone into this gift. It was in fact her fourth effort, after the first three tries had failed to capture the image in her mind’s eye. Her father had taken her to a shop to have it framed and had even chipped in with the difference when the cost had turned out to exceed her funds. This portrait was the pinnacle of Amarantha’s work to date, and she was almost sorry to have to give it away. But of course Elystan more than anyone else ought to have it. She had spent weeks imagining the look on his face when he saw it, until she could almost have constructed another portrait from that image.

The last of the paper fell away. He kept his head down. She couldn’t see his reaction.

Her portrait depicted the Elystan whom she had observed at Chandemothe Castle just a few months again—an Elystan laughing uproariously at something she had said. His head was thrown back, his eyes were shining, and a broad grin filled out his narrow face. Every feature was delicately outlined in pen strokes, and pencils highlighted his dark hair, pink cheeks, and blue eyes. She had tactfully left out the slightly reddened nose and the dark circles under his eyes. They were not essential to the character she was conveying.

But perhaps they were essential to the Elystan who was now looking from the picture to her and back again with an expression that Amarantha couldn’t read. The presence of the portrait only made it more evident how much he had changed in that short time—how the face had further hollowed and lost its color and the eyes had become red-rimmed and enormous.

“It’s a good likeness,” he said at last.

“Thank you,” said Amarantha.

“Was it a pencil sketch first?”

“Yes.” 

“And then you inked it?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It’s good work.”

“Thank you.”

He set her portrait on the bedside table, face down. “Thank you very much. It was thoughtful of you,” he said in an addressing-diplomats voice.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I hope you like it.”

“I do.”

He hated it.

She had handed him a tangible reminder of a self that apparently he had lost somewhere, a visual slap in the face. And he hated it so much that he couldn’t even insult it.

Amarantha wished she had never come.

His brow furrowed. “But I don’t have anything for you. I was—Christmas was very different this year, and I—I suppose I forgot.”

He had been ill, of course. He had to know that she would have heard about it. Why was he so cagey about admitting it?

“That’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t give it to you to receive anything.”

“But it’s only fair. I know—go to the bookcase. Pick out whatever you like. It’s yours.”

Amarantha didn’t budge. “I am not taking any of your books.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my books. They’re in excellent condition. Well, aside from some notes here and there, but that makes them more interesting. Go on. Take one.”

“I can’t accept something like that. They’re your books. You love them.”

He flipped a hand dismissively. “Take one. I don’t need them anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

Something in his face frightened her. She couldn’t say why.

“I suppose…you’re going to get new ones soon?” she said cautiously. “Is that why?”

He half-shrugged. “Take as many as you like. I don’t care.”

“But—”

“Please.”

His eyes welled up just enough to be noticeable. She knew exactly what he was doing. Elystan never cried unless with strategic intent. He probably wasn’t even capable of it. And he knew that she knew that, so this must be desperation indeed.

“Well, if you’re going to make all that fuss about it—” She slid off the mattress and approached the bookcase reluctantly. Staring at the shelves long enough would convince him she was making a thorough search of his collection, like a vulture ready to scavenge. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she selected one at random and returned to the bed.

Only then did she read the title.

Farewell to Phelep Farrowmere.

The cover illustration was a closed door with the key fallen out of the lock.

Elystan glanced at it. “That’s what I thought you’d choose. You’ll like it.”

Perhaps she would leave it on a table on her way out. Perhaps one of the staff might be able to slip back onto Elystan’s shelf without his noticing.Whatever the case, she knew in her bones that she couldn’t take that book. She shouldn’t.

[unconsiousppldontwantreblogs]

warning me being stupid and dumb about things I like under the cut

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Angel McCarthy, regarding their time missing between the months of January and April, 2012. Original statement given May 15th, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

I… I guess, erm, I should just start, then, right? All right. Ahem. This happened a few months ago, um, New Year’s Eve, exactly. Back in California, USA.  I had been working on my writing, a novel about deities and succubi, when I was struck with a rather severe case of writer’s block. It was late, but I decided to venture out into the forest surrounding my home. I lived with my father, at the time, a rather rude old bastard, but for some reason he… he never minded me leaving, if it was for the forest. Ahem.

I walked out the front door, the crisp, pre-spring air filling my lungs. It was a familiar scent- I grew up playing with my siblings in that house, and- Oh. I’m getting off topic. Right, so, I ventured into the forest, making note of things I could incorporate, or, y’know, use in my story, when I suddenly realized- the part of the woods I had gotten to looked… strange. Different.

Now, that was unusual, since I knew the forest like the back of my hand. I knew the path I had taken well, due to the fact I used to go fruit picking down this path with my brother and sister. It had the same elements, but it had a weird feeling to it: like it was fake, y’know? I’ve had derealization episodes before, but this… it was different. Nonetheless, I steeled myself, and continued.

And for a while, it stayed normal. Or, well, you know, not normal, but, unchanging. I figured I had just had an episode due to the argument I had with my father hours prior. I figured it was just my anxiety acting up. I figured the brighter shades of green flickering on the trees was a trick of the light.

I had only realized something was off when I looked at one of the trees: it looked like a bad model of a tree, like from a 3D game that just didn’t land the mark correctly with its rendering.

And as I progressed, I realized that the trees, and ground, got more pixilated and fake looking. I finally decided enough was enough, so I turned around, but there wasn’t… a forest, anymore. No.

It was a green door. A large green door, with blacked, tinted windows, and golden J-shaped handles. Then I turned around. The same door. I was starting to feel stressed out, but I tried to steel my nerves and think logically. There was probably someone inside. Someone who could help. Maybe.

There wasn’t.

The second I walked inside, I knew something was wrong. There was a strong scent of… Grease and something sour. It made my skin prickle. I almost vomited. I slowly stepped inside, looking around. It seemed to be an arcade. There were huge arcade boxes, air hockey tables, things like that.

I was already regretting going inside, when he showed up.

He was tall. Far too tall to be human. Not that he could’ve been human. No. The only thing humanoid about him was his frame. He was like a figure drawing. Something an art student would sketch up, except, he didn’t have a face. Or rather, he did, but it wasn’t… normal. It was like a bird. Or, maybe, a plague dictor mask. And he was completely hollow. I could see right through him, literally.

His voice was loud, bitcrushed, and seeming to come from everywhere in the arcade, almost as if he was the arcade. So, I asked who he was, and where we were. He laughed, a sort of, ‘Jeheheh’ if that makes sense. J seemed to be a common theme for him. Along with green.

He told me his name was Jota, and we were in Jota’s arcade, a place where “Fun Spreads Like The Plague!” Macabre theme, I muttered, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He took me to a room- It looked like the main dining room to a greasy kid’s pizza joint. Do they have Chuck’E’Cheeze here? Unimportant. It was sort of like that, you know, and the smell of grease seemed to get stronger. He told me to take a seat, and that I had caught him on a good day, not everyone gets such a pleasant interaction with the owner. That’s what he said.

And I could tell he meant it. He definitely had a threatening aura around him. One of his arms was severely… glitchy. Yes, it looked glitched. His fingers on that hand came to sharp, green points, and he carried a green scythe with him. Almost like a god of death.

What I asked next seems stupid now, but I asked him if I was dead. He simply laughed, his Jehehe,  and shook his head. “Far from it. This is the single most alive place you’ll ever be.” He told me, and I felt a shiver go up my spine as I felt he meant it.

I asked how to leave. His expression seemed to falter.

I decided not to ask about it again. I don’t think I would’ve made it out if I asked again.

And then he asked me to play a game. He said it was simple, a short game, it wouldn’t take long. I had a terrible feeling, and… I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I- I have to go.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

Angel attempted to leave, stating that they feared “he was watching” and that “they don’t want him to find [them]”.

I’m honestly not sure what to believe for this one. It’s highly likely that Angel had a long term hallucination, but it doesn’t explain why they were missing for months, with no sign of them being in the woods. 

We cannot question their father for the details, nor either of their siblings, as Michael, Delilah, and Gabriel McCarthy have all sadly passed since then. Angel also refused to come to London for further questioning, which, makes sense, considering the distance and the fact they wish to put all of the happenings at their house behind them. They’ve settled with a wife, Lilith Potter. Hm.

I have a few other statements from them made on the same date, most of them starting with ‘I’m here, might as well’, but as far as I could tell the only mention of that plague doctor was once in an earlier statement, and surrounded by nonsensical ramblings about mirror people, and gods. I know that we don’t need anything getting into the religious territory. Not anymore.

Ahem. Well, I suppose that’s it, then. Though, one thing did come across as strange… I have been able to find a page on the website tumblr that bears striking similarities to the place Angel described. I might have to look into this further. Hmm.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[idontknowreallywhy]

For the fic writers ask game!!

14 how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

40 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

56 What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

p.s. you are definitely a proper writer and a wonderful one!

Rediscovered The Inbox (which tends to hide on the mobile app) -better late than never on a reply??

I did answer 14 already ages ago I think so have been pondering the other two…

40 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I actually just commissioned some art on one particular scene which I am beyond excited about and may well get addicted to that process (note to self, check whether hubby is cool with second mortgage purely for multiple art commissions…) so that is kind of a dream come true (I’m getting WIP sketches etc and doing a lot of happy screaming!) but aside from that one…

There are scenes I feel like I’ve described quite well which could be artable but for others the actual picture stayed mostly in my head because I felt the detail would clog the narrative and I think I describe sound and smell better than visual anyway I think? There definitely one I’d love to see but not sure I’ve ever adequately described Estera for anyone to draw her (tho they’d be welcome to try!) but… if I could magically crystallise any image I’ve written it would be the photo she’s looking at here:

Her gaze shifted to the new photo, framed in blue, that she had recently added to her gallery. Yes, and in the last few months… everything had suddenly changed again. But this time in an indisputably good way. Because the imaginary hero had somehow shed the imaginary bit and become her friend. The two of them grinned manically out of the hasty selfie - hair dishevelled, flushed with adrenaline and drenched in seawater but vividly, irrepressibly alive.

Which was taken just after this scene. And yes, Scooter has destroyed another expensive suit 😏

56 What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

I’m going to try to flip something I often worry is a failing in my stories because the reason I haven’t “fixed” it is because it is actually the bit I feel I’m best at and certainly is the stuff that comes out when I get excited with a sudden NEED to write immediately. So… even though I suspect it makes my fic slooow and the plot languishes in the background…

A thing I love doing and I think I’m getting better at is exploration of the thoughts and feelings of a character in a specific moment/scene. Usually through an inner monologue, sometimes interspersed with dialogue, but I just love picking apart a character’s mind spiral to show where they are mentally on a matter, where they came from and maybe edging them towards some progress. Scott and Virgil are the usual victims of this but I often do it to an OC as well, with the intent of showing one of the main characters’ development through external eyes.

Again, it doesn’t make for exciting, action-filled fic and I sometimes feel guilty for posting 3 chapters covering about 10 mins of events but… actually I enjoy reading that kind of thing from other people so clearly I believe it’s legit story telling when they do it so I’m trying to give myself permission to believe it is when the writer is me :)

Thanks for the ask and the encouragement (which, coming from one of my fave writers, is extra encouraging!)

[deada55]

When the River Meets the Sea - Chapter 12

crossposting: ao3

work summary: A nine-year old in Tomahawk, WI gets glaucoma surgery over Christmas break.

chapter summary: Pickles doesn't want anything. Molly, Calvert, and Seth go to a family function in Fond du Lac.

The freeway was stuffed with holiday travelers. Molly shifted into park in the middle of a two-mile standstill and turned off the engine. The cars in front of her smoked like soldiers in a bar. Exhaust from the next lane dragged across the hood and lingered along the embankment and the road was buried in leaded fog. Delicate snow wove through the standing crowd.

Without running the heat (to save gas), the cab slowly cooled. Without the radio, Molly could hear the other cars’ holiday music cassettes and wheel-clutching profanity to her right and left. The gray sky shone on every empty seat in her car while the station wagon in front of her was bouncing from kids waving their arms and licking windows. 

She started counting Seth’s presents in her head. A new bike, a chemistry set, a pair of green pajamas, a freckle-dipped boy with red hair, sleeping as still as an infant— no, but there was a miniature etch-a-sketch she found that would be fun for Seth’s stocking.

And there would be candy, and more room under the tree. What she bought for Pickles would wait in the bottom of her closet until he came back, sanitized and surly but largely unchanged. Pickles was stubborn, Pickles was insistent, and like any pest, he wouldn’t, can’t, break. He’d come back to more sameness than change, himself included.

_____________________

Now, Molly, being the oldest daughter, couldn’t step foot in her little sister Carol’s house without trying to jump in with the food or Carol’s little ones, who were only five and two. Her family was full of decent people and enough kids to make a football team. In the storm of whining and acrylic sweaters and scuffed patent leather shoes milling around the house, Pickles’ absence went largely unnoticed, so Molly committed herself to the ruse of being a mother of one for Christmas. After all, Seth was the only one she talked about; there’d never been much to say about Pickles.

Of course, Molly’s mother and her oldest little sister, Elaine, wouldn’t let her have it that easy. All four of the women (Molly, Elaine, Carol, and their mother) were at work in the kitchen, browning the tops of wet casseroles and arranging cookies on aluminum platters.

“Was Pickles not feeling well? You know, I’ve been trying to get Ben and Sue to catch chickenpox for the past year and—“ Poor Carol always sounded so frenzied, but she really didn’t have a care in the world between her ears. Her short hair bobbed around with her, and her glasses threatened to come off her nose as she constructed a cheese cube hedgehog with a lump of aluminum foil, toothpicks, and raisins.

“Yeah. He just couldn’t swing it.”

“What’s the matter?” Elaine stopped grating fresh cheese over the wet pineapple casserole Jack’s wife had brought. She pushed her feathered, mousy hair out of her face with her bicep and was careful not to smear any makeup onto her rough, red, wool sleeve.

“A fever he got from sleeping over with a little friend. They both came down with it at the same time, so his mother and I thought it’d be nice to let them weather it together since their family wouldn’t be going anywhere for Christmas.”

Elaine sighed. “He must be pretty sick… It’s a wonder Seth didn’t pick it up. Thank goodness, since Frances’ baby is here.” Three-month-old Holly was delicate but finally well. The front of her green velvet dress was black with drool. She looked just like her grandfather, Molly’s older brother, Thomas.

“Elaine.”

“She looks healthy, that’s all.”

Molly and Elaine looked up from their cutting boards. Elaine turned away and slung the glassy red onions into the salad bowl.

Carol’s son, Ben, made a game out of yanking his sister’s, Sue’s, braids on the living room floor. She left to investigate the screaming, and their mother followed just to stand behind her and get in the way, leaving Molly and Elaine to finish everything.

“Molly,” She began, “where’s Pickles?”

“Don’t test me.” Molly flung open the oven with a thermometer in hand and started poking casseroles.

“I know he’s not sick.”

“Glaucoma is sick.”

“And it’s not contagious.” Elaine halved cherry tomatoes one by one. “Gail and Sue love to see him. I don’t think it’s fair to ground a kid from a family function.”

“Then you’ll love to hear that he isn’t grounded.”

“Then what is it?”

The green beans were at a mean 160 F. Before Molly could dig around in the drawers, Elaine handed her two square potholders.

“He’s sick, I told you. He’s getting his eyes treated.”

“Over Christmas?”

“They had an opening.” Molly pulled an iron trivet off the wall and used it to hold the green beans off of the countertop. “What do you want me to say?”

“I can’t believe you!” 

“Drop it, damn it!”

“Molly!” Bewildered, Elaine jabbed her hip into an open drawer when she tried to lean back onto the counter. 

“Jesus Kelly Christ! I can do what I want with my kids. It worked out the best for our schedule, Pickles doesn’t have to miss school, and he’d hate getting the surgery anyhow. He’ll have more Christmases. It doesn’t mean anything to him.”

“How do you know?” Molly was a year or two older than Elaine, and though she’d always been a little reserved and a little cold, Molly had never been stupid. It wasn’t unlike her to be careless, but Elaine knew Molly could read someone, and Elaine knew Pickles had a hard time keeping secrets. All kids were sentimental, despite how badly they wanted to mimic the easy breath of knowing you had the time and transportation to replace a beloved artifact.

Elaine swallowed and poured herself a glass of water from the tap. “I’m not trying to be upset with you, but why can’t someone stay with him? He’s all by himself—“

“I did it, too, you know,” she snapped. “When I got my tonsils out? There wasn’t any fanfare.” Molly ducked down to check the other casseroles a second time like it’d help them bubble faster. “And I need to take care of Seth and Cal. We can’t afford a hotel. What would they do for Christmas?”

“Surely Calvert can—“ Molly’s forehead crumpled like paper. On cue, Calvert’s laugh burst through the living room, too boisterous and drawn-out for 2:00, louder than the din of the party.

Molly shut the oven and wiped the hot tip of the thermometer on a Santa-printed hand towel, leaving one jolly fellow with a beard full of Cream of Chicken soup. The coffeepot sputtered. The women worked on opposite sides of the kitchen, gathering trash and stacking lids between paper towels. Instead of coming to the center by the stove, Molly started to sort hot trays of breadcrumb-coated slop for a buffet processional, starting by the arch leading to the living room  and ending at the fridge. A layered crown jewel jello salad, standing at a towering twelve inches tall, guarded a public of meringues, Kahlua kisses, and shortbread.

Elaine came around Molly’s left and pecked her on the cheek while she rolled silverware in red paper napkins.

“Want a cigarette?” Molly took it out from Elaine’s fingers and the sisters lit them from the same match from the book in Carol’s spice drawer. Molly pulled the ashtray down from on top of the fridge, and Elaine went bobbing for a couple of beers in the cooler by the back door. 

When they were finally facing one another, flicking the ash off their Winstons the minute a millimeter showed up to protect their new sweaters, Elaine tossed her bangs out of her face and gave Molly a flat-lipped smile.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If anyone mentions Seth’s eye…” When they were all at the door taking their coats off, Molly explained that smacked into the mirror of a car in the parking lot of the grocery store a couple days ago.

“Is he OK?”

“That’s what he’s telling me. It just looks bad.”

“The concealer does help, really. It does.”

“It’s a lot of concealer.”

“Avon?”

“Avon.”

“I bet.” They exchanged a chuckle. “Should we call Pickles’ room to say hello tonight? Would he like that?”

Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t have the number with me… and I doubt he’d want anyone to know. He’s private like that. Half of me thinks he’d be angry if we came to visit.”

“You know he wouldn’t be.”

_____________________

The recovery room got dark; the night sky siphoned away at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and left the ward in shadows. He still wasn’t thirsty and he still didn’t have to pee. He’d taken a frigid tour of the bleachy green bathroom three times already “just in case,” from a nurse guiding him by hand.

His toes had been cold since he woke up the second time around. When he broke out of his confusion, he was greeted by a lone, mousy nurse with downturned eyes with a cup of water, and she stayed for twenty minutes before he soaked his tongue with the tiniest tipple he could sip, but not swallow. 

“I can’t let you go until you use the bathroom.”

The nurse for the evening shift, with upturned eyes, was a broken record. Her pen tapped and her shoes clacked as she walked up and down the hall. She was nice enough, and she wore Pepto pink lipstick, which Pickles could recognize through the shields.

“Can you try one more time? I’d like to get you moved out before it’s time to go to bed.” She came over and pushed down the rail, and he swung his legs out. The first time he stood up, they held his hands, but now they let him step down alone and remember his way to the bathroom. Before he’d stepped off the toilet, he heard her chirp from the other side of the door:

“Did you do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Very good. Come lay back down, and we’ll move you soon.” When he climbed back up, he scrambled under the sheet and the blanket to keep from losing what heat hadn’t evaporated from the mattress. The nurse with the pink lips left. Before too long, a couple more sets of steps came up the hall with a set of squeaky shopping cart wheels. They whispered, “Six hours? Was he holding it?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s done. Are you sure there’s no room in the children’s ward?”

“That’s what I was told, but he’s on a good wing—“

They yanked the curtains open and shoved it around the tracks, pausing only for a second to tell him they were moving him to his real bed for the night. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the light before they lifted him up from behind his knees and around his back and wrapped him like a crescent on the gurney while he traveled through a long yellow hallway.

At the end of the hall was a fork to the left and the right. They ducked into the double doors to the left into a ward of curtained sections, some open, some closed. Men of all ages snored and slumbered, aluminum frames and green curtains brought a barnishness to the great display, the oxygen hissed and swore through tubing and masks, and the clicking pens of the medication cart made their rounds. He was put in the bed closest to that ward’s bathroom and the nurses’ station. The curtains were drawn while they tucked him into the bed. This mattress felt wider and softer but still stiff and rustly. The sheets felt looser.

The recovery room nurses left; the ward nurses said their names once and handed him pills to swallow. He could only manage a meager puff of his inhaler, after two other tries where he didn’t breathe in enough, according to a wiry woman whose white gown hung off of her like a starched men’s dress shirt. She laid him out flat, turned off the light over his bed, said goodnight, and left. 

He curled onto his side when his arms started to get numb and drew his feet in when they got numb and folded his hands in front of his chest when his fingers got numb and buried his ears in his shoulders. Pickles waited all night for sleep. 

It’s not that bad, it’s OK. I’m OK. It’s OK. You got it. It’ll be over before you know it.

His blankets wouldn’t cover him. He gathered them so they’d lay thicker over his folded body and his bare feet, but they slipped around like buttered noodles when he wanted them to stay put, and clung like burrs when he tried to move them. 

Whenever he accidentally opened his eyes, all there was to see was the glowing privacy curtain. Deep coughs and thick, growling snoring echoed and built off of itself like a fugue. As soon as he started to nod off, someone would choke and bark and strip the back of their throat in their sleep. It felt too disrespectful to ignore. His nose was freezing, so he stuck out his bottom lip and blew upwards.

His thin pillow whispered about his parents into his ear.  Their faces sat in his chest like a feeling that could be relieved, like a belch, from giving it voice. How satisfying it sounded to want your Mommy! Crying had never done the same thing for Pickles as it had for Seth, so he’d guarded it like a secret sickness. He mouthed it against the pillowcase.

They’re not coming. You can’t leave but it’s ok. You’re ok. We’re ok. Go to sleep.

As the night went on, he shivered on and off. 

He saw the morning lift the colors of the curtain from dusky blue to peach. A first-shift nurse with obnoxiously tinkly bracelets and more pills jingled towards his bed. He quivered when he sat up, so she reached around his arm to support his back. “Ooh, you’re cold!” she said, and she pulled a second blanket off of the bottom of a metal cart.

The person who came to him with a tan plastic bowl of high-fiber breakfast brushed his fingers when he handed him the silverware, then flat-lipped a goodbye and told someone in the hallway that he looked like he had a fever. While he hovered over his food, a couple different people laid hands on his forehead and the back of his neck and put thermometers under his tongue. They asked him if he felt alright and he nodded for lack of a better answer. A nurse stood back and rapped her pen on her clipboard a couple times.

A pair of socks and a third blanket later, they took away his untouched oatmeal and let him be. He gathered the corner of one of the blankets up and away from the fire-retardant pile growing on his legs and laid his face against it. As he laid down on his side, he closed his eyes and waited to feel better.

If he listened hard, Billy Joel sang over rolling wheels and coughs and grunts.

And when you wake up in the morning,

With your head on fire,

And your eyes too bloody to see;

Go on and cry in your coffee

But don't come bitchin' to me.

He heard one of the rails on his curtain click and broke out of his trance just in time to be sitting up all the way when his lunch tray was brought in. He picked at the army tan broccoli.

“Are you hungry?” This nurse was tall with short hair and dangly earrings that swayed with every word she said.

The most he managed was a shrug.

“Does your stomach hurt?” 

It started hurting in November. He shook his head.

“Have you tried any of it yet?”

He shook his head again and thought about cutting a piece off of the fried fish.

“You need to eat to get better. Everybody knows that! I’ll come back in a minute. Try and take a couple bites.” She wore a smile, even as she turned to check on someone else.

He put a cold piece of bloated broccoli on the end of his fork and into his mouth and the feeling and taste of it made his insides flip. The little bread roll was stale and tough between his teeth. The wet breading on the fried fish patty tasted like freezer, corn oil and salt. He laid himself back against the crushed pillow, pulled his covers higher up on his chest and rested his eyes.

“Did you take a couple bites?” The evidence he left behind was the bitten bread roll, a runaway broccoli bud outside of its pre-portioned section, and the exposed white fish flakes where he’d cut a fish stick in half with the side of a spork.

“You didn’t like it?”

He sat back up for her and shook his head, smoothing his covers back out on his lap before wrapping his arms around his stomach. 

“You didn’t want any water?”

The water cup was still waiting, but he couldn’t touch it. She pulled a clipboard off the end of his bed and flipped to the back until she found one of the intake forms, where “chatty, obnoxious, and contrary” were written to describe his disposition. He stayed sitting up for the nurse with his eye(shields) cast down.

“I tell you what, if you drink that cup of water, I’ll try and bring you something sweet, OK? You need it, I promise. It’s not a trick. Sipping water with medicine doesn’t count.”

She left again and he drank a couple swallows. His lips had been thoroughly bathed in his cup, and bringing himself to drink instead of only holding something in his mouth required focus. An older man down the hallway started talking about cosmic visions and government spies and the USSR.

They took his temperature again and let all the heat out of the bed to check him for a rash. When they were done, a cup of orange Jell-O and the same cup of water were put down on his tray.

“Go on and taste it, will you?”

He sighed and reached for the spoon, but once he’d scooped up a bite, all he wanted to do was put it back.

“Eat it, kid. I don’t have time for games.” 

Her earrings stopped moving. He straightened out his pinched lips and put a scoop in his mouth. She didn’t leave until he’d gulped down every millimeter of tepid gelatin.

“Great.” She took the cup, spoon, and tray and closed the curtain behind her. Pickles sank back and put his pillow over his face… The radio station kept repeating itself.

You had to open up your mouth.

You had to be a big shot, didn't you?

All your friends were so knocked out.

[shaldaar]

The Watchtower

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

This work contains heavy smut at the end, fair warning.

Pronouns for the reader are not used, but is described as being AMAB

The gentle breeze ruffles my long hair as I strum my guitar on the guard tower. Daryl came back with it from a run a few weeks ago. I was honestly surprised he remembered I said I missed playing, I only mentioned it once in passing like two months ago. Rick and the others don’t mind if I play it on watch, as long as I pay attention. Sometimes I play real songs I know from before, but most of the time I just solo strum or finger pick random melodies, as I’m doing right now.

“That’s a new one.” I jump as Daryl speaks behind me, not expecting him to be here just yet.

“I swear, you’re the only person I know who can walk up metal stairs in a tower that echoes and make no noise at all.” I say and continue strumming. He grunts behind me, but says nothing more as he pulls up a chair next to me. I glance over to look at him, and while he’s almost constantly dirty from runs or hunting, he ever ceases to make me forget to breathe. The yellow light from the lamp above us reflects off of his handsome features as he settles into the chair with the rifle on his lap. He sighs and looks up and out past the fence, scouring for walkers. I take one last look at him before I resume my playing, this time I hum a simple tune to match the melody. We sit like that for most of the night, basking in comfortable silence with nothing but the rusting of leaves and my occasional strumming, or the scratch of my pencil as I sketch in my notepad. Every once in a while I hear the rustle of his clothes as he shifts in the chair, sometimes I swear he’s intentionally leaning over to watch me draw, even though he tries to poorly hide it. 

At the six hour mark on our watch, I can tell that the sky is getting lighter, although it’s very slow going. I put my notebook down on the floor beside me so I can stretch and yawn obnoxiously in my chair. He looks over and snorts lightly at me.

“You can go inside the tower and nap for a bit. We only have about thirty minutes left anyways. I'll be fine on my own.” I shake my head through my yawn.

“Nah. I’ll be alright. When I fall asleep it’ll be for the whole day, I’d rather be in my bunk.” He nods, but doesn’t say anything else for a few minutes. I’m fighting with my eyelids by the time he opens his mouth again.

“Hey uh, have you ever…I mean, do you, have you-”

“Just spit it out Dixon.” I interrupt playfully, softly chuckling at his poor communication skills. It’s cute. He rolls his eyes dramatically, but clears his throat and tries again.

“Have you ever, ya know, liked anyone before…?” I look at him stunned for a second, that was the last thing I expected him to say. He refuses to look me in the eye, and the longer I stay silent, the pinker his face gets. I blink a few times to get rid of my shock before I respond.

“I uh, I have yes. Why do you ask?” As soon as the question leaves my lips his body goes rigid and his face turns beat red.

“No reason.” he mumbles, and shifts uncomfortably in the chair. I finally get what’s going on and start to chuckle, trying to mask the disappointment I feel inside, since it’s most likely not me he has a thing for.

“I never thought I’d see the day Daryl Dixon fell for anybody! Who’s the lucky lady?” He doesn’t respond for a moment, but instead stands up and walks away from me completely, mumbling something about ‘regretting this’ to himself.

“Daryl! I’m sorry, I wasn’t making fun of you! I was just surprised is all.” I try to place my hand on his shoulder but he leans away from me. I drop it and sigh and turn to lean on the railing. There’s silence for a beat, then I hear his voice again.

“Can you tell me what it was like? How you knew?” He asks me. Any other person might’ve been upset that he just glossed over what happened, but I know he’s trying to make up for it in his own way.

“Uh, well, I’ve never actually been with anyone before unless it was a one night stand. I wasn’t exactly accepted in modern society. But as far as liking someone? It’s just one of those things that hits you out of the blue one day. One minute you’re drawing, and the next minute you’re sitting in your bunk reeling from the sudden realization. It’s a strong feeling you get to want to love and protect someone, that feels completely different from the way a friend or a family member makes you feel.” I say, still gazing out at the beginning of the sunrise. He makes a small noise of what I assume to be understanding, before he leans on the railing next to me.

“What do you mean about ‘not exactly accepted’”? He asks. I stay quiet for a while, trying to figure out how to phrase it to where he won’t hate me. He gently nudges me with his elbow to encourage me to talk.

“I’m gay, Daryl.” He looks over at me, but his facial features are indecipherable. He doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t leave, or shift away from me like I have a disease. I let the silence drag on, panicking, trying to think of something to say.

“Sooo….who’s the lucky lady?” I ask stupidly. He lets out a surprised laugh, but he doesn’t react explosively like last time, which I take as a good sign. I nudge him the way he did me earlier. He sighs and hangs his head down out of my sight.

“It isn’t a lady.” He mumbles so quietly that I wouldn’t have heard him if we were anywhere but here. I feel a stupid lovestruck grin force its way onto my face.

“You’re gay?! No way dude! Finally, I’m not alone!” I throw my fists in the air next to him, and he looks over at me with a cute relaxed smile on his face, rolling his eyes. “ I figured you’d be super offended by me, considering your background and all. And Merle. In hindsight, that was wrong of me to judge you like that.” He just rolls his eyes, but the smile is still on his face.

“I don’t blame ya’.” I gaze into his eyes for a short while before I snap myself out of it.

“So are you gonna tell me who he is or..?”

“Nope.” He pops the “p.” I groan and flop into my chair dramatically. “WhY?” He chuckles and sits back down next to me.

“Cause. You’d probably hate me.” I look at him confused.

“Daryl I-” The sound of footsteps coming up the metal stairs interrupts me, and shortly after Rick comes up through the trap door, and a moment later, Carl comes in behind him.

“Good mornin’. You guys do okay up here?”

“Mornin’ Rick! Carl. We’re all good! How are you?” I ask cheerfully, standing up to greet them.

“We’re good. Judith kept waking up in the middle of the night, so I didn’t get much sleep.” I look at him with sympathy.

“Oh man, that sucks. How about you kiddo? Get any sleep?” Carl just rolls his eyes at the nickname.

“I guess.” He says in a monotone voice. I ruffle his hair and he voices his protest and tries to swat my hands away. Rick smiles bittersweetly at the scene.

“You okay?

“Yeah it’s just.. Lori did that to him a lot. I’m glad you get along with him so well. He needed a father figure when I wasn’t there.”

“Oh it’s no trouble. I love this goober!” Carl walks away from both of us.

“Can we just start watch Dad?” He asks, loaded with attitude.

“Yeah yeah. Well, anyways, it was nice to see you. They’ve got you and Daryl so busy these days.” Daryl abruptly stands up, grabs his gear, and leaves without saying anything.

“Woah, you guys have a fight or something?” Rick asks, concerned.

“Uh, no I don’t know what that was.” I say, confused at why he just stormed out, especially since Rick is his best friend.

“Huh.” Rick shrugs and starts setting up his stuff with Carl.

“I’m going to go to bed, see you guys later.” They both say their goodbye’s and I leave to go sleep in my cell, too tired to try to hunt Daryl down when, for some reason, he seems to not want to be found.

************************************************************************

A few hours later, I’m woken up by Carol.

“Hey hun, it’s time to get up. Lunch is in a bit and you said you’d help me on the grill today, remember?” I groggily look at her, rub my eyes, and slowly sit up in bed.

“Yeah I do, just give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll meet you out there. She nods and smiles before she starts to walk out of my cell.

“Oh hey, have you seen Daryl today?” She turns to look at me.

“I did earlier this morning, but he didn’t look very happy. He was headed out on a hunt I think. Did something happen between you two last night?” 

“I mean yeah, but nothing bad, we just had a deeper conversation than normal. Actually the most informative one I’ve ever had with him.” She chuckles, as if she knows something I don’t. I squint my eyes at her. “What?”

“Oh nothing, he just gets like that sometimes. Trust issues and all that. Try to talk to him later on when he comes back.” She says before leaving, a few seconds later she pokes her head back in while I’m reaching for my boots. “And hurry up. You’re officially late.” Then she disappears for good. I finish getting dressed and quickly follow after to help with the lunch rush.

************************************************************************

“Nice job on the grill today Mr. (L/N)!” Patrick says excitedly as I serve him a healthy portion of pork and some bread. “You and Mr.Dixon are like, the ultimate team! Standing watch AND helping hunt and cook lunch on the same day? You are awesome! Can I shake your hand?” He asks and sticks his hand out for me. I grin and slap my hand on some raw pig before shaking the kid’s hand. He seems ecstatic at the gesture regardless, and walks back to his table with some of the other kids. As I throw more meat on the grill, I see Daryl walking up with a deer carcass.

“Hi Daryl!” I call out to get his attention. When he looks my way I smile and wave, but he simply grunts and ignores me. He almost looks annoyed. 

“Hey Carol, are you gonna be good for a minute or two?” I turn to ask her. She smiles and nods at me.

“Go get him.” She says before turning back to the grill. I don’t know how that woman knows everything all the time. But she definitely knows I’m so gay for that stupid redneck. I quickly leave the grill area to run after him in the prison. I catch up with him just as he’s dropping off his kill at the kitchen. I wait until he’s done giving instructions to the people working in there before trying to speak with him. 

“Hey man, wait up!” I call out, but this time he doesn’t even glance up, he just rounds the corner into his cellblock. I speed walk after him and catch a glimpse of him walking into his cell, probably to sleep for the first time in almost 18 hours. I walk up to the door and see that his back is to me, and he’s unpacking his backpack on the table he dragged in here from one of the staff rooms. I slap my palm on the cinderblock wall a few times to get his attention.

“What the hell do you want?” His grumpy voice rubs me the wrong way, but I keep calm.

“Are you okay?” He tenses up at the question, but doesn’t respond. I fully step into the room and place my fingertips lightly on his bicep to try to get him to look at me. He roughly shoves them off before resuming unpacking. “Daryl?” He spins around so fast I almost trip trying to take a step back. He’s so angry, and I can't figure out why.

  “I said, what the hell do you want?” He spits at me, the question laced with venom. I stand my ground but try to remain calm, despite feeling like I’m being attacked for no damn reason.

“I want to know why the hell you’re suddenly ignoring me, and why you’re so damn mad.” He takes a few steps forward and collides his forehead with mine, trying to intimidate me. I grab his shirt and shove him into the wall.

“Is it because of our conversation last night? Cause don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone about what you said. I would never do that to you” I say with aggression in my tone becoming softer with every sentance.

“Get the hell off of me.” He growls, the rage in his eyes crystal clear.

“No! Not until you tell me what I did that set you off so bad!” He grabs my hips and throws my body off of his. He just stands there, refusing to look at me, and says nothing.

“Fine then, if you don’t want to tell me you don’t have to. I tried to do right by you.” I leave, furiously wiping tears from my eyes. I go back to my cell and lay down, crying until I fall asleep again.

************************************************************************

This time it’s Glenn who wakes me up.

“Hey man, I know you spent all night on watch, and I’m sorry to wake you, but Daryl has taken all his stuff and locked himself in the East tower, and we aren’t sure why. He won’t let anyone up, not even Carol. He’s stopped talking to us altogether. Maggie and I are in the West tower, so it isn’t affecting us, everyone who’s still awake is just worried about him.” I scoff, and Glenn gives me a weird look.

“Like he would want to talk to me of all people.” 

“What are you talking about? You guys are always together?” I sit up.

“We had a big fight earlier, and he made it pretty fuckin clear he doesn’t want to talk to me, or even have me in his life in general. I don’t even know what I did, he refused to tell me.” Glenn looks at me in sympathy.

“Can you come out anyways? You never know. It could work.” I playfully roll my eyes and stand up.

“I guess so, but don’t be surprised when it pisses him off even more.” Glenn chuckles and stands up with me, and we walk outside together. When we get to the tower, I see that there is a small group of people around it, trying to figure out what to do, Rick among them. When he sees me his face melts into relief and he jogs over to me.

“Thank god you’re here. Hopefully now he’ll come down and stop scarin people.” I chuckle.

“HA! Yeah, we’ll see about that. We had a fight after lunch and I’m pretty sure he despises me now for some reason.” Rick looks stunned for a moment.

“Couldn’t hurt to try.” He turns around to face the tower as I shrug. He places his hands around his mouth to yell up at Daryl. “Hey Daryl! (Y/N) is here! He wants to talk!” There’s a long beat of silence, before his silhouette comes through the door and appears on the railing. A second later we hear the keys to the entrance plop loudly on the ground. I go over and pick them up. I unlock the door, then turn to face everyone.

  “Wish me luck guys.” I wave and shut the door before ascending the stairs. I push the trapdoor open and see Daryl sitting in the corner of the room, the lamp outside the only light source. I climb out before climbing out and sitting in the opposite corner. I lean my elbows on my knees and look him dead in the eyes. He shuffles under my gaze.

“Are you ready to talk now? Or should I save my breath and go back down?” I ask, ice coating my words. He has the grace to lower his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate that, but I still don’t understand what the fuck I did to warrant you treating me the way you did today.” I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms.

“I just…I was trying to-” I cut him off.

“Just spit it out Dixon.” The same phrase as this morning, but it doesn’t have the playful tone anymore. He takes a second to collect himself, and think about what he wants to say.

“I was jealous, and I’ve never…I’ve never felt that before. I didn’t know how to react to it, and I’m sorry.” I stare at him for a moment, my emotions hard to differentiate.

“Jealous of what?”

“Rick.”

“Why?” “You guys were flirting.”

“Flirting? What do you mean-...Oh. Daryl, do you like me?” I gaze at him with growing curiosity. His face turns red again and he nods.

“I’m sorry for treating you like that. It wasn’t right of me, no matter how scared I was to tell you.”

“You’re right, and if you ever treat me like that again I’m breaking up with your ass.” I say, and let him process what I said. After a second, he looks up at me in shock.

“Break up?”

“Break up.” He just stares at me. I roll my eyes. “I like you too, dumbass. Have for a while” His face turns a few shades darker.

“So, what now?” I smirk at him, but say nothing. I stand up and walk over to him. I stick my hand out for him to grab. He looks at it for a second before hesitantly grabbing it. I pull him to his feet, flush against my body. I place my hand securely on his hips and he wraps his arms around my neck and lets them hang down my spine. I lean my head close to his neck and whisper in his ear.

“Is this good?” He shivers at the sound of my voice and presses himself against me.

“Yeah.” He almost pants. I start leaving small pecks on the shell of his ear and I feel his body completely relax. I move down and start kissing his neck and he leans his head to the side to give me access. I start sucking and biting in some places, and his breath gets heavier. I gently lick over the bite marks and I feel his fingers thread through my long tangled hair. I make my way up his jaw, across his cheek, and stop before I kiss his lips.

“Do you want to keep going?” I ask him. I can feel his heart racing next to mine. I can’t tell which one is faster.

“Fuck yeah.” I chuckle before leaning in again. Before my lips finally touch his, Rick’s faint yelling interrupts us.

“Everything okay up there?!” I groan in annoyance and walk out onto the platform outside.

“Yeah we’re fine! We worked everything out and we’re just talking!” 

“Alright, goodnight then!” The crowd slowly disperses and I turn back to Daryl. He’s still standing there, a slight lovestruck look on his face and a clear hard on. I smirk and walk back over to him. I grab him roughly by the hips and pull him into mine. I hold him against me and let him feel my own hard on. He wiggles his hips slightly. I push him forward so his back is pressed into one of the support beams on the wall before grinding my hips into his. His eyes roll in the back of his head. I leave one hand on his hip while the other one snakes into his pretty long hair. I pull his head up slightly before crashing my lips into his. He groans a little, and is awkward at first. I wouldn’t doubt this was his first time kissing someone. Or anything else for that matter. He just doesn’t seem the type to be interested. Well, didn’t.

I start out slow and let him get used to the feeling of my lips, slowly he starts kissing me back and I sigh heavily at the feeling. He wraps his hands around my shoulders from under my arms to keep me in place. I swipe my tongue along his bottom lip before sucking it into my mouth and softly nibbling on it. He slightly moans at the feeling and softly buck his hips into mine. He opens his mouth, allowing me entrance to it. I slide my tongue along his and we both groan at the heat of the other. My hands slide around his body, becoming familiar with his form. I slip my hands under his jacket and vest, making it clear I want to take them off before disconnecting my lips from his.

“Can I?” He just nods and tries to go back in and kiss me, now pawing at my t-shirt. I chuckle into the kiss and slowly push the clothing off of his shoulders. He slides his hands under the hem of my shirt and starts feeling up my stomach. I do the same to him and as soon as my hands hit bare skin he lets out a sigh into my mouth.we briefly stop making out to toss our shirts over our heads. He's reaching for my belt buckle before my lips touch his again. I do the same, and by the time I have his pants unzipped he.s still trying to undo my jean’s button. I slide my hand into his boxers and grab his hard dick, slowly stroking him from base to tip and back again. He shudders and his hands become shaky and his kiss becomes sloppy. I remove my hand and he actually almost whimpers before he catches himself. I undo my own pants and kick off my boots and jeans. He does the same, and we are standing there in just our boxers.

“Lay down.” I say gently, and point to the pile of blankets and sleeping bags and pillows that are left up here for the watch. He does as I say and lays down. I crouch on the ground shortly after him. I grab his knees and pull them apart slowly, before settling in between them. I can feel our dicks rubbing against each other through the fabric, and I can tell he does too because he keeps bucking his hips against me, trying to get friction. I grind down on him and lean in to kiss him as he lets out a quiet moan. After a few minutes of this I get up and pull his boxers completely off, before doing the same with mine. I put two of my fingers in front of his lips.

“Suck.” He grabs my wrist and pulls his hand closer to his mouth, putting my fingers in his mouth. I can feel his tongue all over my fingers and it’s really hard to not imagine what he would look like on his knees. I grab his dick and start stroking it at a steady rhythm, and he starts moaning through most of it. Once I feel my fingers are wet enough I take them out of his mouth.

“You ready?”God he already looks fucked out and I haven’t even done anything yet.

“Yes.” He says with his eyes closed.

“Hey, look at me.” He opens his sapphire blue eyes and gazes into mine. “I want you to know we can stop anytime you want. If you suddenly get uncomfortable, or if it is all too much, just say the word and I’ll stop. I won’t be mad I promise. I want you to feel safe.” He smiles at me, a real smile, and brushes his hand on my cheek, which I lean into. He doesn’t say it, but I know it’s Daryl for thanks. I kiss his forehead before going back and giving his mouth attention. I slide my wet fingers down between his legs to his hole and slowly push them in. He throws his head back and groans, his eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. I stop until he gets adjusted to it.

“Keep goin’, I can take it.” I lean down to kiss all over his neck as I push my fingers fully inside, then slowly back out again, scissoring my fingers to help him stretch out more. His groans slowly turn into moans, and the words ‘faster’ and ‘more’ leave his lips like a chant. I add a third finger that makes his back arch and his chest press into mine. I relish in the skin on skin feeling. I curl my fingers inside of him and he lets out a loud, high pitched sound that was definitely involuntary based on how fast he turns fire engine red.

“Found it.” I lift my head and grin at him. He bashfully looks away. I remove my fingers and spit on my hand.

“Wait, hang on. Check in that pillowcase in the corner.” He tells me. I look at him with a questioning look, but do as he says anyways. I find a condom box and some lube and some toys in the pillow case. I start laughing.

“You prepared?!” I manage to get out through giggles. He sits up and laughs with me.

“No no, I told Carol I liked you a few months ago and she set all this up for when I ‘finally told ya’. It’s the only guard tower the watchstanders don’t use, she said. Figured it would be the best place to sulk.”

“Oh THAT’S why she was acting like she knew something when I was complaining about you earlier!” 

“You complained about me?” I give him a playful incredulous look.

“Do you blame me?” “Alright, alright. Fair enough.” I crawl back over and grab the back of his neck before kissing his forehead. He looks at me, all pink and dumbfounded and starstruck. I chuckle and lightly push him back down on the floor. I open the condom I grabbed with my teeth and wink at him with the wrapper still in my mouth. He flushes all the way to his chest. I roll it onto my dick. Normally I would prefer to not wear one, but since neither of us can get tested anymore, it definitely makes us both feel better. 

I open the cap to the lube and pour it onto my hand before rubbing it all onto my dick, jerking myself off a little bit at the same time. I take the excess and rub it around and inside of Daryl. I hover over him on my elbows and then reach down and line myself up.

“You still wanna do this?” I ask him. He nods and lifts his head up to kiss me. I follow his lips down with his head, and then slowly start sliding myself into him. We moan at the same time, and I feel him clench around me. My hands curl into fists trying not to just bottom out in him all at once at the feeling.

“You gotta relax baby, just breathe.” I say, and lean down to kiss his neck. I stop my hips until he’s ready, and in the meantime I start working on a hickey by his collarbone. I feel his legs shift and before I know it, he’s wrapped them around my hips and squeezed my body, forcing me completely inside of him in the process. We both yell out in pleasure at the sudden and intense motion.

“You-ah~you didn’t have to do that.” He just nods, panting and trying to get words out.

“Got impatient.” I roll my eyes before passionately kissing him. As long as “passionately” means shoving my tongue down his throat. I pull my hips out and start thrusting slowly. He’s so hot, and he keeps clenching around me when he’s already tight at fuck. I don’t know how long I can last with him feeling this good.

“Faster~” He moans. I start to pick up the pace until I’m roughly pounding into him, and we are both loudly panting and moaning. I start to feel my orgasm coming on, so I angle my hips until Daryl makes that high pitched sound again.This time it is much louder. I ram into it over and over and over and his voice pitches up with every thrust.

“I’m close!” He manages to get out.

“Me-ha~ too!” I reply. A few seconds later, my hips start to stutter, and I feel the familiar clenching in my stomach. I keep thrusting into his wet and tight heat, even though it’s sloppy and I’m chasing my orgasm at this point, then I feel the pressure release into the condom. I slam my hips into his a few times, and cry out as my orgasm hits me hard. I hold my hips still and flush to his body, thrusting a few times to help me ride through mine. A second after I cum I hear Daryl scream, and his hole clamps down on me so I can barely move. I almost come again when I see the faces he makes, and watch his dick shoot white ropes all over his stomach. I grab his dick and jack him off a few times while he’s still coming down before leaning down to peck his lips. I run my finger down his stomach to collect some of his sticky white substance before sitting up and bringing it to my mouth and licking the digit clean. He rolls his eyes and looks away, cheeks dusted with pink.

“You taste delicious!” I say playfully, only half joking. He lightly punches me.

“Okay, okay. I throw my hands up in surrender and, regretfully, pull out of him to take off the condom. I tie it up and throw it on the chair in the corner. I’m definitely going to forget to take that out of here. I take one of the spare blankets and wipe my dick off, before folding it to a clean side and wiping Daryl off with it as well. I throw a clean blanket over our bodies after throwing the dirty one on the chair and wrap my arms around his body. He’s stiff at first, but eventually relaxes and allows me to cuddle him. He even throws his arm over my hips. I intertwine my legs with his, and kiss the shell of his ear before whispering into it.

“Goodnight baby, I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” He blows air out of his nose in a tired chuckle. No doubt he’d be rolling his eyes at me if I could see them.

“Me too.” Shortly after, I hear him snoring. I close my eyes and follow after him, drifting off into the best sleep I’ve had in months.

[thoselethalarts]

𝓚𝓪𝔃𝓾𝓸 𝓖𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓻𝓸 - 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂

(SR) Lab Coats (Part 1): "I Can’t Really Turn Back Now."

(NRC: Botanical Garden – Subtropical Zone)

Kazuo: Okaaay... So out of this list of ingredients I’m supposed to collect something called… “Frogdoss Mushroom Caps”. Kazuo: Let’s see… Frogdoss, frogdoss… what does frogdoss look like, exactly…? That’s not exactly a normal plant name… Kazuo: What do my notes say… “A mushroom named for its large, shiny caps, which grow in such a shape that its body resembles a squatting frog or toad. Usually a shade of green, brown, gold.” Kazuo: “Can often be found sprouting on or near rotting logs or in piles of dead leaves and foliage.” Kazuo: That sounds like it should be obvious, so… where is it…? Kazuo: Maybe under this tree…? It’s kinda damp under here, so maybe… Hey, that looks it right there! Kazuo: Lucky me, I found it right away! I’ll take some field sketches first before I go harvesting any, since they’ll be great for my notes~

(Jade approaches Kazuo from behind)

Jade: Good afternoon, Kazuo.

Kazuo: Oh, hey Jade! Sorry, am I in the way?

Jade: A little. I just need to move past you for a moment. I’m cultivating a specimen here under this tree.

Kazuo: A specimen…? Wait, is the frogdoss under here yours?

Jade: Indeed it is! Jade: Magnificent, isn’t it? It took me quite some time to get it grown to this state. Jade: Frogdoss is notoriously finicky to grow in captivity, so this is quite an achievement for me as a budding mycologist.

Jade: I was able to find some substrate that was perfect to create a starter for its mycelium to take root, and filled this log with it so it had plenty of room to grow. Jade: And now here it is. These large, luscious caps are proof of all my hard work and efforts.

Kazuo: It looks great! You did a really good job. Kazuo: Hey, uh, out of curiosity, do you know if there’s any more of it growing here in the botanical gardens?

Jade: Sadly, no. Most mushrooms grown here in the botanical gardens that I’ve been able to find have grown entirely by accident, and they’re usually removed before they can spread into a healthy cluster. Jade: It’s a shame, really. I’d like to advocate for more mushroom cultivation here in the gardens, but as far as I know the only ones we have are the ones I’ve been growing.

Kazuo: Oh, that’s… that kinda sucks, actually. Kazuo: Uh… This might seem kinda rude to ask, but I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with some of your frogdoss, would you?

Jade: What do you mean?

Kazuo: Well, uh… how do I put this… Kazuo: See, I’m taking this advanced alchemical transmutation class, and we’re doing a group project that requires us to do some field work before our next lab assignment. Kazuo: Each group member is supposed to collect a different kind of ingredient, so we can make potions out of them next week. Kazuo: Our ingredients were silver hogweed, thorny whitefruit, and frogdoss caps. Frogdoss is the one that I picked.

Jade: I see… so you want to harvest some to bring back to your class.

Kazuo: Yeah, exactly!

Jade: Then I’m afraid I must decline.

Kazuo: Eh- Why not? I mean, there’s so much you’ve grown I figured maybe just a little…?

Jade: Perhaps so, but you see it’s more difficult than that. Jade: This is a very sensitive mushroom, and if I were to remove even one of the layers of the caps forming its distinctive shape... Jade: The removal process would likely damage the remaining caps, become infected, and then rot. Jade: I’m actually quite proud of my work in developing this fungus. It took me several months to cultivate, and then several weeks for its caps to grow to such an impressive size. Jade: Parting with such a treasure would be like separating me from my own child… I don’t think I’d very much have the heart to simply give it away on a whim.

Kazuo: O-Oh! No, that’s okay! I totally understand. Kazuo: I wouldn’t wanna ask something of you if it means that much to you… that’d be really mean. Kazuo: Though… I told my group that I’d find that specific ingredient, so I can’t really turn back now, it’d throw the whole plan into disorder… Kazuo: I’ll have to find some other way to get it, but… I don’t even know if it grows in here. What am I gonna do…?

Jade: Hm… what if we made an exchange?

Kazuo: Huh? What kind of exchange?

Jade: Parting with such a magnificent fungus is quite heartbreaking for me… but perhaps I’d be willing to part with at least one of its caps if you’d be willing to find me something worth its weight in exchange.

Kazuo: Oh, sure thing! That makes sense to me. What do you need me to get?

Jade: There’s a site just outside of campus where a very rare mushroom is said to grow, but its growth site is also very difficult to get to. Jade: If you could perhaps help me with collecting some of it, then I’d be more than willing to part with some of my beloved frogdoss caps.

Kazuo: Really?! Sure thing! I’d love to help with that! Tell me about it, what does it look like?

Jade: It’s called a “Velvet-Cap Agaricus”. It’s a small mushroom, with a dark purple cap, and its stalk and gills are a pale blue. Jade: It's a parasitic fungus that grows in very high locations, like the tops of trees and on the sides of cliffs, and it can only grow in areas with very high magical density, like our school campus. Jade: I’ve been trying to locate some for a very long time, but as of now I’ve had no luck at all. Purchasing one is out of the question, too, as they’re very expensive due to being so rare.

Kazuo: Huh… and you’re sure there’s some outside of campus?

Jade: I know there must be, we're one of the few locations with prime growth conditions. It’s simply a matter of locating it and collecting it before somebody else does. Jade: If you manage to locate and harvest some of this precious mushroom, I’ll be happy to relinquish my ownership of my beloved frogdoss to you.

Kazuo: Well, I can’t really turn back now, since there’s not going to be any more here in the botanical gardens… I’ll see what I can do!

Jade: Excellent! It’s a deal then. I’ll be looking forward to seeing the fruits of your hard work, heheheh~ Jade: In the meantime, I should probably move my sprout here as soon as possible. Jade: If what you say about your class is true, then this is no longer a safe place to nurture it. Anyone could come by and steal it away without any care for its well-being.

(Jade picks up the log with the mushroom and walks away)

Kazuo: This definitely won’t be easy if even Jade doesn’t know where this mushroom is yet… but I have a week to figure out where this thing might be. Kazuo: I’m not exactly a mycologist, and I’m not all that good at finding things on hikes, but I’m gonna have to try. My good grade depends on it!

/ To be Continued…

[2manyfandoms2count]

The Spirit of Competition

Me? Back for a second chapter almost a year later? Looks like it! Sorry for the wait, this year has been kicking my ass on a certain number of levels, but I'm finally getting into a decent rythm that fits a bit of writing here and there - hopefully this story will get its end before the end of the month!

Hope you like the new chapter <3

Previous | AO3

---

Chapter 2

“Maman, I’ve got it!” Marinette jumped up and down excitedly with her notebook in her hands, sending a couple of loose pages flying in the process.

Sabine smiled at her daughter’s enthusiasm; she’d spent months brainstorming ideas for this year’s Halloween contest. Her daughter was nothing if not dedicated. 

“I can do this,” Marinette said quietly, as if to convince herself, frowning as she revealed her sketch. 

“I know you can,” Sabine replied, pressing a kiss to Marinette’s forehead. “Did you make a list of what you need to make it?” 

Marinette ripped out a page of her notebook and handed it to her, as if it would answer her question — and it did.

Polka-dotted fabric. Lots and lots of polka-dotted fabric.

—

Marinette strode through the Exposition hall with a proud smile, a few gasps sounding in her wake. Her polka-dotted Victorian dress was definitely a success with the audience; her tachycardic heart hoped it would be with the jury, too. 

She slowed down when she reached the competition stages. She kept an eye out for the 8-12 year old age bracket line, which was far shorter than that for the younger demographic, and suddenly regretted leaving Sabine behind at the welcome desk to deal with signing up. 

She sighed in relief when she finally caught sight of the sign, picking up her pace in its direction… and skidding to a halt when she saw the last person standing in line.

To someone looking quickly, the blond boy’s outfit was a classic Victorian suit, the black jacket cut in a thick, velvet-y fabric, which contrasted nicely with his silk almond-green waistcoat. 

Marinette’s trained eye picked up on the jacket’s silky background below the discrete burnout cat-paw print of the coat, matching the waistcoat’s pattern.

Could it be?...

A disbelieving chuckle escaped her lips as she approached, making the boy turn around, and she got her answer. Him .

She hadn't seen him since her first costume contest, despite her yearly participation in the previous six years' editions of the contest; his face and name had already faded by the following year, although she'd held onto the idea that she had a friend potentially waiting for her at the Halloween exhibition for a couple of years. The boy had soon become a distant memory, and yet she continued to make ladybug-themed costumes so he’d recognise her, in case he'd show up again, hopefully in a cat-themed costume.

And he had. 

His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he scanned her, his features finally brightening when his eyes reached her face.

"You!" He beamed. 

His face had obviously changed with time, but the boy’s kind, green eyes definitely rang a bell. As did the literal bell he wore in lieu of a tie. 

"You're back!" She grinned excitedly.

“Yes, finally!” He mirrored her. “My parents kept planning trips for the Toussaint holidays, but this year I convinced them to stay. I’m so glad you’re here too!”

“I’ve come here every year since the last time, and I’ve won every time,” Marinette announced proudly.

“I’m sure you’ll win again this year, your costume is beautiful.”

The boy solemnly inspected Marinette’s dress, walking around her to look at it from all angles. 

“Thanks, I made it myself,” she replied, bashfully playing with the fabric of her skirt. 

“Seriously?” His eyes met hers, full of wonder. “That’s so cool! You should definitely mention it to the jury!”

“You think?” 

“Yeah! It’s a lot more impressive than having someone else make it for you.” He tugged on his bell. “Even though my dad did work hard on this costume.”

“It shows! Did you work with him?” Marinette asked curiously.

“My mum and I went to pick up the fabric, he worked from that and the theme.”

“I had to look up Victorian in the dictionary,” Marinette admitted conspiratorially. “And then I spent some time at the library to find inspiration.”

“My dad made me study everything related to that era when he received the theme.” He rolled his eyes. “Some of it was cool, but I wish we’d at least done a Victorian seaside retreat to be thematic, it would’ve been more fun than sitting in a dark room to watch slides all summer.”

“That sounds intense.” Marinette grimaced. 

The boy was about to answer when Sabine came to join them in the queue.

“You’re all set, my love,” she said as she pinned her daughter’s number sign  on her. 

“Thanks, Maman!” Marinette stood on her tiptoes to kiss her cheek. “Look who’s here!” 

“Hi, Ma’am.” Adrien shuffled shyly as Sabine turned towards him. “I don’t know if you remember me…”

“Adrien, right?” Sabine smiled warmly. Adrien nodded excitedly, and Marinette silently thanked her mother’s great memory with names. “Look at you, you’ve grown up so much! And that costume looks great, I think you two will be each other’s main competition this year once again.”

“Oh, I don’t know, a contestant-made costume is a lot more impressive.” He blushed.

“It’s true that my Marinette worked very hard on her costume.” Sabine stroked her daughter’s hair affectionately. “Is your mother here this year as well?”

“Yes, she went to sit down already, she was feeling a little tired.” Adrien smiled.

“Well then, I’ll see if I can find her. See you two later! Try and stick together if you can.”

“As if I’d stray away from my only friend here,” Adrien whispered as they watched Sabine walk away.

“No way I’m letting you go, I can’t remember much from last time, but I know it was a lot more fun than the other years!” Marinette laughed.

“Really?” Adrien looked at her with eyes that reminded her of a kitten. 

She nodded, about to expand on the thought, when one of the organisers started calling the contestants to the stage.

“May the best of us win!” they both said at the same time.

—

“In second place, please welcome Adrien Agreste!” the jury’s president called out. 

Marinette turned towards her friend, clapping excitedly. He smiled at her as he got up, and winked, but she didn't notice, too focused on the roaring of her pulse.

Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest. If Adrien's costume had only gotten second place, then maybe…

"And the first place goes to… Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" 

The laureate squealed and squeezed Sabine's hand, making her mother wince through her congratulations. 

On stage, Adrien hooted. 

Marinette sprung out of her seat and all but skipped towards the stage.

“I told you you’d win!” Adrien beamed at her from the second step of the podium.

“Thanks for giving me the tip,” Marinette answered. “About telling them I’d made my costume,” she clarified for his confused frown.

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without it.” He waved her thanks away, before posing for the customary podium picture. 

They didn’t get a chance to talk about it again, as Sabine and Emilie swooped in after they were done receiving their prizes, and they visited the other stalls, like they had six years prior.

“So…” Marinette looked shyly at her feet later, as the four of them stood in front of the exhibition hall, the Agrestes waiting for their car. “That’s one victory for you, and one for me.”

“You said you’d won all those other times, though?” Adrien interrupted her.

“It didn’t really count. You weren’t there.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, we’re tied now, so you better show up again so get a clear winner!” She looked at him with a slight frown. 

“Okay, I promise we’ll meet again.” He held out his little finger, and she held it wit hers.

“I’ll hold you to it!”

[dramatic-squirrel]

Daminette December Day 20- Rage

@maribat-calendar-events

“Are you sure about this Marinette?” Tikki asked, concern for her holder clear in her voice. “You just left, but wouldn’t talking about the problem be better?” 

As she paced back and forth in her room, she barely heard Tikki over the roar of her own thoughts. “I just can’t do this right now. I mean, he’s just so… aargh! It’s just so frustrating!” she trembled. She tried to calm down with a few breathing techniques she picked up during the akuma situation, but all didn’t help. “He just always has to have the last word. And he just always has to be right about everything!” She grabbed the nearest object and threw it as hard as she could at her chaise lounge chair.

Tikki flew up in front of Marinette’s face. “Well maybe you should try to see it from his perspective? Communication is key to a healthy relationship.” Marinette just shook her head and took out her sketchbook, calm enough to at least not tear all of her pages.

“I do try. We’ve dated for six months at this point and  know more things about Damian than most people. It just feels like he never tries to see where I’m coming from.” Her sketch became rougher as she thought back to their argument.

She couldn’t get over it. His attitude, the way he treated everyone. She understood that he came from a wealthy family, and he wasn’t even that rude most of the time, just standoffish. But then he had to go around and look down on Alya like that, and that was completely unacceptable. The worst part about it was that he wouldn’t explain himself. As if what he did was obvious and that she was insane for being offended by the way he acted. 

The page tore beneath her pencil and with a huff she threw the pencil away. Setting the sketchbook down she decided she needed to let out her aggression some other way, so she grabbed her bag and left for the gym. The walk over helped calm her down slightly, and then she thought about everything all over again and she grit her teeth all over again.

Immediately upon arrival she made her way over to a punching bag and setting her things to the side for a moment, she began practicing her kicks. Ten minutes in, she didn’t feel any better but she did switch to punching instead. That’s when Damian showed up. How he found her, she didn’t know or care.

“Go away, Damian.”

“I’ve been informed that I may have been insensitive to your feelings, so I am here to apologize.”

She didn’t pause, “Did Dick tell you that? Or was it Jon?” Damian didn’t confirm nor deny it. “Either way I don’t want to hear it. You don’t even know what you're apologizing for, do you?” Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and she finally stopped. She was tired, but the rage was still there. “You’re an insensitive prick! I can’t be with someone who would treat my friends like that!” 

He was stoic in the face of her shouting. “You are right. I’m not sure why I have to be polite to a backstabber.”

“Backstabber?!”

“She all but turned her back on you when your classmate Lila entered the class. Kagami informed me about the situation. If she was willing to do it once, then she would be willing to do it again.”

The anger she felt simmered down, still there but suddenly less righteous. “She apologized for that, and she has more than made up for it to me.” Marinette couldn’t meet Damian’s gaze as she thought about those times again.

“If you’re satisfied with that, then that’s your prerogative. But, I can neither respect nor trust someone who has hurt you. If it makes you feel better, I still hate my own father for the things he has done to my siblings.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.” She seethed, then collected herself, remembering they were still at the gym. They had already made a spectacle of themselves, it was better to not make it worse. Grabbing her stuff, she made for the exit, Damian following her. “Whatever your thoughts about my friends, the least you can do is be courteous towards them.”

Damian grabbed the door and held it open for her. “And be dishonest? I’d rather we all be on the same page and dispense with any charade of civil politeness.”

“Even for me? I just want my boyfriend and best friend to get along.” They made it to the crosswalk and waited for the light to change.

“And what about consideration for me in this situation?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine. I’ll offer a compromise. I won’t force you and Alya to get along or even meet. But if you coincidentally meet, you both have to act civilly.”

“Only if it’s in your presence, otherwise no deal.” Marinette considered the bargain. There was always a chance that he did something behind her back, but relationships were built on trust.

“Deal.” They shook on it. “And I appreciate your loyalty to me and my feelings but I can fight my own battles.”

“I saw,” he looked back to the gym. “And so can Jon. I would still maim anyone who hurt him.” Marinette rolled her eyes and then remembered why she started dating Damian in the first place, that unflinching integrity.