#Sleep? Wuzzat??

[arlmy07]

That moment when you're checking your fic doc, frantically wondering where the other half of the last chapter went...only to realize that there is no second half 'cause you wrote it in your head at 3am while Monster Energy ᵀᴹ runs through your veins instead of blood

[backtothe99]

(18Trip Translation) Tao Kinouchi SR: Welcome to Prison Island - This is how you get hyperfixated

Title: Literally means 'This is the entrance to the swamp', 沼 (swamp) is also a slang term originating in the mid 2010s which means you get addicted to some kind of media and can't get out of it. So, uh, hyperfixation? lol

Part 1

Location: HAMA House West Room

Chihiro: We have tomorrow off, so TaoTao, let's play Anigun like we promised tonight!

Tao: This is my first time playing a Full Dive FPS…

Chihiro: It's pretty much the same thing as mahorova, so you don't need to worry so much. It's okies ☆

Tao: mahorova?

Chihiro: Wuzzat? You've never logged in that?

Chihiro: It's a virtual space on the net— It's probs easier to experience firsthand than explain~

Chihiro: Alrightie, first we gotta put a patch behind your ear—

Tao: Alright.

Tao: It can measure brain waves and observe movements like this? That's pretty awesome.

Tao: (Things sure have improved since the era of polygon games where you'd put a metal rod in your shoulder if your arm broke.)

Chihiro: All done with the patch? Now you gotta pick an Animal to play as! (1)

Tao: Each animal’s got its own set of abilities and skills, and also different fighting styles, right?

Chihiro: Yeah. Chii always uses the cat. The Field Trickster ☆

Tao: (So Chihiro focuses on speed… In that case, I think a type that can switch between defense and offense depending on the situation would have the advantage over him.)

Tao: (What should I do? Since it's my first playthrough, going with a balanced type and seeing how things progress would be a safe bet…)

Tao: I'll… go with this bear.

Tao: (It's power-focused with high HP stats. Seems suitable for both DPS and tanking.)

Chihiro: You chose carefully~ Nice~! Looks like I won't need to go easy on you ♪

Chihiro: Round 1! GL~ Game Start!!

[Flashing]

Tao: (The scenery's changing…)

Tao: (I'm entering the game's world—)

Part 2

[Flashing]

Tao: Ah… Damn, I lost! You really are strong, Chihiro.

Chihiro: You're strong too, TaoTao! It was your first time playing, but you did real good ♪

Chihiro: You're a gamer through and through. If we keep going at it, Chii might lose…?

Tao: Should we try this multiplayer mode next time, instead of the training grounds? We can play against other users, right?

Chihiro: OFC! Let's co-op as a duo next ♪

-

Tao: … We lost. Sorry, I wasn't much help.

Chihiro: No probs! Chii's just enjoying this without caring if we're winning or losing.

Chihiro: TaoTao… Are you having fun?

Tao: I'm having lots of fun. Actually, we should try again.

Chihiro: Okies. For hardcore gamers, the real challenge’s at the top ♪

Tao: Alright– Let's go!!

-

Tao: Ah~Damn it, we lost! One more time!

-

Tao: I totally messed up my aim… Damn. And we were so close, too… One more time!

-

Tao: O-One more time! I'm really feeling it now...!

Chihiro: W-We're still going!? It's gonna be morning soon, y’know?

Tao: Is it already that late… Sorry for dragging you with me, Chihiro. You can go to sleep, I'll go solo for a while.

Chihiro: You sure...? Chii's heading to sleep first, then. Good night~

Tao: Good night. Thanks for hanging out with me.

-

Chihiro: *yawn*~ Morning… Woah, you're still playing!?

Tao: Morning. I'm starting to get the hang of it. I don't wanna forget what this feeling's like.

Chihiro: Th-That so? I'm glad you're that into it, but still…

Chihiro: Chii's done with breakfast, so I'm going shopping.

Tao: Mhmm. Stay safe.

-

Chihiro: I’m home~

Chihiro: Y-You're still playing!?

Tao: Damn, this guy's good! I'll show you…!!

Chihiro: You've been playing all this time. Isn't it about time for a break?

Tao: I've finally gotten used to the controls, and I'm getting the hang of shooting… Eat that headshot!

Chihiro: Hey, have you eaten? Aren't you hungry?

Tao: Not at all.

[Stomach growling]

Chihiro: Nopes, your stomach's growling.

Chihiro: You gotta put something in your body… That's it!

Chihiro: I've got the tapioca drink Raitin gave me as a gift~

Chihiro: (I'll just hold it up to TaoTao's mouth—)

Chihiro: He drank it all before I could even say “Thirsty?”! Didn't even bat an eye!!

Chihiro: Is… His body seeking the nutrition!?

Tao: Anigun… Is so fun… I wanna keep playing till I die…

Chihiro: Hey TaoTao, let's take a break! Pretty please!

Tao: Shotgun secured— Oraoraora, eat lead!!

Chihiro: You'll starve and die, TaoTaoooo~~!!

NOTES: (1) this gets lost in translation, but chihiro makes to say animals in katakana as an english loanword and then corrects himself and says it in japanese, tao then repeats the japanese word. hence the difference in capitalization

[dragonsarecool]

June of Doom Day 30 - Emergency Room

A/N: Sequel to Day 12 Dehydration. After a long pregnancy, it turns out their child is eager to meet them…a few weeks too eager, that is. Set 10-15 years after Part III.

Jennifer kicked the blankets away, staring in frustration at the ceiling of their bedroom. A loud snort prompted her to look over at her very-unconscious husband, twisted in a position one could only describe as 'wannna-be pretzel' as he slept.

Instead of the sight making her smile as it normally did, she glared at his sleeping form silently. Glad you're getting a good sleep, Marty.

The fact that she still had six weeks to go didn't help on nights like this. At her last appointment, she'd begged the midwife for a solution to stop the false contractions, only to be met with no answers. "Only way they'll stop is your baby bein' born," The midwife had confirmed sadly.

"But they're keeping me up all night!" Jennifer had cried. God, I'm so sick of being this emotional too.

"All part of bein' pregnant, I'm afraid," The midwife sympathised. "No point coming in to hospital unless they start forming a pattern, and that shouldn't be starting until about thirty-seven weeks."

The fact that she had counted five contractions within the last hour was not filling her with confidence. If anything, she reckoned they were getting worse.

She waited for the next one to pass before looking at the clock. Okay. So between four and five, I've had six contractions.

But they can't be real ones, can they?

Geez, I'm so sick of second-guessing this!

Frustrated by her overthinking brain, she decided some a glass of water was in order. Getting herself up from a supine position was difficult these days, but after some brainstorming with Marty, they'd come up with a system of pillows and a strategically-placed dressing gown tie to assist if he wasn't able to.

She was grateful for it on nights like this, for he slept so soundly that other people would probably think he was dead.

Jennifer waddled to the bathroom, barely acknowledging the kicks of protest that the baby gave. I don't care if you were comfortable, 'cause I'm not.

She was halfway through her first sip of water when a sharp pain burst rippled through her pelvis. "Shit!"

The glass fell from her hand, shattering in a spectacular fashion as it collided with the bathroom floor. She cringed as a few pieces bounced off the tiles and slammed into the bottom of the toilet, the sound seeming like a sonic boom at this hour of the night.

Jennifer glanced back into the bedroom, expecting to find Marty bounding out of the sheets by the noise. Instead, he remained firmly in the grips of unconsciousness, making her shake her head in disbelief. A hurricane wouldn't wake this man-

She gasped in surprise as her belly tightened. All of the previous contractions had felt like mild period cramps, but this one was different.

It was worse.

It's not going away!…

"Marty," Her voice was barely above a whisper. She forced herself to turn her gaze away from her protruding belly, her volume increasing into a squeal as the contraction built quickly. "MARTY MCFLY, WAKE YOUR ASS UP!"

"Huh? Wuzzat?!" Still half-unconscious, Marty shot up from the pillow, fighting his way out of the twisted sheets before rubbing his eyes furiously. "Jenny?…"

"Marty, I think…I think it's starting."

For a few moments, Marty resembled a goldfish; mouth opening and closing with no intelligible noises emerging. She waited patiently as his brain processed the news, only to roll her eyes as he released a very nervous laugh. "But…but you can't…It can't be happening, Jennifer! Y-You're only thirty-four weeks!"

I love him, but God, he's not built to cope with this sort of thing. "Marty," Jennifer allowed a sharp edge to creep into her voice as the contraction began to ebb away. "It's. Starting."

As if her unborn child was intending to make the situation look even more dramatic, she felt something trickle down her leg. Hesitant to look, she leaned forward until she could see past her stomach, paling even further at the drops of blood now resting amongst a small collection of water beneath her on their bathroom floor.

If anything, she was more surprised than frightened. There's not supposed to be blood as well, isn't there?

She crouched down and placed a fingertip in the liquid, the ominous red stains swirling in the puddle of amniotic fluid as she moved her hand around, confirming what she was dreading.

Well shit.

I guess…

I guess…

…This is happening today, I guess.

Placing a hand on the basin to support herself, Jennifer hauled herself upright, only to sigh angrily as she caught sight of an unconscious Marty, who had once again collapsed back into a pretzel position on the mattress. "Oh my God, MARTY!"

Her husband remained oblivious to her distress. If it had been any other time, she would've snapped a polaroid of the moment to use as potential blackmail material.

All it was doing now was enraging her. She waddled over to Marty and lifted his head up, squeezing his cheeks with enough strength to dig her nails into his skin. "For God's sake, Marty, you're not the one who's got shit coming out your vagina! Wake UP!"

I'll apologise later, but I'm scared, Marty. 

I need you.

Marty's eyes flew open with a mumbled squeak of surprise, struggling to pull away from Jennifer's grip. As soon as she released him, he scrambled around and toppled off the mattress, collapsing in a heap at his wife's feet. He looked at Jennifer sheepishly, face so pale that he could've blended in with the white sheets on the bed. "H-Hang on Jennifer, I-I'll get the bags…"

Jennifer could only hold her belly and sigh. She looked down at their unborn child, allowing a small smile of bemusement as she noticed the baby moving underneath her skin. "Don't rush, alright?"

****

I think I jinxed myself.

Jennifer howled, curl forward into a ball around her stomach. In the ten minutes it took Marty to throw on a shirt, grab the bags and escort her to the truck, things seemed to have ramped up incredibly fast. The contractions seemed to be almost one on top of the other, barely giving her anytime in between to catch her breath. Don't tell me I've gotta go through this for another however many hours!…

But it's too early! Maybe they'll stop it for me?

The car swerved erratically as Marty expertly manoeuvred around the ungodly number of roundabouts between their house and the hospital. It did nothing to help her nausea, and she'd already made him pull over once so she could vomit on the side of the road, which the two of silently agreed to never speak of again. Turns out labour isn't very dignified…

Another gush of warm fluid ran down her legs, the pressure in her pelvis suddenly increasing. She heaved for air as she sobbed uncontrollably. "MARTYYY!"

"I'm here, Jen!" Her husband called shakily. "W-We're about two minutes away!"

"CAN'T YOU DRIVE FASTER DAMMIT!" Jennifer screamed hysterically, pounding the dashboard with her fist. "I THINK I'M GONNA SHIT OUT A WATERMELON!"

She was too engulfed by pain to process Marty's response, though she assumed it was meant to be one of reassurance. Two more contractions passed before she felt the car come to a stop, followed by Marty launching himself out of the driver's seat to call for help. I'm glad he can still run…

Jennifer forced herself to sit upright, sighing as she recognised the familiar entrance of the emergency department., the first rays of sunshine still being drowned out by the overpowering neon red signs. She caught a glimpse of her sweaty, exhausted, vomit-covered reflection in the passenger-side mirror, and couldn't help but laugh. "Man, I'm so sexy right now…"

The passenger door was flung open by a flustered Marty, who hoisted her out of the car with what she assumed was pure adrenaline. "They're bringing a wheelchair, Jen, just hang on…"

As soon as she stood up, everything seemed to escalate. She barely registered her own high-pitched wail; the pressure had become overwhelming. "OH GOD! MARTY! I THINK IT'S COMING!"

"W-We knew it was coming already, Jen," Marty tried to joke, his nervous laugh betraying his true feelings. He held her tightly in his arms, supporting her fatigued, shaking body.

"NO I MEAN IT'S COMI-"

Jennifer found herself cut off by an urge the likes of which she had never felt before. The closest thing she could compare it to was being extremely constipated, though this was easily the worst sensation she'd ever experienced. She found herself grunting, pulling on Marty's shirt so tightly that she popped one of the buttons off. Gotta push gotta push gotta push-

She barely registered the midwives speaking to her as they came with the wheelchair, whisking her into the emergency department with such speed that it could've been considered teleportation. In that moment, nothing else around her mattered; the staff, Marty, the other patients in the waiting room. All she could feel was her baby and the need to push.

Wait, was that someone telling me not to push?

"Jennifer!" Marty's voice was suddenly clear amongst the turmoil. "Jen, you need to listen-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, MCFLY!" She barely recognised her own voice, which resembled more of a growl than human speech. A bed had suddenly materialised in front of her, and she heaved herself out of the wheelchair to grab onto the handrails. "I. CAN'T. HELP. IT!"

Whatever Marty said in response was drowned out by her screams as another contraction wracked her body. She gripped the bedrails as she felt her body giving in to this need to push, before bursting into a fresh set of tears as the contraction died off. Oh my God…!

"Jen, it's okay honey," Marty purred in her ear. "It's okay, they've said it's okay. You're doing so good."

The urge to push reappeared and she decided to stop fighting it.

What she hadn't expected in response was the burning. "OH MY GODDDDD!"

"Jennifer," Marty spoke firmly. "It's okay-"

"IT IS NOT OKAY MARTY MCFLY! OH MY GOD, IT BURNS!"

She thought she heard someone saying that was the baby. But it can't be? The whole point is that pushing the baby out makes it better! Why is everything on fire?

The urge came again, and she obeyed its wish, pushing so hard that she felt herself launching into a deep squat. Get it out get it out get it out-

"Jen, Jen, stop," Marty pleaded. "Stop, they need to-"

Jennifer could only roar in response, desperate to make the burning go away. "GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She felt her body relax.

The flames had been extinguished.

The pressure was gone.

Her legs suddenly felt incredibly weak, and she realised Marty's arms were wrapped around her torso, stopping her from tumbling to the floor. She took a moment to process her surroundings. Oh my God, I'm in the delivery room-

Something cried.

A wail that wasn't hers.

She looked down to see a midwife smiling at her, pulling something slimy out from between her legs. "What…?"

"Congratulations, honey!" The midwife was grinning, wiping down the baby with a towel-

Baby.

My baby.

That's our baby.

Our baby!

The tiny child in the midwife's arms suddenly screamed, flailing its arms around as the fluid on its skin was dried off. Although they'd told her at each appointment that the baby was measuring larger than expected, to her it was the smallest thing she had ever seen. Is that the umbilical cord? Man, that thing looks gross-

"It's a girl, Mrs McFly!" The midwife announced.

Jennifer suddenly felt light-headed. She was glad she didn't have to voice it, for she felt someone guiding her into the bed, her exhausted body collapsing into the mattress. "…A girl?"

"A girl, Jenny!" Marty was kissing her forehead, his cheeks wet with joyful tears. "We had a girl, Jenny! A girl!"

A girl?

Something hot was gushing down her legs.

Everything seemed so…far…away….

Hurts…

*****

The wheelchair squeaked loudly as Marty pushed it into the elevator, squeezing to the side to allow room for the doors to close. It provided an ample opportunity to lean down and place a gentle kiss on Jennifer's forehead, who tiredly leaned into the embrace. "Marty…"

"Do you know how proud of you I am, Jenny?" Marty nuzzled into her hair, dotting her with kisses. "So, so, so proud-"

"I know you are 'cause you haven't stopped gushing for two days straight!" Jennifer laughed, tilting her head to return her husband's kisses. She decided now was the best time as any to admit something. "…Marty, I-I know I said some things and-"

"Don't you dare worry about those, Jennifer McFly," Marty cocked an eyebrow. "After all, your vagina was occupied with shitting out a watermelon; it was perfectly acceptable behaviour."

Jennifer couldn't help but giggle nervously. "Did I really say that?"

"Mmm-hmm. And boy did you proclaim it, too."

The elevator doors opened, prompting Marty to shimmy back to his position as designated driver and manoeuvre the wheelchair into the lobby of the NICU. He'd already made the trip up here on his own a few times, but was particularly excited now that Jennifer was strong enough to visit the baby-

Their baby.

It still didn't feel real.

Ringing his parents and telling them what had happened was the longest phone call of his life; explaining how fast the labour went, how it turned out the placenta had started to separate too early, how they'd rushed Jennifer to theatre when the bleeding wasn't stopping. He'd made a joke about it sounding like it came out of a movie, but he'd been one step away from bursting into frightened tears the entire call.

It wasn't every day that one watches their wife deliver a premature baby and then proceed to have a massive haemorrhage immediately afterwards.

They hadn't let him hold the baby at first. Even though she came out screaming and pink as a strawberry, as soon as the midwives had cut the umbilical cord, a team of doctors from various specialties had arrived to take over and rushed their little girl to the intensive care.

Not that he would've admitted it to anyone except Doc, but he was terrified.

He remembered how he'd curled up on an uncomfortable plastic chair outside the operating suite reception, sobbing as the lives of his wife and child seemed to hang in the balance. How much he wished Doc or Jennifer's mom or someone with more confidence in a crisis had been there.

Marty had spent a good amount of time beating himself up while waiting for news. What kind of a support person were you? Sleeping while your wife was in labour, for God's sake! No wonder she was so pissed at you. Passing out at the sight of a tiny bit of blood, what a wimpy thing to do.

"Who does she look like, Marty?" Jennifer asked innocently.

Startled out of his memories, Marty took a minute to ponder his answer. "…I mean, she's got the tube in her nose at the moment, so it might change once that's out. Uh…she's, uh, she's got my hair 'cause the nurses keep having to comb it back. O-Otherwise, I think I'll let you decide."

Jennifer smiled as they rounded the corner, passing large, open rooms with collections of screaming infants. She noticed this ward wasn't as sterile as the one she'd been recuperating in, and decided she should suggest to her nurses that painting butterflies and baby animals on the walls would be beneficial for patient recovery.

She hadn't been ready for the sudden influx of emotions as the wheelchair came to a gentle stop in front of one isolette. A pink and white card sat in a holder on the front, her eyes immediately drawn to the familiar handwriting of the first line: MY NAME IS: _ McFly

Jennifer gave her husband a knowing look. "I'd recognise that handwriting anywhere, mister. Why didn't you finish filling it in?"

Marty planted a kiss on her forehead. "I wanted you to be the first one to write our little girl's name."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Jennifer laughed. "It's an honour, Mister McFly-"

"You're also the first one to hold her, Jenny."

She couldn't stop the expression of utter shock from crossing her face. "M-Marty?! You…You haven't held her? Why?! I-Is she too sick-"

Her faithful lover shook his head as he came to the front of the wheelchair, extending his hands for her to take. "…I told the nurses I wouldn't do it until you had," Marty gently guided his wife to an armchair directly facing the side of the isolette, brushing a strand of unwashed hair from her face. "I, uh…I thought it wasn't fair that you didn't get to hold her first, w-when you should have."

A thousand possible responses raced through her mind, all ranging across the spectrum of emotions.

But they immediately vanished as she finally laid eyes on the swaddled bundle of green and pink blankets that Marty and a nurse began lifting from the isolette. A collection of cables and monitors disappeared into the folds of the fabric, connected to machines behind the isolette that beeped and chimed as it was moved.

A tiny cry came from beneath the blankets, summoning tears to her eyes.

That's my baby?…

She was lost for words as the nurse gently passed the baby to her, her arms wrapping around into position automatically. An identical set of baby-blue eyes blinked sleepily at her, a pair of tiny pink hands peaking out from the clutches of the blankets. Jennifer ran her thumb over one hand, astonished to find how soft her baby's skin was. What sort of moisturiser do they have in there to get this��sort of skin!?

"H-How's she doing?" Jennifer stammered, unable to tear her gaze away. "I-I mean, is she healthy? She was-"

"A bit eager to come, yes, but she's a beautiful girl, ma'am," The nurse commented over her shoulder, currently occupied with changing the sheets of the isolette. "The doctors came around this morning and are very happy. She's taking all her feeds through the tube right now, but she's already showing interest in the pacifier, which is great news."

"…S-She looks too small to be doing so well," Jennifer admitted quietly. Her attention was drawn to the knitted cap adorning the baby's head, which was loose enough to allow some strands of mousy-brown hair to stick out. She couldn't help but laugh as her fingers caused the hat to slide around. "Her head isn't big enough for this hat."

"I promise she's perfect in every way Mrs McFly, including her head size," The nurse smiled. She closed the isolette doors and gave her patient a gentle smile, patting the baby's hat gently. "She's been a very cooperative patient and is doing well for her age-"

"Her age?" Marty asked in confusion. "I-Is she meant to be crawling yet? Sitting up?"

The nurse chuckled politely as she checked the oxygen and suction tubes. "No no, not yet. If they did we'd all be in trouble. No, all she needs to do is grow and put on weight, which she's already exceeded at."

Jennifer's eyes were drawn to thinnest plastic tube she had ever seen taped along the baby's left cheek. "Will she need this forever?"

"For a few weeks she will," The nurse explained, "but once she's big enough and taking your breast or the bottle well, then we'll remove it."

Once the nurse had finished with her bedside checks, she gave them a sincere smile as she left the new parents to themselves, their focus still glued to the tiny creature in Jennifer's arms.

"She has your eyes, Marty," Jennifer whispered. She giggled as the infant stretched her head back in a massive yawn before gazing up at her mother with what could be described as an indignant expression. "I think she's got your sass, too."

Marty realised he was crying too. He wrapped himself around Jennifer's neck, kissing it lovingly as he stared longingly at their baby girl.

I made a good future, Doc. I hope you're proud.

A/N: And that concludes June of Doom 2024! Thank you to everyone who's been following along despite the irregular (and very late) postings. I've also enjoyed reading the comments people have left!

[neverendingfan]

Wuzzat?

One of Zevlor’s sleep sounds https://youtu.be/uWVM1xRpEto?t=17… resembles him saying Wuzzat? So I wanted to capture that. It’s also my birthday today and I’m so happy I get to post a picture of sleepy bab on my special day.

[jdetan]

"I'll Take it on Faith"

Zelda has a chat with a child as the schoolhouse is being built, and comes to a decision...

Four Months After the Defeat of Calamity Ganon

The first rays of the sun shone into the window, illuminating the tiny bed in the loft of Link’s Hateno home and the two figures lying asleep in the bed. Link yawned quietly and stretched a little, but found himself unable to get up. Zelda, erstwhile princess of Hyrule and his current roommate, was lying across his chest, snoring and slightly drooling on him. Link smiled and lightly rubbed the back of her head– it had been a busy week for them, and they’d just gotten back home, after all. They’d gone to Zora’s Domain to examine Vah Ruta, hoping to determine why the Divine Beast had shut down. After a solid week of examination, Zelda had determined that the power supply for Vah Ruta had been almost fully drained by its final attack, and it would take years for it to recover. The Divine Beasts would be movable by the next year, at least– and then they could be hidden safely away. Zelda stirred slightly, cuddling closer to Link without waking up fully. “Mmm… need to replace capacitor sixteen-alpha… check any gears for wear…” Link felt one of her legs cross over top of his own. “Then we can have some fun…” Zelda giggled lightly. Um… is she having a frisky dream? Oh no. Oh NO. Alright, Link– you’ve prepared for EVERYTHING, and awkward morning situations were among them. Let’s see… What was my plan for this? Oh, right. “Leap into Death Mountain crater, apologizing the entire way down.” Dammit, Past Link! I need a plan for the MOMENT, not for dealing with the aftermath! Okay… maybe I can sneak out of bed… no, she’s basically tangled up with me. Wake her up? I don’t wanna do that either– she barely got any sleep this whole last week! Teleport free? No, the Sheikah Slate is on the desk! Welp. Guess I’m doomed. Link shut his eyes and began focusing his breathing to ensure there were no OTHER horrible morning mishaps– he’d at least hopefully avoid any humiliation stemming from his biology. “Link…” Zelda mumbled, nuzzling his neck. “Replace that canister, would you? Thank you…” There was a small delay, then she chuckled. “Love to watch that man work… wuzzat, Mipha? Mmm, yeah, he’s got a butt that won’t quit…” She rolled her shoulders lightly, resting her head more firmly on his chest. Okay, body. I know this is an awkward request, but I need you to go ahead and put me into a coma. A week will do– I don’t need it to be a hundred years again. Just enough that Zelda’s not embarrassed when she wakes up. Alright? Good. Annnnnd… I’m still awake. How about a mild heart attack? I eat enough weird stuff— I’m sure something I ate can cause one! I just ate a ruby the other day to impress Sidon! Okay, fine– Hylia, goddess of the land– how about a big thunderstorm? Wake her up with a jump! …Still nothing. I’m starting to get why Zelda was so resentful. Link shut his eyes and began vision training. Two agonizing (yet delightful) hours later, Zelda woke up, still wrapped around Link. Oh… oh my. That’s an awkward way to wake up. I hope I didn’t make Link uncomfortable… oh good, he’s still asleep. Zelda quietly disentangled herself from Link, blushing heavily. “Link… are you awake?” She whispered, getting no response. “Phew… it looks like he didn’t wake up.” She let a breath out, then looked over and smiled at him. “He’s very cute when he’s asleep… I guess he was tired, too.” She suddenly broke into a wide smile. “Wait, this means I can actually make breakfast for him!” She hopped out of bed and jogged downstairs. “Alright! I finally get a chance to test my skills!” Link laid in bed for a while, having been fully awake the whole time. Cute, huh? I’ll take it! And now she’s making breakfast… damn, I’m lucky. “Oops! Oh well, a little shell in an omelet won’t hurt…” Zelda said from downstairs. “Whoops! Oh well, a little fire can’t hurt…” Maybe I should go help, just to make sure she doesn’t burn the house down. Link thought for a moment. Nah. She’ll do great. I’ll take it on faith. Sure enough, Link thought breakfast was excellent.

Read the Rest on Ao3!

[roseverdict]

it has come to my attention that this is a real thing that happens to people and i just somehow managed to not be one of those people

[definitelynotshouting]

Snowed in :]

for the 1-3 word scarian prompt game

woe, scarian fluff be upon ye >:]

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When Grian speaks, his voice is low– a genuflection to the pale luminescence peeking through the gap in his curtains. "Oh," he says, and a note of awe rounds out the syllable. "Scar, I think Christmas might've just come early."

A soft rustle to his left. "Wuzzat?" Scar mumbles through the faint susurrus of sheets, sleep-drenched and unintelligible. When Grian glances down at him, his eyes are narrowed slits, gleaming beneath dappled moonglow. Nestled in their bed like this, he's the epitome of comfort; hair soft and mussed against his pillow, eyes blinking cat-like slow in the semi-darkness. When he shifts, the faint imprint of wrinkled fabric sticks to his cheek.

Grian smothers his snicker with one hand pressed against his teeth. "Sit up," he says, reaching out to nudge Scar awake with an elbow. "And look outside."

"It's cold, Grian," Scar groans, but squirms until he can brace himself upright, blankets falling to pool at his waist. Instead of peering outside the window, however, Scar scoots back, shuffling to the side until, with an unceremonious grunt, he drapes his entire body over Grian's back and wings.

Grian lets out an involuntary oof. "That's not looking," he protests, but the exasperation is fond, wreathing its way around his voice. Despite the unexpected weight, Grian doesn't shake Scar off just yet– the warmth is nice, solid, and Scar sweetens the deal by burying his nose into the hollow between Grian's neck and shoulder, pressing syrupy kisses into any exposed sliver of skin he can reach.

"I'm looking, I'm looking," comes the eventual, muzzy reply. A beat, then: "My eyes just aren't available for comment yet, that's all."

Grian sighs, wings twitching against the ache that's beginning to crawl through them. "Open your eyes, Scar. And look out the window."

Another dreamy moment passes; Scar kisses his shoulder one more time before pulling his head back from the crook of Grian's neck, shifting, and– there. Scar's entire body jolts as if electrocuted; Grian can't stifle the laugh that barks from his throat.

"Oh my gosh," Scar yelps. "It's snowing!"

"Sure is," Grian tells him. He lifts one arm to nudge the curtains open another inch, cozying further into Scar's embrace as some of the darkness peels back. Outside, entire mountains of white powder have piled up against his starter base. "Y'know, I don't think we're gonna be able to work in that," he adds. "I know it's a bit of a challenge, but how do you feel about sleeping in?"

Scar's voice holds an indignant cast. "How am I supposed to sleep in when there's snow, Grian?"

"Well if you laid back down–"

"You got me up in the first place!" Scar curls around him, chest vibrating with the rumble of his voice. When Grian twists to face him, Scar's eyes are shining. "Come on, we gotta make– snowmen! And– and snow angels, and hot chocolate–"

"Tea," Grian says firmly. "Tea first. Hot chocolate later."

"Tea first," Scar concedes, nodding along with solemn motions. "Can't mess up your routine."

"No, we cannot." Grian says, prim. "Right, we'll think about snowmen later, but right now I'm calling it a rest day and going back to bed."

Scar's arms coil over his chest, pulling him even closer; another lingering kiss is folded into Grian's shoulder, pressed with care and accompanied by warm breath fanning over his skin. "Sounds good," Scar murmurs, muffled. "Love you."

On the window is a spiral of frost, delicate and miniscule, a creeping pattern that arrests Grian's eyes. He traces over its path, meandering until it disappears behind the curtain– fingers tightening in the sheets, pulse a gentle stumble. Inside his heart is a low, simmering fire, winding thick between his ribs and crawling up his throat, burning him from the inside out. Without looking, he fumbles for Scar's hand, and leaves a kiss of his own against scarred knuckles.

"Love you too," Grian breathes, and the warmth floods through him, inside and out.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Intimidation Tactics / Chapter 6

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader x Dave York

Rating: E (smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: MM, frottage, canon-typical violence, cliffhanger

Summary: Suddenly, the kitchen–and the entire cabin–is bathed in near-complete darkness. You let out a little squeak of surprise at the change, and Marcus automatically reaches out to touch you reassuringly. In the wooded, rural setting, it’s so dark in the house that he can’t even see his own hand as he moves it.

A/N: I didn’t intend for this to end on a cliffhanger, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to be in reader’s head for the last part. Thank you to @pedropascalsx for helping me figure out what happens in the action and to @honestly-shite for looking this over for me <3 <3

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Chapter Six - Blackout

Marcus wakes to the soft ping of a phone in the early dawn light. 

"Heeyyyy," you croak, shifting and turning in his arms. In his and Dave’s arms.

Dave hums low in his throat in protest as you stir. He looks relaxed in sleep in a way he typically doesn't during the day. His perpetual pout is softened somewhat, his jaw not tensed as it usually seems to be during the day. 

"Wuzzat mine?" you slur. "Haven't had any signal since we got here."

"It's a dead zone," Dave says, not opening his eyes. "Part of the appeal of it being a safe house."

"How the hell do you contact anyone?" you grumble.

"WiFi," Dave answers simply.

You stretch languidly and sit up, reaching over Marcus for your phone on the bedside table, and he lets his fingers linger on your skin as you go, sliding across the soft flesh of your stomach. Now that he's allowed, Marcus isn't going to refuse any opportunity to touch. 

You collapse back on the bed with a sigh, phone in hand. 

"It's my mom," you announce to no one in particular. "Asking if I'm all right, because obviously she hasn't heard from me."

You start to type a response, then swear softly. "Except there's no signal again. It's like there was just enough of a blip for that one message to go through."

"It won't be too much longer," Dave promises. "There's a status update this afternoon."

"We'll be able to leave soon?" you ask hopefully. 

"Depends,” Dave says, kissing your shoulder gently, “on what happens today.”

You cast your phone aside and turn in Dave's arms, pulling Marcus with you–who comes easily, slotting himself against you and sandwiching you between them. "What do you mean, it depends?" you ask, softening the question by arching into Dave slightly as you stretch again, bringing your arms around his neck with a soft hum of satisfaction. 

"The lead operatives all have tails on them from people on my team," Dave tells you, a hand on your lower back drawing you closer still. "Once the two of you were endangered, we increased surveillance, looking for an opportunity to move in and take them down in one swoop. Depending on their movements, that moment could be coming soon.”

“Aww, you were protective of us,” you tease.

“You two were impeding my investigation,” Dave retorts, smiling wickedly. 

“That’s it?” Marcus asks with a matching grin. “That’s the only reason we’re here?”

“That’s the reason you’re in this safe house, yes,” Dave rumbles. “Not the reason you’re here, exactly.” 

“Here in your bed, you mean,” you say, climbing on top of him and pinning his hands above his head–a largely meaningless gesture, as Dave could easily overpower you, but he makes no move to fight you off. “Are we still impediments?” you ask.

“Yes,” Dave deadpans. “Right now you’re impeding my ability to get up and make coffee.” 

—

After breakfast and some coffee, Marcus goes to shower, borrowing some more clothes from Dave–this time accompanied by a soft, lingering kiss. Afterwards, when he returns to the living room, the two of you are gone. Frowning, Marcus looks in Dave's–their?–bedroom, then calls out a soft "Hello?" down the basement stairs. Still nothing. 

Marcus cracks the door to the small porch that faces into the back yard, about to call out again, when he hears a thud, and a little squeak of surprise. 

What?

Smiling now, Marcus cocks his head to the side in confusion as he follows the noise. He doesn't have to go far to find it–you, wielding an axe and a determined expression, and Dave, leaning against a nearby tree with his characteristic amused smirk as you bring it up over your head again in preparation for bringing it down on a large piece of firewood. 

Thunk!

The axe embeds itself in the log without splitting the wood. You let out a feral little growl of frustration and pull back again.

"Wait!" Dave calls out, stepping up behind you and grabbing the axe before you can swing it again. "Hang on. You've got no leverage like that, see?" He takes one of your hands and slides it up the wooden shaft. "Right there," Dave murmurs into your ear, and Marcus’s smile widens when he sees you sag against him slightly as a result. 

It's especially crisp today, each exhale sending little puffs of condensation into the air every time Marcus breathes. Dave is dressed for the weather in a thick, plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and the overall effect looks delicious. 

Marcus wonders what Dave is like when he's not out here. That day in the park, he had been wearing a crisp navy suit, and he had made–if Marcus is being honest–quite the intimidating figure. Since coming here, though–especially since falling into bed together–Dave has seemed far more relaxed. He looks just as comfortable tending the wood furnace that heats the cabin as he had escaping your attackers on the crowded city streets. 

This isn't the first time Marcus has wondered exactly what type of man David James York is, but this is the first time he finds himself excited to find out for himself.

Dave pats you playfully on the ass and steps back. "Try it now."

You bring the axe down again, and the log splits right down the middle. You let out a shriek of triumph and spin around to face Dave, beaming.

"That's one," Dave deadpans.

"How many go in the boiler?" you ask warily. 

"Ten or so at a time," Dave answers, and you groan. 

Dave chuckles. "We'll use some from the pile, pumpkin, it's fine."

You hand him the axe. "You do one."

"Why?"

You look up coyly through your eyelashes. "I just wanna see."

Dave smirks and shakes his head in amusement, but he grabs another log from the pile and sets it down on the stump. Just as he's about to raise the axe, his phone rings. Frowning, he fishes it out of his pocket and reads the caller ID.

“I have to take this,” Dave says quietly, pursing his lips. He stalks away with a tense expression, leaving the two of you standing by the wood pile, watching him go.

“Do you think it’s about–” 

“Oh, yeah,” Marcus finishes for you. “No question.”

“I’m covered with soot,” you say quietly. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Okay,” Marcus says distractedly, still staring in the direction Dave had gone. 

You disappear into the bathroom, and Marcus stands at the large windows, listening to the sound of Dave’s muffled voice coming from his bedroom. He shouldn’t listen in. He shouldn’t. Marcus does anyway, creeping closer to the door until the low rumble of Dave’s voice turns into words. He can’t parse entire sentences, but what he does hear sends a pit of dread into his stomach.

“Tomorrow”

“Have to act–”

“Leaving… oh six hundred–”

“–can’t know.”

“Alone.”

When Dave stops talking, Marcus knocks softly and enters before Dave has a chance to protest.

“What,” Dave says, void of emotion. He grabs a black duffel bag from the top shelf in his closet and tosses it on the bed. 

“I know what you’re up to,” Marcus says. 

Dave raises his eyebrows, seemingly unimpressed.

“Gonna disappear on us before we even have a chance to realize you’re gone?” Marcus accuses. “Leave us here, stranded and sidelined?”

“Sidelined?” Dave scoffs. “This isn’t your fight.”

“I seem to remember being shot at two days ago,” Marcus counters.

“That doesn’t mean it’s your fight. You two are caught in the crossfire and it’s my job to keep you safe,” Dave says with finality.

“Your job according to who?” Marcus asks. “According to you, maybe. But no one asked you to do this. I certainly don’t remember asking for this.”

“Feeling ungrateful now, are we?” Dave snaps. “Would you rather I let you two become twin smears on the pavement back in D.C.?”

“No, I–no,” Marcus says vehemently. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying I don’t want to be left in a damn cabin while you go putting your life in danger. You’ve got two capable Agents that you’re planning on locking in a safe house when we could be at your back.”

“Have a lot of experience in espionage, do you, Agent Pike?” Dave sneers.

“Hey, fuck off. If you’re just going to be a dick, then never fucking mind,” Marcus responds, anger starting to rise to the surface. 

“I mean, by all means, if you’re secretly a fucking Navy Seal, then please–”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Marcus demands, giving Dave a little shove as he crowds the other man against the wall. “Like it or not, we’re involved. With the case, with you,” he says pointedly, “we’re involved.”

“That’s exactly why you two are staying here,” Dave says flatly, staring down his nose at Marcus from his place against the wall, refusing to back down.

“Oh, I get it,” Marcus snaps. “So you can look down on us, is that it? Not as big and important as you? Too stupid to have your back in a fight–”

“Marcus,” Dave says lowly, in warning. 

“No, forget it,” Marcus mutters, releasing his hold on Dave with another final push into the wall before stalking away.

“I’ve lost everyone,” Dave states flatly as Marcus reaches the door, and he pauses.

“Whether it’s through literally being killed in front of me or by being slowly pushed away by the reality of what I do for a living, I. Lose. Everyone,” Dave says again. “So you’ll forgive me if I want the two of you as far away from that as possible.”

Marcus softens at the confession–at what Dave is saying without really saying it. Stilling in the doorway, he turns around, taking in Dave’s wary expression–as if he’s trying very hard not to give anything away with his eyes.

It isn’t working. 

“Have you ever thought it might be the other way around, as well?” Marcus asks quietly as he approaches the other man. “That we might not love the idea of sitting here just waiting while you put yourself in danger?”

Dave doesn’t respond, still leaning against the wall, and Marcus steps toe-to-toe with him again, so close that he could reach out and embrace the man–although he doesn’t.

“You did go through all that trouble to rescue us, I suppose,” Marcus continues. “Would be a shame to have wasted your time after all that.”

“You’re not coming,” Dave repeats.

“Fine,” Marcus says. “But can you not at least tell us what’s going on instead of silently packing your bags?”

“I can’t talk about—”

“I’m not talking about case details. I’m talking about you. Don’t you think you owe us a heads-up that you’re leaving?”

Dave raises his eyebrows. “Owe you?” he repeats sardonically. “I’ve heard that from you before. Are we back to that, now? Back to me owing you answers?”

“Are you being purposefully obtuse?” Marcus snaps. “You don’t owe us answers because of the case, you— I’d hoped you’d owe us the courtesy of knowing that you’re leaving because of what we are–”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“I care about you!” Marcus shouts. “Jesus Christ! It’s like talking to a brick wall with you, sometimes. You’ve put up all these defenses around your work, and I get that, believe me, but you’ve built them too high and you can’t see when people are genuinely trying to reach you.” 

Dave is silent again, but his mouth opens and closes a couple of times as his eyes search Marcus’s face. He’s frowning, two deep creases in between his eyebrows as he seemingly grapples with what Marcus is saying. 

“Oh for fuck’s–” Marcus starts, muttering to himself, and then crushes his lips to Dave’s.

It’s desperate and messy; the two of them battling for the upper hand, but Marcus does not yield, gripping the other man’s neck roughly as he fights to control the kiss. Dave finally relents, letting himself be shoved back against the wall again–this time for far more pleasurable reasons–as Marcus slots their hips together and takes. 

The kiss escalates quickly–soon the two of them are fumbling with buttons and zippers in a race to feel skin against skin. Neither of them bother to take their pants off all the way, leaving them bunched around their thighs as Marcus fists their cocks together. Marcus is sure they look a sight–half-undressed, pressed against the wall, seeking release almost desperately. 

“Fuck,” Dave groans into Marcus’s mouth, and he swallows the curse eagerly. 

“Oh, yeah,” Marcus breathes. “Fuck, look at you.”

Dave’s cheeks are flushed, his cock nearly purple and weeping in Marcus’s grip as he strokes both of them furiously. 

“C’mon,” Marcus murmurs. “Cum for me–God, I love the sounds you make when you cum.”

Dave’s cock twitches in response to his words, and he growls low in his throat and nips at Marcus’s lower lip in response. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Marcus groans. “Never gonna get enough of this cock.”

“F-Flatterer,” Dave accuses, although the hitch in his voice softens the effect. 

“Shut up.” Marcus chuckles against the other man’s lips. “Or I’ll stick it in your mouth, instead.”

“Promises, promises, Agent Pike,” Dave teases. “Later,” Marcus says. “Fuck–later, I need–”

“Need what?” Dave breathes, reaching down to help Marcus, both of their hands bumping together as they chase their pleasure.

“You,” Marcus confesses quietly, just before everything starts to draw up tight. He presses their lips together again as he falls over the edge, with Dave close behind.

“I know what you do,” Marcus says hoarsely, still breathing heavily, but needing to get the words out. “I know who you are, and I’m okay with it. I know you won’t be able to tell us everything all of the time, I’m just asking for–I don’t know, a reasonable amount of disclosures, here.”  

Dave sighs–a long, drawn out exhale, and nods. “Anything that I can tell,” he promises, “I will.” He gives Marcus a far-too-gentle kiss, and he aches–

"But I can't not go tomorrow," Dave adds, and he does actually look regretful, Marcus notes. "There's too much riding on this op. We've spent years–" 

"I know," Marcus says, and he smiles. “I just found you,” he whispers. “I’m not exactly eager to let you get away just yet.”

"I’ll be safe,” Dave promises. “It’s fine.”

—

This time, Marcus joins in on making dinner. 

Dave–always full of surprises, it seems–is a fan of cooking. He's far more proficient than Marcus, who relies far too heavily on takeout and he knows it, but when Dave hands him a handful of potatoes and a peeler with a soft smile, Marcus thinks that maybe he'll start doing it more. 

He glances over at the stove, where Dave is currently braising some pork chops while you sit on the counter and swing your legs happily, and smiles to himself.

For the first time in a long time, Marcus feels as though he's right where he needs to be.

Suddenly, the kitchen–and the entire cabin–is bathed in near-complete darkness. You let out a little squeak of surprise at the change, and Marcus automatically reaches out to touch you reassuringly. In the wooded, rural setting, it’s so dark in the house that he can’t even see his own hand as he moves it.

“Why did we lose power?” Marcus murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s not storming or anything.”

“We shouldn’t have,” Dave responds, his voice taking on a darker, more serious tone. “There’s a backup generator.”

A backup generator. Cold dread slowly, slowly washes over Marcus as he mulls over this information. “This is intentional,” he breathes. 

“Mm,” Dave grunts. He illuminates his phone, bathing the three of you in electronic blue light. “Someone cut the power. They’ve found us.”

Dave grabs Marcus’s upper arm and pulls the both of you through the living room. “Go to the bedroom, get your sidearms, and stay fucking put,” he growls. “Shoot anything that comes through the door.” 

“Where are you going?” Marcus hisses. 

“Gun locker in my closet,” Dave answers. “Stop asking questions and move.”

You bolt for the spare bedroom. Marcus is about to follow when Dave’s hand clamps down on his forearm in a vice grip. 

“There’s a panic room in the basement,” Dave tells him quickly. “Get her there.”

Dave’s eyes are black coals save for the pinprick of light from his phone. They bore into Marcus’s with a ferocity that would have scared him before he had ended up in the man’s bed, wrapped around him for half the night. 

“She’ll kill you herself,” Marcus says sardonically.

“Get. Her. There.”

Marcus enters the spare bedroom to find you already holding your gun at the ready, and his heart clenches with a mixture of pride and fear. And guilt for what he's about to do. 

"Dave said there's a panic room in the basement. We're going to make our way down and he'll meet us there," Marcus says, hoping he can keep the waver out of his voice. 

He always was a terrible liar.

"He said to stay put," you point out.

"We both agreed that this is the better strategy," Marucs says. "Let's go."

The two of you make it to the basement without incident–but Marcus can hear the soft sound of footsteps above him as people begin to enter the house. He lets out a shaky breath. Let Dave be okay.

Marcus opens the panic room door with his heart in his throat. You thread your fingers together and quickly step inside, pulling him along by your joined hands. 

Marcus swallows. 

"What the hell are you looking at?" you ask, giving him a funny look. 

Marcus grabs your face with both of his hands and gives you an urgent, hard kiss. 

"I love you," he murmurs. "I'm sorry."

Before you can protest (or flip him on his back for what he's about to do), Marcus gently pushes you further into the room and quickly steps out. You only get as far as "You son of–" before the door closes and locks. Marcus looks down at the keypad. It shouldn’t open from either side without the proper PIN. There’s a pit in his stomach–but right or wrong, he, like Dave, would rather you be angry and safe.

A hard thud upstairs makes him wince. Squaring his shoulders, Marcus raises his gun and turns his back on the panic room, where he's sure you're still standing at the door, shaking a handle that won’t open and absolutely incensed with him.

Marcus climbs as quietly as he can up the basement stairs, taking care to shut the door– leaving as little evidence that someone is down there as possible. Suddenly, a beam of light points around the corner right in front of him, and his arm instinctively shoots out to grab the barrel of the gun and yank forward, knocking the attacker off-balance.

It’s been a long time since Marcus had done any close quarters combat training, but it's quickly coming back to him. There are a few tense moments when he grapples with someone–dressed in black and carrying an assault rifle–before he manages to bring them down with a fatal blow to the temple with the butt of his gun. The longer he manages to go without firing a shot, the better, Marcus thinks. If he can continue to be quiet, sneaking through the house in the dark, he can find Dave without alerting any extra hostiles to his presence.

In his second confrontation, Marcus isn’t so lucky. His opponent manages to get him in a chokehold while Marcus continues to fight to keep the man’s gun pointing away. He lands a few well-placed kicks, but the other man is built like a brick wall. In this position, Marcus is hilariously unmatched. Desperation kicks in as his vision starts to gray from the lack of oxygen, but he keeps fighting until two sharp thuds sound beside him and his throat is released. 

Marcus whirls around, breathing heavily, to see Dave’s black eyes and squared jaw, his handgun (outfitted with a military-grade silencer) still pointed at the attacker. Marcus gives him a shaky nod of thanks. 

Dave mouths your name in question.

Marcus silently forms the word safe and jerks his head toward the basement stairs. 

Rapid footsteps make both men spin around, but Marcus barely has his gun leveled before Dave has discharged his own weapon two more times–both in the head–and the next assailant falls.

“Jesus, Dave,” Marcus breathes, barely audible. 

The two of them move through the house. Dave takes the lead, and Marcus is more than happy to let him, because, as he's quickly starting to learn, the man is capable of alarming brutality. If their lives weren't in danger, Marcus isn't sure whether he'd find it sexy or terrifying, the way Dave is able to take down intruder after intruder with practiced efficiency. 

Marcus watches Dave's back, shooting the few attackers who manage to get a chance to take aim at the man. They make a good team, the two of them. The thought makes Marcus stop dead in his tracks. 

"Three," Marcus whispers.

Dave spins around. "What?" he mouths. 

"It's supposed to be the three of us," Marcus says softly. 

"It is the three of us," Dave insists. 

Marcus shakes his head. "No, it's not."

"This isn't some fucking movie where everyone has to work together," Dave growls, stepping forward until the two of them are inches apart. "This is life or death, and I'd rather both of you be in that fucking room, but I knew you'd never agree to that so I got the next best thing."

"I'm aware it's life or death, you asshole," Marcus snaps back. "But three people with guns are better than two, and I'm going back for her."

A floorboard creaks behind them, and Dave whips around, putting a bullet between the assailant’s eyes in one fluid motion. 

Marcus grabs Dave’s shirt and pulls him back around for a quick kiss. "You're fucking scary, you know that?"

"Thought I was an asshole," Dave says quietly. 

"You are an asshole," Marcus says with a wry grin. "But I–" He pauses, blinking. It's been two days, he can't say that. He's doing the same thing he always does, he–

Marcus's internal panicking is silenced with a warm palm on his cheek. "I know," Dave murmurs. "It's okay. And you're right," he adds, reluctance dripping from every syllable. "Let's go get her."

They don't encounter any more hostiles on their way back to the basement. The two of them tread silently downward, when Marcus nearly trips over a body lying at the foot of the stairs. That hadn’t been there before.

"Was that one of yours?" Marcus asks Dave in a low voice. 

Dave shakes his head. "You were the only one who was down here."

"That’s what I thought," Marcus agrees. "No one was here before."

Their eyes meet, the same realization washing over them at the exact same time.

"Shit."

[teenytinyapprentice]

“You know, I thought you would have outgrown this,” “...wuzzat?” “Ah. Nothing, go back to sleep,” 

just need some cuddles n a little nap after a long day ya know?  do not tag as ship 

[shinygoldstar]

Midnight Snack

DannyMay Day 11: Midnight

(Also DannyMay Shadow, Scars, Power, Nature, Seasons, Teeth can you find them all?)

Word Count: 2271 (not beta’d. experimental writing)

Warning: mentions of ghost cannibalism, nothing explicit

@floralflowerpower ​ – for that ghost cannibalism post

(it’s 1 am so i’m gonna sleep now. might post on AO3 later)

Edit: AO3 Added!

.

It was mid-October. The leaves are starting to turn yellow heralding the approaching autumn. Danny was happy because that meant the unusually hot weather is almost over. It wasn’t that he’s melting from the heat- quite the opposite, he’s probably the only person in Amity that isn’t sweltering under the sun with his cold core. But due to this exact same reason, his cooler body temperature also drew in water vapor which condenses on his skin, pooling into beads of water dripping down his shirt, making him appear extra sweaty. He can’t wait for the temperature to be cool enough to not change clothes every few hours. Good thing his clothes are purchased by the dozen; no one really noticed him wearing new sets of clothes throughout the day.

.

It was the contaminated fridge foods that disappeared first. No one missed them. At least until they can’t find the mutated turkeys for their annual Thanksgiving hunting event.

.

Danny yawned as he and his friends entered Fenton Works. Autumn is comfy. Just the right temperature where he can wear loose clothing and not be stared at for being underdressed for the weather. No ‘sweating’ either. His mouth closed with a click, a bit too fast on his new fangs. Danny winced. The fangs seemed to have grown longer overnight again. At this rate Danny won’t be able to pass them off as normal pointy canine teeth for much longer. It didn’t hurt but the itch is annoying. Danny took a detour to the fridge, grabbing an ice cube from the freezer and popped it into his mouth, absentmindedly chewing on the cubes to take the edge off the itch as they walked down to the basement lab. His parents are at a paranormal convention at a nearby city and won’t be back until tomorrow. Danny and his friends gladly took the opportunity to do their ‘Danny’s quarterly fitness test’.

Danny flipped on the light switch and walked to the center of the lab, transforming into his ghost form. “Okay I’m ready. What’s first on the list?”

Tucker dropped his bag and took out a piece of notebook paper, “Okay, first we gotta do the baseline measurements. Height, weight, temperature, and the ecto reading.” Sam dug through her sports bag, pulling out the measurement tape. She held it against Danny, eyes scanning the tape measurement numbers. “Still the same height.”

Tucker nodded, noting down the measurement in Danny’s health notebook. “Next, weight.” Danny stood over the scale. “Yup, still the same weight too.”  

.

Then it was the ecto-samples that Jack misplaced in the kitchen fridge. Jack warned everyone a few days later (everyone knows to avoid glowing food on normal basis so the delayed warning is mostly just courtesy), but no one could find where it went and assumed it grew legs to join the other tiny ecto-samples lurking as their equivalent of household pests. (No matter how often Maddie tried to patch up the mouse hole it keeps reappearing in the same shape but in a different part of the house as if the original mouse hole got transplanted from its original location)

.

“Lunch Lady’s right. You need to eat more. You’re still as skinny as ever.” Sam remarked as Danny took the thermometer out of his mouth. “76 F. The ghosts keep attacking me all day and night. You’d think my parents would notice when a ghost sneaks pass them while they work in the lab but I triggered all their ghost alarms just by being in the house so they deactivated the system when I’m around. They must’ve kept it turned off during the day too.”

“Tough luck dude. Ecto scan next.” Tucker passed the scanner to Sam while Danny stood still for her to scan. The machine beeped, “Wow 6.8, that’s quite a jump from last quarter’s 5.1”

“Maybe it was from all the ghost fighting I did over the summer?”

.

As the leaves began to fall from the branches, ghost attacks lessened in frequency. Not looking the gift horse in the mouth Danny happily enjoyed the lack of ghost attacks to focus more on his studies. If he did well enough, he might even get Bs for his efforts. He also managed to avoid getting detention for the entire week much to the relief of everyone involved.

.

Two days before Thanksgiving, the Fentons finally remembered their turkeys. But by then it was gone. In a rush, they quickly purchased a pre-made turkey instead. While Danny enjoyed the fact that they’re having a normal family dinner for once, he can’t help but feel like there’s something off about the chicken. As if it’s missing a particular tangy or zingy flavor that would’ve made it richer in flavor. ‘Must’ve been because it’s overcooked.’

.

"Honey? Have you seen the new ecto-samples I placed in the basement lab fridge?" “Again Jack? This is the third time this month. Have you checked the upstairs fridge?” “I-ah was pretty sure I placed them in the correct fridge this time. Must be some no-good thievin’ ghost.” “I’ll set up the ecto-anti-theft, that’ll get ‘em good! No ghost can escape Jack Fenton for long!”

.

*Intruder Alert* *Intruder Alert*

Red lights peppered with robotic voice and alarm noises lurched Maddie into full alert mode. She quickly took stock of her surroundings and tried to wake Jack up. But Jack had his earplugs on and continued to snore blissfully. A loud knock on the door caught her attention. “What’s going on mom?” Jazz’s voice floated through the door. Maddie quickly rose to open the bedroom door, swiftly pulled Jazz in and locked the door. “Jazz dear, try to wake your dad up. I’ll go check on the intruder.” Maddie strode quietly to the door then paused, “Have you checked on Danny?” Jazz bit her lips and looked away for a moment “-ah yeah! Danny’s snoring so loud he can’t hear the alarm.” Maddie twisted the doorknob but paused, hesitating. “He’s fine mom.” Jazz reassures her. “If Danny wakes up, he’ll come here first. I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

The alarm rang loudly in her ears as she walked down the stairs to the basement lab, its loud ringing noise effectively covering up the sound of her footsteps. Reaching the basement floor, Maddie quickly crept over to hide behind the shelf on her left, eyes scanning the lab for the intruder.

The glass jars clinked as a shadow moved about the fridge. A very familiar shadow. That didn’t glow. Maddie turned on the lab lights. “Danny?” she started, carefully walking over to face him, her eyes still scanning him to check if he’s really her Danny. The faint, barely noticeable scar on his eyebrow from his attempt to fly off the tree when he was five is there confirming his identity.

“What are you doing down here-?” Maddie noticed the glowing jar in his hand, “and what exactly are you doing?” Danny hazily stared at her; eyes half-lidded. Maddie snapped her fingers to get his attention. Danny didn’t blink. “He's still not awake, Danny come on wake up!”, she shook his shoulders. “Huh? Wuzzat?” Danny groggily woke up. He blinked in confusion.

Finally aware of his surroundings, Danny looked down at his right hand that still held the glowing sample. “Aah!” Danny yelped dropping the sample, then realizing he dropped the sample, tries to catch the jar, fumbling clumsily. Maddie would’ve laughed if it was anywhere else but in this situation. “Danny, do you remember what you were doing?”

“I was doing my homework and was craving for a good cheeseburger?”

---

“And the half-opened jar of ectoplasm?”

“Pickles?”

---

“Dude are you for real? That was priceless!” Tucker crowed with laughter. Sam leaned away from Tucker to avoid the meat spittle, “Urgh! Gross Tucker! Swallow it before you speak!”

Danny grumbled into his glass of milkshake, “’s not funny Tuck. you didn't see her face. She was about ready to scan me for signs of ecto-possession. Good thing my lie about craving cheeseburger and opening the wrong fridge worked. Otherwise I’d be in big trouble if she scanned me now with my latest ecto-reading. Anyways I'm banned from the lab now.” Danny bit into his burger.

“So what really happened there dude? Did you seriously sleepwalk into the basement lab?”

“I think so? I don’t really remember anything before Mom found me in the lab. Only that I was feeling a bit hungry.”

.

The ghosts stopped coming. Everyone in Amity held their breath when there were no ghost attacks for two weeks straight, then a month. Then two months, three. No ghosts. They let out their collective breath. It might be too soon to hope but for now they will enjoy their ghost-free, perfectly ordinary life. It feels a bit strange to not have ghost related interruptions as part of their daily routine but they didn’t miss the ghost-related reconstruction expenses. The local insurance company employees received a nice bonus for the ghost-free month.

.

By the time March rolled in, Danny is restless. “Guys, there's definitely something big going on.”, he waved his hands for emphasis. “The Fenton portal is still open yet no ghost came through? Not even Boxy since the North District warehouse thing last month. There’s definitely something big going on. I've been taking the ghost-free break for granted for a while now and it helped save my grades but this is too big to ignore.”

“Dude, maybe it’s because you’re much more powerful now? Your latest reading last week is 8.2. None of the ghosts we’ve met so far is above 6 except for Vlad and the Ghost King.” Tucker suggested.

“You might have a point there, Tucker. We haven’t seen any of the ghosts bothering Vlad so far and he’s definitely higher than 6.” Sam added.

Danny frowned, “Maybe you’re right but I just have this nagging feeling that that’s not quite it.”

.

Danny entered the Zone with little fanfare. The area around the Fenton portal looked normal enough, the usual rocks and clouds of debris are still floating around in their usual areas. Danny aimlessly passed through the nooks and crannies, ducking under the endless spiral staircase, not entirely sure of what to look for. The Zone felt a bit quiet today but Danny haven’t been to the Zone that frequently to be certain about it.

.

The Ghost Zone, while still filled with random bits of odds and ends felt empty somehow. It wasn't until he sighted Skulker that he realized he hasn't seen any of the tiny blog ghosts nor the occasional passerby ghosts through his trip.

.

Luckily or unluckily, Danny quickly spotted someone he knew in the distance. As if called, Skulker turned his head towards Danny, then veered sharply to the left and flew fast in Danny's opposite direction, a first for the self-proclaimed hunter to not hunt his favorite prey. ‘Something's not right and Skulker definitely knows something.’ Danny thought.

Danny quickly chased after him; Skulker could never beat Danny at speed chase even at his best, and he won't be winning today's unplanned race either. “Hey Skulker! What’s going on?” Danny yelled over the gap between them but Skulker gave no reply, diving down deep into the reddish forest ravines of the island below. Not to be deterred, Danny did a quick aerial flip, adjusting his flight angle to follow down Skulker’s path. Danny soon caught up to Skulker and launched him into a nearby rock with sticky ectoplasm to hold him still long enough to talk. Skulker ejected from his metal suit but Danny was faster and caught the real ghost before he can escape.

.

(Why is Skulker fleeing?)

.

"Hey Skulker, not hunting me for once?" Danny asked teasingly.

Skulker paled (Danny never knew ghosts can turn pale) and squirmed even more. Danny's smile dropped.

"What’s going on Skulker?" he asked worriedly. “None of the ghosts have appeared in the human world and the Zone looks empty somehow”

Skulker squirmed a bit more but realizing he’s stuck finally said, “Ghost Child, haven’t you ever wondered why the Infinite Realms is never overcrowded?”

Danny frowned, puzzled as to where this leads to. “How is this related to this situation?” Skulker stared at Danny stunned.

“What?” Danny asked, suddenly self-conscious, “-was there something I was supposed to know about?”

Skulker sighed, unconsciously loosening a bit of his tension, “You’re so young. So very young. We Ghosts don’t fade as fast as Newcomers arrive from your world. In the Realms, there's a natural system that keeps the population under control. An ecosystem. There's predator and there's prey. And then there's the Apex Predator. There's a reason why Dark was feared. It wasn't just for his harsh rule. It was because he was the Apex Predator.”

Danny struck at the odd wording, "’Was’? Was that because he got sealed?” Danny paused, “But wait- if he's sealed, he would still be the Apex predator. So how-? Wait. Did I?"

Skulker nodded, "Good you're catching on fast. By defeating Pariah Dark, you have proven to the Realms that you're the best candidate for the Apex Predator. And with the new status comes sets of conducts, one your body instincts know well. You've been culling down the uncontrolled excess from Pariah Dark's sleep quite fast. Your hunger would settle down soon of course once balance has been re-established in the Realms."

“But- How- Wait- What-?” Danny looked down at his hand “Hey Skulker--!” but his hand is bare.

.

Danny’s lips tasted oddly tangy, energized.  

.

.

.

-----

(Skulker might've slipped out of Danny's slack hand while Danny is in shock. Danny might've bit his lips hard enough to bleed. It's not that hard with his new fangs. But this is just speculation...)

[donutghosthouse]

drive - chapter iv

read on ao3

Caesar Zeppeli/Joseph Joestar - Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Trauma (Gun Violence), Slow Burn, Road Trips, Driving, Laser Tag

“Two scoops of mint chocolate chip on a waffle cone, please! Oh, and same thing for him, but with salted caramel.”

Joseph passed over a ten-dollar bill and received two dollars in change in exchange for the two ice cream cones. Caesar got up from the outdoor table to meet him. He handed Caesar his ice cream, grinning, and leaned his head against Caesar’s.

They walked to the beach across from the ice cream shop. Caesar got an umbrella and several towels from his car before they set up a spot for themselves, close enough to the shore to see it but not close enough to get cold from the breeze.

Caesar and Joseph were both exhausted. It was very late when they returned to the cabin the night before. When they finished their ice cream, they tucked themselves under some towels and laid on top of some more, the umbrella blocking out the sun, and then fell asleep.

Caesar woke up hours later. He reapplied his sunscreen, idly watching over Joseph as he napped. That morning and at that moment, he seemed more peaceful than usual while he slept. Caesar smiled as he moved some of Joseph’s brown hair out of his face.

Joseph yawned and snuggled his head against Caesar’s leg. “Caesar? Wuzzat you?” Joseph said. His eyes were still closed. Caesar laughed softly and stroked his cheek, humming to confirm. Joseph grinned when he opened his eyes, stretching as big as he always did.

Caesar reapplied Joseph’s sunscreen, too. He was always on Joseph’s ass about putting on sunscreen, telling him all about the science of sun damage causing 99% of skin aging. Joseph believed him, but he was lazy, and only put sunscreen on when Caesar nagged him to.

Caesar watched as Joseph ran off to play in the water and smiled. It was nice to see him having fun. He hoped that Joseph would feel that way most of the time. It hurt him to think of Joseph constantly having flashbacks of the shooting at school. He thought of how Joseph didn’t want to go back to school. Could Caesar go back to that school either? He probably couldn’t. He figured it would be easy to transfer schools anyway since he wasn’t in university yet.

Joseph had told him he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do for a living when he was older. Caesar reassured him that most people don’t know what they want to do with the rest of their life until they’re at least in their 30s, which shocked Joseph into his mouth hanging open. Caesar laughed quietly as he thought of that face.

Caesar wasn’t sure what he wanted to do for a living, either. All he knew was that he wanted a family of his own when he grew up. Having one with Joseph would be nice. He wondered how difficult and expensive it would be to have a baby with genes from each of them. Either way, adoption was a great option. Caesar sighed. Perhaps this wasn’t a discussion to have alone in his head. Joseph should be part of it too.

Joseph came back to their spot soaking wet. Caesar toweled him off. They both smiled and laughed as Caesar ruffled up Joseph’s hair with the towel. “I think I’m ready to go back,” Joseph said. “I’m worn out.”

“Me too,” Caesar said. “I could go for another nap.”

Joseph snorted. “You sure are tired. We just had a nap!”

Caesar grinned. “I know,” he said.

Instead of taking a nap, Caesar set up a movie on the TV and snuggled up in a blanket on the couch. Joseph joined him, setting down a bowl of chips and some dip on the coffee table. Caesar rested his head on Joseph’s lap, shutting his eyes.

“Hey you,” Joseph said, rubbing Caesar’s shoulder. “You gonna watch the movie?”

“Mmph,” Caesar mumbled. “Maybe.”

Caesar went between sleeping and watching the movie every five minutes or so. Eventually, Joseph turned the movie off to let Caesar sleep. He slept for a few hours. When he woke up, they had takeout for dinner and played Battleship. Joseph won. Caesar was too tired to care.

They went to bed early that night.

The next day was the last day they would go home. When Caesar woke up, Joseph was playing his 3DS right next to him. He smiled and watched Joseph play Super Mario 64 DS. Joseph smiled at him, too, and leaned his head against his.

They stayed there in silence for a while until they both decided to get up. Caesar made some pancakes while Joseph got ready in their room. They ate, cleaned up the cabin, finished packing, and loaded all their things into Caesar’s car.

“I’m going to transfer schools,” Caesar said as they began their journey back home.

Joseph stared at him for a bit and then smiled. “Really? Where?”

Caesar thought about that for a moment. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t really matter, though. I just want to get out of there.”

Joseph nodded, and then was lost in thought for a moment. “Why don’t you come to a school closer to where I live?”

Caesar hummed inquisitively. That was a great idea. “You’re right. Why don’t I?” Caesar smiled as he watched the cars on the road. “You know, my lease is coming to an end soon, so maybe I’ll move closer to you.”

Joseph gasped joyfully. “Really?! That’d be amazing!”

Caesar laughed. “I think so too.”

Joseph amazingly stayed up the whole car ride, and they found themselves talking the whole way, too. At the halfway point, they got smoothies and Joseph got some snacks out of the back of Caesar’s car. 

Time seemed to go by quickly. It was 3 pm when they got to Joseph’s house, but it felt as if they had only left moments ago. Erina greeted them as they brought Joseph’s things back to his house. Caesar bowed his head toward her and thanked her for letting him borrow Joseph. “Borrow him anytime,” she said. “By the way, would you like to stay for dinner, Caesar?”

Erina made Joseph put his things away while she chatted with Caesar in the kitchen.

“Erina…” he said, slowly, his heart racing. “Uh, would I have your blessing if Jojo was my…” He trailed off, having a hard time saying it out loud.

“Your boyfriend?” Erina said it for him. Caesar looked down at his feet, feeling his heart racing through his body, and nodded. Erina wrapped her arm around him and rubbed his bicep. “Of course you do,” she said.

Caesar breathed deeply in relief. Then he heard Joseph’s voice.

“Good!” Joseph said. Caesar turned his head. Joseph’s face was beet red. Erina raised an eyebrow. “I already told Caesar I love him, Granny. I kissed him!”

Caesar covered his face with his hands, embarrassed. Erina had already given him his blessing, but he hadn’t known Joseph was listening to him the entire time.

“And? Caesar? Do you feel the same way?” Erina asked. She sounded intrigued more than anything else.

“Yes,” Caesar said, simply put.

Erina rubbed his bicep again. “Good,” she said. “This goes without saying, Caesar, but please take care of my boy.”

“I will. Always,” Caesar said. He raised his head and smiled at Joseph.

Caesar ate with the Joestars that night, kissed Joseph at the doorway, and went home.

It was weird going back to normal. There was no Joseph to be around. He found himself so bored that he went to sleep right away.

In the morning, he realized that his silent phone had received three missed calls from Joseph overnight. Caesar’s heart raced. He immediately called Joseph back.

“… H’lo?” Joseph said.

“Hey,” Caesar said. “Are you okay? You called me three times last night.”

“‘M fine,” Joseph said. “Just wanted to talk to you.”

Caesar smiled. “You can talk to me soon. In a few days, I’m going to go apartment hunting. Would you like to come with me?”

Joseph gasped on the other line. “Yeah!” he said.

Caesar took Joseph to visit an apartment complex that Erina had suggested. She had told him that she knew the owner and that if he chose to rent from them it would be discounted. She also said not to worry if he didn’t like it.

“You know, I might not look anywhere else,” Caesar said, almost immediately upon stepping inside the apartment. “I love it.”

Caesar’s favorite part was the kitchen. It was so spacious for an apartment. Caesar thought about making Erina’s famous pie while Joseph sat on a barstool and watched. He thought about teaching a toddler to mix flour and sugar in a bowl, with Joseph’s arm around him. He smiled and took Joseph by the hand to the bedroom.  It was smaller than the kitchen, but Caesar preferred it that way, he thought. It would be cozier, especially if Joseph was over. He could grow plants on his window sill. The bathroom was nice, nothing to write home about, but nice. The living room was about the same size as the one at his current apartment, but newly built, so it was nicer. The best part of all was that the apartment was only ten minutes away from Joseph’s house.

“I’m taking it,” Caesar said.

“Moving is a pain in the ass!” Joseph shouted as he pushed Caesar’s teal couch into the elevator. Caesar frowned at him, and Joseph grinned. “But this pain in the ass has a big reward at the end.”

“That’s more like it,” Caesar said. He smiled and pat Joseph on the head as the elevator doors closed behind them.

They only had Caesar’s furniture and a small number of other things to move. Caesar knew Joseph loved to complain, and dreaded but was excited for the day they would move in together. When they finally set the last cardboard box on the floor, Joseph collapsed in the snail position on the couch, shoving his face into the cushion.

“You’re so dramatic,” Caesar said. “I’m going to set up my bed.”

Caesar dropped himself into his bed when he finished putting on the sheets and shut his eyes. Just as he started to drift to sleep for a nap, he felt Joseph climbing under the blankets with him.

Caesar showered a few hours later, Joseph still asleep in his bed. Halfway through the shower, his fingers in his hair as he washed it, he realized he forgot to bring clothes into the bathroom and panicked. If Joseph woke up, he would see him in just a towel. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but Caesar was not prepared for that. He would have to be sneaky to avoid it. As he got out of the shower, he wrapped his towel around his waist and peeked through the door into his room. He took a deep breath in relief as he saw Joseph sleeping in his bed. He snuck into his bedroom and grabbed some clothes from a box in his wardrobe. When he turned around, Joseph’s aquamarine eyes were right on him, his cheeks flushed red. Caesar froze. What could he do? His boyfriend, who he’d loved for years, was looking at him in only a towel for the first time.

“Holy shit,” Joseph said. “You’re even hotter than I thought you could be.”

Caesar’s face and neck went hot. “Ah… Thank you, Jojo,” Caesar said. He had so many thoughts, but that was all he could get himself to say. They stared at each other awkwardly for a while, and then Caesar went into the bathroom to change.

Joseph frowned when Caesar came back into the room. “Aw, no… you got dressed.”

Caesar raised an eyebrow and smirked, his cheeks hot. “You expected me to stay naked all day, Jojo?”

Joseph couldn’t help but laugh. “I mean, that’d be nice,” he said.

[the-muses-are-herd]

Exile, dreaming

Sometimes he remembers the endless white mountains. Ice, sleet, a dozen words for snow… not that he understood them at the time. 

Exilo Mikhailovitch SanHusky. Exile. Sled dog —a long, long time ago. Now, super-hero. 

Yet the memories come to him, sometimes, in his sleep. The long, hard work, pulling and running. Fighting for leadership, for survival. The harsh ice slapping his pads, the excitement in his heart… the howling of pleasure!! 

And the massive pillow smacking his snout, snapping him back to reality. “Wuzzat? Wha…” 

The grumpy face of the doberman next to him, too. “I don’t mind if you run in your sleep and yank the sheets away. But I draw the line at howling in my ear.” 

Exile can’t help but grin. “Was I? Sorry, sorry.” 

He pats the space next to him. “Come back. I’ll try and be quiet. Scout’s honor. Not that I was ever a scout.”

“I think you’ve been spending way too much time with Hunter,” says Blitz —but he’s smiling, and acquiesces. 

Sometimes, the simple pleasure of companionship can be even better than the joy of hard work. 

[anneimaginesundertale]

sleep :   I  falls  asleep  on  Red,  making  it  hard  for him to leave. ~Please and thank you ^.^

(As if he’d want to leave with you there!  Guess we’d better give him a reason why he’s got to leave.) 

--

Red fumbled with his phone, trying to press the damn button before the thing could keep ringing.  “What?” he hissed into the phone.  

“Get your lazy tailbone down here! We have to go!” His brother’s voice was too loud.  He pushed the volume button on the side of the phone and turned his head, trying to muffle the sound.  

“I can’t, Boss,” he whispered. 

“Why not?” You couldn’t actually turn down Boss. If anything, he’d gotten louder. 

Normally, Red would have given his brother some kind of excuse, tried to be vague about it. But that wouldn’t get Boss to shut the hell up, and he really needed him to.  So instead, he said, “Y/N is here.  Sleeping.  I can’t go.” 

“Leave Y/N!” 

“No, Boss, they’re sleeping on me.  Like in my lap.  If I leave, I’ll wake ‘em up.  I gotta stay here.” 

He heard his brother sigh over the phone. “You’re too soft,” he said.  “Get here as soon as they wake up.” 

“You got it, Boss,” Red said and hung up. 

On his lap, you stirred a bit.  “Wha’ wuzzat?” you murmured sleepily.  

“Nothin’, sweetheart,” Red said, stroking a hand gently over your hair. “Go back to sleep.”  

You snuggled up to him and he felt as if his soul was going to burst with happiness and love.  He’d have to get to Boss eventually, but he didn’t mind being stuck here with you one little bit. 

[emo-rejects-archive]

Instant Fill: Several Team New Plasma grunts for Roxie

Roxie was laying on the couch in living room of her apartment, catching some z’s, when she was suddenly brought out of her dreams by a sudden heavy feeling in her stomach.

“Huh? Wuzzat?” Roxie glanced around groggily, trying to see if there was any sort of intruder inside of her home. Then she heard the voices.

“Wh-What the... Wh-Where are we?!”

“We were just about to steal that rare Pokémon before a bright flash of light brought us... Here...?”

“Uuuugh! It smells worse than a Skuntank in here!”

“Steal a Pokémon? Hey wait a min- Oh...,” Roxie began, but then she looked down and noticed how bloated her stomach was. And this wasn’t any ordinary bloat, no, her gut was swollen beyond belief, so taut and stretched that it spread apart her thighs because of how much breathing room it needed. It was so enormous that it even spilled of the ground, touching the cold hardwood floor of the apartment.

“W-Wait... Wh-Who said that?”

“Y-You dare trap us, the almighty Team Plasma?!”

Bumps started to form about on the smooth surface of her tum, even wiggling about as the grunts within struggled to find their freedom.

Roxie just stared blankly at the mess that was happening in her gut. “I have a show later on tonight, soooooo I’m just gonna go back to sleep and hope this all goes away,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.

[ruined-shaper]

Spirit of (X)! (Can I have one too? Either for this universe, or linked to the new one, or... however you think it could fit even if she was involved in the events already...?)

Mirabelle, Follower of Veigar

Unknown years after the Dawngate opened.

Not so long ago, in the world we knew then, a great shaper lived. Eidolus, his name. A western shaper, a grand engineer, brilliant mind, and hopeless lover for his mate, Imanna. It was said her beauty was-

“C’MON, SKIP AHEAD.”

“Writing is a process. It must be detailed! You can’t simply leave out details. What if the audience-”

“THE AUDIENCE DOESN’T MATTER, I MATTER, AND I SAY, SKIP AHEAD.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

-Imanna was pretty, she died, Eidolus got sad, and built the Dawngate to blow himself up.

However, our story takes place with the thieving-

“I prefer… opportunistic.”

“You hEARD THE LADY.”

“Can you please be quiet?”

However, our story takes place with the thieving opportunistic duo: a soon to be powerful master of the universe,

“GOOD!”

-and his sane, intelligent, stunningly beautiful associate.

“BAD!”

“Sorry, she’s the one paying me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Veigar.”

“ANGRY! RAGE!”

Now, these two cunning individuals were made aware of the circumstances they were about to encounter thanks to some interesting experiments-

“He glued a stick to a rock.”

“A STAFF TO A FOCUS. I spent YEARS on that!”

- and a rare anomaly: True communication with the spirits. Words of wisdom from the Spirit of Insight itself.

“It says hello, by the way.”

“It says whatnow-”

“Just, ignore him. Keep writing.”

As such,

“I WILL NOT BE IGNORED-”

“Please, Quiet!”

As such, prepared for the new age of shaping to approach, the spirit realm exploded forth from the gate, and the world would be changed forever. Of course, they were absolutely prepared for anything…

1 minute after the Dawngate opened

“I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT PREPARED FOR THIS.”

Mimi, in a bit of a panic as the worlds collided in the nearby gate, the spiritual energy shaking the ground and air thick with a searing heat. Laying still nearby, a cheshire grin spread wide on his sleeping form, Veigar had fallen.

“SPIRITS, BE ALIVE. JUST, BE ALIVE, YOU BASTARD. I SPENT TOO MANY YEARS OUT OF SCHOOL TO BE A PART-TIME ASSISTANT WITH A DEAD BOSS-”

Anxious, full-fledged screaming echoed through the night.

“Can- Can we, skip this part? He was asleep for this anyway.”

“Wait, why?… WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME IN MY SLEEP-”

“Nothing, Veigar.”

“..Oh.”

“What’s ‘oh’?”

“What, I don’t look irresistibly handsome and you DIDN’T take advantage of the situation? I TAUGHT YOU BETTER.”

“Spirits help me.”

“…Wuzzat, Insight?… It says no. And agrees that I’m deserving of a modelling career.”

“Can we FOCUS, please?!”

Careful so as not to raise alarm, Mirabelle carried the newly born-again shaper back to a hostel at the edge of the world’s heart. Passing in secret away from the prying eyes of pilgrims, paladins, and animals, the duo rested. While awaiting the rise of her unconscious-

“HEY, YOU ALREADY USED UNCONSCIOUS. YOU CALL YOURSELF A WRITER?”

“That’s not an issue here-”

“I DEMAND CHANGES!”

“By Grace, you are NOT worth the money…”

  While awaiting the rise of her unconscious-non-consensually sleeping companion, another miracle glistened in the window, out of view of the masses seeking refuge from the Gate.

A simple, small being. A spirit of unknown nature. It seemed to be waiting, watching Mirabelle. For what purpose, she was unsure. Such things were unheard of. Veigar had performed what no one had done before by summoning a spirit to his bidding-

“Actually, it’s more of a bargain-sorta deal. You know, all-powerful beings have to respect each other.”

And yet, here was another. And it was calling. To her.

How was she supposed to respond? What if it was a ploy? A trick of the light? Perhaps she was hallucinating, maybe the blast had killed her and this was some odd state of purgatory leading a similar scenario.

“Mimi, what the HELL were you on about?!”

“I was stressed. It’s normal to be stressed in that situation.”

2 hours after the Dawngate opened

“ThIS IS AN ABNORMAL AMOUNT OF STRESS FOR THIS SITUATION-” She yelled aloud. Covering her mouth and pacing the room, she cursed herself for the outburst.

“This is fine! It’s, fine. Really. No problem. Just going to… touch it? But what if it burns me? What if I burn IT? Is that even possible- THINK, Mirabelle, THINK, DAMN YOU.”

A moment of pause.

“Sweet Grace, I’m starting to sound like him.”

You are not him. You are better.

“Gee, thanks brain… wait… that wasn’t me.”

It was a shock. Though it could not truly speak, there was another conversing with her in a language she could replicate, but could clearly understand. It respected her.

She was a more suiting candidate, in its eyes, for the incredible power contained within Veigar. She must have it. She WOULD HAVE IT-

“-No. NO! I-I’m not thinking this…. It’s YOU.”

Trust in me, girl. No one else… only in me. I can give you power. Purpose. What has he done to deserve this? Nothing.

Kill him. Take his power. His energy. IT IS YOURS. TAKE IT.

“No! You’re… NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

TAKE IT! TAKE IT. TAKE IT TAKEIT TAKEITTAKEITTAKEITTAKEIT

“-AGHAGH- PAIN, AGONY, AND POWER- power… Uhhh… Mimi, what are you screaming about? YOU WOKE ME FROM MY POWER NAP.”

It was his voice that caused the screaming in her mind to stop. A sense of clarity, and calm. Steadying herself, she looked to him, then to the window. The creature was gone.

“Ahhh, I feel… AMAZING! Like I could take on the world! LIKE I COULD RULE THE WORLD-”

Veigar attempted to stand from the bed triumphantly, instead falling flat on his face, causing the nearby dresser to topple on him.

“MIMI HELP THE WORLD HAS BETRAYED ME-”

“…Betrayed…. Betrayal… so that must’ve… no. It was nothing at all.”

“ALRIGHT, WE’RE LEAVING THIS PART OUT TOO. NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE HAPPENED. AT ALL. NEVER WOULD I DO SOMETHING SO SILLY.”

“Of course.”

“Alright…. So, does that look good for a start?”

“I think it’s great-”

“I REQUIRE MORE WRITTEN COMPLIMENTS.”

“I will compliment you later.”

“…Fine. I accept your offering.”

“Alright then, we’re done for today. When’s good for a next visit?”

“Whenever I feel like it.”

“I-no, that’s-”

“Whenever. We feel like it.”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll make due.”

A promising student, with dangerous hidden potential, Mimi is unknowningly accompanied by the Spirit of Betrayal. Though not bonded as spirit and shaper, the being is more than willing to manipulate and coerce those around it for its need and utmost desire to shatter the bonds of mortals.

Allies: Veigar (So much to know… to be… to own.)

Friends: Zeri (Another student. I mean, her teacher is… something, but they’re nice enough to ignore that fact.), Fenmore (He wants to bring upon a new age… maybe we can get ourselves ahead of the curve.), Amarynth (So violent. So powerful…. and yet, she’s sad. Why?)

Enemies: Dibs (Stop talking, stop talking, PLEASE STOP TALKING-), Kindra (I have never felt more uncomfortable around another person-), Sakari (… I stand corrected.)

//Another fun tale! This one was a doozy, but I really enjoy writing dialogue! I think a more comedic set of team rocket-esque deuteragonists with some oomph to them really fits well in the universe, and I find the dynamic Veigar and Mimi could have here very intriguing to build around.

The additional tension of having a terrifying, parasitic spirit lurking is another relatively unique property here. Sure, parasitic spirits exist, but they have immediately satiable needs, like Corruption or Consumption. Betrayal, by contrast, has to wait. It has to weave and earn its kill, like building a house of cards. Only then, will it be sated.

Big shout out to @veigarthevile and @assistant-of-evil! Thanks for the prompts!

[adcrka-a]

“tired?” from Catra

Send “tired?” to notice my sleep-deprived muse nodding off

     “ Huh? Wuzzat? “ She picks up one hand and rubs at her eyes. Confused. Naps always did this to her, which is why Adora usually made an effort to avoid them, but... “I think I just fell asleep, sorry.”