#also am I the only one going through the lighter squares going

[iheartallthethings]

rbing to mention that "dipstick" is not necessarily (or ime usually) an obscenity

This might be handy for the writing crowd

[angelofdumpsterfires]

BILL'S CONTRACT FINE PRINT DECIPHERED

I'm sure someone has beat me to this, but because I decided to decipher/translate all 1000ish words of the fine print on this here totally normal contract (by hand)

Bold code is theraprism substitution cipher, the rest is the author's substitution cipher, i've reformatted the text to be more readable but i've also made a version with the more accurate, original line formatting here

YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER

THIS CONTRACT IS LEGAL AND BINDING, WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE AND SMALL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECESSARY.

SANS SOUL YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT, NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER - IN FEELING THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH TIME CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTWINED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. -

THATS DONE BUDDY, CONGRATULATIONS YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD.

MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM “THE FRIES, THE FRIES, THEY DON'T DEGRADE IN NATURE… ITS AN IMMORTAL FOOD… THEY WILL BE IN THE LANDFILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS.”

GOOD GOD, THE THINGS S I’VE SEEN, ME. WHO AM I? OH BILL'S PREVIOUS LAWYER, HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE. I USED TO BE SO HOT. I WAS SO FINE. NOW I'M FINE PRINT.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMATE OBJECT, A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT.

IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL DAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU, THEN BILL MIGHT COME ALONG.

BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHTS TO EATING SOUL FOOD, IT WILL TURN TO ASH IN YOUR MOUTH, A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU.

BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECESSARY, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISITION, SOUL MAKEOVERRR!

YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS. THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU WHEN YOU DIE.

SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS OF ANY AFTERLIFE INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATORY, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER, AXOLOTL'S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD THE SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND, THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. CATS ARE INDIFFERENT.

SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSION FROM HORCULUS THE RED, PLABOS THE MERCILESS, MORBUS SON OF MORTEM, PLAGA THE OOZING AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR WEAKENED/EMPTY VESSELS.

TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT: WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK.

[year2000electronics]

This is tamblr support we need you to agree to are new TOS.

THIS TERMS OF SERVICE IS LEGAL AND BINDING. WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE AND SMALL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECESSARY. SANS SOUL, YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT, NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER, IN FEELING, THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER; EACH TIME CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS; YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. "WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU"? THATS DONE, BUDDY. CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD. MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM " THE FRIES, THE FRIES, THEY DON'T DEGRADE IN NATURE!!! IT'S AN IMMORTAL FOOD!!! THEY WILL BE IN THE LANDFILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS!" GOOD GOD, THE THINGS S I'VE SEEN. ME? WHO AM I? OH I'M BILL'S PREVIOUS LAWYER. HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE. I USED TO BE SO HOT. I WAS SO FINE, NOW I'M FINE PRINT. SPEAKING OF WHICH, BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN OBJECT: A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT. IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL, YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED -- UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL DAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU, THEN BILL MIGHT WANT TO COME ALONG. BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHTS TO EATING SOUL FOOD; IT WILL TURN TO ASH IN YOUR MOUTH, A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU. BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECESSARY, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISITION. SOUL MAKEOVERRR! YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS, THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE. SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATOR, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER, AXOLOTL'S TANK, AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE. SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD THE SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS. SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND; THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. CATS ARE INDIFFERENT. SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSION FROM HORCULES THE RED; PLABOS THE MERCILESS; MORBUS SON OF MORTEM; PLEGE THE OOZING; AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR WEAKENED, EMPTY VESSELS, TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT AT HOME, WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK"

YOU ARE ALSO NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER

Agree?

wow! seems legit to me! AGREE!!!!!

[mymistakewriting]

Just some more SalTommy thoughts

So the boys have been in my head pretty consistently, I've just been having a shit go of things irl so I haven't been able to pause to share any thoughts until now. Please enjoy.

Sal and Tommy are listed as each other's emergency contacts both through the department and on medical release forms. While Sal does have other people on his ICE list, Tommy doesn't. If Tommy's in the hospital, Sal's the only one getting a call. He never fails to show up.

These boys traded clothes a lot. It was always sweatshirts of Tommy's that went missing because Tommy was smaller than Sal back then, but Tommy ended up with t-shirts and Sal's famous beige jacket that he still has years later.

I fully believe that Tommy is the designated driver friend between the two of them. That said, Sal has come to pick Tommy up from a bar at last call when he was near-black out drunk. They never talked about what made Tommy drink so much and drink alone.

Sal's got a key to Tommy's place and vice versa. Sal doesn't call before he drops by, Tommy does. It irritates Sal to no end that Tommy won't listen when he tells him that he's always welcome no matter what's happening.

You square up to one of these boys, you'll end up fighting them both. They're protective over one another for damn sure - think Casey and Severide from Chicago Fire: you insult one, you've insulted them both and you better hope someone steps in because the first punch WILL put you on the ground. Tommy gives a verbal warning before he punches. Sal does not.

They're the "final test" for each other where partners are concerned. For Sal, it's family, team, Tommy. For Tommy, it's team, then Sal.

Sal is one of the few people Tommy still cooks for whenever he asks. He's on a very short list since Gerrard's time as Captain saw cooking used as a punishment.

I am entirely convinced Tommy had a crush on Sal. Whether or not he acted on it? I ping pong a bit on it.

Sal was the first person Tommy came out to. Similarly, Tommy is the only one who's ever seen Sal check out a man's ass while they're out in the city. Sal might not label himself but by God, no one is convinced that man is totally straight.

Sal keeps a list pinned in his phone's notes of things for bad mental health days for Tommy. He also keeps the stuff for a care package on hand just in case it's needed. Said care package includes a few tea bags of a tea he knows Tommy likes, some snacks, a pack of cheap cigarettes and one of the cheap-ass maypop lighters, and a DVD of whatever stupid romcom he could find that he thought Tommy would like but hasn't seen a million times.

Speaking of: Tommy definitely smokes as a stress relief. Man's a firefighter AND a former army pilot, there's no way that habit hasn't snuck in. Sal found out because he stumbled on Tommy with a cigarette in his mouth. It's a well-kept secret, but one that Sal relies on for bad days.

[lemon-russ]

So I've been writing a Cato x OC thing that was just a dumb thing I was having fun with, and decided to share with the class. I will note this is the result of listening to a lot of olde timey emo pop punk and wanting to make an OC that is not perfect. Or good. She's a train wreck. Also this is 40k. And prob not incredibly lore accurate in places but I got excited about hive cities and tried.

Anyway big ol warning on this that it is not supposed to be smut (but I can't control the winds if it works it works) and is 100% just me listening to angsty music and wanting to write someone in shitty situations. So going to be a bit more on serious and bleaker side. Also, Yes the OC is the same one from wolf mother but slightly altered, I am lazy and like this one. Idk why I feel I need to defend myself for pretty clean grimdark fanfic when I normally write tropey smut but here we are lol

Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye

Letting People Down Is My Thing (Ch. 1)

|ch.1| Next> Ao3

Song: Just One Yesterday - Fall Out Boy (a lot of this is going to be heavy on old FOB I'm not sorry)

Cato x Fem OC

CW: Drugs, Alcohol, PTSD/ Trauma, General dourness (will have others as it goes please check CW every time!)

Summary: Ex-Imperial Guard captain Wren Vaille gets a summons to meet with Guilliman out of the blue.

Word count: 2,451

Wren trudged through the cluttered, cramped roads of the hive city. She lit up something- she wasn’t entirely sure what but it was in her pocket- and took a drag, shoving her hands in her pockets and shuffling around the rowdy denizens of the street.

Whatever it was, it took the edge off her anxious mind for a minute. She let out a long smokey breath and found her way to a tiny door in an alley, unable to fully open without hitting the building next to it. She squeezed in, pulling it closed hard behind her. It didnt fully close, but nothing in the hive city of the outer palace worked right anyways. She scootched around her neighbor, in her usual place sitting on the floor and blocking the tiny hall.

“Can I get a drag of that?” The old woman croaked as Wren stepped over her. She rolled her eyes, “Don't you have your own?” She grumbled, scooting to her door and entering the passcode on the datapad next to it.

“Still could use a drag.” The old woman mumbled, but pulled something out of her own pocket to smoke anyways. Wren sighed and hipchecked her door to get it open.

She kicked it closed and rearmed the locks, clicking on the light to her tiny, windowless home. Her bed was shoved to the wall, blocked in by her food cabinet. What once was a closet now served as a small bathroom, and took up the area at the foot of the bed, jutting out in a small square. The little free space outside of that had a small table and a rickety chair.

All things considered, a pretty nice place for living in the outer palace hive city. Benefits of a good military savings and some greased palms.

She ashed her mystery roll in a broken cup on the table, smothering it for later. She crawled on her bed and kicked back, grabbing a packet of soylen viridian and tearing it open with her teeth. She ate the goop, squeezing it out of the pouch, and dug her newest acquirement out of her ratty coat pocket- a paperback book on bionics repair. She settled back, kicking her bionic leg up on the counter while she started reading.

The light flickered, and she groaned. Power outages were common in this part of the city. Surely enough, her little lightbulb flickered off. She sighed and pulled a lighter out to light her way to the switch and turn it off- she'd get charged for the power connection even when it went out if she left the connection on.

She flicked her lighter closed, laying back on her bed and sighing, staring at the black ceiling. The only light came from the small glowing indicators on her whirring leg. The blinking green illuminated her little hovel dimly, just enough to make out the shapes of her garbage packed shelves.

In the hall, there was a noise from the old woman. “Watch where you're goin!” She grumbled at someone.

“Don't sit in the hall in the dark then-” the stranger’s voice snapped back before they knocked on Wren's door.

She frowned, freezing, hoping they would go away if she seemed like she wasn’t home.

“Wren Vaille?” They said, knocking more. “Message for Wren Vaille.”

She grimaced. On one hand, this was a pretty common scam, get someone to open their door and rob them. On the other hand, she was curious.

She sighed, scooting over the bed and feeling her way the couple steps to the door. “From who?” She called.

“It's got the Imperial seal- I'm not ‘sposed to open it. Gotta get your signature too.”

She groaned. “Fine. Don't try anything though.” She grumbled, fumbling her hand over a small shelf and taking the knife she had there. She held it in the non visible hand and opened her door.

The messenger looked tired and bored. He carried a small lamp for light, likely used to working in blackouts. He handed her a thick, wax sealed envelope. Her brow raised, and she took it and signed off on his paper.

“’Sposed to tell you you got a transport ticket in there for tomorrow. Someone wants to see you in the inner palace.” he adds, turning to leave.

She frowned and looked at the letter. She closed the door and flicked her lighter open again to read it. Sure enough, it had an imperial seal- specifically, and Ultramarines seal.

She grimaced and cracked the wax.

His lord Guilliman, Lord Reagent, requests your audience while his visits the inner imperial city. Enclosed are instructions and passage tickets for the meeting. Please pack for an extended stay away.

She reread it a few times, then inspected the tickets and passport papers. They seemed real. But why was the primarch of the Ultramarines reaching out to an Ex-Guard captain?

She let out a sigh, head falling back. She felt her way to the table and relit the mystery roll, the dim glow of the embers dancing in the dark of her powerless apartment.

She just got settled here, and now she was pretty sure whatever she was getting called for was going to mean her place would be considered abandoned and reassigned. She flopped back on her bed, what she was pretty sure now was an obscura laced lho-stick hanging from her mouth, and tossed the papers on the counter. Every time she started to settle in, something had to come rattle her cage again.

____________________________________

The next morning she wore her old Guard pack, stuffed full of what little she cared about that was also not illegal to own. The rest of her belongings, the things too illicit and cubersome, were packed away in her little hidey-hole safe she had in the back of an abandoned factory building. She'd found the small lockable room spelunking collapsed hive one day, and now used it as storage.

She waited at the station for the rail transport, taking a quick swig from her small flask to fight off the hangover of whatever she was smoking yesterday. She read over the papers again. Everything checked out. She was to take the rail to a landing pad, where a thunderhawk would fly her to wherever it was Guilliman wanted to meet her at.

What it didn’t include was why.

She assumed nothing good. Rather, nothing good for her. She wasn't in trouble, they'd have simply arrested her. But she was in trouble, as in, they were going to put her in the way of trouble, or they wouldn’t be going through all this.

The rail ride was crowded and bumpy, but she made it to the ship bay in one piece.

As she approached, a few serfs in ultramarine clothes greeted her, checking her papers and ushering her onto the ship.

She settled into a seat in the cargo area, strapping herself in well. Last time she'd been in one of these had been a little too eventful, but she doubted ‘scared of flying’ would count as a reason to blow off a primarch.

She ran a hand through her short hair nervously, sneaking another sip from her flask. A nearby serf gave her a judging look and Wren returned it with a what are you looking at scowl, making the serf huff and turn away. Wren took another swig just to annoy the serf.

The turbulence of the thunderhawk taking off was thankfully dulled enough by her drink that she could focus on other things and not panic while they flew.

When they landed again, now in a part of the Imperial palace where the sky was visible and there was still gold on the walls, she walked quickly out of the ship on shaky legs, heading to a banister and leaning over it while taking deep breaths. She lit up a lho-stick and took a few deep pulls, letting her head fall back as she tried to relax the shaking.

The serfs gave her looks as they went about unpacking the thunderhawk. Wren didn't care. She hated flying.

“Wren?” A familiar voice broke her from her trance, and she whirled around.

She dropped her lho-stick, color draining from her face. “…Cato.” She rasped, swallowing with a suddenly dry throat. She stood a bit straighter, hands finding her pockets nervously. “It's been… a while.” She says, clearing her throat.

He looked at her in shock, eyeing her up and down with a look of mixed surprise and disgust.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked.

She frowned. “What do you mean? I had a bomb dropped on me.“ she retorted, bristling a bit.

He snapped his mouth closed, frowning in return. “You know I didn't mean that. I was there for that part. I mean-” he gestured up and down at her. “This. You look like you lost half your weight.” He grimaced. “And you reek of smoke and booze.”

She scowled back at him. “Gee, great to see you too.” She grumbled.

Cato rolled his eyes. “Please, don't pretend you don't know you look insane. What happened to your hair?”

She frowned, running her hand through her short hair. “Ok, now youre just being mean. I thought this was a good look.” She huffed, shaking out her hair as it fell over her eyes a bit.

He sighed. “Lets get you into clothes that don’t stink of… whatever you've been doing. And a shower, before we meet with Guilliman.”

_________________________

She was left to go change and shower in the communal showers for serfs, and is given a new uniform to wear. She would have asked why a retired captain is getting a uniform, but she understood what was happening here. Though the uniform did not have any of the patches or badges that would indicate a rank, so at least they didn't outright want to force her to be a captain again. It did seem however, she was being brought back to the Imperial Guard in at least some manner.

She toweled her hair, and dressed, then awkwardly met Cato back in the hall.

He eyed her over, grimacing. “I'd say better, but somehow you look worse in nice clothes. The contrast, I think.”

She scowled. “Can you lay off? I don't look that bad, you just haven't seen me in a few years.” She huffed.

He started leading her down the hall. “Okay, but a couple years doesn't account for looking like an obscura addled zombie.” He said.

Wren groaned. “Glad to see you're as pleasant as ever. What am I here for anyways? And why did the send you? Surely they know our, you know, history.” She grumbled.

Cato huffed. “Guilliman's been looking for someone good with strategy and diplomacy. There's a few planets we're in a stalemate with. We want their workforce to maintain the farms and mines, and they're being difficult, but not so bad that we want to just go in and raze it.” He explained.

She stopped, mouth twisting and brow scrunching in confusion. “Wait, what? Then what the hell am I doing here?”

He stopped and turned back to her with a tight frown. “You're here, because I reccomend you.”

Her brow shot to her hairline. “Why? I'm not a diplomat, and, well, I don't think we were on… get each other jobs terms?”

He kept his composure. “Because I know you're good at de-escalating fights like you were in the Guard, and I knew you probably had nothing else going on.” He said, turning to walk again.

She frowned and jogged a bit to keep up with his long strides. “You don't know that- I have a ton going on. You're actually really interrupting my routine-” she protests, and almost runs into his back as he stops dead.

He turns back to her, looking unamused. “Uh huh. You have a flourishing carreer in the lower cities then?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I do, you don't know.”

He sighed, and reached his hand to her waist, slipping between the buttons of her jacket.

“H-hey-!” She startled, but he slipped his hand further under her jacket of her uniform and returned it with her flask dangling between his finger and thumb.

“I think I can guess what you do all day, Vaille.” He said tiredly, tossing the container in a waste chute.

“HEY-!” She squeaked, scrambling for the chute. It was too late, her amasec was already probably a half mile down the hivecity trash network.

Cato sighed. “Please, have a little dignity Wren. Scrambling after booze like a starved rat.” He chided, making her huff and blush, stomping back to him.

“You can't just throw out my shit!” She snapped. He rolled his eyes.

“And you're not supposed to have alcohol or drugs inside the palace proper.” He said dryly, looking at her with disappointment. “Seriously, what happened to you? Even after your recovery you weren't like… this.” He said bitterly.

Her scowl faltered and she had to look away from his face. “You're being an ass and over exaggerating, like you always do.” She mumbled. She tried to sound stern, but it was hard when she felt the heat climbing her cheeks.

Sure it'd been a rough year. And last year was rough too. But she had plans, she was getting back on her feet. She'd cut back already, and was out doing things in the day now. She was doing just fine- thriving for lower hivecity standards, even.

“Just- lets get this over with so Guilliman can ask if you've lost your mind and I can go home.” She mumbled, continuing down the hall.

Cato sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. I'm sure I'll have a lot to explain for after for wasting his time. Emperor forbid I assumed you could hold it together for 3 years…” he replied tiredly as he followed.

[gilgamushroom]

HOW TO SELL YOUR SOUL TO BILL CIPHER ‼️‼️ (+ Terms & Conditions CRACKED)

It took.... way, way too long to decode this, so I'm just gonna post it here lol. So!!

From the adorable baby bill page, we've got "ONE EYED KING" which once you put it in the laptop leads to.....

A totally normal recording with no secret messages! Nope, it's never that simple. Morse code reveals a "NAITSUAF" which can also be used in the laptop...

Well, that's fun, now let's click on and go to the contract

Which has a silly little code at the end which translates to "YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER" and that should be all! except... jesus fucking christ...

Now HERE are the hours of my life that I will never get back. The translation goes:

this contract is legal and binding 🟨 we reserve the right to use your likeness 🟨 voice and small town pluck in whatever nefarious manner is deemed necessary 🟨 sans soul 🟨

your soulmate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day 🟨 never making eye contact 🟨 not even processing that you have eyes at all 🟨 no amount of interaction will move them to a place where they can remember 🟨 in feeling 🟨 they thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together 🟨 each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous rivers 🟨

you were birds 🟨 you were trees with roots entangled 🟨 drinking in the sunlight together 🟨 wherever we go next 🟨 whatever you choose 🟨 I will always be right there with you 🟨🟨 thats done 🟨 buddy 🟨 congratulations 🟨 you have chosen bill instead

mcdonalds reserves the right to put a giant yellow m on your torso and forehead and send you walking through a crowded times square while you scream 🟨 the fries 🟨 the fries 🟨 they don🟨t degrade in nature 🟨🟨🟨 it🟨s an immortal food 🟨🟨🟨 they will be in the landfills long past our deaths 🟨🟨

good god 🟨 the things🟨s i🟨ve seen 🟨 me 🟨 who am I 🟨 oh i🟨m bill🟨s previous lawyer 🟨 he put my soul into a quill pen so I can write his legal documents until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe 🟨 I used to be so hot 🟨 I was so fine 🟨 now i🟨m fine print 🟨 speaking of which 🟨

bill reserves the right to put your soul into an inanimate object 🟨 a strange creature 🟨 a concept 🟨 a sentence 🟨 a tasteful but rusty mason jar with wildflowers in it 🟨

if at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul 🟨 you will be swiftly denied 🟨 unless you had a cool day planned for the both of you 🟨 then bill might want to come along 🟨

by signing this document you forfeit any rights to eating soul food 🟨 it will turn to ash in your mouth 🟨 a fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you 🟨 bill reserves the right to dress your soul however he deems necessary 🟨 especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition 🟨 soulmakeoverrr 🟨

your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects 🟨 this has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die 🟨 signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife 🟨 including but not limited to 🟨 heaven 🟨 hell 🟨 purgatory 🟨 big corner 🟨 flow state 🟨 the dream house 🟨 the reincarnation processing center 🟨 axolotl🟨s tank and consequences hole 🟨

signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bellbottoms 🟨 signee can no longer have a puppy as a best friend 🟨 they can sense what is gone 🟨 cats are indifferent 🟨

signee may experience occasional demon possessions from horculus the red 🟨 plabos the merciless 🟨 morbus son of mortem 🟨 plaga the oozing and other such common demons roamimg earth searching for weakened 🟨 empty vessels 🟨

tips for ripping your soul out at home 🟨 watching youtube commentary channels 🟨 attending an extended family event with an open bar 🟨 using generative ai and asserting that you are creative 🟨 turning a blind eye to human suffering 🟨 amassing more wealth than needed 🟨 purchasing a blue checkmark

AND THAT'S THAT. I am seeing this code in my sleep :D Anyways, as they say, always read the fine print, unless it's THIS long in which case by god just take this post instead 👍🏼

I'll go back to seeing these symbols whenever I close my eyes now. Take care and don't sign your soul away uninformed <3

[thewatercolours]

PART ONE - Replaying King's Quest, Chapter Two (2015)

Opening logo screen as a symbol of what happens to Daventry over Graham’s reign? A new flowering and regrowth, even as he grows and blossoms personally?

For just a moment we can see Graham’s real reflection in the mirror, as the dragon vision fades and the purple ripples spread.

When he’s so breathless and panicked by what he just saw, but he hears the guards coming and just has to run and flail and get to the throne before they come in, so he can look like he’s got it together. I understand why you feel you have  to mask it, Graham – most of them have little confidence in you at this point and vulnerability is a real risk – but I’m pretty sureif you do this on a consistent basis it’s a contributing factor to why this first stint as king has been so distressing for you. His eyes are so huge as he turns aside from the mirror.

Graham does the big, grand, “Proceed” line in a deep voice twice in this game. Once in his twenties, where he’s doing it unironically to try to come off kingly – and it sounds so stupid. But Grandpa also does it in the framing device, to joking invite Gart to come in, and it’s just meant in good fun because he clearly realizes how ridiculous it is. That kid came along, over time.

Number One actually sounds quite excited about the new uniforms.

“Hilarious. Your key decisions are already shaping the kingdom for the better. Yay.” You know what would be hilarious? If this line was utterly accurate because your choice of footrub had consequences. I mean, there are three options. 😉

“And don’t forget your swords this time.” Man, I’d like to know what happened that time. Called out suddenly in the middle of the night, perhaps?

I love the thing where Graham’s getting inundated with decision quests and the time available to make a choice gets steadily shorter while the options get steadily wordier. Awesome way to give just a little touch of the overwhelm while keeping it lighthearted.

My favourite cloak is back! Love the wine red and lighter trim. I forgot it has quite so much sheen to it. It’s the chapter beginning. Of course I am going to spend some time just spinning him and making him move in fun ways (not so smooth with arrow keys, though!)

He’s all upright as he runs and really pumping his arms – I just remembered that shortly he’s not going to do that. Oh… (But also >:D)

Graham has a freckle on his left ear.

Making puns in that small, daunted little voice. Reflexes still kicking in.

The very quiet rendition of Achaka’s musical motif if you keep looking at his memorial.

We don’t get to walk through the palace courtyard, but it looks like an interesting place. Half-timbered buildings, a wagon with big wheels, a great big bench to sit on under a lantern. Doubtless where all the chattering people we could hear in Chapter One were busy. I think I used it as a location once in fic, but I didn’t explore it as much as might have been interesting.

“I guess I was born at the right time. I’m… just lucky.” And it cuts too ways, doesn’t it? He really believes that in this moment. That he didn’t get the crown because he proved himself and did good for the kingdom, but just by lucky chance. But at the same time, he doesn’t feel lucky at all. Not one bit.

No thank you for Olfie?

The town square is gorgeous in the rain. I am going to run around it forever admiring it. (And that is… the only reason I’m just going to keep running round it and not knocking on anyone’s door. Yup.)

[katyyharrisss]

Writing exercises

Introduction-

I am an inspiring communication designer. I was born and raised in Auckland, New Zealand. More specifically Rural south Auckland. I graduated year 13 at Kings College with satisfying results within my design work. My graphic design teacher was the one who sparked my interest. When creating logos for an assignment the encouragement and delight I got on my pieces were unexpected. When I saw my results I knew this is what I was supposed to be doing. My purpose in becoming a designer is to express myself and thoughts to other people. I want to aim to capture the attention of others through my design pieces that have come from thoughts, experiences and places I have been. Places that are special to me as a designer.  I love to let my creativity take over when I design. I don’t care what other preferences people have as I know there is no wrong in art. Design makes me feel like I have something to excel at. Because I’m a first year University student I haven’t had much experience with design in the big world. I designed coffee cards for my old work which was a small coffee shop local to me. The coffee cards being the type you keep as a customer to stamp when you buy a coffee to eventually reach a freebie.  I also have helped in creating small advertisement videos for my dads company during Covid. I have done  a few different jobs like the coffee card designs and video editing  all  in the last few years. These are probably considered my great achievements in design so far in my career. Some aspects I love using in my work are the use of color, texture and movement. Design is my passion and I’m excited to see what it brings me in my future. 

-Katelyn Harris 

Rationale-

My intentions with my design was to express the issue of caffeine intake of NewZealanders. I chose this political problem as I am A massive coffee drinker. I am not personally into energy drinks which also contain caffeine, so I decided to use the Darker and lighter browns to portray coffee more than energy drinks. Although I did trial  and error with colors that would link with energy drinks, it just wasn’t the vibe I was going for. My inspiration behind the swirling of the words ‘Too much caffeine’ is Latte art. The swirl also represents a person's mood whilst consuming a caffeinated drink. Your mood rises and slowly spirals and crashes back down. The phrase ‘what are we consuming’ comes back to what are we actually putting into our bodies? Should the citizens of Aotearoa be more cautious? I used a combination of different coloured shapes and squares to show the sharpness of my intentions to get the message of caution around caffeine. I wanted to capture the audience's eye not only with the chosen typeface but with bold colors, also by using different textures inside said squares to create more coffee/latte references. 

-Katelyn Harris 

[whoacanada]

(Hey, look! That Zimbits AU where Jack goes into PR after retiring from the NHL and NHL!Bitty comes looking for advice about coming out!)

“Your ten-o-clock, remember?” April gestures to the conference room with her pen. “The cutie the Hurricanes coughed up for Pride Night outreach? He’s here.”

Jack tugs down the blinds with a cautious finger and zeroes in on the handsome blonde sitting awkwardly at one end of their large conference table, conspicuously alone. “There’s always suits for outreach talks,” Jack hazards, looking back at his receptionist over his shoulder. “They never send players alone.”

“It’s what we’ve got on the books. Eric Bittle, Carolina Hurricanes. No plus ones.” April whispers, checking her calendar. “Well? Get in there, Boss; and buckle up, he’s got an accent.”

.

Eric Bittle looks up, his dark brown eyes wide and unfairly attractive as Jack extends his hand, Bittle rising to take it. Everything about Bittle is polished and perfected; suit tailored, hair coiffed so neatly Jack would posit he’d gone in to have it trimmed before he’d arrived this morning. He’s pulled together so tightly, in fact, that Jack can’t find any loose threads, and if he remembers his time in The Show correctly, no loose threads means Mr. Bittle’s probably hiding something.

“Eric? I’m Jack Zimmermann. It’s great to meet you.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Bittle chuckles, and Jack’s heart would skip a beat if he wasn’t so certain there’s a huge piece of context still missing from this meeting. “It’s still very nice to meet you in person.”

“So, tell me about Pride Night,” Jack pops the button on his suit jacket and settles down across the table. “What, exactly are the ‘Canes thinking about doing that involves you coming to see us?”

Bittle bites his lip briefly, gaze darting off before coming back to settle on Jack, and Jack is reminded of so many media training sessions it’s like he’s back in Vegas again.

“I may have, ah, fudged the reason for my visit a bit. Yes, we have Pride Night coming up, yes I’m the designated sacrifice, but I’m more here on personal business.���

Jack eases the tip of his pen from the legal pad, recognizing an off-the-record admission is coming. “How personal?” He questions. “Are we talking potential legal trouble or just potential social trouble? Or no trouble at all.”

“I’m gay.” Bittle says plainly. “Whatever trouble that may be. My team knows it, my family knows it, and I want to come out — I need to come out — and I can’t mess it up.”

Jack is grateful for his game face, reaching for the coffee carafe near him to couch his surprise and no small measure of his excitement. “Oh, you mean like I did?” Jack jokes, earning a soft smile.

“No active player has come out since you retired,” Eric skirts Jack’s comment, taking the mug before gingerly amending, “Not voluntarily, at least. I’d like to break that streak. Given your experience, and what you do now, it seemed like the smart move to come speak with you.”

“Well, I’ll be the first to admit my behavior didn’t lend itself to much confidence with the public at large, but that’s why I’m where I am today. Making sure people like you can learn from my mistakes.”

“And you made a lot of mistakes,” Bittle murmurs, taking the mug from Jack gingerly, glances back out the window as he takes a sip, and Jack fights a smile when he realizes what’s happening.

“Are you . . . chirping me?”

“Makes me less nervous,” Bittle admits, apologetic. “But that was rude, I’m sorry.”

Bittle’s eyes are bright. His smile is bright. Everything about him is warm, inviting. Jack might be biased, though, he’s always had a soft spot for compact blondes.

“Don’t apologize.” Jack leans back in his chair, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “You might be the only one in the whole league right now that doesn’t need to apologize.”

“I think I need to have a partner,” Eric clears his throat. “I can’t come out without a reason, otherwise what’s the point.”

“That answers one of my first questions, gives us a place to start. Yes, a boyfriend gets you points, but not in the way you’re thinking. If you come out with a guy on your arm, the story becomes maintaining the relationship, not that you have one or that you are ‘out’ at all. The scandal is the relationship falling apart, or you flirting with a fan when you have your partner at home, that kind of drama.”

“And if I just say, ‘hello, I am a homosexual’ people will think I’m promiscuous, or just trying to get laid.”

“Maybe. Are you?”

Bittle’s expression turns indignant, lips twisting into a judgmental frown that reminds Jack of his grandmother before a scolding.

“What kind of question is that? Yes, of course, but they don’t need to know that. But that doesn’t — You know, you gave me hope?”

Jack doesn’t quite startle, he’s well beyond the jumpyness of his youth, but he has no clue where this conversation is about to go.

“When you came out, when you were drafted, your cup season . . . every time you succeeded, beat the odds, it made me think, maybe, I could do it, too. I could be a professional athlete, I could play hockey, and it didn’t matter who I wanted to be with.”

Jack knows there’s a ‘but’ coming, he can feel it; so he gets there first.

“But . . . then I overdosed.”

“Then you retired.” Eric corrects. “Two years before I signed with Carolina, and you just gave up. I was going to be the first out NCAA men’s hockey captain, you ‘retired’ in scandal, and suddenly the trustees didn’t want the attention. Back to square one.”

“Eric, I wasn’t well.” Jack defends gently, knowing Bittle isn’t trying to be cruel.

“You let them get to you! You were supposed to be untouchable. I needed you to be untouchable.”

“Eric.”

“I’m sorry,” Bittle looks down at his hands, the table, anywhere but Jack. “I genuinely didn’t intend for any of this to come up so quickly, you’ve been nothing but charming and here I am dumping all my baggage on you like we’ve been talking for years . . . ”

“It’s actually alright. I’ve made peace with what happened to me, what I put myself through, and I wasn’t kidding that I’m very intent on making sure I can help others avoid the same pitfalls. So, what do you need from me right now?” Jack asks, genuinely curious. “An apology? A hug? You wouldn’t be the first to ask.”

“I want . . .” Bittle huffs, closing his eyes and evening his breathing. “I want dinner.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve loved the idea of you since I was sixteen, but now I actually need your advice on how to do this without losing my mind, and I can’t plan my future from a boardroom, so, I want you to take me to dinner. I want to hash this out like two normal, well functioning adult men. Also, maybe alcohol.”

“Speak for yourself on the well-functioning part,” Jack chirps himself, “but I think dinner can be arranged. I assure you, you’ll have my full support moving forward. The firm’s, as well.”

Bittle’s lips quirk, holding Jack’s gaze. He caught the slip, and now there’s nothing to do but own it. They lapse into a gentle silence. Jack sipping his coffee, Bittle doing the same. Jack isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, the puck is at the end of his stick. He flashes a smile. Bittle blushes.

“So,” Jack begins. “Do you like Burmese?”

____

They part ways and April’s eyes are huge with suspicion. “Should we discuss fees?” she asks. “Do we need to start billing? Sounds like it went well.”

“Nah, we’ll talk later about payment,” Jack replies, folding his jacket over his arm, hiding the slip of paper with Bittle’s personal number and trying not to stare as the forward walks away. “I have a strong feeling I might be handling this pro bono.”

[jarofstyles]

Can we get a part 2 of the poc princess one 🥺

Actually… yes! You may! We had this little one on Patreon early access and now it’s time to release it to you all!

If you like this, check out our Patreon!

——

“Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Harry’s hand was threaded through hers, admiring their skin tones against one another’s. If you asked him, it was utter perfection. She was laying next to him in his bed, curled into his side. The silk sheets were softer than anything she had felt in her life, except maybe Harry’s touch.

He worshipped her. Never had a man given her this much attention… genuinely valued her and her opinions. They differed a lot but they meshed so well together, she had to wonder if perhaps this was fate. The first glance had her stopping in her tracks. Truly.

It was as if he was out of a painting. Standing beside his father, strong and regal. His deep blue jacket and gold detailing popped against his porcelain skin. His jaw was sharp, as if carved like the statues in the center square. Pure art. Art that seemed to be taking her in with the same intensity that she was giving to him.

Y/N was by far the most beautiful creation that the earth has ever dealt to him to gaze upon. Her sweet accented voice. Her beautiful natural hair, her plush lips. He hadn’t seen anything like her before and it made him go mad with desire. Getting closer to her only made it worse.

She began to smile. Her fingers gently twisted the multitude of crystalline rings adorning his fingers. The beautiful, long, skilled fingers that caused her the most pleasure she had ever experienced in her entire life. She was obsessed with his hands. Touching them, playing with them, having them graze any portion of her body, she would happily have them on her in a moments notice.

“I didn’t before.” She spoke softly, the words falling from them gently as they hit his mind. “But I do now, I am sure of it.” He cheek nuzzled further into him, now on his shoulder while she looked up from his hands. His gaze met hers with a tenderness she was unaware that men possessed. A loving look in his green eyes that made her feel weightless, like she floated in the clouds.

“I was hoping for that answer, beauty.” He gently untangled their hands and placed his on her hip, pulling her further towards him. “I was wondering if…” he licked those pink lips that had her staring. “You are of the same mind as me to stay? To become my wife?” His voice was slow and soft, as if a little bit nervous of her answer.

That was silly to her because there was only one answer. One obvious, large answer that if he looked properly into her eyes he could see.

“You’d wish that? For me to be with you that way?” She asked, gently placing her leg over his hip and clinging further to him. “Harry… I’d want nothing more. You don’t seem to fully understand my want for you. My emotions. I’ve never felt something this… full. My heart feels like it throbs when I see you. You’re unbelievably kind… you treat me with respect. And you give me pleasures I can’t even describe…” she felt her cheeks heat as she looked down, only for a moment before he gently lifted her chin back up.

She was met with his mouth. A full, warm kiss given to her as their lips met, his warm palm bleeding through her dress and pulling her to be flush against him. Surely they were breaking rules by having him in her temporary chambers but he truly didn’t care for any rule that kept him from being close to the sweetest thing he had ever had.

“Then I will ask.” He panted against her lips, their sticky kiss ending but also never stopping as he laid smaller ones to her bottom lip, excitement filling the air. “I will demand it, my love. I want you by my side. I can’t imagine anyone else. I want our children to have your nose… I want them to speak like you, I want them to be like you. I want you and your guidance to rule this kingdom… please.” He gently rolled them over, caging her in with his body on top of hers.

The thin fabric of her nightgown be damned as he kissed over her jaw, down her neck and to the swell of her breasts. “I want your skin against mine. I want to see your hand in mine and look into the mirror and see our beautiful contrasts… I want your body against mine every single night.” He nipped the skin playfully, making her giggle.

“Mm… my beautiful ray of sun. You glow brighter than any woman I’ve ever met. Body and soul. I itch to be next to you when I’m not.. I can’t imagine waking up to anything but you. Your scent, your lips, your words. I want to wake every day knowing just how lucky I am.” He nuzzled his face right into her breasts, moaning softly as her fingers stroked through his curls. The silky hair gliding through her hands, coaxing him to do whatever he pleased.

“You’re mine then.” He spoke between kissed, breathless as he tried to cover any available inch with his mouth and love. “Mine alone. I claim you. I want to be the only one who ever gets to have you. And you, you own me already. Heart and body. I will never, ever ache for someone the way I do. Just for a whisper, a caress, a tender look. You have me feeling like a boy all over again as a man.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, only to open and be met with the most sincere, sizzling sincerity in those deep green eyes. “I’m already yours, my angel.” She whispered, brushing the hair from his face and cupping his cheek. Immediately he leaned into it.

“Good. My heart could not bare the idea of you with any other person. Since I saw you… I knew we belonged to one another.” His lips met the palm of her hand, kissing all over the lighter skin and moving to the back where the color deepened. “These hands are mine. Will bare my ring and my name. And as soon as we are wed…” his eyes darkened, as he spoke against her knuckles. “I’ll fill you with my child. All of the land will know that I belong to you. That I have the most perfect woman…”

Harry hadn’t ever been possessive of people but this…. This was his soul mate. His entire heart. Maybe he was foolish for falling so easily but he couldn’t help it.

His angel had been brought here and be wasn’t going to let her go.

[barnesandco]

Little Hands (V)

Series Masterlist

Bucky treats you to a day out. 

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021. Word count: 1625. Square filled: “Lucky (Clint’s dog)”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Police. Sad child.

A/N: This is so late and I am so sorry. Let me know what you think! And massive thank you’s to anyone who is still reading this disaster.

Morning brings a new perspective, a new ease in the way Bucky moves around Ana. He pretends he doesn’t know that you witnessed the way they bonded last night, and for that benefit you don’t bring it up. It’s discussed and laid to rest with the intelligent smile you give him, one that he lets dissolve through his sternum and curl around his heart. Tendrils of soft hope, wisps of quiet connection, strengthening the friendship you’ve established and glinting with promise of something more.

Something more might have to wait, but Bucky thinks you’ve made it clear that it is there, on the horizon, awaiting you both. A future, one that, on his part, also involves the little soul that sits on top of the kitchen island, swinging her legs into the cabinets. Children are early risers, and so are superheroes, but today, on this cool morning, Anastasia has them beat.

So, it’s just the three of you. Bucky, and Anastasia, and you. You’re cutting up fruit and washing berries for the pancakes he’s making while you also remotely monitor the tea. A minty brew, warm, topped with honey and lemon, sharp enough to wake lingering drowsiness while still soothing, syrup-soft. You know your stuff, and Bucky’s glad to have a change of pace after a fast week of too much too strong too sweet coffee, even if he chooses to have it that way.

This particular change of pace would give him whiplash if not for the fact that he got a good night’s sleep, Anastasia’s nightmares notwithstanding. It has strengthened his resolve to find her a child psychologist, somebody who can help her better than he can, once this ordeal with Tobias Zola is over and they are all safe.

He needs to keep her safe. It was her mother’s – no, her final caretaker’s – last wish and request, and now that they are tied by blood, it has become his. She really looks so much like him. Her hair hasn’t developed the same brown yet, it’s still a shade lighter, with hints of golden for the lesser age, the summer sun bleaching that has yet to pass. It’s curly like his never was, likely an affectation of whatever female contribution is in her genetics.

Her genetics. Bucky shakes his head at the frying pan. He doesn’t want to sound like one of the scientists that put her into this situation, into this cruel, cruel world.

A clearing of your throat breaks him out of the thought bubble, and he flips the last pancake out of the pan and onto a plate, much to Anastasia’s delight. The ensuing giggle is the closest thing he’s heard to laughter from the kid. That’s not good. Children need laughter. He makes himself, and Ana, a silent promise to be more uplifting.

“Do you think we could leave the Compound, today?” You ask, out of nowhere, as you place the assorted fruit on the table. Ana, whose hands is halfway to the strawberries, stops as she waits on Bucky’s answer. Clearly, this is something she wants, too. Who is he to deny them?

“Sure. Fury might want us to take some security measures, but we should be fine.”

-----

That’s how they wind up at an ice cream parlor by 10 am, after the security has been cleared with Fury and Sam, and the only addition to their little team is Lucky, a dog apparently shared by Clint and his protégé in the city, one Kate Bishop. They’ve been told that while not a trained security dog, Lucky has sensors that will let Kate know if they’re in danger, and she can provide and send further backup. The rest of the Avengers are busy with tracking down leads to Zola.

Bucky knows he can protect you and Ana just fine, should need be, and isn’t worried about the fact that the only bodyguard they’ve been provided with is canine. Ana has bonded with the dog and walks with one hand in the fur by its shoulder and the other in his own hand, her eyes flitting between the sights of the city and her companions. Her caretakers. Her guardians.

The ice cream place is a little business that another one of Steve’s children is working at on weekends. is a head shorter than Bucky, and terrifies the living wits out of him. She’s one hell of a people watcher, she has a sweet tooth and a thing for Jane Austen, and the world is lucky her foremost interest is in dessert making and not something far more nefarious, like say, espionage.

She greets Bucky at the door with a hug and shakes both your and Ana’s hands, and lets you all sit outside so you can be with Lucky. The rusty fall sun makes Lucky’s fur shine like spun gold and light Ana up in hues of ruby and topaz, and you turn your face to the light and sigh.

For a moment, the world is quiet. For a moment, the scent of sugar crystallizes on his face like the sensation of rightness does. And when it ends, it’s not with a crash landing. It’s a gentle reorientation. You open your eyes, look at him with immeasurable affection. Ana pets Lucky. Vivien says, “Let me know when you’re ready to order, Uncle Bucky,” and puts a menu on the table.

You decide on a mango ice cream shake, Bucky wants an Oreo sundae, and Ana, of course, demands the largest dish on the menu, the one whose picture is emblazoned across a good quarter of the laminated card. A massive ice cream and berry split.

When your order arrives, Anastasia laughs for the second time. Bucky thinks he should say something, make a joke, conversation, but in this moment, nothing else could feel so forced. He’s a man of few words and many services. That’s how he chooses to love, and Ana can see that. You can see that.

It's why you nod affirmingly when he meets your eyes over Ana’s mountain of ice cream. You carry entire sentences in your glances, words of silent confidence, the fuel he is feeding on right now.

-----

Ana is happy. The world, if for a few hours, is right. He knows it cannot last, even now, walking back to the car after a morning and afternoon of joy, arms laden down with bags of new things, treats he never had but can now provide. Despite the resignation that has started to weigh on him, he reminds himself: his daughter has a home. She will be safe, and he will take care of her, no matter what it takes.

-----

The car ride back is louder than he anticipated. You give the music a go, playing something by Raveena, a sweet voice he likes but that Ana talks over, making quite the chaotic symphony that he likes even more. Lucky contributes the occasional bright bark that makes Ana laugh, pausing her incessant chatter, if momentarily.

Mostly, she talks about what she saw, the things she has now started to process, asks questions about the stores she did not previously have the luxury to, presumably because her previous guardian didn’t have the means, and besides, they were on the run.

He’s grateful to her. Irene. Before he was confused but now it is obvious: Ana is his daughter, and he wants her as much as any other parent does their child, even if the way she was thrown into her life was unconventional, to say the least.

Looking at her in the rearview mirror as she twists in her seat to reach Lucky in the back, he knows he will move heaven and earth to remove the threats in her path. It makes him dangerous. It makes him a father.

“You okay?” You ask, following his gaze, and Bucky smiles, eyes returning to the road.

“Never better.”

Your hand finds his where it takes a break from the steering wheel to rest on his knee. He twists your joined hands until he can hold yours. Squeezes it, as if to say, thank you. As if to say, we’ll all be okay.

-----

Turns out, he’s wrong, and this is why you should never rely on routines. Promises are made to be broken. When they get back, the NYPD is waiting, and not to update them on the case. He sees the waiting handcuffs, and he knows you do, too.

You make the right move, trying to usher Ana out of the room with some excuse or other, but it’s too late. Her instincts have latched onto the fact that something is very, very wrong.

The DA says, “James Buchanan Barnes, you’re under arrest as a suspect in the murder of Irene Orlov,” and Ana screams, and screams, and screams.

Bucky tries not to close his eyes, knows it’s too late to put his hands over his ears as cuffs close around his wrists. Besides, he needs to show that he understands the charges, and yes, they’re reading him his Miranda rights, and yes, he understands.

He’s innocent. And his team will prove it. But it’s no use arguing with these people, so he goes silently, even as he hears Sam, Steve and Nat going at it with the police chief in the dull background of Ana’s roar. It’s no use. The police wouldn’t be here without reason, and they’ll let him go when his team finds them reason to.

Everything is going to be okay, he tells himself. It has to. Because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it isn’t.

Bucky sees you, tear-sodden and holding onto a distraught Ana, in the reflection of the glass doors before they slide open.

[livexdolan]

what happens in part 5? do they start dating?

A/n: slow your roll bud...all good things come to those who wait 😌

Masterlist

Previously (Pt. 4)

Back pressed into a cold counter and both of you pulling each other impossibly closer. Grayson bites your bottom lip slightly, then pulls back, looking you in the eyes.

Panting, you watch him with hungry eyes and grip the hair on the back of his neck a little harder, pulling him back down to meet your lips.

“Honeyy, I’m home!” Mando’s voice sings as a door starts to open and Grayson pulls away so quickly he bites your lip again, this time hard.

“Ouch!” You yelp, hand going up to your lip as Mando and a group of people walk in.

He raises his brow at the two of us, a knowing smirk starting to form. Grayson swallows nervously, “Y/n uh-“ Grayson runs his hand through his hair, “she ran into the doorway. Busted her lip open. I was going to help her with it.”

You give Grayson a look that says, ‘that’s the best excuse you could come up with?’ and Mando just hums, crossing his arms, “Mhm, sure.”

“No, seriously!” You say, trying to sound convincing, keeping your hand on your lip, wincing in fake pain, “You know me- always running into things.”

Grayson laughs and you join in, the two of you looking at Mando and praying he doesn’t press the issue, “Riight,” he drawls.

Before he can say anything else, Ethan and everyone from the backyard comes back in and start greeting the new people. That’s when you really start looking at the rest of the group.

It’s Mando, Dylan, and Chase. Followed by Leah, Kayla, and Aly. You try not to groan outwardly at the sight of Kayla. She’s been trying to get Grayson to make her his girlfriend since sophomore year of college and even though he turned her down at least three times she hasn’t gotten the message.

It doesn’t help that you know, for a fact, that Grayson’s fucked her twice. That’s what started this whole thing because he was known for never sleeping with the same girl twice. In his defense, he only slept with her again because he was so drunk he thought she was our other friend Becca. But Kayla doesn’t know that, or she does and ignores it, either way she annoys the shit out of you.

“Alright! Let’s get everyone into their rooms,” Ethan announces and everyone gathers back around the island, Grayson, Ethan, Kristina, and you all standing on one side. Ethan pulls out his phone and goes to a list in his notes.

“We already wrote out who was staying where but if you want to switch rooms, it’s no big deal,” Grayson adds and Ethan nods in agreement.

“There’s two master bedrooms and then four separate bedrooms with two bathrooms to share. Me and Kris are in one master and Gray and y/n are in the other, Mando you’re with Ryan-“ Ethans voice is cut off by a cough.

He looks up from his phone and we look at an awkward, blushing Mando, “I was- uh- I was actually hoping to share with- um- Mia,” he stutters out and Mia blushes too.

You smile at the two and Grayson chuckles, “Thats fine, Mando. The room chart isn’t set in stone,” Ethan smiles too and erases something on his phone, typing something else.

You eyebrows furrow as what he said finally hits you. Oh hell no, “Okay, now-“

“Where’d you say I was sleeping?” You cut Ethan off and he over with raised eyebrows and Grayson blushes.

“You’re sharing with me,” Grayson says and you scoff.

“No, I’m not.”

“C’mon, y/n, it’s not that big of a deal. We’ve shared before,” Grayson sighs.

“Can’t I just share with Ryan?” At the sound of his name, Ryan coughs on his drink.

“I’ll share with him,” Kayla has the nerve to squeak out, raising her hand like we’re in a fucking classroom or something. She glares at you, then cuts her eyes to eye fuck Grayson, “If y/n doesn’t want to.”

Grayson looks at you, eyes pleading, “please, y/n. Please,” he whispers and you roll your eyes.

Sighing, you shake your head, “Nevermind. I’m fine, actually. Sorry to interrupt.”

Kayla scoffs and had the audacity to look offended, “seriously?”

You raise your eyebrow at her, “seriously.”

Ethan coughs and starts again, “Alrighty then- Mando and Mia- first room on the right. Ryan and Chase, second room on the right. Dylan and Aly- you okay with sharing a room?” He looks at the two siblings and they nod, “Okay, first room on the left. Kayla and Leah you’re in the second room on the left. Go off and do whatever,” Ethan dismisses everyone.

“Where’s our room?” You ask as everyone starts to disperse.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you,” Grayson says.

“Oh, ok,” you say dumbly.

Grayson heads back over towards the door and grabs our bags. He nods his head in the direction of the hallway everyone walked down and you follow him. Heading down the hallway in silence, you realize he’s walking past all the rooms. We turn at the end, coming to a staircase, “I thought all the rooms were on one floor?” You ask, very confused.

“No, the main master was originally on it’s own floor. It was my dad and ma’s but when dad got really sick and couldn’t walk upstairs-“ He pauses for a second, you place your hand on his arm gently, knowing it’s hard for him to talk about it, “They converted two of the other rooms downstairs into one master,” Grayson finishes as we get to the top.

There’s a small hallway, two doors, one on the left down further and a double door to our right, “What’s down there?”

“The study,” Grayson says bluntly, and you know not to ask more about the room.

Instead, he opens the large double doors, “Oh my God,” slips out of your mouth as you walk into the large room.

Large doesn’t even begin to describe it, though. The ceiling’s vaulted with a dark wood. A California king bed sits on one wall, then on the same wall as the double doors there’s a leather couch, it faces a stone fireplace with a flat-screen above it, a bookshelf on one side, meeting up with the wall-of-windows that is across from the bed.

“Go look at the bathroom and closet,” Grayson says, obviously amused by your reactions.

Walking to the second set of double doors, you gasp audibly when you see the bathroom. The bathroom’s dark grey and emerald green. The whole left wall is a counter, two sinks and a built-in vanity at the end. The glass shower’s to the right, taking up almost the whole wall, there’s two rainfall shower heads and six other shower heads spread out on the walls. At the end of the shower, there’s a small partition with the toilet, giving it some privacy but not messing with the airiness of the room. The best part of the bathroom though, is the large window looking out at the mountains, above an egg-shaped tub big enough for almost everyone downstairs. Off to the side, after the toilet, is a door. Opening the door, you’re confused as you come into another room. This one’s smaller, but still bigger than your bathroom at home. There’s a seat in the middle, a ceiling-to-floor three-way mirror, and a door that leads back into the bedroom.

Seeing two more doors you open one, seeing a regular-sized walk-in, with wood drawers and shelves. There’s a few clothes already in here. Opening the second door, you stop in your tracks, “Holy shit.”

The closet is in an L-shape, a mini-crystal chandelier hangs over the middle of the room between two small, square islands. The walls are head-to-toe cabinets, drawers, and racks. It’s all in a lighter wood than the rest of the bathroom and there’s mint green instead of emerald. The seat in the middle is even mint green. Damn, Lisa boojee as fuck. Walking back out, you see Grayson putting his stuff in the smaller closet.

“Nice, isn’t it?” He asks, not turning around to look at you.

“How did your parents afford this?” It’s the main question that’s been on your mind since learning they owned it. Everyone knows the twins are upper-middle class but this? This is upper-upper class standards.

Grayson glances over his shoulder at you, “When one of dad’s old friends found out E and I were going to school out here, he gave the house to my parents for like, a fourth of what it was worth,” he shrugs and turns to you.

“That was so awesome of him.”

“Are we just going to ignore what happened earlier?” The edge to his voice takes you by surprise, looking up at him you see his expression is guarded but you can see the fear of rejection in his eyes.

“I-uh,” you bite your lip nervously, looking down at the ground before glancing back up at him, “I don’t know,” you shrug.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You don’t know?”

“Do you want to ignore it?” You try to sound unaffected but you can hear the emotion in it.

Grayson’s facade cracks slightly at the sound of your voice and your nervous attitude. He doesn’t want to intimidate you, “Look-“ he runs a hand through his hair, “Let’s talk about this in the bedroom.”

You nod silently and follow him out of the closet and the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. He sits on the arm of the couch, facing you. Looking out the windows you still can’t believe you get to wake up to this view everyday for two weeks. It’s also a nice distraction from the 6’0 buff god staring at you.

“Are we going to talk about this like adults or are you going to run away again?” Grayson’s voice cuts through the tension in the room and you flinch at the slight infliction in his tone.

You take a deep breath, looking at him. Something in your gut tells you this is it. You are face-to-face with a fork in the road. Nothing is ever going to be the same and once you start down one road, you can never turn back. And as much as you want to ignore it and pretend everything’s fine- this talk is long-overdue.

You close your eyes for a moment, all your best memories together flashing through your mind, before taking you back to that party a few weeks ago. The memory is sobering and you open your eyes.

Staring into the green-and-brown abyss of Grayson’s eyes, you state, “Let’s talk,” in a voice calm enough to make the Dalai Lama think ‘dang, that’s a calm girl’.

A/n: okay okay i am so sorry for the long wait!! I hope you enjoy this part because it was so hard to figure out where I wanted it to go. There’s only going to be a few more parts but I am very very excited for what’s to come. Once again- thank you for the patience, love, and support I’ve gotten. It truly means the world! Also you know I had to leave y’all on a cliffhanger for now ;)

[dropssofjupitter]

Of Pride and Promises - P. 2

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader 

Summary: It has been a mere three weeks since your breakup with Draco Malfoy. Though your feelings haven’t changed, circumstances have. 

Word Count: 2.1 k 

Warnings: Angst-ish(?), swearing, sectumsempra, fist-fights, blood (minor?), aftermath of a breakup 

Requested? - Yes

Masterlist          Part One

A/N: For the lovely nonnie that requested it! I hope you like it! (I’m not exactly happy with it but hey, something is something!) [This work has not been beta read. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone] 

Edit:  I would also like to announce that I am looking for one, possibly two, beta readers! If you are interested please let me know!

Loving Draco Malfoy was like wading through quicksand. The more you resisted, the stronger the pull. Until eventually, you were pulled under. 

That’s what it had been like for you. That’s what it had felt like. You were suffocated and sedated until you couldn’t think straight, until you couldn’t see straight. Your hands were no longer your own, your magic was merely an extension of his. Everything that you owned, was his to use. 

Until you broke free. And then suddenly you could breathe. You felt lighter, you felt happier. You felt like you were more. But every time you saw him in the halls, every time you passed him in the Great hall, every time you so much as glanced in his direction, an intense wave of hurt and pain swept through you. 

And Draco only seemed to be getting worse. Dark circles clung to his eyes like forgotten friends, his cheeks had sunken in, and his skin was a brand new shade of waxy white. He looked sickly, often reminding you of the Victorian children that haunted the paintings in the Slytherin common room. You were no fool. You knew that although the breakup may have been hard on him, it was nowhere near the severity of whatever threatened him now. 

“Merlin, is that Katie Bell?” Pansy whispered to you, her chin propped up on her hands as she shamelessly stared at the girl who had just entered the Great Hall. “She looks like shite,” she said with a laugh, dragging her gaze back towards you. 

“Yeah Pans,” you replied, stabbing your fork into one of the many potatoes that lay on your plate. “Being cursed will do that to you.” 

The girl groaned, paying no mind to your snarky comment as she sat back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “And there goes Saint Potter, probably trying to be first in line to the pity parade and get all the sympathy points.” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, chancing a look over your shoulder at the scene unraveling in the middle of the Hall. You had to hand it to Pansy, she had nailed Katie’s description perfectly. The girl looked almost as haggard as Draco did. 

You watched uninterested as Harry no doubt grilled the poor girl about the happenings of her curse, your hand perched under your chin. You were about to turn back to your food and to Pansy, who had not stopped talking to you apparently, when your eyes caught on Draco’s form. 

He seemed frozen in place at the entrance to the Hall, unmoving as he looked at Harry and Katie in what appeared to be mute horror. He locked eyes with Potter and turned around, quickly making his way out of the Hall and down an unknown corridor. Harry soon followed him, and it was pure instinct that drove you to stand up from the table and follow after the two boys, much to Pansy’s dismay. Something else was happening here, and whether it had to do with Draco’s distance before your break up or not, you were going to find out just what the hell it was. 

Chasing after Harry, you frantically tried to match his pace, running into students and Professors alike as you turned corners and skidded down hallways. It was a miracle that you hadn’t run into a wall yet, truly. You watched as he disappeared from view, ducking into the usually haunted girls bathroom. With a frown etched into your face and nary a thought to the consequences, you followed him. 

Curses being flung across the bathroom at lightning speed met you on the other side of the door, and you had to duck almost immediately to avoid being hit. You lay flat on the ground, mumbling things like “What the bloody hell could have set them off in three minutes?!” as you fumbled for your wand with one hand and protected your head from shattered stalls with the other. 

You crawled forward as soon as your wand was in your grasp, dragging yourself through the wrecked toilet stalls and avoiding most of the spells being hurled across the room as you prepared yourself to intervene. You moved into a crouch, murmuring a quick shielding charm before walking through the door half torn off its hinges and into the middle of their duel. 

“Wands down -” You were barely able to get a sentence out before you had to dodge a curse sent by Potter himself, drawing your arms into your body as you heard him yell “Sectumsempra!”

Draco was flung across the room, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. Both you and Harry looked over at him, pausing your actions as you realized that he wasn’t moving. “Draco?” you called out anxiously, taking a step closer to him. That was when you saw the blood blooming on his shirt and bleeding into the water. “Merlin,” you muttered to yourself, wasting no time in rushing over to his body, hands shaking as you tried to remember the proper healing spells. 

“What the hell did you do to him, Potter?!” you yelled, looking over at Harry quickly before looking back at Draco. Dozens of cuts had opened up on his body, continuously bleeding and showing absolutely no signs of stopping. “Shit shit shit shit.” You hated to admit it but you still loved him. You still loved how it had been when you were with him. And you were so, so scared that you would lose him like this. So suddenly. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, Professor Snape appeared out of nowhere, quickly rushing to Draco’s side and sending a long, slow look at Harry. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you said, rushed as you stared down at Draco. “They won’t stop bleeding. He won’t wake up.” The professor placed a seemingly comforting hand on your shoulder before wordlessly beginning to move his wand over Draco’s body, murmuring a spell underneath his breath so quietly that you couldn’t catch what he was saying. You didn’t care. The blood that had previously been pouring out of Draco’s body was returning to it, and the wounds were sealing. 

Footsteps sounded behind you, and you realized that Harry was running away. You shouldn’t chase after him. Not when you were no longer with Draco. And certainly not with a Professor standing right next to you. But all rational thought had left your mind, and all you could think about was making Harry pay. So you stood, and you ran. 

If you thought that Harry was fast before, he was even quicker now, running as if he knew he was being pursued. And maybe he did. But that just made it more satisfying for you as you ran him down, slowly but surely beginning to catch up with him until you hit him with a stunning hex and sent him careening to the ground. 

“What the fuck was that Potter! What, do you preach the absence of curses until it’s convenient for you like a fucking hypocrite?”

Students and staff alike were turning to watch the exchange, gathering nearer as they sensed a fight. It was likely that you didn’t have much time before you were stopped so you decided to make it count. The stinging hex was wearing off by now, you knew it would be. So you kicked his wand away before pocketing yours. If they wanted a fight they would get one. 

Harry turned to look at you, quickly standing up and getting to his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The way he turned up his nose and squared his shoulders told you that he was trying to appear confident. The sweat on his brow and the shiftiness of his eyes also told you that he was epically failing. 

“Is that really how you want to play this Potter?” you asked, danger creeping into your voice as you squared off with the boy wonder. 

“Well it’s how your boyfriend wanted to play when he threw a hex at me,” he retorted, taking a step closer to you in a challenge. 

You barely had time to think before you were punching the Chosen One. Punching him poorly, might you add. You were pretty sure that you heard a faint crack from your thumb. But the blood that had begun to spurt from his nose made your minor injury all worth it. 

Harry cried out, falling back and to the floor as he immediately held one hand up to his nose. He looked at you in surprise, and it only took a few short seconds before a teacher was calling out your name and dragging you up towards Dumbledore’s office. 

You passed Snape on the way up, making eye contact as you noted the unconscious Draco in his arms. You nodded once, more towards yourself than towards him, before turning your gaze back to the professor currently lecturing you on the do’s and don'ts of fights at school. You tuned them out and every interaction after. 

~~~~~~~

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity that the tables had been turned on you. Yet again. Instead of you waiting in the dark to confront Draco, he had waited for you. You had known he was there as soon as you had closed the portrait, your eyes catching on his barely illuminated form as he sat in front of the fireplace. 

“I suppose I should ask you why you aren’t asleep yet.” You threw his words back in his face as you walked over to the couches, deciding to not even try and avoid him. Your arms were crossed protectively in front of your chest, a poor attempt to try and prevent what was probably about to come. 

Draco raised his hands under his chin, propping it up in a habit that he had learned from you long ago. “Why were you there,” he asked slowly, still not turning his head to look at you. It annoyed you, but you would let him have this for now. 

“I was tired of being lied to.” It was the truth, and that was more than he deserved. 

He clenched his jaw and turned to face you, his eyes narrowed. “You could have died. Didn’t you stop to think about that at all?” 

You sat down in the arm chair to his left, arms and now legs crossed in defiance. “I didn’t think that I would be barging in on a duel. It’s not my fault that you and Potter couldn’t keep it in your pants.” 

“This isn’t a joke!” His voice echoed across the common room and you froze. His gaze was level with yours, eyes glaring at you and hands clenched into fists. “You could have died!” 

“You could have too!” 

“That’s different!” 

“How? How is it different Draco.” At some point you had stood up again, a finger pointed in his face in your anger. The sheer familiarity of the situation was hitting. The two of you had been in these kinds of arguments many times before. “See this self-sacrificing bullshit is why we broke up. Because you couldn’t realize that your life was worth just as much as mine!” 

“No, we broke up because you got scared,” he retorted, standing up and matching your stance. “You got scared that I was actually being self-sufficient for once and you couldn’t handle not being in control!” 

You knew he was deflecting. You knew that the two of you were both lashing out, emotions high from the day that you had, but still you recoiled slightly. “Is that really what you think?” 

He just stared at you, stubborn ignorance formed in every fraction of his being. 

You swallowed thickly, straightening your clothes and taking a step back from him. “Alright then. Gad we cleared that up.” You turned around and took but two steps before you moved to face him again. “And for the record? I was scared. But I was scared that you were recklessly risking your own life because you couldn’t handle even the slightest threat to mine. Not because I wasn’t in control.” You paused, clenching your jaw as you searched his face for any type of reaction. There was none. “I guess today just proved that breaking up had been the right thing to do. Goodnight Malfoy.” 

You didn’t stop walking until you made it to your room with the door closed securely behind you. Letting out a breath, you allowed your body to sag against the door. You weren’t even sure if you could call that conversation closure. It felt more like another couples spat if you were honest, but you had meant your words. 

From now on, you didn’t care what Draco did. You didn’t care if he was sneaking around at odd hours of the night, or looking positively zombie-like. He wasn’t your problem anymore, so you were going to stop making him one. You were done with him. For good. 

.

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Taglist: 

@hydrasbitches   @tayyymeek​   

Add yourself to my taglist

[druidx]

Day 3 - Nano 2022 Round-up

Word count total: 22,182

Hours written total: 20:00

Word count today: 6,315

Hours written today: 05:53

How am I feeling: Hmm. Not only have I been slow today, but there was a lot more thinking and a lot less writing (also, Thursdays are family night so I automatically lost 3hs there).

Best lines I've written today:

After the battle for Bruma is over, and after Jauffre, Baurus and a host of other injured have been airlifted to A&E, Aderyn is having a quiet cigarette when she's approached by Hieronymus Lex. Popped under the cut because the scene is quite long (also apologies for the '{reminder markers}'). CW: strong swearing

Her hands shook in the cold, as she pulled out a cigarette. Fat flakes of snow spiralled down around her, melting where she tried to strike her lighter. "Would you like a hand with that?" Aderyn looked around. Leaning against a lamppost, bundled up correctly against the Scottish weather this time, stood Lex. His hair was pushed under a black beanie and she could see a bandage peeking through a rent in his thick trousers. Two steri-strips sat on his cheek, holding closed a lengthy gash. Aderyn sighed and held out the lighter. Lex pulled himself away from the lamp post and stiffly walked over. His hands were remarkably steady as he flicked the lighter on. Aderyn leant over and sucked in a breath, making sure to blow her lungful away from his face. "Thanks." "No problem." Lex handed back her lighter and the two stood for a moment, the noise of the market square fading into the distance. "You fought?" she asked, waving at her cheek. "Yeah." "Why?" "Burd asked me to." "Oh." Aderyn watched the snow drift past the lamp, watched as they turned orange for a moment then back to grey in the darkness. "I've been a proper cunt to you," she said. "Yeah. You have." "Why d'you keep coming back around then?" "Not everything revolves around you, Griffiths. I'm doing my job." "Yeah? What's that then?" "Ever since you and these terrorist chucklefucks entered my life, I've been playing catch-up with what the hell is going on. And the reason I keep coming around, Griffiths, is because I can see you are right bang in the middle of it all. Every time I get another call of a Mythic Dawn attack, I know I'm going to find you. And if I keep following you, eventually I'm gonna get some bloody answers." Aderyn took a long suck on the cigarette, and turned to Lex with a scowl. "I don't like what you're implying, Detective." Lex held up his hands. "I didn't mean it like that. If I thought for one second you were one of them, I would have arrested you long ago. Though that call you made, the one to tell me where their base of operations was? That helped a lot in convincing me you weren't one of them." He raised his gaze to the mess of tents. "Your lot are tight lipped, though. You Blades. Lot of secrets." He drew in a large breath. "I just want something I can spin to my superiors." "Yeah?" "Yeah." Aderyn took another large suck of her cigarette. "Alright. I gotta clear it with my superiors though. But when this is all over, you and I'll have a sit down, yeah? And I'll give you sommint to put in your reports." "I'd appreciate that, Agent Griffiths." Lex turned and stepped away, evidently considering the conversation over. "One thing though." Aderyn turned to him. Lex stopped, looking back. "What's that?" "Whatever I tell you, whatever I say I done, you ain't allowed to arrest me." Lex frowned. "I've been at war, Detective. That's what this has been for me - war with the Mythic Dawn. And in war, I'm told, there's a," she waved a hand, the ember of the cigarette carving an arc through the air, "thingy, a statute, what says whatever you do in a war to win it is necessary. And you can't be prosecuted." Lex held her gaze for a long time, the snow settling on his shoulders. Finally he nodded. "Alright." "I want your word, as a man of law." She thought for a moment, Lex would roll his eyes, but instead he paced a hand over his heart, face as grave as a heart attack. "I, Detective Captain Hieronymus Lex, do solemnly swear, that whatever I am told by my anonymous source, Sophie Aderyn Williams, pertaining to her activities against the Mythic Dawn cult, will not be held admissible, and she will not be prosecuted for them, under the {Geneva convention, acts of war}, passed into English law as statues {numbers}." He lowered his hand, giving her a nod, and Aderyn inclined her head back. "Good night, Agent Griffiths."

[antebunny]

Field Trips with Wei Wuxian

Opening–the Jiangs

(post-SSC) in an effort to restore his reputation and run away from responsibilities, Wei Wuxian agrees to spend three months in each sect. Full series here.

-

Jiang Yanli is the one to suggest it. She comes swooping in as always after Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng have another argument, and this time beyond soup and comforting words that they’ve both grown used to, she offers a plan. 

“Are you serious,” Jiang Cheng says, squinting at his older sister like that’ll make her make sense. “They’re going to snap and kill him within a month.”

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian objects immediately. “Don’t you mean try to kill me?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says absently, but jerks upright when he notices Wei Wuxian trying to make off with his soup. “Hey! Watch those thieving hands!”

“A-Xian, don’t steal his soup,” Jiang Yanli intervenes immediately. “Jiang Cheng, be nice.”

They both scowl at each other but then smile at her, settling back around the pavilion’s table. The small, square pavilion they’re gathered in is on one of the far edges of Lotus Pier, calm waters lapping at the wooden sides. 

“Are you serious?” Wei Wuxian asks after a moment of silence. 

“But he needs to stay and help us rebuild,” Jiang Cheng says immediately. The thought reminds him of their fight, and he shoots a glare at Wei Wuxian.

“But what would we even get out of it,” Wei Wuxian says, bewildered.

“Right now, we are the strongest sect,” Jiang Yanli says. The brothers share a look, neither wanting to be the one to tell her that that’s not true, but she’s still talking. “But only because of A-Xian. And the other sects don’t trust A-Xian, because they don’t know him. But if they just got to know him–”

“Then everything will be sunshine and rainbows?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “I’m telling you, they’ll kill him within the first month.”

“I don’t care what they think of me,” Wei Wuxian says, almost offended at the thought.

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, still gently, but there’s a tremor in her voice. “A-Cheng. Please. They’re afraid of A-Xian because they don’t understand him, but if they just knew that he’s a good person–”

“I–what!” Wei Wuxian squawks. He reaches for her hand and grips it tightly, his cheeks coloring. 

“Am I wrong?” Jiang Yanli demands. She turns to Jiang Cheng. “Am I wrong?”

Jiang Cheng swallows a spoonful of soup harder than he should. “No,” he admits, the word pulled from clenched teeth. “But still–what would we even tell them?”

“That A-Xian has volunteered to live as a guest in each sect for three months,” Jiang Yanli answers. “To ease their fears about his demonic cultivation.”

“That makes them sound like paranoid idiots,” Jiang Cheng says thoughtfully, and Jiang Yanli only smiles in response. 

Wei Wuxian swallows his next complaint with a mouthful of soup and thinks for a second. “But I can’t go to the Lan sect,” he says. “And…I don’t want to go to the Jin sect.”

“If you are a guest of the Lans, they will not do anything,” Jiang Yanli counters.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says, “I suppose there’s a difference between a guest disciple and a guest…but would they rather uphold their impeccable hospitality or, you know,” he waves vaguely at Wei Wuxian, who doesn’t even bother to act offended.

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli says firmly.

“Maybe,” Wei Wuxian admits.

Because here’s the thing: Wei Wuxian is tired of living with the secret of his golden core hanging over his head like a noose. He’s tired of constantly letting down Jiang Cheng, who needs his support, and the Jiang disciples, who need a Head Disciple. He doesn’t want to leave Lotus Pier, but he also needs some time away–away from the memories, away from the people, away from the responsibilities he’ll never be able to fulfill again. Maybe after nine months, he’ll have figured something out. If he can just clear his head long enough to think, he’s sure he can. 

“But he doesn’t care about his reputation,” Jiang Cheng says, a tad bitterly. 

“I do,” Jiang Yanli says. Her cheeks flush when they look at her in surprise. “I just–I won’t always be able to protect you, A-Xian.”

“That’s,” Wei Wuxian says, silver eyes wide. “I don’t want–I don’t need you to protect me–” He reaches for Jiang Yanli’s hand, but she yanks it away.

“But I always do!” Jiang Yanli says, raising her voice. Her hands are visibly shaking before she hides them in her sleeves. “I am always intervening, whenever–” she cuts herself off and presses her lips together.

“A-Li,” Jiang Cheng says, somewhat worriedly, “you don’t have to stop.”

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian admits, putting his soup bowl down guiltily. 

She is right. He doesn’t ask her to, he would never ask her to, but she is always the one stepping forward or intervening whenever Wei Wuxian gets the wrong sort of attention in public. Wei Wuxian doesn’t cause trouble on purpose, but he doesn’t want Jiang Yanli to have to protect him forever. Isn’t it time he grew up?

Wei Wuxian doesn’t care about his reputation, and never will, but he does care about Yunmeng. If the only way he can help is by convincing the sects that he’s not evil or crazy (okay, he’s maybe a little crazy, but not that sort of crazy), then he’ll do it.

“I’ll do it,” Wei Wuxian says abruptly, shocking both of his siblings.

So this is Wei Wuxian’s plan: he’ll go to the Nie sect first, because that’s the only one he’s sure he’ll get through. He’s already friends with Nie Huaisang, and even if he doesn’t get along with Nie Mingjue, at least he respects the man. That’s where the only possible source of tension will come from–not Nie Mingjue disrespecting Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian disrespecting Chifeng-zun. The Nies don’t know how to season their meat, but at least they have meat.

Wei Wuxian puts the Lan sect second, because he’s only half-sure he’ll make it out alive. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but Lan Zhan didn’t spend the entirety of the war trying to get Wei Wuxian to come to Gusu because they’re fond of demonic cultivation. Wei Wuxian knows that Lan Zhan is pretty much the paragon of Lan rules, but if he was badgering Wei Wuxian about it all throughout the war–from the very moment they reunited, without so much as a hello, how’ve you been–then Wei Wuxian has little to no hope that he’ll convince the Lans that demonic cultivation isn’t that bad within three months.

The Lan sect is the only one that Wei Wuxian expects will lower their view of him over the course of three months, not that it’s particularly high at the moment. But he guesses, or rather hopes, that it’ll be in a good way. If he goes from the fearsome, uncontrollable inventor of demonic cultivation to an uncontrollable pest that they can barely stand to look at without their disdain for him blinding their eyes, then that’s…an improvement. It’s the failure that Wei Wuxian hopes for, anyway. 

He expects constant attempts at cleansing at best, not to mention the complete lack of food with taste and climate (“I’m not going there during winter.” “Fair,” Jiang Cheng says) and the rules. At worst, well. In Gusu it’s fair to give a guest disciple 100 lashes for breaking curfew. That’s lighter than Madame Yu, although she never made a curfew, but she did find some sort of joy in beating Wei Wuxian, but it’ll still be life-crippling for a non-cultivator. So basically, the worst that could happen is that they retroactively find out about Wei Wuxian’s missing golden core, because he’s dead, and then he won’t be there to explain himself to Jiang Cheng. 

Look, Wei Wuxian will be the second person to admit that he’s paranoid, but it’s not easy to get through war without seeing death around every corner. Especially since he recently lost his golden core. He also has first-hand experience with the Lans, and there’s no way he’ll get through three months without badly breaking their rules. He knows they’ll treat a guest Head Disciple differently than they’d treat a guest disciple, but he doesn’t know by how much, and he’s at the mercy of whatever they decide.

Wei Wuxian also doesn’t particularly want to see Lan Zhan. Or, well, he does very much want to see Lan Zhan, but not like this.

Lastly, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to go to the Jin sect because the Jins are trash. They’ve been trying to recruit him for almost a year now, as if Wei Wuxian would ever abandon the Jiangs–for the Jins, no less!–and Wei Wuxian doubts that they’ll suddenly grow a moral backbone in the six months before he has to go there. That said, he doesn’t expect any major trouble from them, just their usual insufferable personalities and intolerable sect leader. 

So if Wei Wuxian, by some miracle, makes it out of the Lan sect alive, then he’ll go to Lanling. But if, more likely, he ends up high-tailing it out of Gusu because they’re about to do something that’ll paralyze him for life, then he never has to suffer through Jin Guangshan and his stupid peacock of a son.

But first: Qinghe Nie. 

 The great forested mountains of Qinghe sprawl across the horizon, and Wei Wuxian stands at the bottom, with an annual supply of spices, various notes and sketches, and both Suibian and Chenqing tucked in his side. The rigid stone fortresses of the Nies rise halfway up the mountain, and not for the first time, Wei Wuxian feels the deep, aching loss of Suibian before he gets back on his horse and heads up the mountain.

[queercomichoarder]

A Guide to Portraying Damian Wayne in Fanfics/art

As told by me, someone who is half Arab and half Korean. (Obviously, I don’t speak for all biracial Arab people out there and there will be some differences.) I’m doing this because I’m really tired of seeing discourse on his portrayal in fan shit.

Illustrating Facial Features (Also keep in mind that Bruce is white, and Damian most likely inherited some of his traits too.):

1. Nose: My nose is a mix of my parents. It’s not exactly hooked, but it’s also not flat.

2. Eyelashes: They’re really long. When I was 4 some lady asked my mom if they were real (I think she thought they were extensions??)

3. Eyebrows; Arab people have really thick eyebrows, and that shit grows back quickly. To put things into perspective, I had to start plucking in the 4th grade. Unless Damian takes his hair hygiene very seriously, he’s probably going to have a bit of a unibrow growing in.

4. Facial hair: Depending how old you consider Damian to be (I know DC updated it recently), he’s probably going to have a bit of facial hair. I had a lot of peach fuzz in middle school and I can only imagine how much worse it is for him, because he had testosterone and can’t wax his lip.

5. Skin tone: Because I am half Korean, I have a lighter complexion than my Arab family members. Damian is half-white, so he’s probably pretty light-skinned. (Note: I have half-white, half-Arab, cousins. One looks super pale and the other has brown skin. It’s a spectrum.)

6. Hair: My hair is wavy, but most of the curls are gone after I use a brush. Damian has spikey hair in the comics, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it looked a little curlier before he gets ready for the day.

Food

I’ve read a few headcanons that Alfred tries to incorporate food from Damian’s heritage into his cooking and I love it. I can’t speak on Chinese cuisine, but here’s a list of food that I’ve been introduced to by people on my Arab side.

1. Baklava: God tier. You have not lived until you’ve tried it. It’s a flaky pastry with pistachios and honey. Usually cut up into little squares. I live in a part of the US with a low Arab population, so it’s almost impossible to find a store that sells it (And since Damian is living in Gotham...). It’s also incredibly difficult to make from scratch, but it’s the best dessert ever so we suffer through anyway. One time I shared some with my white friends and they devoured the entire pan (which... same).

2. Chicken Biryani: Technically an Indian dish, but it’s served a lot in my family so I’m including it. It’s chicken and rice, but like with a lot of spices, which is great until you bite into a cardamom pod.

3. Naan: It’s flatbread and a staple food. IT IS NOT THE SAME THING AS PITA. In my not-so-humble opinion, it’s the best flatbread ever and I will fight people on it.

4. Lentil soup: Exactly what it sounds like. It’s a comfort food.

5. Falafel, Hummus, Kabab, & Shwarma: More well known than some of the other stuff. In basically any Mediterranean restaurant. Falafel is a pain in the ass to make and anyone who says that it’s easy isn’t human.

Language

I can only speak English, so I can’t really talk much about the dialect Damian would use. That being said, there are A LOT of Arabic dialects. If you’re like me and don’t speak Arabic, please do research before you write it. Also don’t use google translate. It’s not good.

If you’re writing Damian as being fluent in multiple Arabic dialects, keep in mind that there is no formula to when he speaks which dialect. My grandparents speak multiple languages fluently and will sometimes change what language they’re talking in mid-sentence. Like from English, to Farsi, to Hindi, to Arabic, back to English. They don’t do on purpose. They don’t do it when they’re feeling specific emotions. It’s just how they think. Also, whoever they’re talking to is left with like 5% of what they were trying to say.

Relationship with his Ethnic Background

One bad part about being biracial is feeling like you’re not good enough for either side of your family. Damian is white, Arab, and Chinese, which probably wasn’t an issue for him in the League of Shadows. When he left, however, he would have definitely taken notice to the way different people treat him. There’s probably a lot of buried feelings about how he feels alien in comparison with his dad. Not to mention the way Gotham’s news outlets would choose to portray him (after all, he is a Wayne).

Anyway, I hope this helps some people out. Don’t forget to be kind to one another. It’s tricky to write/draw things you aren’t familiar with.