#and CERTAINLY not as easy and lucky as Fry

[strangerthingssteddiebrainrot]

4am this time, let's go bbyyyyy!!!!!

Steve knew he wasn't in the best place right now. Mentally that is. But he wasn't at his all time lowest. That award probably goes to the summer Starcourt burned down, even if he got Robin out of it, funnily enough.

Ever since the wall opened and spat out a monster in the Byers living room, Steve felt like his ability to deal with shit was going steadily downhill. Especially since, in those early days, he didn't really have anyone to rely on. Nancy's parents (ie. Karen wheeler) actually gave a fuck about her children, so it's not like she could sneak over to his place and they could hold each other through the nightmares. After the tunnels, he got a little brother in the form of one sarcastic little brat named Dustin. But it's not like he was gonna burden literal children with his fears and paranoia, not when they were barely dealing with their own issues. Then he lost Nancy.

Finding Robin had been a godsend, really. Her parents didn't really like her sneaking out to spend the night with a boy, but given that they survived a traumatic event together, they were much more lenient. Her grandfather on her dad's side had been a vet, one of the lucky few who had a strong support system and passed on the importance of such things to his children. Steve had even spent some nights over at her place, her parents experienced how they comforted each other through screaming awake and panic attacks. And while they weren't 100% convinced that their love was pure platonic with a capital P, they gave the two of them a lot of leeway.

Still, Steve couldn't spend every waking (and sleeping) moment with someone nearby, no matter how he tried, so sometimes bad days fell on him when he was all alone. Those days Steve was lucky if he could pull himself out of bed, let alone tend to any of his bodily needs. So today, a day without work, or get togethers, or errands, Steve didn't crawl out of bed until nearly 2pm. He didn't bother showering, he took one yesterday, and he certainly didn't bother with his hair, the strands laying flat in his head in a tangled mess. But he did feel hungry which was a good sign. Not that he had an appetite or wanted to eat. But he could, which is always a step up from being so downtrodden that just the thought of food made him nauseous even as his stomach grumbled.

So Steve put a shirt on to go with his boxers, and headed to the kitchen. Luckily, thanks to Robin mostly, he had quick, easy meals he could make fast for days like this. So he pulled a box of frozen turkey meatballs (Robin claimed beef was bad for your health) out of the freezer and, after reading the instructions on the back, out then in the oven to bake. Meanwhile, he set a lot of water to boil, pulling out spaghetti noodles and a bottle of rose sauce as he waited.

Leaning back against the countertop, Steve let his mind wander, not really focusing on anything, just checking the water every now and then, which is how he almost missed the knock at the door. Shaking himself back to awareness, Steve thought he'd just been hearing things, but then whoever was there started ringing the doorbell incessantly. Annoyed, Steve grabbed a frying pan just to be safe, and went to answer the door.

"What the fuck?!" Steve growled out, frying pan hidden behind his body as he wrenched the front door open.

"And a good afternoon to you as well sunshine!" Standing on his porch, smiling at his annoyance, was none other than Eddie Munson.

Taken aback, Steve just stared at him for a minute, trying to remember if they had anything planned that he'd forgotten about. He didn't think so, if anything he was always hyper aware of the other man and meticulously kept track of any plans they'd make with each other.

"Well princess, gonna invite me into your castle or did I drive alllll the way out here for nothing?" Hands in his pockets, Eddie rocked on his heels. A nervous tell for when he thought he was misreading a situation and wasn't sure if it was okay or not.

"Yeah, sorry man. Just was wondering if I'd forgotten we had a hang out sesh or something." Stepping back, Steve made room for a now smiling Eddie to bounce into his house.

Like, literally bounce, like the world's most metal bunny. It brought a smile to Steve's face, surprising since usually nothing really seemed funny on days like today. That was Eddie to a T though, wasn't it? Eddie was full of surprises and Steve hoped he would always be around so he could continue to be surprised by him.

"Nah, you're cool man. Wayne's on days this week so I was all by my lonesome. Figured if all the kids and Robin were busy, then you'd be alone too. So I thought we could be alone together." Suddenly tipping his head back, Eddie took big exaggerated sniffs. "Speaking of, you cooking? Something smells good."

Walking into the kitchen, Steve noted that the water was now boiling, so he made his way to the stove, dropping the frying pan on the counter.

"Uhhhh..." Eddie trailed off, looking at the frying pan.

Taking out the noodles, Steve addressed Eddie as he placed them in the water. "I wasn't expecting anyone today, figured better safe than sorry."

"Fair." Levering himself up, Eddie plopped himself onto the countertop, leaning back against the cupboards. "You okay Stevie? You seem kinda...down?"

After checking the meatballs and flipping them over, Steve placed his hands on the counter and leaned his weight on them as he contemplated what to say. Eddie seemed to realise this as well since he stayed silent, just looking at Steve with that little furrow between his brows that meant he was concerned.

Taking a deep breath, Steve turned to face Eddie, keeping an eye on the noodles from the corner of his eye.

"I, uh, could be better. But I've also been worse. I've had days where I couldn't eat before, so the fact that I'm cooking today is a good sign."

"Oh, shit man, that sucks. I'm really glad I came over then. You guys are pretty on top of making sure I'm okay, it's nice to return the favour." Kicking his legs back and forth, Eddie leaned forward and gave Steve a small, almost bashful smile.

"So your idea of being there for me is to come over and bum my food Munson. Good to know." Returning the smile, Steve made sure to pay Eddie on the leg, letting him know he was just joking.

Turning away he bent over to grab a strainer from a drawer, figuring the noodles and meatballs would be almost done by now.

"Hey, sharing a meal is a bonding activity. What're you making anyway?" Eddie asked, leaning forward as Steve strained the pasta, leaving it to cool for a moment as he bent over to take out the meatballs.

From this angle, Steve could see from the corner of his eye as Eddie used his angle to check out his ass.

Now they've been flirting for a little while. Or at least, Robin assured him they'd been, and all the kids kept asking him to make a move since they can't stand Eddie's 'pining'. Even Uncle Wayne and his band had given Steve a talk, warning him not to hurt Eddie. Combine that with Steve's lowered filter whenever he was in one of these moods, and Steve felt he could not be responsible for the next words out of his mouth.

"Enjoying the view Munson?" Steve asked, sticking his ass out even more as he practically presented himself just trying to take out the damn meatballs.

Eyes shooting back up, Eddie froze in place. His eyes were a little wide and his face was closing off, a barrier coming up to conceal the panic Steve could see building up.

"Shit." Steve muttered to himself, quickly he pulled out the meatballs, depositing them on the stovetop before moving over to Eddie.

He reached up to take Eddie's face in his hands, then realised he was still wearing his oven mitts. Groaning in annoyance, he bit the top of one, pulling it off while removing the other with his now free hand, then threw them over his shoulder, not caring where they landed. His fumbling at least got Eddie to smile tentatively at him.

Hands now free, he cupped Eddie's face in his hands. He soothingly rubbed his thumbs face and forth across smooth skin and leaned in so their foreheads touched.

"Hey, I'm sorry Ed's. I didn't mean to make you upset. I just, I like you, and I thought you liked me too but if that's not the case it's okay, I won't as-"

"You like me?" Finally looking at him again, Eddie raised his hands and brought them to rest over Steve's on his face.

"Yeah. Yeah Eddie, I really like you."

Moving slowly, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted to, Eddie moved their faces closer until he could place a soft, sweet kiss against his lips.

"Well that's good. Cause I'm kinda gone on you Harrington." Eddie moved his hands to instead tangle into Steve's hair, pulling him in for more shallow kisses, neither of them feeling up for escalating the moment.

Finally they pulled away, foreheads still pressed together, and they just breathed each other in. Later would be the time for conversations, but for now, Steve just pulled away with a final kiss so he could continue making the pasta.

Eddie hopped off the counter and wrapped his arms around Steve from behind as he went through the motions of combining the pasta, meatballs and sauce. They only separated when Steve moved to get plates from the cupboard and served out two, very sad portions of pasta. No garlic bread, no salad, no side of any kind. Even Eddie, who had eaten very questionable food cause he and Wayne couldn't afford to waste anything, looked less than impressed.

"You weren't kidding Stevie. This is sad." Eddie said, even as he speared a meatball and scooped up some noodles for a first bite. "But it's not bad." Was the conclusion.

"Yeah, I know. This is what Robin and I call depression meal number six." Steve replied, chuckling lightly as he dug in as well, grimacing at the bland taste.

Eddie looked at him for a moment, then smiled and said. "My number one is mac and cheese."

They smiled at each other, this kind of thing wasn't unusual with their group after all. Steve knew Robin's go-to's, and Dustin's and now Eddie's.

Then Eddie got a mischievous look on his face. "Would you say this is, depre-sghetti?"

It took Steve a solid minute to translate that sentence in his head. But when he realised what it was, he didn't even try to stop the bitchy look that came over his face. It didn't help that Eddie was biting his lower lip, brows scrunched together when he was trying to hold back laughter.

"Get the fuck out of my house." Steve deadpanned, and that broke Eddie.

He laughed so hard he bent double, quickly putting his plate on the counter so he could slap his own thighs. It made Steve smile, seeing Eddie so happy. But he had a reputation to maintain, so he took his sad, sad meal, and went to sit in the living room, turning on the tv.

Eddie eventually joined him, still giggling when he saw the blank look on Steve's face. For the rest of the evening, they sat thigh to thigh, chatting and watching whatever was on as background noise. And when the sun set and Steve yawned, still heavy with the sadness that burdened this whole day, Eddie made sure he brushed his teeth and washed his face, then tucked him in and held him all night.

It was one of the best bad days he'd had in a while. And it was only the first of many.

@steddieassheg0es @oakenorcrist

[galaxseacreature]

Please tell me about fish taxi and what's a culvert

Absolutely! Allow me to set the scene:

Two salmon are swimming upstream when they smack directly into a huge concrete wall. One turns to the other and says, "Dam."

...that one definitely works better out loud, with a nice flat delivery. But it's a good starting point. Unlucky salmon are doomed to deliver the punchline to this terrible dad joke. Really lucky salmon are blessed with wild rivers with no dams at all. Medium lucky salmon have to ride the salmon cannon, navigate a fish ladder, or catch the fish taxi to get upstream. These are all fish passage solutions put in place to make up for those most intimidating barriers to migration: dams.

A quick note: I'm going to continue to focus on salmon in the Pacific Northwest, because that's what I'm familiar with. Different locations with different species of fish may have other concerns or solutions related to fish passage. But it's a big deal here because salmon have to migrate upstream to lay their eggs and continue their life cycle and everyone wants there to keep being iconic and delicious salmon around.

With that out of the way, and seeing as this post is already getting long, buckle up for the fish taxi details with a side of culverts under the cut! I promise a video and a meme to liven things up before we wrap.

Fish ladders are old news. Boring. And, frankly, expensive and challenging to design well and impossible to implement at all above a certain size.

Enter the fish taxi. The idea is as simple as it is ridiculous. Just round up your fish on the downstream side, put them in a truck with a big water tank, and drive them upstream of the dam for release. Easy peasy!

In practice there's a little more to it. Puget Sound Energy operates two dams on the Baker River. Their fish trap below the lower dam is pretty fancy, and even includes an "aquatic elevator" to raise fish up into the sorting facility. There's a whole series of gates and chutes and moveable walls that direct fish into the right holding tanks before finally being loaded into the trucks.

Not to boost corporate talking points about their mitigation strategies, but it is objectively a pretty successful site and this video shows the process well:

An extra cool thing about the Baker River fish taxi is that it also runs juveniles downstream. That may sound obvious but it's a huge improvement over old strategies like "hopefully some of them survive tumbling down the spillway or through the turbines." Ok, most dams have some form of bypass around the turbines, and the spillway is often the safer-than-it-looks intended route, but it still seems rough being a small fry. Getting rounded up in the floating collector and taking a taxi ride downstream starts to sound pretty good, all things considered.

Whew! That's the story of the fish taxi!

I'm going to try to keep culverts short (for now) because they're much less sexy. Normal people almost never think about culverts, but they cross them every day. Culverts are the pipes that carry water under roads. Although they aren't just pipes, they can be box or arch shaped structures and made of a variety of materials...but I digress! Basically any time a road crosses water that doesn't rate a bridge, there's a culvert. Some are just to drain runoff. Many driveways have a small culvert for the roadside ditch. But some are larger and allow entire streams to pass under the road. If they're sized appropriately, set at the right height to prevent a water surface drop, and not sloped too steeply, culverts can be completely passable and fish friendly! Alas, they often are not. Dams may be the largest structures that act as fish passage barriers, but culverts are by far the most numerous.

Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife inventories fish passage barriers to salmon and steelhead and estimates some 18,000-20,000 statewide. This is almost certainly on the low end. I mean, just imagine how MANY roads there are, and how MUCH water there is in Washington, a famously wet place. They intersect a lot. If you want to get a sense of the scale, there's a public facing, interactive map of WDFW-identified barriers here. Most of the points are culverts. Only the green points are fully fish passable. There are probably lots more points that haven't been surveyed at all yet. So yeah

[ID: "X, X Everywhere" Meme of Woody and Buzz from Toy Story reading "Culverts. Culverts everywhere." End ID]

Anyone who made it to the end has my gratitude and is welcome to use the very unofficial title of "Junior Fish Passage Nerd" any time they want. And if you made it here and are still interested in hearing about culverts or fish passage more generally...well, you know where to find me!

[clevervonskelli]

some thoughts on The Night Agent

Pros:

The real mix of male and female characters and their importance or roles within the narrative itself. It all felt so natural. 

For the most part, even the ‘villainous’ characters have so many moments where you can appreciate their complexity and flaws, rather than just dismissing them as (boring) baddies with purely evil motivations.

The relationship between Peter and Rose is nice. Could the story have worked without the romantic love angle? Yes. Could we have done without the heavy petting / possibly-alluding-to-dance-with-no-pants scene on the boat right when the intensity of the story and the stakes were very high? Most definitely. (Sorry, I usually hate that in action stories bc okay, if you could die in the next hour then why not, but also you have bigger fish to fry right now, folks!!). It was still nice though. They work as a pair and the chemistry was great. There was a sweetness to them that I really appreciated.

Enough people croak that it feels realistic, even if you’re still rooting for those miraculous, lucky saves that would end up making you think “they wouldn’t all make it if this was real” for the characters you like.

Background hints are given and there is a world outside the story (especially important for an action, conspiracy, thrill, run-from-the-gov type pieces that have the potential to feel very isolating and insular). But none of it is detailed excessively or used as a weird, unfulfilled diversion for the plot. It adds authenticity and stakes beyond the main thrust of the plot.

I cannot stress this enough: Rose essentially being like “I can’t hack EVERYTHING Peter, that’s not how the world works” and still needing to do physical, analogue, paper research. Yes, yes, YES!

Love that they didn’t take the comfortable way out and make Peter Sr’s shit be a part of this / another conspiracy and didn’t make things easy for Peter Jr. as a reward for everything he accomplished by the end of the narrative.

Every. single. time. Rose attacks someone.

**Bonus:

Rose and the Rome Tome nuts’ wallets? Perfection. The show’s capacity for quiet humour despite the action shenanigans is good throughout, but my god that early moment is never topped.

The Canada Post truck that cruises by in one of the most obvious shots I have recently seen of that happening for a show set in the US. Gotta love Canadian filming locations!

Cons:

The almost forced-feeling cursing and some overdone dialogue in the first couple eps. I’m not sure if I just got more used to it after or if it really did improve as the episodes continued.

A full emergency / med kit in the boat but they needed to crack open the liquor to sterilise the wound? What the hell?!?

Whatever the fuck was going on with the assassins in that hotel room re: her riding his hand like a rodeo participant. The impotent thing is fine, it brings something interesting to their dynamic and his character as a whole (although we certainly don’t like the possible implication that this adds to his heinousness or whatever because fuck that noise, THAT’S not why he’s a monster!) but the sex scene itself felt unnecessary AF.

Umm, on that note, creepy-eyes assassin lady? Stealing a baby and raising it rather than conceiving and birthing and raising it would still make you parents, and the kid could easily still end up as fucked-up as you’re imagining, even if it doesn’t share your genes.

Disregard my earlier comment about the benefit of so many people being knocked off; Cisco was an unacceptable loss and I want him to be not dead.

[sorry-apsalar]

Frender Drabbles: Paternal Issues

Summary: more hurt/comfort but with fry’s trauma

[A/N] Oops, comfort didn't exactly happen in this one. Fry decides he'd rather emotionally run away from addressing the fact that he might have some unresolved trauma and Bender is Bender. Together they have the combined emotional intelligence of a sack of potatoes.

~

This was why Fry never liked to talk about his childhood or parents, everyone always gave him the kind of look Bender was giving him now. The kind of look one gave to those who just confessed to something horrible having been done to them. But nothing horrible had been done to Fry. He was the younger less achieving brother so of course his parents didn’t pay much attention to him. That’s just how it was for everyone, right? Or at least everyone from his home time.

“You ran away for three whole days and nobody noticed?” Bender asked, sounding almost like he didn’t believe it.

“Uh… yeah.” And it was supposed to be a funny story because his parents had certainly always told it as if it were funny story so it had to be. Though the way they’d always told it was that he’d ‘claimed’ to have run away for three days because they seriously hadn’t known until he’d asked them if they’d noticed. How big a deal he’d made of it when learning that was apparently the funny part. “I was fourteen so they assumed I was in my room all day.”

“That’s fucked up. Even I’d noticed if you disappeared for that long and I don’t have time to pay attention to all your silly organic fickleness.” As if he didn’t notice when Fry left unexpectedly for even just an hour or two. “But if this is an attempt at making me feel bad for taking all your money so I start going easy on you, it failed. Read ‘em and weep.” He threw down his cards on the table between them. His hand was certainly better than the one Fry had just laid down by a long shot.

“I’m starting to think you’re cheating.” Or he was just really lucky in addition to being good at poker.

Bender made a sound like he was trying to imitate an offended gasp. “Me, cheat? I would never.” With a chuckle, he pulled the pile of bottle caps they were using in place of poker chips to his side of the table. “That’s twenty more bucks you owe me. You wanna go another round to try to win it back?”

With how little luck Fry was having he should probably decline and insist they leave the kitchen to watch TV in the living room instead. But… “All right. I’m shuffling this time though.” He gathered up the cards and pulled him towards himself.

“Seriously though,” Bender said as Fry split the deck, “you should see a meatbag therapist, or whatever Leela was talking about the other day, about your paternal issues. They’re almost as bad as hers and she didn’t have parents growing up.”

“I don’t have paternal issues.” He’d had a perfectly normal childhood with perfectly normal parents… probably. Of the few friends he’d had back then he hadn’t been close enough to any of them to go to their houses and thus meet their parents. So he didn’t have much to compare his parents to that weren’t fiction or Leela’s parents and they didn’t count because they hadn’t raised her, not really anyway.

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.” Bender didn’t sound the least bit convinced.

“I will because it’s true.” Probably anyway. … But if even Bender believed something was wrong with the way Fry’s parents had raised him then… maybe something was wrong? If so, it was too late to do anything about it now though other than to complain and that wouldn’t get him anywhere so why bother? Fry would much rather go back to chatting and trying to win at least a single game of poker. He’d get lucky eventually, maybe even this next hand, wouldn’t that be neat?

[crawlingforwardx]

Heather doesn't miss a single beat with her response, continuing to match his own playful and flirtatious remarks. There was certainly nothing shy about her and he was quite enjoying that blunt confidence. It was almost like a game at this point and they were each playing for the win. "That sounds like a good time to me." He quips with a spirited wink, though his words held a complete truth to them because like he had told her previously, he absolutely did not mind a repeat of last night.

There was something amusing about the idea of Heather trying to fry an egg and accidentally burning his whole house down in the process. He was almost tempted to encourage it purely to witness the chaos she implied but ultimately he decides he'd rather keep his house intact. "So food at Hotel Holloway ranges from extra burnt to poison. Noted." It's all in good fun, however he does notice a slight albeit brief shift in her demeanor and he wonders where her mind has wandered off to from their playful banter. Steve almost opens his mouth to ask but decides against it when she returns to her usual playful air. Maybe she would want to talk about it at some point, which he wasn't exactly opposed to even if giving support was a part of himself that he was still trying to improve upon.

Instead keeping pace with her frisky energy, he offers a half-smirk in response to her Hotel Holloway selling point and the implication behind reviewing it for himself. "Well in that case, where do I book my stay?" Scooting closer to her on his bed, he playfully walks his fingers up her bare leg. "Does it come with free pool time? Because I could think of a few fun things we could get up to..." He lets her imagination run wild with that, figuring she's creative enough and the implication is quite clear anyway.

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles as they talk about breakfast and he gives Heather a nod to confirm her question. "Yeah, you pretty much just fry the egg without flipping it, but if you prefer over easy, I can make that too." This is where his skill would really be put to the test, he supposes. He wasn't really a cook, that skill was extremely limited, but he did learn how to make some simple meals. It's not like his parents were ever home all that often to cook for him, especially while he was still in school. "Lucky for you, I'm very good at pleasing." Smirking as she slides off the bed to give him one last appreciative look over, he thought he could get used to her ogling him like that. "I'm pretty sure that's some kind of a health code violation." He tosses back as he follows her in slipping off the bed, briefly scanning the floor for wherever his underwear landed before looking back to her. "But if you insist on the view..."

There's a very real possibility that she could stay here forever just going back and forth with playful remarks with Steve. "Both," comes her direct answer to his question, and only a small part of that is a joke at this point. She breathes a light snicker at his fake little performance that's akin to the kind of thing she would do, and it's not fair that it only makes him more attractive to her in the process. It is becoming more and more apparent to her that when it comes to guys she has a type, and pretty boys with good hair and a little attitude are it.

A huff of incredulity is her response to the very notion of herself cooking here. "Nope. Not if you still want a kitchen after. Or something actually edible." There's a brief pause, a small but clearly unpleasant chill running down the back of her neck at the thought that the one time she'd successfully made something, she wasn't herself at all, baking cookies while overtaken by a monster that had both her and Billy acting completely differently to usual. And still, no one had really noticed.

It's a thought kept to herself, and her playful demeanor swiftly returns. "And just… for future information, Hotel Holloway still has some pretty amazing food. 'Cause I didn't make it. Seriously — I keep a stash of waffles, Pop Tarts, croissants, fruits... so I'll take back that star now, mister. Or maybe you should stay the night there next time and review it yourself." She's happy to let the unspoken implications behind that remain in the air without clarification, since Steve mentioned being in favor of a repeat of last night and all.

He definitely gets an extra point for being able to make breakfast though, however Heather slightly tilts her head to Steve's questions. "...Isn't sunny side up just for like, when you fry them?" Because that's how Mom made them, she thinks but doesn't say. Heather had never asked how, partly in efforts to resist becoming either of her parents. Shrugging, she then slides off the bed. "Well, whatever. Surprise me. I'm actually pretty easy to please with that stuff." She looks him over one last time with the same clear appreciation. "...And that goes even more if you stay like that."

[ophelia-writes-stuff]

♥ a ghost of him . oneshot ♥

. pairing : austin!elvis x fem!reader

. summary / request : after too much mistreatment, you leave the love of your life, despite him begging for you to stay.

. notes / warning : angst, cheating (allusions to and mentions of), divorce/breakup, allusions/mentions of sex, swearing, reader is quite the pushover for a while. read this w/ sad music if you can cuz it makes the whole thing so much better lol.

. word count : 2.5k

(♥) . . . request something . masterlist . taglist . navigation

It was easy to pretend, at first. All the late nights he spent out, never coming home until it was most certainly past midnight.

In the beginning, you could tolerate it. A string of apologies was always followed when he'd come home late, and Elvis would pepper you with affection and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you two would lay together. He always did have a special way of convincing you that everything was going to be just fine– that everything was fine, and, at the time, you had no cause to disbelieve him. Though his staying out late was a cause for concern, the only thing you were truly worried about was his sleep schedule.

But, as it was mentioned, that was only just the beginning.

Gradually, Elvis would come home later, both tired and intoxicated. He would barley utter a word before he'd collapse on the bed. You were lucky if you heard a simple "goodnight" or "I love you" escape his lips, and you'd resorted to pretending to be asleep at night as you didn't want him to feel guilty in the morning, like he commonly would. Sometimes he never did come home, opting to sleep somewhere else, may it be a friend's house or a hotel– he never did specify exactly where. And, although it did hurt you, you knew how hard Elvis worked. You didn't want to be yet another source of stress for him to bear on his already burdened shoulders. Though you had to admit, the lack of intimacy or affection was getting to you.

Most mornings Elvis would make breakfast for the two of you, that was, before his career had taken off. When he wasn't yet in the public eye, you could remember waking up to always finding him frying some sort of breakfast goodie. And so, one morning, you decided that, as a kind gesture, you'd make Elvis some eggs and bacon before he left for work.

Stretching your arms out and letting out a yawn, you rolled over to admire Elvis's sleeping features, only to notice several lipstick stains littered along his skin.

And you, being the understanding person you were, made the mistake to completely ignore it. And when Elvis had came out of bed and greeted you with a tired "good morning" and no evidence of the marks on him whatsoever, you found it easy to convince yourself that what you had seen was just a hallucination-- a projection of you deepest fears. After all, Elvis Presley, your loving husband and closest confident, could never, in his heart, do something like that, right?

And yet, as time passed on, it only seemed more plausible. Elvis hadn't even had a full conversation with you since a few weeks ago, and the late nights kept getting later, and the drinking became more and more heavy, and yet, as time went on, you found yourself defending Elvis in your own mind.

He's drunk, he'd never do this is he were sober all the time, you'd think to yourself. Plus, he's so tired, maybe he deserves it. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I'm not a good enough wife. Maybe the women he sleeps with are simply better than me.

It never occurred to you that he was the one in the wrong for the longest of times.

For a while, your relationship with your husband went on like this-- a time too long for you to want to admit. But, between one excuse for him and another, you came to the horrific realization that he truly was the one in the wrong, that you were no longer married to Elvis Presley, rather, you were married to his ghost-- someone you never quite knew the location of, but always knew was there in one way or another.

And so, on the night of your two's own anniversary-- think of that, the very same day you both got married, the happiest day of your life-- you sat on the patio at 11:59, awaiting his presence. And, staring at your watch, you couldn't help but dread the moment you knew was bound to come.

The moments following the clock striking twelve were the most painful of your life.

You let out a shaky sigh as you closed you eyes for a moment. You tried to let in a steady intake of breath but the threat of tears falling from your eyes prohibited you from doing so. It took everything in you to stand up and walk into your bedroom, and even more so to start packing your clothing with your essentials. You tried not to pay mind to the fact that Elvis had, indeed, bought almost if not everything in your wardrobe.

Your mind was in some kind of panicked frenzy as you attempted to grab everything of yours as quickly as possible. You hadn't even registered the sound of a car entering the driveway and Elvis opening the door before you heard a confused voice behind you say,

"What is all o' this for?"

Startled, your back whirled around to face no other than your husband, Elvis Presley. His eyes were narrowed on your form, and you couldn't help but feel a little guilty, noticing the worried puzzlement that adorned his features. But, despite his asking, you hesitantly returned to your packing, not offering up any information. You didn't trust yourself around that man, not when he still had such a tight grip on your heart. In a mere sentence he could have you running back to him with open arms.

Elvis stood there for a couple of moments, eyes boring holes into your back, before asking again, "Baby, what the hell are you doing'?" The anger is his voice wasn't suppressed whatsoever, and you couldn't help yourself as you felt your eyes grow wet with tears. So many years you'd spent with this man, all thrown away in a single day. So much time wasted with someone who was never truly yours. You knew fame corrupts, but you could never imagine that it would be this drastic.

"Y/n, what on the goddamn Earth do you think you're--"

"I'm leaving you, Elvis."

So much for not speaking.

A dreadful silence followed. You froze, awaiting Elvis's response.

And then, came a nervous chuckle. "You're quite the comedian, I have to admit. Very, very funny."

You wished you were joking.

You let out a shaky breath as your trembling hands, though with much difficulty, closed the zipper of your suitcase.

And, with everything you had left, you turned to face Elvis. His face was plastered with an oblivious smile.

"I'm not joking, Elvis. I- I'm leaving. I'm leaving you. I'm leaving you for good." You repeated the phrase, finding it almost impossible to process.

I'm leaving you, the love of my life, the one I've given my heart to. I'm leaving you, my husband, the one who I'd sacrifice anything I have for.

I'm leaving you, my lover, the one who no longer feels the same. I'm leaving you, my closest friend, who has betrayed me over, and over, and over.

I'm leaving you.

"Y/n, are you alright?"

You stared at him incredulously, your fury mixing with the sadness that you had shoved deep into the confines of your heart. "Am I alright?" you echoed in disbelief. "Am I alright? Are you seriously asking me that, Elvis?"

Elvis let out a sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes.

"Y/n, if this is about the nights spent out blowing steam off with my friends--"

"This is not about that, Elvis." You wished you could have hid the slight tremble in your voice when you spoke, but it was pointless. Your eyes flit to the door that Elvis stood in front of, almost as if he was guarding it.

"Now, please move so that I can leave?"

Something in Elvis seemed to snap.

"Oh, you don't get to leave until I get an explanation for any o' this. I'm not going to just let my own wife walk out on me when I don' even know what nothin' about what I've done wrong-- which would be nothing, by the way, so you're going to tell me exactly why in God's name you'd be standin' out here with your suitcase packed and trying to leave me. I ain't done nothing wrong."

It was pathetic, really, to see him acting as if he was innocent. He hadn't even tried to hide it before, but now? He was trying to act like a good guy. And perhaps, in some way, you'd let him. Perhaps you'd save him from having to hear it come from your lips. Perhaps you'd be able to save your self from crumbling in front of the very man you'd been a fool for for so very long.

"We both know what it is, Elvis. Now, can you please save the both of us and just let me leave? Please, I just want to leave. That's all I ask. I don't want to make this any harder for you or myself..." Elvis could see it-- could see how much it hurt you, how much your heart broke as you spoke, but he still pressed on, "Goddamnit, Y/n, just fucking tell me what the hell I did!"

You felt a sob wrack through your body at the sudden loud tone of his voice. "Elvis, you--" Another sob. It felt so surreal to say it. It was so simple-- Elvis, you cheated on me-- but the words simply refused to come out.

Though, eventually, reluctantly, they did. In the softest, quietest tone Elvis had ever heard you speak in, you whispered, "Elvis, you had sex with another woman. Or maybe women. I don't know. I never can tell with you."

Here it was at last. Catharsis. No longer could you play the role of the oblivious wife. And to that, you felt freedom-- a certain freedom that you hadn't felt in so long. But you also felt so goddamn lonely, because you were. You were alone, completely and utterly alone.

And Elvis seemed to finally notice you, because, as he took one look at his wife, one truly good look at you, he could see the anger, and the fear, and the heartbreak, and the sadness. And all he could think was, how had I never seen any of that before? And only in this moment did he truly realize the weight of what he'd done.

He'd lost you.

The love of his life. His rock.

His own wife.

So, with a trembling voice and a trembling hand, he lifted your chin and said, "Now, darlin', why would you every think I'd do something like that?"

You'd hoped that Elvis would have finally admitted to what he'd done, but he was proud. Too proud. Your eyes flickered shamefully to the floor, for you almost felt as if you were the one at fault, and you let out another sob.

"Please, Elvis, just let me go," you whimpered, because you were sad, and tired, and heartbroken, and betrayed, and this was the last place you wanted to be.

Elvis's grip remained strong on your chin, but i became obvious that he was crumbling as easily as you were.

"No, Y/n, I can't- I can't just let you go. I can't... you can't leave me, baby. I love-- you can't... I love you, Y/n. I love you more than anyone else. You're my bestest girl, Y/n, my bestest girl. I can't live without you. Please. You have to stay..."

If your heart had been broken before, Elvis may as well just shattered the pieces of your heart and scattered them around the Earth, because he was finally saying all the things you had wanted him to say for so, so long, but it was too late. He said it all the very moment it was too late. But you couldn't give in. You had to be strong.

"Elvis, this isn't love," you said, pulling back from his grip on your chin. You couldn't stand to look at him.

"It is, Y/n. I love you-- I love you with everything I have in me. I slipped up while I was drunk, and I am so, so sorry, but I'll make it up to you, because I love you. I always have, baby."

"No, Elvis. You don't. You don't love me. Love are your actions, not your feelings. If you loved me, Elvis, you wouldn't have gotten drunk every goddamn night. If you loved me, Elvis, you wouldn't have gone out and cheated on me, again, and again, and again. "

Your chin quivered more and more with every single word.

"But when I look at you, I don't see love. I see regret. You regret your actions, Elvis, but you don' love me. You may have loved me, once, but that time has passed a long, long time ago. It's too late now Elvis."

"C'mon, baby, you can't mean it..."

"I can't? When was the last time we ate together, Elvis? When's the last time you kissed me-- really kissed me? When's the last time we had a conversation lasting as long as this one? You're a ghost, Elvis. You come home, and you go to sleep with cherry red lipstick stains on your neck every goddamn night, and when I wake up, you're gone. And now you're here, saying all these things that I wish you would have said so long ago, but it's already too late."

Your eyes snap closed scornfully. "You know it's too late."

Your husband stared at your in complete and utter disbelief, his eyes wide and brimming with tears as you spoke every word. Regret was the only thing that now filled his hollow heart, and he could only stand in shock as he listened to you.

"I'd say I'll miss you, Elvis, but I already have missed you. I am missing you." You open your eyes and stare at your husband.

"I miss the old Elvis. Where could he have gone?" Elvis was speechless. All he could do was stare at you guiltily.

Locking eyes with your now heartbroken husband, you let out a shaky sigh as you walked up to him and kissed him-- really kissed him-- for the very last time. And you couldn't help but feel that, despite the wetness or both of your lips, and your trembling hands, and his quavering jaw, it felt almost just as good as the first time he kissed you, and Elvis couldn't help but regret every action that lead to this moment when you pulled away and stared at him with an endearingly heartbroken smile, before walking over and gabbing your bag, and opening the front door to your house-- or rather, Elvis's house.

But when you felt something grip onto your wrist, time froze as your head turned in Elvis's direction. "When you're forty and I'm fifty..." He didn't stare at you. He couldn't stare at you. "We'll get back together. You'll see." And you couldn't help the sad yet hopeful smile that adorned your face for a fleeting moment, and Elvis knew he'd never forget it, when you closed the door and he never saw you again.

[rheawritessometimes]

A Not-So-Bad Deal

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Babysitting Childe has its ups and downs. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Injury, Physical Intimacy, Mild Spice, PDA, Not Beta Read, Barely Proof Read.

{ Notes } Reader is implied to have commitment issues. Accidental flirting, because intentional flirting is awkward and hard. Didn't explicitly state what each breakfast item was, but they're based on popular Russian breakfast foods. Ahah, not me setting myself up for yet another part?? Masterlist

{ Word Count } 2,955

The sentiment of spending Childe's recovery with him being a simple endeavor was quickly thrown into the garbage when you were awakened before the sun had even begun to peek over the horizon to the sound of what you were sure was a break-in. Rolling out of the bed with your sword materializing in your hand was done entirely on instinct, you were still too groggy to have any proper thought. Stealthily exiting the room, you made your way to the source of the noise, the kitchen.

Needless to say, you were more than annoyed to find that the 'break in' was actually a familiar Harbinger making breakfast, tearing apart the kitchen in the process. Your sword dematerialized as you brought a hand up to massage your temples to ward off a headache. Childe was humming cheerily in the middle of the mess of ingredients and cookware, some of which you were certain had not been necessary to whatever it was he was making. There was no way that many bowls were necessary for any recipe.

The Snezhnayan flashed a bright grin when he saw you, but the gesture did nothing to ease the scowl that had settled onto your features. That didn't seem to dampen his mood in the least, he merrily continued preparing what appeared to be enough food to feed a lot more people than were currently occupying his apartment. Was he expecting a lot of company this morning?

"I thought we made a deal that involved you resting and not cooking enough to feed a small army at ass in the morning," you remarked, the sarcasm laid on thick enough to be dripping from each word. Much to your frustration, this only made him laugh as he turned the stove on.

"Well, I usually wake up early but this morning I had nothing to do since someone broke my bones. So, I decided to make a nice breakfast for my guest to enjoy with me," he responded with faux innocence, though there was laughter in his voice that easily gave him away. His words were still effective in making you feel a little guilty, so you wordlessly brought the dishes you were fairly certain he was done with to the sink and began washing them.

The two of you fell into a comfortable quiet after that, you were busy cleaning a mountain of dishes and Childe's focus was on frying a few eggs and cutting up a bowl of strawberries. You were mindful to stay out of the way as Childe cooked and he made an effort to set the cookware he was finished with beside the sink for you. The rhythm you two had quickly settled into felt startlingly domestic, something you reminded yourself not to like, and certainly not to get used to.

"Maybe I did make a little too much," the Harbinger muses somewhat sheepishly as he looks at the table he had just finished setting. It was without a doubt too much food for only two people, the table at risk of collapsing under the weight of it all. You could only nod in agreement.

"Your guard might appreciate a plate," you offered, as though one more person would make much of a difference against the mountain of food. You had to admit, everything did look delicious. The table was laid out with fried eggs, some porridge, a few sandwiches with sausage on them, what appeared to you to be some kind of crêpes, pancakes of some sort, the bowl of cut strawberries, and a kettle of tea. It would be no trouble finding people willing to eat the excess food.

"I suppose my subordinates deserve a nice breakfast," the redhead sighs dramatically, "They're lucky they have such a nice boss."

"Mhm, and if you ever fall out with the Fatui you could certainly find a job as a cook," you reply after sampling a forkful of his work. Living in Liyue had you more accustomed to chopsticks, but it was evident after going through Childe's kitchen that he did not own a pair. As a witness to his attempts at using them, you weren't very surprised by this finding. A fork was easy enough to figure out, anyway.

"I'm glad you like it," the redhead responds with a grin, quickly busying himself with his own plate. As he eats, he begins to talk about having similar breakfasts with his family in Snezhnaya. This turns into him recounting learning how to make these dishes with his mother and you quietly listen along, making the occasional comment and smiling fondly at his memories and the way he became more animated as he spoke about his family.

The sun had emerged by the time each of you had eaten what you could, and you cleared the plates while Childe ordered his guard to distribute the remaining food to his subordinates stationed in Liyue. You were halfway through cleaning the dishes when the Snezhnayan waltzed into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He contented himself with watching, not bothering to even offer his assistance.

"I was thinking we should do something. I've been cooped up for too long. Maybe a casual hike up Mt. Aozang?" he suggested, causing you to pause in your ministrations and glance back at him with a raised brow. No hike up Mt. Aozang would be a casual one considering the terrain and potential enemies of the area.

"It's been less than a full day," you pointed out, "And, hm, what was it? Oh yeah, and you have a few broken ribs."

"What are a few broken ribs to a Fatui Harbinger?"

"It's a no, Childe," you firmly insisted, causing him to groan and mumble about you being a 'spoil sport'. It was easy enough to ignore him as you finished up with your small chore.

"I'm using your shower," you informed him once you turned away from the sink. He only hummed in response, still pouting against the counter. It was all you could do to not roll your eyes at his childish behavior.

"What am I even supposed to do for six weeks if I can't go out and fight things?" he whined, and this time you did roll your eyes.

"Well, maybe you can still improve your fighting," you mused, "Have you ever tried working on your strategy? Because that could definitely use some improvement."

The Harbinger huffed indignantly at your words, taking the mature route and sticking his tongue out at you as you left the kitchen to take a shower. He could pout to himself in the kitchen while you had a relaxing shower.

The apartment's bathroom was on the smaller side, but it was still easily workable and didn't feel at all cramped. You had brought with you your own toiletries, but that didn't stop you from poking around Childe's well-organized things out of curiosity. There wasn't anything of particular interest so you decided to just get cleaned up and figure out what to do for the day.

Leaving the bathroom wrapped in a towel and feeling refreshed, you made your way to the guest room to pull out something to wear for the day. You decided on something comfortable, it didn't seem like you'd be going out today anyways and if you did you could always change into something more suitable. After getting dressed and taking care of a few more things, you left the guest room in search of Childe.

It was a simple task finding the Harbinger, he was seated at the table flipping through the pages of a book. You were more than surprised to see it was a book on battle strategy, although you noted it was one focused on group tactics to be used in war organization. You supposed it shouldn't have been any great shock to find he had such books, considering his position as a Fatui Harbinger who was known for his knack for combat. But to actually find him taking your advice was not something you had expected.

"Finally done with your shower?" Childe asked, looking up from his reading, "Good, you were stinky."

His tone made it clear he was joking, and you gasped in mock offense. You both laughed at this, his cerulean eyes shining with amusement. You weren't sure you'd ever seen eyes more beautiful than his.

"Anyways, I was thinking we should go for a walk around the harbor and have a late lunch a Wanmin. Then we can just wander looking for stuff to do, or we could go out to that one boat. Or maybe Zhongli will be at the market and invite us for tea," Childe suggested, setting the book down on the table. You raised your brows at his 'plan'.

"It's been a long time since I've had any time off and I don't know what to do," he justified, crossing his arms over his chest. You only shook your head, smiling softly at his pout.

"Alright, I wouldn't mind a walk around the harbor, at least. Lunch at Wanmin sounds good too. We'll see what happens afterward," you conceded, watching his expression immediately brighten. Just a walk shouldn't be too strenuous, so you weren't terribly worried about his bones. Plus, you wouldn't be able to keep him in bed all day and this was a much better alternative to him going out and finding a fight.

"Let me just get changed into something more presentable."

It wasn't long before you were walking along the docks of the harbor with Childe. You were hand in hand with him, the redhead had grabbed your hand early on, intertwining your fingers with a cheeky grin. You didn't resist when he did this, comfortable with showing the small amount of affection even in public.

Looking out across the calm waters of the harbor, you couldn't help but think it matched the blue of the Harbinger's eyes. While he had an excellent poker face when necessary, Childe's eyes were often very expressive, allowing an easy read of his mood at a glance. Smiling fondly at the thought, you squeezed his hand gently before moving on.

The rest of the day progressed just as pleasantly, both you and Childe enjoying the sights of Liyue before getting lunch at Wanmin as he'd planned. After eating, you browsed the various stalls of Liyue's busy market, admiring the vast array of goods on display.

As the Snezhnayan had earlier predicted, you did meet Zhongli at the market and he did invite you two for tea. You wondered if he had planned it with Childe, but the polite man seemed entirely surprised to have encountered the both of you.

Tea with Zhongli turned out to be quite a lengthy endeavor, and you were rather exhausted by the end of it. He had recounted the history of Liyue well into the evening, in a way that reminded you of a professor during a lecture. It was Childe who was finally able to excuse the both of you, after several hours of education on the historic importance of Silk Flowers.

"Well, I did make a promise that I would rest, so I'm afraid we must be going."

"Ah, yes. It is always good to keep your promises," Zhongli agreed sagely, his words carrying a strange gravity. With polite goodbyes, you left with Childe to return to his apartment. The walk back was through darkness thanks to the hour, but the streets of Liyue were lit and there was still plenty of activity.

It was no surprise that both you and Childe were ready for bed by the time you made it through the door. He mumbled out a mostly unintelligible apology for how long tea with Zhongli had lasted before kissing the top of your forehead and disappearing into his room.

You stood in the hallways shocked by the affectionate gesture for a few seconds before deciding it would be best to just go to bed and forget about it. Surely the action was purely the result of exhaustion.

This time when you woke up the sun had already risen. Silently, you thanked Morax for not having to wake up to Childe's noisy breakfast-making. Even if his cooking was really good, without sleep you'd eventually become rather cranky, to put it lightly.

Exiting the spare bedroom, you found the Harbinger sprawled out on the couch looking through a stack of papers. You assumed it was Fatui business, something which you wanted nothing to do with at the moment. Maybe at another time, you would be interested in their secrets, but as of right now, they weren't really your problem.

"How are you feeling? In any pain?" you asked casually, making your way to the kitchen to retrieve some ice. Regardless of his answer, it was still advised to ice his side regularly.

"Mm, I'm fine. Took some of the medication earlier," he replied, most of his focus still on the documents in his hands. You briefly wondered how often it was that the Eleventh Harbinger did paperwork as opposed to fieldwork. You would have assumed he had a secretary or something for this kind of thing, though you supposed it made some sense for him to do it if he wasn't out in the field.

Leaving the kitchen with another makeshift icepack, you noticed he had set the papers down on the coffee table and draped an arm over his eyes. You raised a brow at this but didn't say anything as you placed the icepack on his side and sat on the couch where there was space beside his legs.

"I don't think I can last six weeks like this. I'm already dying of boredom," he confessed, raising his arm to see your response.

"I'm not sure I can last six weeks either," you replied snarkily. It seemed lost on him as he nodded in agreement before furrowing his brows and scowling at you. Realization.

"Hey, wait! What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, sitting up quickly and wincing at the resulting pain. You picked up the icepack that had slid down and pressed it against his side until one of his hands came up to hold it in place.

"It means I think sometimes you're a bit much," you laughed in response, ruffling his hair and causing his scowl to deepen. He swatted your hand away from his hair using his free hand, and you only smiled in amusement.

"I'll have you know I'm a fucking delight and you adore me," he asserted, staring you dead in the eyes with a challenging look. Now that he was closer, your eyes were drawn to the light smattering of freckles that crossed his nose and dusted both cheeks. From a distance, they weren't really visible, but now you could clearly see them.

"Mhm," you agreed absently, bringing a hand up to lightly cradle his jaw, swiping your thumb slowly across his cheek. It was only when he started leaning in that it dawned on you exactly what you were doing and how intimate it seemed. By the time his lips were pressed against yours, heat had risen to your cheeks and you were certain your face was a brilliant shade of scarlet. Luckily his eyes were closed so he couldn't see you in such a state, but you had a feeling he was able to feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

Despite your flirtations having been unintentional, you didn't push Childe away. Instead, you wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders and fell into the slow rhythm he had set. You heard the soft thump of something being tossed onto the coffee table, but you were distracted from that when his hands found your sides and he pulled you into his lap.

A soft breath left you when his lips moved down to your neck to place gentle kisses there. The featherlight touch had goosebumps raising across your skin and you were almost embarrassed by your body's reactions.

"Alright, maybe six weeks won't be too bad," Childe murmured against your neck and you could feel his smile. It made your heart flutter, you weren't sure you liked that.

"Oh, what made you change your mind?" you asked innocently, a hint of laughter in your voice.

"Mm, I wonder." His lips began trailing back up your neck and over your jaw until he sealed them over yours again. The drag of his tongue across your bottom lip had you opening your mouth for him without a thought. In response, he pulled you closer to him, one hand reaching up to tangle in your hair.

When he finally pulled away, he smirked at your flushed appearance and the fact you were a bit breathless. The way he looked at you made butterflies flutter in your stomach and when his ocean eyes dropped to gaze at your lips you felt the overwhelming urge to flee.

"I need to go. I want to get you some proper icepacks from Baizhu and I should probably do some grocery shopping for you," you blurted, standing up. His arms fell easily away from you, but he looked up at you with a surprised and what you thought might be a slightly hurt expression.

"Um, okay," was all he could say as you retreated to the guest room to get dressed in something more appropriate for going out in public. Changing didn't take very long and you made sure to bring Mora along as you fled the apartment with barely so much as a 'goodbye'. Childe was still sitting stunned on the couch as you breezed out the door.

Running away was always a good way to deal with your problems.

[stankycowboy]

As she gives him full permission, he feels the door of opportunity creaking open. If she was truly this indulgent on a whim, Severen was sure he could have his teeth wrapped around her throat; an easy first kill. He spun the knob, aiming for a volume that came across as “cranked” to human ears. It was almost distractingly loud for him, but if she was able to continue to speak over it without raising her voice, he guessed they were at a good middle ground.

The midnight cowboy snorted at her response about his imposition. Lifting up his hands, palms outward, a universal sign of innocence, he gave a boyishly kind smile.

“I’ll keep ‘em over here Miss”, even if his act was convincing, it was impossible to completely erase the air of mischief that lingered about him.

“Fortunate for you I’m all outta smokes”, to prove the point he snaps his gum again, laughing through his teeth. The first song fades out, replaced with a simple harsh drum line, soon followed by twanging guitars. Kurt Cobain’s shrill, strained falsetto begins with a question and ends in a statement. Severen nods along to the beat, almost despite himself. One hand taps out the rhythm on his thigh, rings clinking lightly together as he does so. Normally, the predator doesn’t mind being patient, delights in pursuing his prey, but he is feeling extra fidgety tonight. Maybe he still has a buzz from the last performance, there was something to be said about the adrenaline high of strangers feeding off your own chaotic vitality.

It was almost as good as the rodeo days.

There is a lapse into silence.  Only the wailing male voice to keep them company.

Where do bad men go when they die?

She circles back to his proposal, letting him down kindly, he thinks, an easy excuse on her lips. Designated driving was a classic, certainly one he had heard before. Perhaps he could change her mind. When she goes on about seeking out cryptids, it catches his attention.

They don’t go to heaven where the angels fly.

Severen’s sidelong look perhaps encourages her stammered retraction of her plans. The blonde’s negation is less than convincing. His concern is not that he is sitting passenger to a kook, rather that if her interests were in the supernatural, he may not have the advantage he thinks he does.

They go to a lake of fire and fry.

In the recesses of his mind he can hear Jess start up. He clenches his jaw tight, a concentrated, physical effort to silence the old timer’s voice. It’s not all bad, his cover isn’t blown. The driver still seems convinced as ever that he’s just some drifter. This assumption is further reinforced by her stern declaration that she will be meeting her boyfriend later. It sounds every bit like the guise it is. ‘Sure you will sweetheart’ Severen thinks to himself, his easy smile returning as does his confidence.

The monster does not doubt that she may have a beau, that man, figurative or not, is not her primary objective of the evening. She wants him to believe she is “normal”, perhaps without realizing the card she has dealt him.

Won’t see ‘em again until the Fourth of July. 

She’ll be lucky to be seeing anyone besides her passenger tonight. Although her Bigfoot seeking adventure combined with “chaperoning” sounds as if there may be an opportunity for more lambs to slaughter. The wolf will have to see about tagging along.

“I’m sure your boyfriend’s real nice”, there is a touch of sarcastic dismissal in his tone, “but what’s that about monster huntin’?” He turns to face her more fully, right hand rising to wrap around the handle by the window. Leaning forward, as if speaking to her conspiratorially, he lets his pent up energy light up his face; eyes sparkling.

“Cavortin’ round the woods, flashlights and booze? Sounds like real fun, ya ask me”.

Wisps of dark hair fall over his face as the song concludes, another beginning. Severen’s gaze is intense, a focused, invigorating blaze; both captivating and threatening. The wildfire within burns bright a moment, then dissipates a bit as he pulls away, more in his own space. No sense in pushing his luck, intimidating her might get him out on the curb. Although, he has an innate feeling that scaring her off might be harder than it looks.

“Real or not, it’ll find you if it’s out there” he says cryptically, pushing his hair back with his left hand. It briefly holds in place, then falls back over his forehead.

She gives her name, changing the subject.

There is some amount of uncomfortable freneticism about her. It does not seem to be originating from the fact that she is driving a stranger around, alone, at night, but there is something she is feeling self conscious about. The thought makes him a tad wary. His mind strays to the strong smelling bag again, but figures it isn’t anything he could bring up without giving away something of himself.

“Juliet” he repeats to himself, natural accent drawing the syllables out long. He doubts he will commit the name to memory; best to keep up appearances for now.

“Severen” he offers, hitting the consonants hard. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance”, he adds with a wink and a chuckle, offering her a handshake whether she accepts it or not.

Smooth as a snake in the grass he brushes off her last question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Figured I’d see how far you’d take me an’ get off there. Nobody expectin’ me”. It is said passively, less of the spark in him. There is truth to his words, more than he would like, and voicing the truth stings.

Of all the things that he had recovered from, his  mind had never healed fully after that night. Whether it was the difficulty of regrowing so much at once, or the mental trauma of feeling them all die in his weakened state, the scars, light in appearance, ran deep. Reflexively, one finger trails along his collar bone. Under the worn fabric of his ratty t-shirt he can feel the hard glass beads embedded into his skin. It is a grim reminder of the family lost to him, of the only kin he had the last hundred or so years, now burnt to ash across the plains of Oklahoma. The reverie breaks as swiftly as it came over him, wistfulness abated.  Perhaps his forlorn distraction will win him further into her good graces.  Quietly, Severen waits expectantly for his host to extend an offer for him to join. Of course he will initially decline—it was only polite— but he had every intention of accepting in the end. What better way to round up the chickens than to stalk them through the night on their little adventure.

‘You’d steal every card out the deck’ he can hear Diamondback laugh in his ear. It gets him back to grinning, humor much restored.

Juliet gives a dismissive wave of her hand at the question regarding the radio. "Yeah sure. Turn it up or down. Or change it. I don't really care." Partially true. Being the middle child meant that spats with both her elder and younger sister were common, especially in the case of something as small as music choices. And normally, she'd invoke the law of My Car, My choice with not just them, but anyone that rides with her. This time she let's it slide; only out of sheer kindness and manners along with the fact that comparatively it's not the biggest issue possibly at hand.

Pick your battles, her mother would say.

"It's not a burden. And the only trouble we're gonna have is if you don't keep your hands to yourself or you don't roll down the window before smoking."

The statement is said in a semi-joking tone, grin still placed upon glossed lips. The blonde relaxes in the seat once she's pulled back out onto the road. The roadway isn't particularly populated this time of night despite it being the weekend, which particularly isn't a problem for her. If anything it makes the drive better.

She almost gets lost in thought before remembering his earlier offer of a repayment. She's not above having a drink or two depending the kind and the setting. But with some rando? That's a no-go no matter how tempting the thought of a strawberry daiquiri could be. However, she's already let him in close quarters to her; one precaution thrown to the wind. "Appreciate the offer. That's like super sweet of you," Juliet starts, "But I'm on chaperone duty. Sort of. Plus, it's better to go big-foot hunting sober." It's a true enough fact on both accords. She did indeed have to watch over Rosalind again at some point in the night. And hunting Big Foot was better done with ones wits about them, lest it ends badly. However it takes her a beat to realize the strangeness to her jest.

"I'm just fucking with you…about that last part. Cryptids and monsters tooootally aren't real. Obviously." It's said with the fakest yet most awkward chuckle she can muster. "Meeting up with my boyfriend is actually the secondary plan of the night."

Don't be weird. Don't say anything weird, She has to remind herself. The box of normalcy could be so stifling at times. Though what did it really matter? He didn't know her and she sure as shit didn't know him. Nor would they after this encounter. Besides, just from the looks of him he seemed like quite the character. Southern drawl, wearing sunshades at night and looking like he left a dive bar concert only to roll around in the desert. Then again festivals out in the desert were becoming ever more popular. And judging on appearances is rude. Speaking of being rude ---

There's a genuine look of surprise on her face "Ah, fuck! I totes forgot! I Juliet, by the way." Was it a good idea to be handing out her name? Names are powerful things afterall. Surely, first name basis couldn't be world-ending. And so far he's been polite enough. "You also haven't like given me a destination for where I'm taking you."

[evolutionsvoid]

I feel that the creatures of the volcanic deserts (AKA obsidian deserts) are a group that is hardly known by the outside world. You get a lot of talk about the beasts that live in jungles, or the monsters that live in the vast labyrinth of the Underworld, but not a lot of people mention these creatures. I would be interested in knowing how many people are even aware they exist! I feel if I asked anyone what a Shockscale or Flab Rat was, they would think I was either talking about a magic thing or an insult. Volcanic deserts are rare biomes, but there are other uncommon ones that people seem pretty knowledgeable of! So why don't people talk about them? Well, one theory is that volcanic deserts frequently get confused with other volcanic deserts, by that I mean dry land plus volcano. So when folk hear about them, they are confused which is which. Or in some cases, they may go visit it to see what the excitement is about and just find an arid piece of land by a lazy smoldering mountain. Not really all that interesting. Or it could be that people don't think deserts have anything in them, as that often happens with regular ones! I have surprised a lot of people whenever I prattle on about all the creatures that live in deserts, as they assume it is a barren wasteland! So perhaps they feel the same for volcanic deserts. These are legitimate theories, but I would like to submit my own! I would say that no one really talks about the flora and fauna of volcanic deserts because those ecosystems are absolutely awful to visit and nobody in their right mind would ever set root in one! Grating sand! Razor stone! Nonstop wind and lightening! It is a nightmare! Every sane explorer would turn back the second they watched a dune explode into a black shower of bladed chunks and crackling energy! They would see the utter misery this landscape brings and think "why not try the next one?" Sadly, not all who explore are levelheaded, and not all who seek knowledge are smart. By the way, have you guessed where I am writing this entry? I got to have something to do while I cower in this obsidian tube and wait for the apocalypse to ease up outside.   My gripes aside, it is a darn shame that these creatures get overlooked. This biome, harsh and cruel it may be, has created some incredible species and the world deserves to know their presence! By writing this down and informing others, I also do the service of granting this knowledge so others don't have to suffer like I did! In most cases, I would encourage my readers to go out and see these incredible sights themselves, but here I am fine with them reading it in a book and looking at all the pretty pictures. So, with that, get a nice drink, find someplace cozy and not full of sand to sit, and read on! This entry is on a rather peculiar beast of these horrible lands: the Shockscale Urchin! The Shockscale Urchin (or just Shockscale) is a terrestrial version of those spiny little balls you find in the ocean, preferring the sandy places that have a whole lot of fire and lightening. Like sea urchins, they do look like a moving mound, though they are decked out in scales instead of spines. This image is possible because the underside of the urchin is where their feet are, hidden under all those beautiful scales. Down below is also where its mouth is, so its topside is really a featureless looking pile of scales. This simplicity, however, has its beauty, which can be seen in its magnificent scales! Mixes of purple and black on these sturdy, metallic scales! While many are small, they grow larger and thicker as they move down and away from the body. Anchored in special muscles, these outer scales sweep out from the body and form structures that seem more fitting for birds! Metallic wings and a fanning tail are formed from these scales and controlled by muscles.  Despite their appearance, they cannot fly, as they are too heavy and not built for such an action. They don't so much flap but sweep and flow as the Shockscale moves and dances. With such beautiful and hardy scales, one would most certainly want one as a souvenir! Finding such a memento would seem rather thrilling, and easy too! If you are ever in a volcanic desert (first of all, have you listened to nothing I have said?) and wander the dunes, you would find some of these scales left in the sand. In some cases, you may watch a Shockscale crawl along and shed some of these scales as they navigate the chaotic terrain. At first glance, you would think yourself lucky! Here is a pretty trinket, let me just reach down and grab it! If you find yourself in this situation, pray that you have a smarter friend nearby ready to tackle you away from this enticing treasure. Hopefully you aren't wondering why I would say this, because I feel the name of this species should give a whole lot away.

  Just like the landscape, which is constantly ravaged by violent storms, the Shockscale harnesses the power of lightening! Special organs within their bodies are capable of producing some series shocks, which means they don't have to rely on absorbing lightening like the Elmis Spire. This means that they cannot run out of this energy, as long as they have the strength to use these organs! By putting them at full charge, the Shockscale is capable of creating a shock that will knock you off your roots and fry your leaves! This effect is powered up because they are coated in these metallic scales, making it so much easier for them to zap you! Thankfully, though, this can only happen if you touch or step on one, right? Good news for them and bad news for us, the answer is: No! The amazing thing about the Shockscale is that they are able to weaponize this electricity in a rather ingenious way! The scales they shed are not lost by accident, they drop them on purpose! That is because these scales are really conductive and practically pull the electricity in. If the Shockscale releases its energy near these fallen scales, the lightening will jump from its body to these lost pieces! That means if you grab a scale while one of these urchins are nearby, there is a chance they will fry you! Like I said, these dropped scales are not by accident, the Shockscale actually uses them! These creatures tend to have territories they stick to, and here they do their hunting. They will sweep their "wings" in a circle and leave a ring of fallen scales. Moving to the center, they will bury themselves in the black sand and wait. When prey blunders through this practically invisible circle, the Shockscale will start zapping! Caught between the source and the energy-hungry scales, the electricity will flow through you while it makes its journey! The power of this shock is enough to drop a full grown human, as it messes with your nervous system and muscles. If you watch prey get caught in this shock trap, you will see them suddenly convulse and drop to the ground. They will twitch and writhe as the energy flows through them, as falling over unfortunately causes one to absorb even more of this shock. In most cases, the prey is killed by this powerful effect, and the Shockscale will emerge to claim its meal. The urchin will crawl atop its prey and use its hidden mouth to devour them. While Shockscales tend to fry smaller creatures, they are quite opportunistic. Anything that wanders into their territory is fair game, and the hungrier they are, the more likely they are to take risks. Even if huge creatures stomp through their circle, they will still shock them despite the fact they know it won't kill them. This is more of a deterrent, as the Shockscale would prefer not to get stepped on. I imagine this sudden way to go is part of the reason this ecosystem is believed to be cursed. How else would you explain someone suddenly convulsing and then dropping dead? Demonic possession? A smiting from the gods? Or perhaps a hungry echinoderm...     In most cases, the Shockscale uses its scales to create this deadly perimeter for both offense and defense. Here it can lay in safety as it waits for food to arrive. However, there are some instances where the Shockscale will use its scales in a different pattern. When traveling, the urchin will be without its special circle. In this state, a predator may try to attack them, assuming the creature is without its usual defense. Since its takes time and precision to properly set up its trap, the Shockscale will be caught off guard. In some cases, it might just hunker down and rely on its own electric body for defense. Some have seen, however, times when the Shockscale "flees," which is odd because they don't move that fast. The urchin will try to run for its life, but the predator will have no trouble keeping up. Obviously, the beast will not jump right in and take a bite, as the urchin will just fry them. Most attackers would tend to hang back and wait for a vulnerable moment. Stalking behind the fleeing Shockscale, they will wait for the right moment to strike and then suddenly drop dead. Turns out, the Shockscale wasn't running. When they "retreat," they are actually dropping scales behind them as they move. They know that their abilities work by proximity, and most predators won't get close enough to zap. So by leaving a breadcrumb trail of scales, they are setting up a devious trap. The predator will be lured forward with the idea that they have the advantage, causing them to walk atop this line of scales. By releasing its energy, the lightening will chain itself through these scales and fry the attacker. Pretty clever! With this defense, there isn't much that can really mess with this species! The only predation I have witnessed so far was by a pack of Flab Rats, whose rubbery hides offer protection from most shocks. Even then, they have to be sure the Shockscale is dead before they take a bite! All the insulation in the world doesn't matter if you jam the lightening bolt into your mouth! Same goes for knives, you little monsters. Though they are quite dangerous, there is elegance to found in these incredible creatures! The beautiful wings are for more than just dropping scales, they actually use them for dance! When mating season comes around, the males will begin to wander the dunes. They do not seek a spot to congregate, rather they seem to move in different directions. I have heard that they are influenced by the sun, moon and stars, using them to guide their way, but I have not fully confirmed that. As they wander, they will let their wings out to the full span and spin around. There is some kind of pattern and design to this dance, as they thrash back and forth or twirl, but no one has truly decoded it. What we do know is that this moving ballet leaves behind something quite gorgeous! Their movements and wings create patterns in the obsidian sand, and their trail is formed from this delicate art! If you are walking the dunes during the breeding season, you will see entire swathes of the landscape turned into a magnificent canvas! These artistic trails are for the females, who are also moving about. When a female crawls over these paths, they can feel and detect its pattern. It seems they can learn a lot about the male from the art he leaves behind, and this will decide if he is worthy or not. If the design is lacking, she will move on, but if it is a masterpiece, she will follow it. Since she is not slowed by the need for dance, she will soon catch up with the twirling male and the two will undergo the next step of courtship. The trail he left behind was meant to get her in the door, now this part is how he gets her to stay! Together, the two shall dance and spin around each other, with the male seeking to impress and the female silently judging. The male must perform the right moves and hit the right timing to have a chance with her. If he bungles it, she will leave and search elsewhere. If he succeeds, the two will mate and part ways. She will go off to lay her eggs deep within the dunes, while he will continue his dance and search for other females. The thing that always gets me with this particular way for attracting mates is how delicate the whole process is. They are doing all this communication through sand art, despite the fact this landscape is ravaged by storms at an almost constant rate. A powerful gust of wind will easily erase all traces of this act, so how do they make it work? One solid theory is that Shockscales breed during seasons when the storms are at their slowest (which I think means they come every six minutes rather than five). This gives them longer times to let their art survive and catch attention, before it is blown away and they have to start over. Others say that the Shockscales also leave scented scales or pheromone along their trail, which the female can still follow if the patterns are erased. Whatever the reason, they somehow make it work! Though the Shockscales are not mentioned a lot by everyday folk, just like a lot of fauna from volcanic deserts, there is something about them that has made it to many shores. In many places, you can hear superstitions and creepy tales about a land covered in darkness and ravaged by the wrath of the gods. This place is almost like purgatory, covered in lava and black blades. What makes this place even creepier are the "symbols" and "runes" left by some unknown culture. Those who have entered this inhospitable land have mentioned grand designs etched into the dunes, patterns and symbols that are alien to many eyes and tongues. All of this, and yet not a single soul is seen! Despite this, the patterns are blown away, but then suddenly remade! How can this be?! Is there some kind of civilization hidden within this terrible world, writing these alien words in the sand? Or is it the result of spirits and demons, roaming the world of fire and lightening? Perhaps it is something more confusing and frightening. You see, these patterns can reach such amazing sizes and intricacy, yet you would struggle to fully appreciate it on the ground. A mural carved into the landscape can only be viewed in one way: from above! Are these symbols made for or by angels? Are they the markings of entities high above our heads? What do they stand for? What do they mean? There are many tales and theories about these bizarre patterns, and I have heard them all! Truly bewildering stuff! I have had people talk my ears off about these crazy conspiracies, and all I can think during these lectures is: "Is this what its like?" The real bummer of it all is that whenever I join in and add my theories, everyone gets all sour. They spin an endless yarn about symbols of angels and the writing of the gods, but then I offer the translation of "Heeeeey, ladies! Wanna dance?" and suddenly I'm the nut job. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian   ----------------------------------------------------- A creature design brainstormed between my friend @james-silvercat and me! I can't remember how we started on this, but at some point we were talking about my volcanic deserts and shingle urchins! Wound up being a really cool creature and a really cool design!  

[interstellarflowers]

Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”

[azure-steel]

Starter for @the-expatriate​

If there was one place he would rather not be, Wallmarket was certainly it. Such a vile little cesspit in the midst of Midgar’s cluster of undercities, and Cloud was still feeling the bitter aftertaste of his last visit to this place. A memory he would much rather forget, sooner rather than later. 

But beggars couldn’t be choosers in his line of work, and the commission rate here was so high even he knew he’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to make some easy gil. Tifa had mentioned that making connections to secure contracts was the best way to go if he wanted to make a go at this soldier of fortune gig, but doing that and maintaining a low profile was proving a task in itself. 

There were so many eyes in this section of the slums, and attached to those eyes would be mouths weaving their rumours and ears in which to listen; word certainly spread fast here in Midgar. Easier said than done was it to hide in plain sight of the overlords topside - only the gods would know the price on his head though this was a notion Strife had trained himself to store in the very archives of his mind. 

Needless to say, at the root of it all, he had much bigger fish to fry than worry about a few ShinRa grunts out for a moral boost and a possible pat on the head from the president himself. 

Tonight, however, he was mostly left to wander the streets, packed to the brim with party goers and people seeking cheap thrills in one form... or another; certainly not the sort of entertainment the merc was particularly interested in. Weary feet had guided him towards a certain club hidden beneath the rabble of merchandise stalls and street food vendors and not quite ready to retire to his dingy little room rented in a seedy hotel on the outskirts, why not treat himself to a drink or three? 

Lucky enough for him there didn’t seem to be anybody on shift that evening who recognised him; greeted with a forced smile gifted by the tender of the doorway does he enter the foyer. And there he stands at the greeters pedestal waiting to be seated and indulge in whatever distraction this place could offer, and preferably from the darkest corner they had available. 

[team-enigma-official]

[The Livestream Continues

ID- Video is taken clearly from the ground now. The camera is tilted, as if the person filming is lying on the ground. From what can be seen, Anya once again squares off with Jade. Both looking exhausted, both sharing nearly the same cocky grin.

Anya- You have nowhere to run now professor.

Jade doesn't seem perturbed. She simply begins to charge her cannon. Anya's grin never falters.

Anya- You are rather lucky, you know. Very few people get to meet She twice.

Anya lets the Pokeball fall from her hands and the 80 foot pokemon billows from its containment in a fog of black mist. It bears down above her, its expression unknowable within its black, shadowy mass. It sings, and its song shakes the mountains.

With that Jade fires directly into the mass of shadows. It seems to recoil. Damage was certainly dealt, but unlike any other pokemon or living being, it only continues to lurch forward. There is no cover of smokescreen for her to hide within this time. Anya's grin holds nothing but malice.

Anya- Tear her apart, She.

The giant pokemon swings down a great, clawed arm and rakes it straight through the professor's arm, catching her just before she can roll out of the way. She is pinned beneath the weight of a several thousand pound pokemon now by a limb that now maintains little to no feeling.

But that is all the great pokemon can do, before it is distracted by the bellowing of the pokemon behind it. It sounds, for a moment, like another ♀, before descending into the consistent mumbling of the only other Pokemon large enough to match it.

It was the h POKe 's turn to take on She. Thomas lands next to his ace pokemon a moment later, and still on the back of his kangaskhan, which almost instantly delivers a brutal Submission punch to the goliath pokemon. It howls with pain, angered, injured, but not at all taken down.

Anya- You again? Don't you have anything better to-...

But at this point a second assailant has taken to the battlefield. Not armed with Pokemon, but simply his balled fists. �aver's two pokemon had already fainted, and his third was clearly not around, and yet he approached.

He said nothing, instead drawing a fist back and socking Anya square in the jaw.

It drew blood. In fact, it knocked her from her feet, briefly at least. He was the last person she'd expected to see here. After all she had bigger fish to fry. Professors to Kill. Legendaries to catch. But now she could taste the blood rushing from her lip. And she meets �aver's eyes at last. There is nothing in hers but apathy.

Anya- Nidoqueen. Submission.

It strikes him directly in the ribs and he crumples instantly. As she stands over him its easy to see the grin on her face, contemplating what to do with him. Over her shoulder she could hear the sound of She fending off the Kangaskhan. That would need to be dealt with too. She begins to order She to use Spike Cannon, and it took aim at the Kangaskhan's head and hearing protection.

Until the sound of a megaphone peaking resounds from far off.

The camera pans, past Jax and his Mega Swampert that seems to be... wielding a Tinkaton's hammer to ward off the rampaging glitch pokemon, and past a VERY confused looking Simon, to rest on the Professor. The very Professor that Anya was after.

Professor Zzazz stood atop a building, in no body armor save for her lab coat, with no pokeballs to be seen on her person. All she had was a megaphone, and the brazen confidence of someone with nothing to lose.

Zzazz- Team Ligma. Get Out Of Our Town.

Anya barely notices the spike canon going off, missing the Kangaskhan's head, but still dealing a devastating blow to the pokemon. Anya's attention is immediately trained on Zzazz. The object of all her malice.

Anya- You! The great 'Zzazz' finally shows her face. You've done some fine work hiding behind your lackys.

From afar Zzazz only grins.

Zzazz- Hi L.

Anya's face clouds with anger. The battle between She and the champion's pokemon intensifies behind her again, so instead, she turns to her Nidoqueen.

Anya- Nidoqueen, go deal with her.

The pokemon takes off in Zzazz's direction, prepared to strike her down the same way it did �aver, and Anya's attention turns once again to Thomas and She. Her eyes narrow at the Kangaskhan. A nuisance.

Anya- She, use takedown on the Kangaskhan. Get rid of it!

It rears with a frightening cry as it slams headlong into the Kangaskhan, with little regard to whether or not it injured its trainer as well. Thomas pauses, and at last, returns the Kangaskhan to its pokeball, instead releasing his Fearow. But as the giant pokemon rears itself to square with the rather unassuming flying type, it instead begins to flap its wings. Whipping up a whirlwind. One large enough to move mountains. Or to send a mountain like pokemon sailing out of the range of the fight.

Anya stood now before Thomas, without a single pokemon at her side.

Behind her, Nidoqueen was still attempting its assault, held in place only by the very weak psychic grip of a juvenile looking Kadabra. Zzazz hadn't even tried to move out of the way, and behind her Simon was shouting.

Simon- Professor! Get out of the way! Please, she can't hold it back!

Anya faces Thomas again, and a smile crosses her face. A slow, toothy, malicious smile.

Anya- You know. It isn't fair to challenge someone who doesn't have a Pokemon. Do you mind if I borrow one?

Before any of them can move to stop her she's unveiled the snag ball from her belt. She throws it directly at the most dangerous pokemon there, the champion's h POKe. The livestream stutters as the ball leaves her hand.

It Flickers.

It pauses.

THE LIVESTREAM IS BUFFERING

THE LIVESTREAM IS BUFFERING

THE LIVESTREAM IS BUFFERING

...

THE CLIENT HAS DISCONNECTED.]

[A Livestream has begun on this Rotumblr channel on 5/8/23 at 12:01 PM

ID- A few ripples of static begin before the livestream starts in proper. PT town is now directly below. The town is devoid of activity at the moment. Everyone appears to be indoors as they approach. Anya has a grunt doing most of the filming here. She is easily in frame of the camera, flying on the back of a Nidoqueen just ahead of them. She is in rare form. Her uniform still sports burns from the cannon blast she took days before, but otherwise she looks as action ready as ever, blue streaked hair playing around her goggles.

Anya: Hit them from above first. Let's release a few .4 first. Let them know we're here.

ID- A small squad of grunts release Pokeballs in unison that reveal a rank of small, round, volatile looking glitch pokemon.

Anya: Now overload them. Show them exactly what they're in for

ID- One by one the pokemon begin to surge, as their trainers order them to enact a Super Glitch move. The devastation is immediate. Ripples of corruption blow through homes and people alike. The ground shakes, smoke erupts from no apparent fire, and ripples of ambient corruption snake through the ground like a virus. There are already PT town residents fleeing the remains of their homes. Above it all, Anya is laughing.

Anya: You can't stay hidden forever! Come out and give the good people a show, will you? Or are you content to be fused into the rubble of your city?

LIVESTREAM IS BUFFERING]

[stillebesat]

Meeting Virgil (5x1) -First Time

December Drabbles Day 16  Sanders Shorts: Remy  Sanders Sides: Virgil  Blurb: A Special Delivery Prequel. -Five times Remy tried to give Virgil a child and the one time he succeeded.  Inspiration: @book-of-charlie​ asked: What did Virgil mean by "the last 5 times?" Fic Type: STORK!AU, Winged!Remy Fic Warnings: Bad Parenting implications, Injury, Hitting  Taglist in Reblog. 

The baby girl stirred in Remy’s arms just as the bright lights of good old NYC came into view. “Shh. Shh, little one.” He soothed, brushing her tiny cheek with a single finger, leaving the faintest of traces of dark green dust behind that would ensure that she would drift back into whatever dreams a newborn could have. “We’re almost there.” 

It had been a long night of flying for the both of them, though Remy had been doing all the work with his wings, having flown over three major storm cells in his cross country journey from West Coast to East. 

You couldn’t argue with the Parent Line though. 

Remy glanced to the brightly glowing purple ribbon of light he’d chosen to follow out of the half dozen that had been presented to him when he’d taken the baby girl from the hot car she’d purposely been left in and tilted his wings, adjusting his flight path to take him deeper into the city. 

Always choose the brightest. That was what he’d been told to do when multiple ribbons appeared in his vision. Not that any of the choices were bad per se, but the brighter the colored ribbon, the more easily the parents could integrate the child into their lives and that was what was needed. A smooth transition. 

Far smoother than most of the others. Remy let out a low whistle, wings fluttering as his weaving through the city led him to one of the skyscrapers that housed the richer millionaire type of people. “Well look who lucked out.” He mumbled, pushing his sunglasses onto his head as he landed gracefully on a balcony halfway up the south side. 

A richy. That was...different. Usually the fools were too obsessed over making money and buying their next fancy jet or island to want to deal with children, especially newborns. It just didn’t...fit. 

Remy frowned, adjusting the baby in his arms, his wings curling around them to block out the wind so she wouldn’t get cold as he double checked that the purple ribbon was leading him inside.

It was.

“Huh.” The word left his lips involuntarily as he moved to the sliding glass door, the latch unlocking at his touch so he could slip inside the darkened room. Maybe she wasn’t going to the millionaire but to their maid or butler instead. That would make far more sens--

WHAM.

Remy staggered as something cold and definitely made of heavy metal hit the side of his face. His sunglasses flew off, landing somewhere to his left as he whirled to the source, wing raising in time to block the frying pan swinging again for his head. “WATCH THE BABY!” He screeched at his unknown assailant as he desperately tried to blink the stars from his eyes. 

Geez. And he’d thought seeing stars was a myth. 

The shadowy figure froze. “Lights.” A man said in a low voice.

Remy hissed, ducking his aching head as the room flooded with light, blinding him. His wings automatically folded in over him to protect his poor eyes, but also so he could check on the baby girl. 

If this idiot had harmed her---

But no. The tightness in his chest eased to see her still sleeping soundly. Good. The dust had helped to keep her asleep despite the noise. 

He looked up, wings pulling back as he straightened to glare at the man in a black hoodie with dark eyeshadow under his eyes like a freaking raccoon standing before him with a  frying pan held in his hands. “Geez Rapunzel. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt her!” 

The man bared his teeth, a hiss coming from his lips, though his grey storm colored eyes anxiously checked the bundle in Remy’s arms. “What sort of idiot brings a baby to a break-in?” He demanded.

Remy scoffed, taking a slow step backwards to get out of range of the ‘weapon,’ holding his charge protectively. “Gurl! Me? Break in--out of the two of us--” He gestured with one wing to his brown leather jacket and jeans, wondering why no one else had come to investigate the commotion yet. “Which of us looks more like a robber? Cus it certainly ain’t me, Sugarbee.” 

The man glanced down to his clothes and smirked before he surged forward, pressing the edge of the frying pan against Remy’s throat before he could blink. “I’m the one who lives here, Flynn Rider.” He growled, stormy eyes glittering. “I can dress however the blazes I want and no freaking glowing green-eyed Angel is going to tell me how to dress.” 

Angel?

Remy froze, swallowing as the cold metal pressed against his throat. Impossible. Adults shouldn’t be able to-- “You can see my wings?” He asked carefully, ignoring the comment about his eyes. He already knew people were offset by the metallic quality they held, but it came with being a S.T.O.R.K. along with the wings.

“Well…yah?” The man frowned, grey eyes flicking to them, the baby and then back to Remy himself. “I mean you’re no Mothman, that’s for sure, they're more polite.” 

No Mothman? The man spoke like he’d met one. That wasn’t--they didn’t exist! It shou--who was this guy?! His wings spread out, puffing up. “But that’s---you shouldn’t!”

The man raised his eyebrows, taking a step back. “Why shouldn’t I be able to see them? They’re rather hard to miss.” He gestured to the wings with his makeshift weapon. “All white and huge.” 

“Because you’re not---” Remy cut off, abruptly realizing where exactly the purple ribbon in the room led. “Oh Jiminy Crickets.” He breathed as he made the connection.  “You are.” It still didn’t explain how his wings were visible to this guy, but--

The man tensed, fingers going white on the handle. “I’m what?” 

Remy relaxed, wings snapping shut. It was unusual, yes, but there were no other ribbons drifting through the apartment. Meaning that the Emo Nightmare before him was the only person here. A single father. Unusual, but not uncommon. “You ever hear of a S.T.O.R.K?” He asked, moving a step closer, brushing the sleeping baby girl’s cheek with a finger. 

“The regular bird, or the legends about how babies--” The man inhaled sharply, going pale as the frying pan slipped from his fingers to clatter to the floor. 

Remy smirked. Looked like Rapunzel could piece the puzzle together on his own. “Still wondering why I’m here in your apartment with a baby?” 

If anything the soon-to-be Father got paler, stumbling back a step. “I can’t!” His voice cracked.

Yah, Remy had heard similar exclamations with other deliveries he’d made. “Of course you can.” He said, carefully holding the little girl out to him. He wouldn’t be here if the young man wouldn’t be a good Dad. “You already have a Father’s protective instinct down.” 

If he didn’t end up with half his face black and blue in the morning, Remy would be very surprised. “You’ll be fine.” 

“But she’s a tiny baby! What if I hurt--no.” The young man violently shook his head, vaulting over the back of the black couch to put a blockade between him and Remy, crossing his arms in front of him as a feeble blockade. “No. No, I can’t take her! I’m not a good dad. I won’t be--I can’t!” 

Denial too was to be expected. It isn’t always easy to comprehend that you’re suddenly a parent. Though no new Dad had reacted quite like this before. “You’ll be fine.” Remy soothed. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I don’t make mistakes.” No S.T.O.R.K. did. “Here.” Again he held her out. “Just hold her and you’ll see.” 

The familial bond could only be made once the parents, or in this case, parent held the child in his arms. Not before. But once he did. Flynn Rider here would be fine. He’d be a great Dad.  

 Edgelord shuddered, closing his eyes as he turned away, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “No. Please. No. I can’t. I can’t. I CAN’T! She deserves better. Please.” 

Please.

The purple ribbon fizzled out, vanishing before Remy’s eyes only for a bright pink ribbon to suddenly flash into view, leading out and away from the apartment. 

What the what?! Remy pulled the child close to his chest, rocking her as she stirred, whimpering in her sleep. The ribbon had just--that had never happened before! EVER. Once a S.T.O.R.K. chose a ribbon, then the child would go to that family. No question. And now--suddenly--Remy swallowed, slowly shaking his head, his wings half spreading, fluttering in his confusion. 

He didn’t get it. But if the man felt that strongly, so strongly to change the ribbon’s color-- 

”Alright. Hey. Hey. Gurl, it’s alright. You don’t have to say yes.” It was unusual. Actually, all of this was just plain weird. No one ever refused a S.T.O.R.K. once they were chosen. “I can take her to another.” 

The man refused to turn around. “Then do it.” He choked out. “Go.” 

Remy frowned, but didn’t argue, scooping up his sunglasses as he moved to the open balcony door. He needed to get the baby girl to this family of this new glowing pink parent line before the sun rose. 

Still, he paused on the threshold, looking over his shoulder to the man in black. “I do stand by what I said though.” He slipped outside, spreading his wings. “You will make a great Dad.”  He called as he took a running leap, jumping off the balcony to soar up into the night sky, following the new ribbon’s trail northeast towards Boston. 

Remy set his jaw, holding the babe close to his chest as he climbed. He just needed to find the right child to prove it.

To Be Continued Second Time

[asterkiss]

“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” Mabill, please. 😊

Zombie AU, anyone? 

- VULNERABILITY

“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Mable Pines evaded another flesh-hungry zombie as she ran through the abandoned streets of Gravity Falls. A lot can change in a couple of days, and having a zombie apocalypse explode out of nowhere certainly changed a lot.

For one thing, she was currently all alone.

Wendy was currently incapacitated back at the Shack with two broken legs (long story); Dipper had been unfortunately kidnapped by a cult (an even longer story); and to top it all off their newfound ally Bill Cipher was fucking dead. 

She’d probably need several hours to explain that last part.

But to give the short version:-

It had only been a couple of months since the demon had taken on a human vessel and shenanigans had ensued between him and their family. A lot had transpired but to cut to the eventuality of it all, Mabel had actually grown close to the demon and considered him sort of, well, a friend.

(But that was it. Just a friend. Nothing more―no matter what he might suggest otherwise).

Despite that, even until the end Mable found herself continuing to question whether he really had changed. 

Apparently his way of proving that was to throw himself into a hoard of zombies so that she could escape unharmed.

Talk about making a point, huh?

(But seriously she was very upset about it).

Using her grappling hook, Mable equipped the ever useful device to scale the  building of an abandoned warehouse. Breaking an already cracked window, she climbed inside. Mable had the feeling people wouldn’t be bothered too much by her trespassing when there were bigger fish to fry in town right now.

Her reason for coming here to begin with was because she had bumped into Tambry who had apparently caught size of a group fitting the description of Dipper’s kidnappers visiting this place yesterday morning. 

So it was, Mable cautiously searched the abandoned warehouse, eventually making her way up a flight of stairs and into a room that oversaw the entire building. There didn’t seem to be any sign of Dipper, only remnants of abandoned supplies and machinery. 

Her foot tapped against something and she lowered her flashlight only to gasp at the sight of a body. Unfortunately, this was only one of many she had seen in the past couple of days. He didn’t even look that old either as he stared ahead vacantly.

Mable paid him a small blessing in her mind as she turned to continue searching.

Except something then grabbed her foot.

Ah.

Dropping her head down she found the dead body suddenly wasn’t so “dead” anymore as the light haired corpse groaned into movement whilst its cold fingers grasped at her ankle. Oh hell no. Mable quickly yanked her foot free and backed away, rushing for another door that lead out onto the walkway.

Luck was not on her side however as Mable flung the door open only to find another zombie stood loitering outside, its head hanging to one side. This one was older, probably a middle-aged gentleman as it turned its head to regard her arrival, eyes alighting with hunger.

Oh crap.

She retreated away from the door, peering behind her to find the first zombie was now standing. That way was blocked. Her head snapped back around as the older one lurched forward too close for comfort. She quickly held out her grappling hook and released it, the metal portion firing and hitting it square in the chest which caused it it to stumble. Score.

Mable turned on her heel only to freeze at the sight of shot gun directed her way. Her eyes wandered past the barrel of the gun and towards the individual holding it only for her gaze to land on none other than the zombie itself. Wait, what? 

The gun fired and she flinched as the shot rang out loudly throughout the room and building. When she turned her head, she found the other zombie directly behind her, apparently having recovered from her attack. What it couldn’t recover from however was the the fresh bullet hole in its skull as it slowly toppled over onto the floor. Dead for good this time. 

When she peered back cautiously towards the other undead in the room and met its gaze, its lips slowly stretched into a lazy grin.

‘Sup.’

‘Wha― Wait, Billl!?’

‘In the flesh,’ he shot back with a laugh, tapping his chest as he lowered the weapon. ‘This flesh to be more precise.’

‘Oh my god are you possessing a dead body right now?’ she cried, regarding him ludicrously. 

‘Well yeah, my old vessel got torn to pieces by those rabid cannibals―you’re welcome for that by the way―so I decided to shop around for something fresher. Lucky me, I found this one right by ya.’

‘You have part of your throat missing.’

‘I’ll hide it with a scarf.’

‘And I can see part of your intestines hanging out.’

'That can be patched up,’ he replied breezily, clearly having no qualms about his actions. 

Mable sighed as she regarded his new "form”. The body he inhabited couldn’t have been dead for that long as it still had some colour left in it and didn’t stink yet. Also, whilst it pained her to admit it, had this body been alive and intact its definitely a guy she would have considered hot. So in a way she was thankful he had part of his organs hanging out, it sobered her up and made her less inclined to think Bill was attractive.

‘See something you like?’ he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as she continued to stare.

Mable rolled her eyes. ‘That’s creepy coming from a dead body.’

‘Would you rather I possess a living one?’

‘Why do you have to possess anybody at all?’ she protested. ‘Are you really that desperate to cause drama, even during a zombie apocalypse?’

He frowned. ‘That’s not why I’m back.’

‘Oh yeah?’ she gave him a flat look, clearly in disbelief.

‘It’s true!’ he retorted. ‘Hand on my― well, this guy’s heart!’

When she continued to side-eye him, Bill released an aggravated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘Urgh, you never make things easy. You’re seriously gonna make me be honest and crap? I hate that stuff.’

‘Yeah, how awful,’ she deadpanned.

He released a grumble, looking very much uncomfortable as he muttered something.

‘What?’

‘...d... ou....’

‘You seriously need to speak up dude, I can’t hear a thing.’

‘I’m fond of you!’ he snapped, eyes flashing as he pinned with a glare. ‘There, I said it. Are you happy!?’

Mable blinked in surprise at his admission. Well that she certainly hadn’t expected. She could tell he was uncomfortable at his own words and though she wanted to make a witty comment or joke, the girl knew that wouldn’t be fair to the demon who had clearly displayed some vulnerability to confess such a thing.

‘Really?’ she asked.

‘I just said so, didn’t I?’ he huffed, folding his arms. ‘Why else do you think I scarified my old vessel to rescue you? I’ve no idea what I’d do if I lost you.’

Oh wow. Mable felt her heart actually skip a beat and quickly reminded herself that this was still Bill even if he was saying the first sweet thing in probably centuries.

‘You like me,’ she stated, feeling the words on her own tongue. It felt nice to say them. Slightly funny, even. 

Bill grumbled some words, refusing to look her way. Was he embarrassed? Seriously? 

'Well, I like you too,’ she admitted, feeling she could show a little vulnerability in front of him if he was. His gaze wandered in her direction, a look of suspicion lacing his expression. 

‘You do?’

‘Yeah. I don’t really know why,’ she added, offering a wry smile. ‘But I was upset when you died so I’m kinda happy to see you again.’ Even if it was by possessing a dead body during these drastic times.

Mable could have sworn she saw the hints of a genuine smile beginning to form on his face at her admission, only for it to be quickly dampened as he unfolded his arms and straightened up. ‘Hmph, well luckily for you the main hero has returned to this mess of a show.’

‘Oh yeah?’ She watched as he tucked away his true feelings behind a facade once more. Looks like feelings time was over. And she was okay with that. It made her feel weird too. They could go back to being snark and comfortable.

‘Yep. So let’s go and save your dumb brother, for if my name ain’t Bill Cipher! All powerful and omnipotent demon, destroyer of dreams! Mwahahaha!!!’

‘Hey, Mr Destroyer of Dreams, you dropped one of your kidneys.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘Blehh, that’s so gross. I think I might seriously throw up.’

‘It’s fine, I’ll shove it back in! No harm done. See?’

‘No, keep it away from me! Bill!!’

[inkslingersworld]

Crowbar 2 (Power Couple)

Hey guys! This is my second work for Adrigami Week, following the “Power Couple” prompt. I was originally going to write this following its own self-contained storyline, but after finishing Crowbar for Adrigami Week’s “Alternate Meeting” prompt, I realized the story that I’d started there hadn’t really finished. So, with that, I bring you Crowbar 2! Happy reading! (Contains some profanity)

As they trekked into the evening, Kagami learned some things about her new companion, Adrien:

He was very talkative and sociable, providing information about himself without Kagami having to ask any questions.

He was respectful and attentive; even though he did virtually all of the talking, Adrien seemed genuinely interested in Kagami, and asked her questions about herself despite Kagami refusing to answer.

Adrien not only remembered how to read, write, and tell time thanks to his diary. While they were walking, he told Kagami that he remembered how to cook certain recipes, mimic the sounds of different songbirds, tie his shoes, and give himself a haircut. Kagami was envious - although she didn’t hate her long hair, it was excruciatingly uncomfortable during the summer months.

He relished bad jokes. The only reason that Kagami had laughed at his doctor joke was because it hadn’t made an ounce of sense. 

His backpack contained several helpful items: some food, cookware, extra clothes, a flashlight, batteries, matches, night vision goggles (Kagami nearly squealed in delight at the sight of those), binoculars, a hatchet (Adrien said he only used it for chopping wood), toiletries, sleeping bags, and a tent. 

Adrien would occasionally gaze at her for enlengthened periods of time, but always looks away upon realizing that Kagami noticed.

The duo had reached a lazy river by the time the stars appeared. Adrien gave an overdramatic yawn and smacked his lips.

“Well, no point in trying to cross it this late. I say I make us some dinner and we camp here for the night.”

“I think we should keep going,” Kagami disagreed.

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“We’re too exposed,” said Kagami. “This location’s too out in the open; settling here makes us an easy target.”

“For who?” Adrien asked.

“For anyone! Not everybody’s as accepting as you and I are, Adrien!”

“Kagami, come on. We’ve walked at least ten miles, and we haven’t seen a soul. I think we’ll be safe.”

“We’ve walked at least ten what?” asked Kagami.

“Miles. They’re units of distance. I can teach you about them after dinner.”

“We have to keep moving!” Kagami objected. “Even if we weren’t in imminent danger in this spot, my memory is! My memory resets whenever I fall asleep!”

A brief silence followed this information, during which Adrien looked confused and downtrodden. However, his face brightened up soon after.

“I know!” he said eagerly, removing his backpack and unzipping it. “You can start your own diary! That way, you can record everything that transpired during the day!”

He unearthed a journal similar to his own and tossed it to Kagami. She turned it over in her hands.

“This still doesn’t counteract outside threats,” she said seriously.

Adrien groaned. “Kagami, just trust me on this. Nothing bad is going to happen while we’re at this riverbank!”

Kagami’s eyes widened. “You jinxed it.”

“Kagami, please -”

“You jinxed it!” she cried exasperatedly. “Now something bad’s definitely going to happen!”

After a brief pause, Adrien said, “If that’s the case, don’t you at least want it to happen after you’ve eaten?”

“You know what?” said Kagami, giving up. “Fine. Let’s see how good you are at cooking, Adrien.”

Adrien beamed. “You won’t be disappointed.”

In no time, Adrien had gotten out his cooking equipment and started mixing ingredients. 

“What are you making?” Kagami asked, trying not to sound too interested.

“French onion soup,” responded Adrien. “I’m afraid we only get a serving each. Don’t be too disappointed when you crave seconds.”

He winked at her; Kagami felt her face warming up and pointedly looked away. 

She was later thankful she did, or else she might’ve never spotted the tips of someone’s fingers withdraw from around a solitary tree.

“Adrien!” she whisper-shouted.

“I’ve only just started, it won’t be ready for another half hour,” he complained.

“No - there’s someone here!” she hissed, eye-pointing at the tree.

Adrien turned to stare at the tree and shrugged. “Looks fine to me.”

Of course, that was the moment when the hooded figure jumped from the shadows and punched Adrien in the jaw.

Kagami reacted quickly, springing to her feet and waving her crowbar in the intruder’s direction, making them jump back. They sprinted headfirst at Kagami, grabbing her by the wrist and slamming her to the ground. Kagami rebounded by curling her foot around her opponent’s ankle and sending them crashing into the cooking equipment. Adrien let out a moan of despair.

“Guys, you’re making a mess!” he shouted. “Can’t we set our differences aside and just talk it out?”

“There is no talking it out!” yelled Kagami, who was trapped in a headlock. “I could really use your help right now, Adrien!”

Adrien grabbed the closest object within reach (a frying pan) and took a swing at the opponent. The hooded figure released Kagami and backflipped out of the way of the pan. 

Kagami retrieved her crowbar from the ground and tried to ram it into the intruder’s shoulder, but he swiped left and took a jab at her ribcage. Adrien flung himself on top of the intruder’s arm, effectively keeping Kagami’s ribcage intact, and kicked the intruder in the stomach, sending the hooded figure reeling back in agony. Kagami seized the moment of the intruder’s distraction to grip Adrien’s pan and slam it as hard as she could onto the intruder’s foot.

The intruder made no reaction to the impact of a frying pan on their foot.

“The hell?!” Kagami vented. “What type of boots is this guy wearing?!”

She soon found out; the intruder accomplished an acrobatic spin into the air and landed a kick across Kagami’s face. It felt like someone had thrown a brick at her. 

For a moment, all Kagami could focus on was the immense pain. Feeling her cheekbone, she deciphered that nothing was broken, but the blow had certainly drawn blood, as she examined her hand stained liquid red. Kagami was brought back to reality by the force of the intruder toppling into her.

“Sorry!” apologized Adrien, evidently having caused the intruder to collide with Kagami.

The intruder got up quickly, but instead of going for Adrien or Kagami, he dashed towards Adrien’s backpack. Realization dawned on Kagami - this person was here for their stuff.

“Hey! That’s mine!” exclaimed Adrien, rushing at the intruder as they grabbed his packpack and made a mad dash for the river.

Adrien was able to tackle the intruder before he got to the water’s edge. Kagami ran over to join the wrestling figures on the ground. She lifted the intruder to his feet by the crook of his neck, allowing Adrien to reclaim his backpack, and shoved the hooded figure as hard as she could into the river.

The river was deeper than Kagami had assumed, and neither she nor Adrien saw him for a few seconds, but then they spotted him further along the bank, being carried downstream by the powerful current. Within ten seconds, the attacker had disappeared from view.

“Who was that?” Adrien asked, sounding out of breath. 

“A bandit,” replied Kagami shortly. “Someone looking to get lucky from robbing anybody they find. There are tons of them.”

After a temporary silence, Adrien said, “That was scary.”

“Well, it’s over now,” said Kagami comfortingly, giving Adrien a pat on the back.

“I’ve never fought anyone before,” admitted Adrien, picking up some of the cooking equipment.

“You did decently well for your first time.”

Adrien gave Kagami a half-smile. “Thanks.”

It took a long time for Adrien to clean the cooking materials and fix dinner - since the French onion soup had been lost in the scuffle, they ate tamales instead. 

“You know,” Kagami munched, “these are actually incredible. You’ve got a gift, Adrien.”

Adrien smiled broadly for the rest of the meal.

\\\\\

@adrigamiweek

[bonescribes-a]

light doesn't so much as jolt at the near - slip , pointing his head in junpei's direction with an easy smile . he counts himself lucky that junpei hadn't used a code name during their time in building q ; the transition seems like a frustrating one .

" i was thinking we might have stir fry -- are you amenable to that ? if so , i'm going to put you on knife - duty . " he's more or less capable of cutting things himself , but it's certainly a task made easier with vision .

" the stove should pose no issue , but do let me know when the food is looking cooked , won't you ? "

RECEIVER. There's a quiet half-laugh from the approaching roommate, and though the weariness in his voice is evident, it sounds more relaxed than it has been in a while.

"Of course. What are we making today, Sn-- Light?"

It's difficult to get used to the fact that this guy has a real name, much less calling him by it. He knows the man doesn't mind, but still... he feels a little guilty that his reflex is to bring up memories of that horrid game.

"O-oh, and let me know if you need any help with the stove, too. I know you're pretty good at this stuff, but better safe than sorry, yeah?"