#and the guy that got shanked by a bunch of them after we beat the shit out of him/them

[angeli-marco-writes]

Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain

A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!

Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.

Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)

Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.

“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”

You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”

The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.

“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.

“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.

“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.

“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.

Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.

“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.

“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”

“And you! Where’s the baby?”

Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”

Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.

He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.

“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”

“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.

Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.

Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.

“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.

“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.

She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.

“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”

“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”

“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”

You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”

In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.

“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.

“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”

You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”

“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”

“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”

“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”

Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.

“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”

If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.

“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”

A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.

“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”

He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.

Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.

“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”

He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.

A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.

“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”

And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.

“Well, lunch?”

Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.

Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.

“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.

Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”

“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”

“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”

“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”

When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…

A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.

“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .

“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”

“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”

Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, course. You?”

“Yeah.”

You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”

“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”

He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”

“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”

You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.

“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”

“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”

The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.

“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”

Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.

You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.

“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.

“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”

A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”

“You’re being arsey with me.”

“Because you said you don’t want kids!”

“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”

“You know I want kids, Tom.”

“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”

“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”

“Tom,” you murmur.

Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.

“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”

“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.

All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.

“Except maybe that.”

You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.

“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”

This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.

“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”

You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.

“Lets just sit, shall we?”

You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.

In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.

The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.

The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.

Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.

“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.

“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”

You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”

“And you. Drive safe.”

“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”

Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.

“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.

“Yeah, and he’s cute.”

“Nice eyes.”

And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.

“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.

“Thanks darlin’.”

You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.

In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.

“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”

You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…

“Really? Y-you mean it?”

His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.

Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.

And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…

[jj-5656]

Insufferable

With; Newt

A/N: This is an addiction at this point. I seriously cry every other day abt this man. I just want to say thanks to anyone who likes or comments on my work. And those who reblog AND comment? You inspire me to keep writing so big thanks to you. Special s/o to @jenny33996 for yet another prompt idea. Enjoy!

   You hum softly as you work, fingertips intricately pressing down on the soil of your newly-planted tomatoes. The sun beats down on you and the other track-hoes without mercy, and it’s taken some time to get accustomed to the humidity of the glade. Despite the muggy weather, you’re completely focused on the task at hand. Making sure to remain gentle with each plant you come across.

“Love, you know the plants can’t actually hear you?” You roll your eyes at Newts remark, shaking your head knowingly as you observe his rough workings against the greenery surrounding you.

“They can actually. Studies have shown the emissions of carbon dioxide and the vibrations from talking or singing can promote efficient growth in plants.”

“Is all your free time spent researching then?”

“Precisely, and it’s the only reason the rest of you shanks don’t get a scolding from Alby. I practically carry the track-hoes!” You argue dramatically, laughing when Zart nods in agreement.

“Good that.” Zart comments idly, not noticing Newts offended expression as he lets down his rake.

“Since you two shanks like to talk so much, maybe you won’t mind working an extra ten minutes on turning the soil?” It comes out as more of an order than a question, and the two of you give a silent nod and the keeper walks off with the rest of the track-hoes.

“You’re bloody humming’s got us an extra ten on the garden, shank.” Newt chucks a cherry tomato at you as he speaks, chuckling when you toss it back to him.

“It was actually your bloody jokes, that aren’t funny might I add.” You mock his accent dramatically, smirking when his eyebrows raise in bewilderment.

“Your accent is insufferable.”

“So is yours.” The two of you laugh harder at your lighthearted bickering, getting up from your kneeling positions to pick up the discarded tools in order to tend to the soil. As Newt takes a step towards you, he trips over a stray vine. Each of you letting out a Yelp in surprise when he practically tackles you to the ground. He’s smart enough to roll over to break your fall, but you still feel a sharp pain on the side of your head when it comes in contact with one of the shovels.

“Shuck, are you that clumsy slinthead?” You mutter in annoyance as you rub your temple.

“Sorry.” Newt can only get one word out before the two of you start giggling again, only ceasing when you realize his hands are still secured around your waist. Not to mention you’re practically sprawled out on top of him, and can even smell the combined scent of mint and some type of wood coming off of him. Suddenly, the eye contact and the heavy breathing aren’t as funny as they were before.

She’s close, really close. Close enough for Newt to feel her heart beating rapidly against his chest, and her breath mingling with his. He could move his head just a few inches more, and actually kiss her. But he can’t, right? Not when she’s practically his best friend, and the one of the only people he can truly trust. She’s means too much to him for him to jeopardize their relationship. But she’s just so....impossibly close. Maybe if he just-

“Earth to Newt? My head, i-it really hurts.” She mutters softly, cringing in pain when she rises to get off of him. It’s only when he lifts her completely off of him that he realizes how sickly she suddenly looks. Sweat beading on her skin as she takes heavier breaths and-oh shuck

“What? What is it?” You question worriedly, realizing the sensation of hot water running down the side of your head. You go to rub it off, only to see your palm covered in thick red blood.

“Y-you’re bleeding.” Newt responds dumbly, eyes wide with concern and shock as he discards his shirt from his torso.

“No shuck.” Even with how lightheaded you are, you manage to make a snarky remark at the blonde in front of you. Wincing when he presses the bunched up fabric to your head. If your brain didn’t feel as if it were being stapled to your skull, you think you might’ve taken the opportunity to admire his muscled arms.

“You need to go to the med-jack, right now. Can you stand?” His demeanor is calm now, but you can tell laced within his tone is deep worry.

“Yeah, I think so.” You nod softly, cringing at the dizziness the action creates. Newt grabs at your arms to hoist you up, and you stumble with a groan at the sudden movements.

“Shuck, sorry.” Is all you hear before the ringing begins. And you know it can only get worse from there when little black dots begin to cloud your vision. Your legs feels as if they have no bone supporting the tissue, and it takes all your focus to attempt to stand. There’s shouting in the distance, or maybe from right beside you. It’s hard to tell with all this damn ringing...Did the world always feel this spinny? The last you see is the brilliant, shining sun before everything goes black.

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

When you come to, the ringing has finally stopped. It takes you a moment to recognize your surroundings, especially since the lighting is so dim in the room. There’s shouting, but you can’t seem to decipher the voices just yet. Still, you silently pray for the arguing to stop so the raging headache will cease.

“How could you let this happen? How careless could you possibly be Newt?”

“That’s enough Minho, it was an accident. He feels bad enough.”

“Yeah, and you know we can’t afford accidents Alby. Because you know what happens? People die!”

“I said that’s enough. I know damn well what goes on around here. Now slim it.” The voice is stern, but remains tranquil as anger laces each word. Alby

“Jesus shuck, stop talking.” You croak weakly, voice unbearably hoarse from however long you’ve been out. You try to swallow some saliva, and hum weakly when a cup of water meets your lips.

“If you guys are going to argue, I suggest you do it elsewhere. It’s bad enough she’s lost consciousness after a head injury. Right now, she needs as little stimulation as possible.” Clint informs strictly as he readjusts the bandage on your forehead. “If you’re going to stay in here, you all need to slim it.” You follow Clint with your eyes as he walks towards the supply stable, noticing Alby and Minho stood glaring at each other in the doorway. Newt sits in a chair beside Alby, hand rubbing over his mouth in thought as he studies you intently. Only averting his eyes when you meet his gaze.

“Do you know your name?” Clint speaks gently beside you, finger moving in front of your eyes in a silent order for them to follow it.

“Y/n.”

“What about where you are?”

“The med hut, in the glade.”

“Good, and who’s that over there?”

“Minho and Alby. The blonde shank is Newt.” You joke half halfheartedly, wanting more than anything than to see the boy smile. He doesn’t make a move or attempt to speak, just meets your eyes with an unreadable expression.

“Very good. Y’know how you got in here?” You nod, but Clint raises his brows to have you elaborate. “We were working in the garden, and I fell.” You look over when Minho lets out a huff before shaking his head.

“It seems to me like she fainted from the loss of blood. It could have been shock or anxiety, because I’m not noticing signs of significant head trauma. No memory loss, nausea, or lack of reflexes as of yet. Just to be sure though, I want her here for the next week so I can monitor her. I don’t want to take a head injury lightly.” Clint informs without looking up from his reflex-test on you. The boys look to each other briefly and nod in understanding.

“I need to cool off, you’ll be okay?” Minho asks abruptly, voice much quieter this time. He rubs his thumb gently over the bandage as you offer him a weak smile.

“Minho, I’ll be fine.” He gives a curt nod before attempting to back away to leave, but you grab his wrist and pull him to you once more. “Please don’t be so hard on him. He didn’t mean it.” Minho considers your words for a moment, before looking between you and Newt. He gives another nod before parting your hand and leaving the room, still a bit frustrated. As much as he hates to admit it, or to let the other boys see, he really cares about you. You smile to yourself at the thought, strong and sassy Minho worried sick over someone. It’s heartwarming, but Newt’s pale, solemn expression brings your focus back to the glum energy of the room.

“Hear that? Sounds like you’ll be alright, shank. I’ll let you get some rest for now. And you’re not moving from this bed for a week, you hear? Clint gives the orders in here.” Alby affirms sternly, deep brown eyes the dead giveaway he’s a lot more scared than angry. He squeezes your shoulder gently before making his way out of the med hut. Leaving you and Newt alone when Clint rambles on about needing to grab herbs from Frypan for tea.

“Newt.” Your voice is so soft, you’re not even sure the boy has heard you. “Please, come over here.”

“I-I have to go talk to Minho.” He fumbles lamely, obviously trying to come up with an excuse. It’s all his fault.

The overwhelming guilt and shame has been eating at him for the past hour, wondering whether or not he had just seriously injured the girl he’s head over heels for by tripping over a shucking vine. He let his guard down, something he really only tends to do around you. It’s too dangerous, to love you. Shuck, he loves you. He can only admit it to himself right then, and the the thought that your injury was with him to blame makes his stomach churn. He was so stupid, so careless to think he could even try to be carefree for one second in this shucking hell of a plac-”

“Newt? Hey, don’t spiral on me please.” Your voice is more sad now, pleading with him to come to you. Reluctantly, the blonde walks over to sit on the side of the bed. You grab his hand before he can refuse, and give him that beautiful smile as his thumb absentmindedly moves over your knuckles. “Look at me, you heard Clint. I’m gonna be just fine. It was an accident-”

“That could have gotten you bloody killed.” He interrupts almost instantly, running a hand over his face to contain his composure in order to not raise his voice. “You understand passing out meant you could have not woken up, yeah?” He inquires, looking to you with narrowed eyes as your own drift up to look at the ceiling rather than him.

“But I didn’t.”

“But you bloody could have, and it would have been my fault.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence, and your eyes dart over to meet his, not letting the moisture filling in the corner of them go unnoticed.

“Newt-”

“No. We have lost too many people to start getting stupid now. I-I can’t keep...I can’t keep doing whatever this is with you in good conscious, not after today.”

Your face contorts in confusion at his words, and if you weren’t so weak you’d hit him for being so vague.

“Wh-what? So, you’re just not gonna talk to me anymore because of a shucking mishap?”

“I can’t lose you!” He counters immediately. He doesn’t yell, but his tone is desperate when he tugs his hand from your own. Not understanding he’s doing more damage now than that stupid shovel ever could. “I can’t be sick with worry like that, n-not again. I couldn’t breath when I saw that blood on your face. And I could barely explain what happened to the others. I can’t-I wasn’t able to stay calm when I saw you like that. I wasn’t myself. So, I don’t know if it’s a good idea if we-”

“Slim it. You’re giving me more of a headache than I had before. You’re telling me you want to ignore me forever? Let...Whatever this is-whatever we are, just let it go because you’re scared? I’m scared all the shucking time Newt.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Only because you’re making this so complicated.” You’ve always been stubborn, but Newts still bewildered by your insistence despite your weakened state.

“I’m scared all the time!” He mutters sternly, staring into your eyes as if it’ll somehow translate to you. “I mean, every day I’m scared. But I let my guard down, and you got hurt. I love you too much to hold onto you, can’t you get that through your bloody skull?”

Your eyebrows raise at his words, wondering if he’s actually just admitted it as he rolls his eyes.

“There, you know now. I’m head over shucking heels or whatever. Doesn't bloody matter, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Oh, so just because you’re afraid we don’t get to be together? Believe it or not, this is a two way street. And it’s gonna take a lot more than a shucking shovel for me to stop loving you Newt. And to hate you? Well, that’s impossible.” You lock gazes as you speak, challenging him to look away or continue the argument before he sighs. There’s a long pause before he looks at his feet, shaking his head before replying.

“I’m sorry about what happened. But you need to get better before we can talk about this, alright?” He cups your check and runs his thumb over your jaw as you slightly nod, lips pulling up into a smile when he places a soft kiss to your temple before backing away.

“Will you come read to me later on? We don’t have to talk about...This. I just, I don’t want to be alone all day.” You trail off when you finish, expression brightening when he nods happily.

“Alright, any requests?”

“Maybe you should leave a request in the box for Botany For Dummies. Considering it was my squash vine your shank ass tripped over.”

“Again, you’re insufferable.”

“Don’t get all jacked because my singing actually works.”

“Tell that to my bleeding eardrums.”

“Tell that to the gash on my head!” Newt shoots you a stern look at your teasing, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway.

“Too soon?”

“Slim it already, will you? I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m counting on it.”

[mostgeckcellent]

my submission for the @drinkwithme-exchange for @fuckyeahlesmiserables

I originally wrote something completely different, and I didn't like it at all, but you mentioned you liked my Old Guard series, so I wrote a new installment of that for you instead!

Platonic Ships: Eponine & Musichetta, Eponine & Grantaire

Eponine swirled her glass. Cosette was still with Enjolras - she’d dragged their newly-returned-from-the-dead friend off pretty quick, but Eponine was still processing. Did she believe him? She wasn’t sure. He’d convinced Bahorel, though, and Baz had never been the type to believe just anything without questioning it, especially something as batshit crazy as all of this.

Immortals. What next?

She drained what remained of her whiskey and coke, and stood. She needed to go for a walk.

Eponine was three blocks away from Jehan’s little house when Musichetta caught up to her.

“Hey.” Musichetta put a hand on Eponine’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Eponine stopped walking, lit a cigarette. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You know it’s okay if you’re not,” Musichetta said, never one to just back down.

“Yeah,” Eponine repeated with a sigh. “You want one?”

“Sure.” Musichetta took the offered cigarette; Eponine lit it for her.

They stood in silence for a while. Eponine liked that about Musichetta, that they could just be. That she didn’t have to talk, or fill the space.

“It’s fucked up, right?” Eponine said eventually.

“Yeah.” Musichetta didn’t have to ask what. Enjolras’ return was a miracle unlooked for, of course, but it was bittersweet, too. They’d mourned him. Not moved on, never moved on - it felt impossible, when there were no answers - but he’d left them.

Eponine understood. She did, probably better than any of the rest of them. She of all people knew about needing to run away and not look back, knew about new lives and new beginnings and the colliding of worlds.

It still hurt, to have been left behind.

“It’s good to have answers,” Musichetta said eventually, when their cigarettes were burned nearly to stubs. “Fucking weird answers, mind you-”

Eponine laughed, sharp. “Fucking weird answers,” she agreed.

“-But it’s good to have them,” Musichetta finished.

“Yeah,” Eponine agreed. “I’m glad he’s alive. And hey, if he really is immortal, I can shank him for doing that to us,” she grinned, all teeth and no joy.

Musichetta nudged her in the side. “You’re not gonna stab Enjolras,” she shook her head.

“I might,” Eponine protested.

“You’re not going to stab Enjolras,” Musichetta repeated sternly. “I know you’re mad. We all are, a little. It’s a lot. But-”

“But what? But he had to?” She knew that. “It wasn’t safe?” She knew that too. She dropped her cigarette, put it out with her heel. Could hear Enjolras’ voice in the back of her head, chiding her for littering, for letting the chemicals inevitably leach into the water somewhere. She ignored it.

“Yes,” Musichetta said, as if it were that simple. “And he came back in the end.”

“Because he got caught,” Eponine snarled. “Not because-”

“He cares about us. He cares about you,” Musichetta said softly.

“Does he?”

“You know he does.”

Eponine sighed, looked away. “I’ll forgive him eventually,” she muttered. “I’m just - I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay,” Musichetta agreed with a soft smile. “Can I hug you?”

Eponine rolled her eyes a little, but she opened her arms, and really, she’d never admit it out loud, but Musichetta’s hugs had a way of making her feel like everything really might be alright, someday.

--

Enjolras would stay for three days. That’s what he said when he got off the phone with his friends. Three days. His friends would make the drive today, his new family.

Eponine didn’t resent him for it. Or - she did, a little. He’d ran off with his new friends to a new place and left them all to pick up the pieces, and now his new friends were coming here. But it was fine, and Eponine didn’t resent him.

Maybe if she repeated it enough she’d convince herself.

She knew she wasn’t being fair to him. She knew she was wasting time - if they only had three days, she ought to be making the most of it, not sulking in the bathroom.

“You’re going to regret avoiding him the whole time when he has to leave again,” came Musichetta’s voice from the other side of the door, because Musichetta was a fucking mind reader.

“Maybe so,” Eponine called back, but she unlocked the door and opened it.

“Apparently they’ll be here in around an hour,” Musichetta reported. “They started the drive this morning.”

“Great,” Eponine muttered.

“Ep.” Musichetta frowned. Apparently, sympathy hours had run out. “Come on. They’re important to him.”

“We used to be important to him,” Eponine scowled.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Musichetta stepped into the bathroom with Eponine, shutting the door behind her. “I love you, you know I do, but he still loves us. And you’re going to feel like shit when he’s gone, and you’ve just been resentful at him the whole time. Did he do a shitty thing? Yes. Do you have a right to be upset by it all? Absolutely. But you’re going to kick yourself for wasting the time you’ve been given.”

Eponine glared at Musichetta for a long moment, but Musichetta was used to her moods, and didn’t back down an inch.

Eponine deflated, sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair. “So, we’ve moved on from pity to ass-kicking, huh?”

“You know the drill, baby,” Musichetta grins at her. “One day for wallowing, and then we get the fuck back up again.”

“Ugh. I fucking hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Musichetta clapped Eponine on the back. “C’mon. Let’s go do this thing.”

--

Enjolras’ friends were.. Well. They were an odd bunch, which meant, in the end, that they fit right in. Marius was looking up at Courfeyrac with the widest puppy eyes, enraptured by the tales he wove. Marius wasn’t the only one - even Eponine had to admit the man had charisma. He’d won over most of the group within moments of arriving, cheerful and kind as he was. Combeferre was a quiet, steady presence beside him, the pair of them orbiting each other in a way that was as enthralling as it was sickeningly sweet. Joly had managed to tear Combeferre away for a separate conversation at some point; Eponine wasn’t listening, had stopped listening when they had started discussing the more gruesome points in medical history. And then there was Feuilly - she was gorgeous, and better yet, she swore like a sailor and beat Bahorel at arm wrestling three times in a row. Enjolras’ new friends had been folded neatly into the Amis, like it was easy, like they fit.

Well, most of them. One man kept to the corner, nursing a drink and watching Enjolras, always watching Enjolras.

“Grantaire, right?” Eponine leaned against the wall beside him.

He looked over at her, startled. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“A bit old for him, aren’t you?” she asked, because she wasn’t stupid, she knew what it meant that Grantaire stared like that, that Enjolras only blushed when stumbling over his introduction of Grantaire, and not the others.

Grantaire snorted. “You have no idea,” he admitted. “But he knows what he wants, and I’ve learned not to get in the way of his decisions.”

“Hm.” Eponine sized Grantaire up. Honestly, she’d assumed Enjolras was some sort of monk, before he’d disappeared. He’d never dated, never so much as looked.

He definitely looked at Grantaire, though. In fact, he was looking now, looking away from his conversation with Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Marius and Cosette to stare at Grantaire, and it wasn’t a look Eponine had ever seen him direct at anyone before.

“You’re not what I’d have expected for him,” she said.

“Tell me about it.” Grantaire didn’t seem to care to argue the point.

Eponine narrowed her eyes at him.

He glanced at her, and shrugged. “I love him,” he said after a moment. “When I was ready to give up on the world, there he was, all..” He waved a hand in Enjolras’ direction. “Well, you know him. You know what he’s like - justice and whatever, Apollo fucking incarnate, the way he speaks..” Grantaire trailed off. “I don’t know how anyone can hear him talk and not love him.”

“I dunno, he’s not really my type,” Eponine said drily, a smile beginning to curl at the edge of her lips despite herself.

Grantaire laughed. “Must be weird, all of this.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” Eponine muttered, eyes locked on Enjolras, who had returned to his conversation.

“He’s not going to age,” Grantaire said, not quite casual.

“I guess not,” Eponine agreed.

“It’s going to kill him, watching you all age and die.” Grantaire crossed his arms over his chest.

Eponine.. hadn’t thought about that. “Is that why he stayed away?”

“Absolutely not.” Grantaire huffed out a laugh, though he didn’t seem happy about it. “No, he wanted so badly to get in touch, no matter how much we - I - warned him he’d just get hurt. He thinks it’s worth it.” Grantaire looked around the room, and Eponine could see when he softened. “Maybe he was right,” he allowed. “I just hope it doesn’t break him.”

“So you’re the reason he stayed away,” Eponine narrowed her eyes at him.

Grantaire glanced at her. “I just want him to be safe and happy. Getting attached to mortals? Never ends well.”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” Eponine frowned at him.

“No,” Grantaire agreed. “It wasn’t. I didn’t try to stop him from coming here, I just..” He sighed.

Eponine sighed too. “You’re right,” she said eventually. “It’ll kill him to watch us die. And he won’t look away, I know he won’t, he’ll be here.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed.

Sad wasn’t the right word for Grantaire, Eponine thought. Weary, to his bones, with sadness etched into him… for a moment, she felt like she glimpsed him properly, ancient and grand as he was. And then he was just a guy again - a young man in a green hoodie, someone she’d pass on the street and never give a second thought to.

“You’ll be there for him, when it happens,” Eponine said like it was a certainty. She had to hope - believe - that it was.

“Yes,” Grantaire agreed. “I’ll be there. So will they.” He gestured to where Enjolras was gesticulating wildly, accidentally smacking Courfeyrac’s nose when a gesture went too wide. Courfeyrac just laughed, and tweaked Enjolras’ nose in return. Enjolras squawked indignantly, and then the whole group of them were laughing, Cosette and Marius included, and Bossuet, who had joined them at some point.

“You’ll keep in touch,” Eponine said. It wasn’t a question. She held out her phone.

Grantaire looked at her for a long moment. She didn’t squirm, didn’t flinch, just raised an eyebrow.

Grantaire nodded, took the phone, and plugged his own number in. Enjolras’, too, for good measure.

“I was determined to hate you all,” Eponine admitted as she took the phone back.

“I get that,” Grantaire agreed.

“I don’t,” Eponine pocketed the phone. “He seems happy. And he’s out there, making a difference or whatever. If he can’t do it with us, I’m.. glad, I guess, that he can do it with you.”

“He’d stay if he could,” Grantaire said.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Eponine shook her head. “He cares about you a lot. And them, too, your whole bunch.”

“He’s got enough in his heart of all of us.” Grantaire looked at her.

Eponine smiled a little. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

[aww-writing-no]

For @winterhawkbingo Round 3, Square G1: Eddie Brock

Ao3 Link

Changement de pieds:

They were halfway through the Act III of Spiderman and final act of the performance when Eddie came spinning offstage and grabbed Clint’s arm as he went past. Clint held up his hand for a high five, but Eddie just sagged against him, sucking in deep gulps of air.

“You okay there?” Clint whispered, giving him a concerned look. “You don’t look great.”

It was hard to tell under all the stage makeup, but Eddie was looking paler than usual. Clint pressed a hand to Eddie’s forehead, realizing how useless that was after the fact. Of course he would be hot and sweaty after the performance he just gave.

Eddie looked up at Clint, desperation in his eyes. “I’m so fucking dizzy,” he whispered.

Clint raised his eyebrows in concern. Dancers got desensitized to getting dizzy while spinning at a young age, so if it was enough for Eddie to be mentioning during a performance it must be really bad. He glanced across the stage where Bucky, as Spiderman, had called up his army of spiders. The chorus was doing a bunch of chasés across the stage and Clint looked around to see if he could spot a stage manager.

“Can you keep going?” Clint asked, making sure to keep his voice low.

Eddie closed his eyes and leaned over further. Clint could feel him start to shake as he clutched Clint’s arm for support.

“I have to, right?” Eddie said, putting more pressure on Clint’s arm.

Clint continued to look around for a stage manager. Eddie looked like he was either going to puke or pass out, and he didn’t think it would be a great idea for either of those things to happen onstage.

It was almost time for Clint to stumble across the stage in a comedic moment to join the rest of the chorus of spiders, but he still couldn’t see any of the stage managers. It looked like something was really wrong with Eddie and Clint panicked.

“Give me your costume,” he demanded, ripping off his wig and running his fingers through his hair to flatten it out the best he could. They were just going to have to have a blond Venom in the second half of the act tonight because Clint was barely going to have time to put on Eddie’s costume, much less his wig. He started rapidly unlacing his tutu as Eddie unzipped his unitard with shaking hands.

Venom was also going to be in pointe shoes, Clint realized as he yanked the unitard on over his tights. He had about eight more measures before Eddie was supposed to be onstage, and he was just praying he remembered all the choreography from when he was doing that extra practice with Bucky.

“What is going on here?!” a stage manager hissed, finally appearing in the wings. Clint didn’t have time to answer her before he leapt on stage, but he heard Eddie throwing up and figured that should be enough of an answer.

Bucky’s look of shock as Clint appeared on stage was more realistic than artistic. “The fuck?” he mouthed when he was facing upstage away from the audience.

Clint gave him a tiny shrug before going into a fouett�� jeté.

He lunged at Bucky, and Bucky jumped back, bringing his arms up to mimic shooting webs at him. Clint danced back, weaving as he went.

They repeated this a couple of times before Clint backed into the waiting arms of two of the other dancers. They lifted him up, and he beat his legs in the air. They lowered him down enough for him to kick off the floor and toss his legs backwards over his head. Thank goodness Wade and Junjie were there to guide his jump, because he’d forgotten about the pointe shoes and almost lost his footing on the landing.

Clint flung his arms back and the two spiders released their grips. He raised his arms and stalked towards Bucky, getting ready for the big finale. Bucky continued to mime shooting webs at Clint, who grabbed Bucky’s right wrist on one beat, then his left wrist on the next. Bucky twisted his hands to grip Clint and swung himself between Clint’s outstretched legs. Clint pulled Bucky back through, using the momentum to lift him in the air. As he came down from the lift, Bucky wrapped his legs around Clint’s waist and they dropped hands so Bucky could do a backbend. Clint held his waist and guided Bucky into a handstand.

From there Bucky flipped upright, facing Clint and raised his arms, flicking his hands towards Clint. The chorus surged to surround Clint, holding hands as they did a series of pas de chat in a tight circle around him. It wouldn’t have been so tight, Clint thought wryly, if he’d been in their number like he was supposed to.

As they formed a dome with their arms over their heads, Clint dropped to one knee. Their arms pulsed in time to the music, and Clint curled up on the ground, face pressed into his knees and arms wrapped around his legs. The music swelled and the circle of dancers opened to reveal Clint, who stayed curled in the fetal position. He hugged himself tightly as two of the spiders dragged him off stage before running back for their victory dance. It would be uneven without him, and he briefly considered putting his tutu back on to join them for a very late entrance before he looked up to see a pair of angry stage managers standing over him.

“What was that?” one of them whisper-shouted, shaking Clint’s abandoned wig in one hand.

“Eddie looked like he was dying and I couldn’t find either of you,” Clint explained as he got to his feet. “Is he okay?”

“He’s on his way to the hospital,” the other stage manager grudgingly admitted.

“That was still incredibly stupid and dangerous!” the first one continued to whisper-shout and shake his wig.

“Uh huh,” Clint said, raising an eyebrow. “Can I get my wig back?” he asked, holding out his hand so the stage manager would stop abusing his poor wig.

He handed it back to Clint, asking, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, but I’m not seeing what other options I had,” Clint explained. “It was either switch places with Eddie or go on with the chorus and have Eddie try to push through and throw up or collapse on stage. I think I picked the better option.”

“You’re not even the Venom understudy!” he said, glaring at Clint. “You or Bucky could have been seriously hurt!”

“The Venom understudy is Marcello, who was already onstage,” Clint protested. “Neither of you was here to tell me what to do, so again, I’m not seeing what other options I had.”

The stage manager was prevented from answering by the flood of chorus members streaming off stage. They were greeted by a bevy of quiet “what the fuck”, “what happened”, and “where’s Eddie”.

Before anyone could answer them, the chorus was running back onstage for their bows. Clint watched them go before turning back to the stage managers with a raised eyebrow.

The calmer of the two rolled her eyes and said, “go ahead,” with a deep sigh.

Clint shoved his bedraggled wig back on his head, and ran out for Venom’s bow after the audience slowed their clapping for Steve’s Mary Jane. The crowd roared as he came out, taking a deep bow before stepping back to hold hands with Junjie on his right.

Bucky waited a few beats after the applause died down before slowly walking out to take his bows. After he stepped back to join the rest of the company, he gestured down to the orchestra pit, up to the crew, and then took hands with Steve and Clint to lead the bows as a company.

The second after the curtain dropped, Clint found himself surrounded by Trocks demanding to know where Eddie was (Steve), why he’d taken over as Venom (Marcello), and was he trying to give him a heart attack on stage (Bucky).

Clint threw up his hands in a futile effort to stop the torrent of questions. “I don’t know what happened with him, he’s on his way to the hospital, and I didn’t know what else to do,” he blurted out.

“The hospital?”

“Is he hurt?”

“What happened?”

“Did you shank him?”

“Which hospital?”

“Are you sure you didn’t shank him?”

Clint put his head in his hands as the questions continued. “I don’t know guys,” he told them again. “I saw him for like two minutes and he said he was dizzy and looked like he was gonna pass out or puke, so I made him give me his costume so we could finish the show. I definitely didn’t shank him, what the hell Wade?”

The buzz of questions continued as the company trooped down to the dressing room. Most of them had just finished changing out of their costumes and washing off their makeup when the artistic director stepped into the room. The room slowly went silent as they all turned to look at her.

“As I’m sure you all know by now, Eddie had to be taken to the hospital after being unable to finish his performance as Venom tonight. He wanted everyone to know he’s going to be fine, but is being admitted for an emergency appendectomy. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it if you all keep him in your thoughts during his recovery.”

The room burst out in a heated chatter at her announcement, but Clint whipped out his phone instead of joining in.

“Dude, did your appendix burst onstage???” he texted Eddie.

The text notification popped up a few minutes later.

“No but it was close/ Thx for going on/ Everyone ok?”

“NP, we’re fine, but HOLY SHIT MAN/ glad you’re gonna be okay”

Bucky walked over and peered over Clint’s shoulder. “Is that Eddie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said, tipping his head back to knock gently into Bucky’s.

“What the fuck?” Bucky exclaimed. It took Clint a second to realize he was reading the latest text from Eddie, not commenting about the head bump.

“Yea, after emergency surgery and a bunch of antiparasitics to kill off the tapeworm that was blocking my appendix” he’d written.

Clint squawked before texting, “THE TAPEWORM!??!?!?!” and a bunch of scream emojis.

Eddie replied with four sweat-smile emojis before writing, “guess I ate some undercooked meat” with a shrug emoji. “guess that’s why I was feeling shitty and losing weight too”.

“Oh my god,” Bucky groaned, beating his head against Clint’s shoulder.

Clint turned to face Bucky, who was looking absolutely miserable. “Hey, what’s with that face?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’re having tapeworm appendicitis too.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, it’s just… he was my partner for how long and I didn’t see this? Was I that self-absorbed that I didn’t notice my dance partner’s declining health? The whole reason I kept doing all those extra practices with you was because Eddie kept saying he was too tired for the extra practices.”

Clint laid his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey, we’re professional dancers. We hide everything under a thick layer of pancake makeup and a smile, you know that. Besides, if we hadn’t done all those practices together I probably would have dropped you on your head tonight.”

Bucky gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. You probably wouldn’t have dropped me on my head, though.”

“Well, not by accident at least,” Clint joked, sticking his tongue out. “Hey, you wanna come with me to buy Eddie a get well basket and fill it with gummy worms?”

[the-bee-graveyard]

You’ll Thank Me Later- A Newtmas fanfiction

So this is the first fan fiction I’ve ever put on here (or anywhere) so I hope it’s not terrible. Sorry about any spelling/grammar errors, I proof read but I’m not attentive enough for it to be effective. I’ll probably delete this later but whatever.

Summary: Thomas ends up coaching his brother Chuck’s soccer team and developed a crush on a fellow coach. Minho causes a little bit a chaos and plays cupid, but nothing too bad. A little bit of Brendresa because what was I meant to do. Everyone ships Newtmas because I say so. Child!Gally but you’ll see what I mean later. 

Thomas didn’t know how he got talked into this, spending his Saturday’s and Wednesday afternoons coaching his younger brother Chuck’s football team.

His twin sister Teresa had coached it for three years, but she’d taken a job offer out-of-state and she and her girlfriend Brenda had moved away about a month ago, leaving his mother to pressure him into coaching instead.

That’s how he ended up standing on a sideline on some football field handing out red shirts with “Team A” printed on the back to thirteen year olds on his day off, his best friend Minho (who agreed to be his assistant coach) starting to assign kids to position.

“Have you seen my goalie gloves?” Thomas heard Chuck holler as he handed a shirt to some kid named Winston.

Thomas stole a glance at the other team to see what they were up against (just because he didn’t want to do it didn’t mean he wasn’t invested, it was just part of his competitive nature). The other team (their shirts read “Team B”) seemed to be made up of mostly girls, and one skinny boy who seemed more invested in picking at the grass than warming up with the rest of the team.

The coach was in short the most beautiful person Thomas had ever seen.

He was lanky, with warm brown eyes and fluffy looking blonde hair. He couldn’t be older than Thomas with his young face.

“That’s Newt,” Chuck said, suddenly standing next to Thomas. He swore that kid could teleport sometimes. “His sister Sonya’s the best on their team, he’s been coaching for longer than Teresa did. He picks Sonya up from school.”

“I don’t need his whole life story Chuck, I just need to know how good his team is,” Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Good,” Chuck replied. “They won the championship last year. Sonya and Harriet are their usual forwards, and things rarely get past them, and Aris and Rachel their defense are really good even if they don’t look like much.”

“How good’s our defense?” Chuck pointed to two kids Thomas was pretty sure were named Jeff and Clint who were trying and failing to pass the ball to each other. “Okay, we can work with that.”

“Teresa made it work,” Chuck corrected. Thomas glared at his little brother.

“Are you doubting my ability to coach a team?”

“Absolutely.” Chuck paused, looking past Thomas. “He’s coming this way?”

“Who?”

“Newt.”

“Hey Chuck,” A voice said from behind Thomas. Whoever spoke spoke with a thick British accent. “Where’s Teresa?”

��She moved with her girlfriend,” Chuck said. “This is Thomas, he’s our new coach.”

“Hey there Tommy,” Newt said. “I’m Newt, I coach Team B.” They shook hands, Newt had soft hands. “Good luck out there.” Thomas stared as Newt ran off and started talking to a dark haired girl that looked like him.

“Do you enjoy coaching a lot better now?” Chuck asked with a smirk.

“Go get in net,” Thomas rolled his eyes and went back over to Minho.

They got completely destroyed. Thomas had no idea a bunch of thirteen year old girls (and one boy) could be so vicious. Aside from learning thirteen year old girls were the meanest people in the world, he learned that his own team would need a lot of work if they wanted to get even close to the championship.

“He's kind of hot though,” Minho said as they packed up the equipment. Most of the other kids had left with their parents, only Chuck and his friend Gally remained, who Thomas promised to drive home. Thomas could see Newt out of the corner of his eye, talking to Sonya (who Newt called Lizzy) and Harriet, the two best players on Newt’s team by far. Poor Chuck never stood a chance in goal.

“Who?” Thomas asked his friend.

“Newt, and don’t be lying to me shank I see you noticing too,” Minho said, slinging a backpack over his shoulders and smirking evilly. Thomas hit his friend in the shoulder lightly and picked up a bag.

“We’ll get them next time,” Thomas said. he suddenly remembered he promised he’d call Teresa after the game and pulled out his phone and called his sister. 

“Hey Tom, how’d the game go?” Teresa’s cheery voice said. 

“Absolutely horrible,” Thomas said. “It was twelve to nothing.” Teresa started laughing.

“So you played Team B I see,” Teresa said. “They’re the only real competition, we’ve never been able to beat them even with me as coach. I’ll tell you what Tom, you get them to the championship game and Brenda and I will drive back for a week and help you against them. Deal?”

“Deal,” Thomas replied.

-Time Gap-

They’d just won the semifinals and Thomas agreed to take the whole team out for ice cream. They were at a place Thomas’s friend Frypan owned, and he agreed to give them a discount since they were a team and Thomas  and Minho clearly didn't have the money to pay for every kid.

“Have room for three more?” A familiar accented voice asked. Thomas looked up to see Newt standing there with Sonya and Harriet next to them. 

“Of course,” Minho said. “Take a seat, any seat.” Sonya whispered something to Newt before she and Harriet went off to sit with the other kids, Newt sitting down at the table with them, right next to Thomas. Thomas could see now that even though Newt was slender his arms were actually quite muscular. “So I assume we’ll be playing you in the championship came next week?” Minho’s voice broke through his train of thoughts.

“You will,” Newt confirmed. Thomas couldn’t take his eyes off of Newt’s eyes, the way his eyelashes seemed to move in slow-motion every time he blinked. He didn’t come out of his haze until Minho elbowed him in the arm, making him knock his ice cream onto Newt’s shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Thomas said.

“No big deal Tommy, just ice cream,” Newt said. “I don’t fancy walking around in ice cream though. I’ll go grab some napkins.”

“Thomas’s got an extra shirt in his car, don't you Tom?”  Minho smirked, and Thomas finally figured out why Minho really elbowed him. It was all part of an elaborate plan. “Why don’t you two go grab that and I’ll watch the kids.” Thomas would’ve flipped him off if there weren’t kids around, instead he got up and walked out to his car, Newt following him.

“Might bit a bit large on you, but it should do,” Thomas said, handing Newt a gray shirt he pulled out of his trunk. He always kept a spare shirt in his car, just for incidents like this one.

“Thanks Tommy,” Newt said, pulling off his shirt covered in ice cream and putting on Thomas’s gray one. Thomas looked away, trying to hide the blush on his face. “I’m going to go put my shirt in my car, no need to wait up.” Thomas nodded and headed back towards the ice cream place.

“I hate you,” Thomas said, sliding down next to Minho, who still had that stupid smug look on his face.

“You’ll be thanking me for that one day,” Minho replied.

-Time gap-

Thomas forgot Teresa promised to come help out with the game until her white car pulled up next to his in the parking lot next to the football field as he got the equipment out of his trunk. She got out of the car along with Brenda and threw her arms around her brother, almost making him drop the equipment.

“Hey Tess,” Thomas said, smiling at his sister. “Hey Brenda. Nice haircut.”

“Thanks,” Brenda said.

“Enough chit chat, we’ve got a game to win,” Teresa said, officially in coach mode. 

“Please tell me she didn’t bring the whistle,” Chuck groaned as he got out of the car. Teresa pulled the infamous whistle out of her pocket and blew it right in her little brother’s face.

-Slight Time Gap-

“Alright guys, let’s get it together!” Thomas called to the team. “Chuck, Teresa suggested you and Winston starting as forwards, Gally, you get in goal. Zart, Nick, and Alby, you guys play midfield. Jeff, Clint, you take defense. Got it?” Everyone nodded and ran off to their positions.

“Aye Tommy, I see you called in reinforcements!” Newt called, gesturing to Teresa and Brenda.

“I can’t tell if he’s flirting with you or insulting you,” Minho commented. 

“I smell a ship, how come no one told me?” Brenda asked. 

“OTP,” Teresa grinned. Thomas glared at them before turning his attention to Newt’s lineup. He’d put Sonya and Harriet in defense and had Rachel and Aris as forwards. A girl Chuck said was named Beth was in goal, and those were the only people Thomas recognized. He thought the odds were pretty good, but they’d have to watch out for Harriet and Sonya.

“Who’s starting with the ball?” He asked Minho as the referee walked onto the field with the ball.

“They are,” Minho replied. “I’d say Chuck and Winston can get the ball from them fairly quickly, it’s getting through their defense that’s the problem.”

“Play towards the middle,” Teresa blurted out. “Sonya and Harriet always seem to go towards either side. If you play towards the middle there’s a better chance of avoiding them.”

“Chuck! Winston! C’mere a second!” Thomas called. Chuck and Winston ran over to them. “When trying to get around their defense head towards the middle, it should buy you a second. Good that?” Chuck and Winston ran back onto the field and the game started about a minute later.

It was on.

-Slight time gap-

Double overtime. They’d dragged the game out to double overtime. Thomas called a time out before the overtime started.

“Alright guys, we’ve got a strategy,” Thomas said. “Since it’s next point wins, we’ve just got to keep everyone busy enough for us to score. Jeff, Alby, you keep Sonya and at least one midfielder cornered at all times.” Newt had moved Sonya and Harriet back to forward at halftime, and Rachel and Aris were back in defense. “Clint, Zart, you take Harriet. Nick, support Chuck and Winston. The three of you should be able to get around midfield together, it’s Sonya and Harriet you’ve got to worry about. Shoot from the sides on Aris and Rachel, they congregate in the middle. High shots, Beth gets the low ones. Remember I’m proud of you no matter what happens out there.”

The team ran back onto the field, starting with the ball. Chuck passed back to Nick and began to run up the field to get passed to. Harriet ran to get the ball but Zart got in front of her before she could. Nick passed to Chuck and he zigzagged through their midfield before passing to Winston. Winston got around  Aris, and just as Rachel got up to him he passed back to Chuck, who kicked the ball into the goal.

The ref blew the whistle and Thomas hugged Minho he was so happy. He saw out of the corner of his eye Teresa kiss Brenda. He watched as the whole team ran and congratulated Chuck. 

They all lined up to congratulate the other team, Thomas in the way back behind Teresa, Brenda, and Minho. As he high fived the kids on the other team Thomas realized how much he enjoyed coaching the team. Before a few months ago he thought Teresa was crazy for wanting to spend her time coaching a middle school football team, but he was starting to pick up on the fact that his sister was right on a lot of things, whether he liked it or not.

“Good game Tommy.” Newt said as they shared a high five. What Thomas did next he probably wouldn’t have done under any other circumstances, it was the pure joy from winning the game speaking.

“Would you like to go get ice cream with me?” Thomas asked.

“Like, with both the teams?” Newt asked.

“No, just us.”

“So, like a date?” Thomas could feel the blush creeping up his face.

“Yes, exactly like that.”

“Bloody finally.” Newt rolled his eyes and Thomas felt puzzled.

“What?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for weeks, you twat, it’s been driving me mad. I didn’t even think you were interested, but Minho said ‘wait’ anytime I voiced my concerned.”

“Minho?!” Thomas glanced over at his friend, who appeared to be talking to Teresa and Brenda.

“Yeah, he came up to me about a month back and told me he’d help me get you to ask me out if I wanted to.” If looks could kill Minho would be dead from the one Thomas served him. “So, um, ice cream?”

“I’ll come find you in the parking lot after we take pictures with the trophy, okay?” Newt nodded and blew Thomas a sarcastic kiss as he ran over to Minho, who’d apparently witnessed the whole thing and was grinning like crazy.

“Told you you’d thank me later,” Minho said.

“About that, we’ve got to talk about your lack of ability to mind your own business.”

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

One of His Little Toys

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: I wrote this for my @starkerfestivals prison au bingo square! I’m stoked for you guys to see it & hope you enjoy <3 Word Count: ~4.6k Warnings: drug use, physical violence, daddy!kink, general things that happen in prison

Growing up in the heart of Chicago, Peter didn’t have much a choice of what happened in his life. Sure, he was smart – but that wasn’t how you survived in his neighborhood. People didn’t give a shit about an ability to do differential equations – clout was won with fists, guns, and the occasional drive by shooting. No one really understood the darkness of the gang life outside of his little sector of the world. The Cartel had a direct link to the Underworld in Chicago – and Peter got caught in the web at a pretty young age.

May tried to stop him, she really did. When he first brought Quentin back to the apartment so he could grab some things to get the hell out of dodge for a couple of days, May cornered him in his room, a heated look on her face. “What are you doing with him, Pete? I told you I’d talk to Del Mar – we can get you a job.” May said the same words she’d been repeating to him over and over again since he turned 18. He’d been lucky so far, not getting caught in the illicit affairs he let himself get lost in.

“May, stop. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days. I can’t work for Del Mar right now.” He slammed the last couple of things he needed into the bag in his hand and brushed past her – the usual kiss on the cheek replaced by discontent and the slightest bit of disdain. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” Peter wondered how many people said that before bad shit happened to them.

Later that same night, Peter was standing on his usual corner with his new partner, Quentin Beck – the bosses second or third in command around the city. He’d been steadily working his way through the ranks throughout high school and now that he could be available whenever and wherever – they gave him the ultimate promotion. It felt weird at first, to have so much cash and product on him; but then again, Peter never really stopped feeling off about the whole thing since he got beat up into it more than four years ago.

Slipping a line of blow across the snuff box of his hand, Peter took a long inhale and let the powder enter his nasal cavity, the movement of the drug across his blood-brain barrier quick – the effects hit him straight in the chest only a moment or two later. It was his only bump for the night, he needed to keep alert for the busy time of the evening in a couple of hours. When the clubs closed, all of the little playthings would come crawling his way – the late-night hours still upon them.

The night went on like it usually did – he made a few transactions and talked shit with the guys while they stood around, waiting for the next batch of patrons to find their hidden corner of the world. Peter, despite his promise to himself, took another couple of bumps from the stash in his pocket, most of the night spent floating in that weird haze that made time speed up and slow down all at the same time.

Through the haze, Peter recognized the swirling red and blue lights of the cop car about a second too late. He tried to turn and run, his feet a little heavy from the drugs coursing through his system – but he tried, anyway. The four or five steps he took were not enough – all of the sudden, he was down on the ground with a knee in his back, his hands being pulled behind him. There wasn’t any use fighting it, so he turned his head into the concrete below him and let the officer do his thing.

Between the huge stack of money in his jacket pocket and the many, many, many baggies of cocaine, pills, and black balloons in his pants pocket, there was way more than enough to put him away. There wouldn’t be a crying May bailing him out for the fifth time – not after this one. Sucking in a deep breath, Peter waited impatiently in his holding cell; they liked to drag out this process, his previous experiences adding up to so many days sitting in this exact precinct waiting for something – anything to happen.

His stint in court was pretty quick – Peter knew not to name any names or talk about what he knew – so he took his sentencing and waved a handcuffed goodbye in May’s direction when they walked him out. He might as well get used to only seeing her from that distance – 10 years would be a long time to only see her through the partition in the meeting rooms.

The whole processing system of actually getting into the prison took longer than his court appearances. He was used to the bend, squat, and cough – so he blissfully got to put his orange jumpsuit on without further hassle. He thought about all the dumb fucks that came through here and caused a fuss – those people just begging for trouble. Peter knew enough to know the last thing he wanted to do was go sniffing around for anything that looked remotely like a problem. It was imperative to get in there, keep his head down, and find people that weren’t going to shank him when he wasn’t looking.

All in a single day’s work, he thought – a sadistic smile on his face.

His first night was spent in a temporary cell – the big guys that were waiting to be sorted just like him didn’t scare him, but he gave up the top bunk to a grunting man who eyed him up when he demanded; Peter wasn’t going to be sleeping much, anyway. He kept his eyes open and his brain active for the entire night – if he was going to get pulled him his bed, at least he’d be ready for it.

Luckily, the first night went pretty well and he got pulled into a double room later the next afternoon. When he was walked into the cell by a guard, the other side was empty – the protocol of separating the prisoners a little moot once Peter settled into his side of the room. Who was he to argue with the bull shit of this place? The guard gave him a once over before unlocking his cuffs and stepping out.

Sitting down on the flat mat that would serve as his mattress for the rest of the time here, Peter watched the guard bring in his roommate. The man was older, his temples were struck through with white hair. There was a vertical scar across his right cheek that led up to smooth bourbon colored eyes and long eyelashes. His tongue peaked out and trailed across his lip, the older man watching Peter watch him.

At first glance, the man did not scream criminal. He wiggled his eyebrows and smiled at Peter while the guard undid his cuffs, then turned around and flipped him off when the door was closed and locked. “Thanks a bunch, Clint!” he shouted, his hands gripping the bars for a moment. Taking a deep breath, Peter braced himself – this initial interaction would more than likely set the tone for the rest of their relationship sharing this confined space.

When the man did turn around, Peter was struck by just how good all of those features looked together. He wasn’t tall, but there was a presence to him – his arms seemed well defined in the white jumpsuit this block wore. He crossed his fingers that this guy wasn’t some fucking psychopath, because he could easily see himself getting tangled up in whatever his roommate had to offer. A scary thought for not even knowing his name.

Without any preamble, the guy held a hand out between them, a smirk on his face. “Tony Stark,” he remarked confidently, his eyes glued to Peter. Knowing a challenge when he saw it, Peter slipped his hand into Tony’s. Though they were a little smaller than his own, Tony’s hands were rough, callouses riddling his palm and fingers.

“I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Parker,” he mumbled out, his cheeks heating up. What the hell was happening to him? All of the sudden it felt like his tongue was twenty pounds heavier than just a minute ago, his heart hammering against his chest. Gripping Tony’s hand tightly for another second, Peter pulled back – a guarded look on his face.

“You’re awfully young to be in a place like this, Peter Parker. What did a pretty thing like you do?” Tony asked, the customary ‘what’s your charge’ question was one he still wasn’t used to answering. It never occurred to him just how fucked up his life got until he uttered his drug charges – possession with the intention to distribute. The rabbit hole he let himself fall down was a big one.

Peter took a seat on his excuse for a bed again, his legs swinging crisscross applesauce in front of him like the literal child that he was. “Possession and distribution. All the hard stuff.” He shrugged his shoulders, irritable fingers picking at the snag at the end of his jumpsuit. “I’m not that young. Old enough to be here, anyway,” Peter muttered, his tone coming off a little petulant. At 18, he was old enough to spend the next decade of his life locked away – he felt old enough to not be called young anymore, too.

Tony threw his hands up in mock surrender, the smirk on his face growing a little. “I should have known. You have drugged up twink written all over you. Me, I liked to steal really expensive shit. Kind of a brainy criminal, if you will,” Tony stated. He smiled wide, like the Cheshire Cat, his eyes glowing a little. “Got any brains in that head of yours?” Tony took a step toward him then, his hand tapping on the middle of Peter’s forehead.

Simply rolling with it, Peter nodded his head – his eyes dropping a little bit. Something in him said to get on this guy’s good side. Part of it was his natural urge to submit to beautiful older men like Tony. He let Quentin walk him into a trap because he liked the lines around his eyes and the delectable way he could give Peter just enough to keep him coming back for more. His true druggy nature getting in the way of clear thought. Not this time, though – this was conscious and premeditated. To survive in here, he needed people on his side.

“Yes sir,” he finally responded, his chest tightening when he heard Tony take in a deep gulp of air. So, he’d chosen correctly. His lips slipped into the slightest of smiles, his instinct finally leading him in the right direction for once.

A palm cupped his cheek and tilted his head up, the man’s eyes catching his own. Peter saw heat there – brown pools quickly being swarmed by the black of his eye. Tony caressed his cheek softly, the touch a total contrast to the look on his face. Then, he pulled his hand back and slapped him – the echo of it making his teeth grind. “We’ll see, Peter Parker. We’ll see.”

Peter kept close to Tony throughout the rest of the day. Their cell doors opened a couple of hours later, guards stepping in to put them in cuffs and walk them out to the yard where they’d get a bit of fresh air. Out of all the experiences he’d ever had in jail, this one – the yard and all the vulnerability that came with being out in the open for most of the block population to see (and attack) – always made him nervous.

He quickly found he had nothing to fear, however. It wasn’t hard to see that the man he was with carried a sort of clout that only long-time crooks and murders could obtain. People looked away unless he was speaking to them and when he did, they gave him their full attention. Keeping his own eyes down, Peter was surprised to find them stopped in front of a cluster of guys sitting on some of the picnic benches just outside the cages around the gym.

“Guys – this is Pete.” He pushed at Peter’s arm, the movement thrusting him a little closer to the group. “Pete here says he’s smart. So he’s good with us until he stops being smart. Got it?” Tony looked at each of them, their heads nodding without a singular argument. Not for the first time since experiencing Tony’s raucous and completely intoxicating energy, Peter wondered what the actual fuck this guy was all about.

Either way, he didn’t question it. The group was large enough to have a perimeter around him at all times and they all seemed to do whatever Tony told them. As long as he was smart – which he wasn’t quite sure what that meant yet – he could count on the protection of the group of misfits that were gathered around his roommate like he was the actual messiah.

Peter quickly came to learn that Tony was the brains behind many operations within the prison. Since the older man’s duty was in the kitchen, he had access to delivery vehicles – which smuggled in products of interest for the other prisoners.

There was a pretty elaborately interwoven mechanism of distribution and payment that made Peter’s head spin thinking about it. He bit into his lip when Tony took him through it all, the massive amount of information that Tony kept in his head overwhelming.

He didn’t need to wonder about what being smart meant for long. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Tony picked up on his submission, the way he called him sir – hell, the way he followed him around like a puppy. It wasn’t hard to see it in his eyes, the want that fueled him where Tony was concerned. When the older man eventually came to collect, Peter didn’t hesitate or struggle. Their lips met in a hot kiss, a hot moan slipping from Peter’s lips. Tony tore away and pressed the side of his face against Peter’s.

“Fuck, you moan so pretty. But you have to keep it down for daddy, do you understand? The guards are only going to tolerate so much shit. And I plan to make you howl when I slam my cock inside of you,” Tony muttered, the words close enough to his ear that every one of them sent a tingle down his spine – the warm breath a swift contrast to the cool temperature in the cell.

He felt Tony reach down and grab him through his jumpsuit, his cock already rock hard. Biting into his lip, Peter stopped himself from yelping, the heat in his core already starting to overflow. Another hard squeeze had him standing right at the precipice – his body a total traitor. Tony huffed out a laugh, then covered Peter’s lips with his own. “Be a good boy and cum for daddy,” he whispered pulling away from the kiss a couple minutes later.

As if he would try to fight against that request – biting down harder on his lip, Peter felt himself cum in the only pair of boxers he’d been allowed. Tasting blood on his tongue made the haze he fell into even better, and he slumped against the wall bonelessly. Tony gave him all of a minute to recover before he was grabbing at him, hands tight on his shoulders.

“Get on your knees,” the older man demanded, his voice low and gravely – the tone one that didn’t leave room for any sort of questioning or argument. He slipped down to the hard floor and waited for Tony’s next instruction.

The rustling of clothes had him looking up, his eyes catching the bare flesh of his stomach before it was gone. Tony pulled himself out of his pants just enough to press his bare cock against Peter’s mouth.

“Open up, baby boy,” Tony murmured, his jaw already slack from the cold air across his sensitive flesh.

Opening his mouth, Peter took Tony in, the older man feeding him his dick – inch by inch. Tony kept a tight grasp at the base and let his hips tip forward to slip the length down Peter’s throat. He wasn’t the most experienced person in the world, but he learned how to breathe through his nose pretty quickly – Tony’s length impressive, despite his shorter stature. As the tip of Tony’s cock pressed against his throat, Peter felt himself drool down his chin, thick tears starting to collect in his eyes.

Tony’s hand moved from his dick to the back of Peter’s head and kept him there – his nostrils flaring as he tried to catch his breath. The hand stayed there for what felt like another year before fingers were tangling in his long curls and pulling his head away – a string of spit alive and well between his mouth and the tip of Tony’s cock. Gasping in a deep breath, Peter barely had time to wipe his chin before his throat was being assaulted again.

The older man took what he wanted until his hips started to stutter. Tony pulled back then, his eyes completely glazed – the look in them a little scary. His hand tightened in Peter’s hair and yanked until he was rising to his feet to ease some of the tension on the strands. The tip of his tongue played with the bite marks on his lip – the stimulus enough to stave off the sudden heat slamming into his chest.

“Turn around and drop your pants,” Tony grumbled, his cheeks flushed and lips moist from the man running his tongue over them.

Peter did what he was told – his head dropping against the concrete of the wall, Tony’s body immediately pressing him flush against it. Fingers were pressed into his mouth a rough “suck” being mumbled against the back of his neck. Tony nibbled and bit on the skin there, his teeth digging into the flesh when he managed to pull enough of it into his mouth.

Wrapping his lips around the digits, Peter sucked them into his mouth as far as they would go – the angle of his head turned not the easiest to manage. Knowing this was probably the only lubrication he was going to get, he laved at them with his tongue liberally. He felt like a fish off the hook when Tony pulled his fingers away.

There wasn’t much warning before one finger was against his rim, the tip rubbing the tight muscle for just a second before breaching – the slide a little dry, but the burn just right. He’d always gotten off on a little pain with his pleasure, so he marveled in it.

The drag of two fingers was even better and before he knew it, Tony was spitting into his hand, fingers gone and replaced with a blunt cock head. Rough hands on his shoulders pulled him back as Tony thrust forward, the stretch pulling a moan out of his throat that he couldn’t hold in – no matter how hard he tried.

“That’s right, baby. Moan for me. Tell daddy how much you like it,” Tony babbled, his words enhanced by the sharp thrusts in and out of his stretched hole. It felt a little raw, the drag back and forth – yet, Tony’s cock hitting his prostate was more than enough to make up for it. Tony reached around and gripped his cock with a tight hand, his strokes timing nicely with the roll of his hips.

Slipping over the edge was sudden, Peter tossing his head back a bit to let out a rough groan – his muscles clenched tight and every pulse of cum drawn from him felt like pure liquid fire. A rough bite on his neck signaled Tony’s release a moment later, the man’s hips slamming into him hard and staying there, the pulse of the man’s cock pulling another long moan from Peter’s lips.

Lips on his neck pulled him out of his orgasm induced haze – the press of Tony’s facial hair against the skin there making him shutter. “That’s a good boy,” Tony mumbled, his hands gripping Peter tight around the middle. With one more tiny thrust, the older man pulled out – a gruff gasp leaving his lips. “Fuck,” Peter heard, a small smile slipping across his lips.

If that’s what Tony wanted in return for protecting him – Peter was more than happy to oblige.

Things stayed pretty regular for a couple of months. Peter joined Tony in the kitchen, his brain a perfect addition to the already masterfully run plan. Without the drugs in his system, Peter could think much clearer. He contributed a lot to Tony’s already impressive plans – the man praising him on near constant basis, sometimes more than one time a day if they were lucky enough to catch a few private moments. It wasn’t like being on the outside, but it wasn’t too bad, either.

Of course, things always get bad when complacency sets in. He’d been absentmindedly sitting at their usual table in the mess when the rival group’s leader sat down across from him. Peter kept his head down and continued to eat. His break was only a few minutes and he wasn’t about to pass up the corn – it was one of the only good things in the whole damn place. Steve cleared his throat a couple of times before Peter looked up at him, a blank look on his face.

“What can I do for your, Rogers?” Peter asked, his voice dry, dull – the pitch of it like he was bored, or something. Tony told him not to engage with the man, they’d been friends or partners at one point, but things went south. The older man didn’t give details and Peter didn’t ask. He simply looked up and tilted his head, the utensil they were allowed gripped tightly in his hand.

“I just wanted to have a little conversation. It’s not often someone comes in and charms the pants off of Tony Stark. Thought I’d get to know a little more about you.” His leer made Peter want to jump out of his seat – the look one that Quill used to throw at him when he’d meet up with him for fill-ups. He didn’t like it then and he sure as hell didn’t like it now. The hair on his neck stood up, his mouth suddenly tongue tied.

A strong hand wrapped around his neck before he could get any words out, the touch immediately recognizable – “He’s not interested, Rogers. As a matter of fact, you sitting in front of him is offending the fuck out of him, isn’t it, Pete?” Tony gripped his neck tightly, his fingers squeezing enough to have Peter tilting his head back a little, eyes wide as he looked at him.

“Yes sir,” he answered swiftly, brown eyes never leaving Tony.

He heard a scoff across the table and felt the whole thing move a little when Steve got up from it. Peter tilted his head down and watched him square up towards Tony, a bunch of emotions tumbling across his eyes in a flash. “You can’t protect him forever, Stark. I’ll find a way to bring you down.” Steve held Tony’s gaze for a moment longer, then turned around and stalked back to his own table, his cronies immediately circling around him.

Tony took a seat next to him and gripped his cheeks. It wouldn’t be long before a guard yelled at him to drop his hands and break apart, so he spoke quickly. “Don’t engage him again. Do you hear me? Rogers is trouble and you’re a target because of me.” His thumbs brushed over Peter’s cheeks quickly, the show of affection rare, especially out in the open like this. Peter blinked a couple of times and nodded, his head in a billion different directions. The small bubble of safety he’d been so immersed in suddenly felt close to popping, his heart slamming against his chest in fear for just a moment.

“I hear you, Tony. I won’t. Promise.” Peter knew the words were true, too. His only desire was to make it out of this alive. At this point in time, Tony offered him the most protection and he wasn’t stupid enough to step outside of it. Clint banged his baton against the edge of their table, effectively pulling them apart. “Hands to yourselves, gentleman,” the guard said, a quirk in his lip as he spoke.

He had that same look on his face when he stepped away from the entrance to the showers a little while later. Peter didn’t hear Bucky until his face was thrumming from the first punch. His foot slipped on the shower floor below him and he hit the tiles hard, his right side protesting his weight. He felt feet slam into his chest and stomach, the lower part of his back and his legs. Curling up into a ball, Peter tried to keep himself as small as possible, the less surface area for them to hit, the less impact he’d have to deal with.

They stopped when he physically couldn’t struggle any longer – all of his limbs like jelly now that the ache and throb of all of his injuries made him feel numb. It took way too long for him to sit up and when Clint eventually came back to his post by the door, he radioed in the incident with a disastrous look on his face. Peter would’ve scowled at him if his eyes weren’t swollen shut.

His stay in the hospital was brief, the stitches on the side of his cheek the worst of the damage. All of the bruises would have to heal on their own, the purple and yellow of them going to be there for a while, if the physician they let him see was to be believed. He got released between mess and yard time, so he stumbled behind his guard until he could see his cell, the place feeling like coming home after 36 hours in nothing but white, his arms and legs strapped to a bed.

The second the new guard on the block, Bruce, left him in the cell, Tony flew off the bed and pulled Peter into his arms. He held back the wince from Tony’s too tight grip, the feeling of the older man’s hands was worth the throb of the bruises that littered his body. Peter let his arms drape loosely around Tony’s hips, his entire being tired – his limbs were beaten, his brain was all over the place; all he wanted to do was lay on the hard mat of his bed and slip into oblivion for a while.

Tony must have noticed because he dragged Peter to his side of the room and followed him onto the bed. Peter rolled towards the wall and shut his eyes, the ability to be in any position other than on his back a true godsend. He felt Tony’s scruff brush against the back of his neck, then heavy arms pulled him until he was pressed against the older man’s chest.

“I took care of it, Pete. No one is ever going to touch you again. No one.” Tony’s voice was gruff, despite not raising above a whispered.

“You’re mine and no one touches what’s mine.”

[having-a-hyperfixate]

Week 3, Day 4

Safety cut, line breaks where the original posts ended.

Ugh, Kubo talks and I feel like a need three showers and to bleach my eardrums. Gross. Please never speak. Ever.

OH SHIT AM I GETTING SHO BACK? IS THAT WHY NAGI WAS ALL UWU ?

Holy shit Fret just. Throwing his backstory at me. Wasn’t ready for that. Okay.

Kariya might be missing which is somewhat concerning. Please just be off somewhere being alarmingly hypercompetent since you currently give a shit.

Lmao Nagi: “I had assumed they were close comrades experiencing a rough patch.” They’re kinda always like this, even when everything isn’t a disaster.

-----------------------

‘Let’s go toward Cat Street’ says Fret. GUESS WHO’S STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF CAT STREET. Fret is a wizard.

Oh god NO. No nonono. We HAVE to fix him. We have to.

Oh noooo we’re in thought viewing mode not fight mode. No don’t do this to me. Kariya no what did you do why didn’t you wait for us!

Please wake up. Oh thank FUCK. I can’t take these heart attacks.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be much of a loss.” I see you. Gonna make her mad enough to slip into admitting she cares? Oh, these two.

-----------------------

Well that was unsettling. A bunch of Noise possessed people in the RG just coming for me.

There’s no way this is as simple as just clearing out Miyashita Park earlier.

-----------------------

OH.

NO.

WE. WE HAVE TO- PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME HURT KARIYA PLEASE. HOW DID KUBO GET HIM AGAIN?!?! NOOOnononono SHIT. 

OH FUCK HE GOT UZUKI TO!!?!??!

PLEASE DON’T!!!

WAIT I THINK SHE KILLED IT TO PROTECT HIM I THOUGHT KUBO WAS GONNA MAKE HER KILL HIM FOR A SECOND THERE THIS IS VERY STRESSFUL HELP. DAY FOUR AND UDAGAWA STRIKE AGAIN AH.

Oh good she’s definitely officially on board with damage control in the RG.

Kariya just shook it off when she called his name oh my god my heart. I have died. HUGS. NOW. Also she absolutely deserves to punch him at least once for that heart attack. Fucking fuck.

Yaaaaaass tell sleezy to fuck himself.

We’ve officially joined forced fuck yeah.

God these two are just. I love them.

Three bears and a bunch of wolves in this tiny space was NOT COOL, game. I don’t know how I got to 300 to heal but I managed it and therefore didn’t die but it was close.

SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

HE BACK. HE JUST SHANKED SLEEZY FUCK YES. VERY NICE.

Lmao Beat’s face. I have been waiting for that. XD Honestly, I would also like to know what he’s doing here, although I had a few guesses, and then I read some of the one secret report.

Fret in this case Reminding Beat miiiight not have been the best move their history is a hot mess.

“How you understand all that math shit comin’ out of his mouth?” “We don’t! But he helped us out, so who cares?” I mean, Rindo was googling it. So you understood SOME of it.

(Speaking of Minamimoto’s nonsense, a friend who just started playing, who I had told about the Ruinbringers always asking for ‘one more round’, got to the part where he says ‘this game is -insert some number-’. It’s a CYCLIC NUMBER. Because the Shinjuku Reapers have the Game trapped in an endless cycle. He did tell us what was us, just in the least helpful way possible.)

Nagi: Something has changed while he was away. He’s serious now. And things might be about to get even worse if he’s shown back up.

Oh good. Nagi was mid-word and the music stopped. I do not want to press the button.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO it’s the remix of Minimimoto’s boss theme niiiiiice.

There are so many birds oh boy.

RINDO HAS BEEN MAKING THEM!?! (this remix kicks ass btw) Okay not making but summoning?

Uh. Minamimoto, you good? What are you doing?? Um, hello, is that Leo Cantus? I will be very annoyed if I have to fight Leo Cantus.

GREAT. FUCK SAKE SHO. *headdesk* IDIOT.

-----------------------

Okay Beat you had better be staying behind because you know something I don’t or I am going to kick you ass myself. If he wanted them to leave, he should just say that it’ll be easier for him to zoom himself out of there than the whole party. Would at least be somewhat reasonable. 

OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

I. I. HE. I. I’M CRYING. I’m sitting here after the full-motion cutscene, paused, hyperventilating and crying and Twister is playing in the background and I just…

I thought we had lost Beat. And then I thought maybe Minamimoto changed his mind. But no, it was so much better than that.

Neku.

We found him. Everything is still a mess and so many people are dead but we found him and I’m gonna start crying again.

I dropped my controller when the camera panned up and I realized for sure. It landed on the L2 button and paused on me.

It’s been literally 10 minutes jeez.

-----------------------

Everyone else being like ‘who’s this guy’ when I’ve just died of an emotional tsunami is kinda hilarious.

Sho, you are spectacularly unhelpful. Learn to actually work with people. You will get killed less. *sigh* I had hope that you would actually get somewhere but alas.

Oh good. Rindo got a vision of himself having a total breakdown. That’s promising.

I feel like I need a nap. I’ve been on a rollercoaster of emotions and I’ve given myself a headache with that complete flail-fest.

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE SERIES: My Favorite One Piece Arc with Daniel Barnes

  I love One Piece and I love talking to people who love One Piece. And with the series going on 23 years now, there is a whole lot to talk about. As the series is about to publish its 1000th chapter, a true feat in and of itself, we thought we should reflect upon the high-seas adventure and sit down with some notable names in the One Piece fan community and chat about the arcs they found to be especially important, or just ones they really, really liked.

  Welcome to the next article in the series "My Favorite One Piece Arc!"

  My next guest in this series is Daniel Barnes, writer for the Aggretsuko comic, and his original graphic novel The Black Mage. For my chat with him, he chose the Marineford arc, in which Luffy drops into a World Government headquarters in a desperate race against time to save his "brother" Ace from execution.

  A note on spoilers: If you haven't seen the Marineford arc yet, this interview does contain major plot points. Watch the Marineford arc starting RIGHT HERE if you'd like to catch up or rewatch!

    Dan Dockery: Let’s say that for some reason, I get to the end of Impel Down, just before Luffy & Co. drop into Marineford, and I’m like “I’m done. This is it. I can’t handle any more One Piece.” In one sentence, what do you tell me to keep me going?

  Daniel Barnes: Why are you stopping before you reach the payoff of everything you’ve read so far?

  I like that! How long have you been into One Piece?

  When I first started consuming One Piece in earnest, ironically enough, I was in the Navy at the time. It was 2014, and up until that point, my only exposure had been the 4Kids dub on FoxBox.

    Nice. I love a good FoxBox reference. Was it recommended to you? Because I know that, when a lot of people start One Piece, it’s like “FINE. I’ll watch One Piece. You’ve convinced me.”

  I don’t consume anime as voraciously as I did back then. Back then, I was an anime vacuum, but I was also in this weird spot where I was semi-depressed. But someone told me, “You gotta try One Piece, it’s the best.” And my first reaction was “Umm, the art style’s kinda weird, though.” But they told me “You’ll get over it,” and the thing that made me finally take that leap was Gurren Lagann, which also had an unusual art style and then became one of my favorite things ever. So I figured I should at least give it a shot. 

  That’s something I’ve heard a few times. Because in other big series like Naruto and Bleach, the character designs are much more proportionate and straightforward. And I felt the same way...until I watched it, and realized the art style is PERFECT for what it is. So, Marineford is pretty much the halfway point of the series, with characters returning from all over the place. Were there any that you were excited to see come back?

  There’s a few of them. I always love it when Mihawk shows up, but I think the big one is Whitebeard. Because up until this point, he’s just sitting around and you know he’s a big deal but you’re always wondering why he’s a big deal. And then you find out in Marineford. I enjoy seeing characters that are kind of defined as the “power ceiling” in an anime universe get to do stuff, and it was cool to see him make the entire world quake.

    I think I called it in an article a “Be Quiet, The Parents Are Talking” character. You’ll go through Luffy getting new power-ups and increasingly strong villains and these seemingly insurmountable admirals with their elemental powers and then Whitebeard comes in, and he’s leaps and bounds above everyone. And like you said, for the most part, he’s just sitting down beforehand.

  Yeah, he’s sitting down drinking a giant gourd of sake. His name is Whitebeard, but he doesn’t have a beard. Got a real Hulk Hogan vibe to him. Who is this guy? But then you finally see him after all this time, and that’s the magic of One Piece. You see all of these things over the years and you wonder what part they’ll play and then it finally hits you and their role and strength becomes clear. 

  Marineford, obviously, is all built around Ace. And what you get out of the arc probably depends on how much you enjoy Ace’s character. How did you feel about him? Did it make you emotional at all? I know he has the one scene with Garp where they talk about finding your purpose in life, and that really got to me, even though I’m not the biggest fan of Ace.

  Okay, I think Ace looks cool and I think he has good powers, but I didn’t really care that much when he died. I didn’t really know him enough. 

    Were there any characters that you did get attached to or like a lot in Marineford? I know you said you liked Whitebeard and Mihawk, but who was your Marineford MVP? Who shines brightest among all those crazy diamonds?

  Okay, so the cop-out answer is probably Luffy. He’s one of the weakest characters there and he manages to survive and he plays such a big role by rallying everyone despite being constantly outmatched. So, objectively, Luffy. But maybe I give it to Coby, because Coby stands his ground against Akainu. He gives you hope that maybe the Marines can change their ways one day and when he refuses to move in front of an Admiral, I thought that was a real stand-out, awesome moment. 

  So Ace dies, Whitebeard just wrecks Akainu and throws him into a pit, and then, out of nowhere, Blackbeard shows up. Whitebeard beats up Blackbeard and Blackbeard’s forces kill Whitebeard. What do you think about Blackbeard as a villain? Because he’s so unlikeable. He’s underhanded, he whines whenever he gets hurt, he’s super pompous. He has cool powers, but there’s nothing cool about who he is. 

  He’s super interesting, to me. He has a mystery around him with his two Devil Fruit powers, and he doesn’t really fit into any shonen villain stereotype. He’s an inverse of Luffy, but not in all of the super obvious ways. When you first see him in Jaya, you see him start with basically nothing, and you watch him work through the system and the powers that be, just like Luffy. They’re both trying to achieve the same thing and reach the same goal. But Blackbeard’s methods are different. 

    Yeah, Luffy will punch you in the face, while Blackbeard will stab you in the back.

  And getting to see that evolution is great, because they easily could’ve just said, boom, here’s the next big bad guy and given him to you without context. But it’s like I said about One Piece earlier, where it shows you stuff over time and gets you to look forward to what will happen with it later. That’s Blackbeard’s whole appeal. 

  You talked earlier about Coby standing up to Akainu, ready to die for his beliefs. And then Shanks comes and stops the war. How did you feel about that? Because we’re all still waiting to see what his deal is (which as you said is a big part of the continuing appeal of One Piece,) but were you hyped to see him show up?

  I thought it was cool, because One Piece has done a good job of establishing him as an awesome guy. He’s a lot like Zero from Mega Man X, where he shows up at the beginning, they imply how powerful he is, they make the main character want to be as strong as him, and then they take him away and only show him sparingly. So whenever Shanks drops by, he's been handled so well that you’re just on the edge of your seat wondering what he’s gonna do.

    So, after the war is over, Jimbei has to remind Luffy that he still has things worth fighting for. And then, the timeskip. Were you aware that a timeskip was coming?

  Oh yeah. It’s kind of hard to exist on social media and not get a bunch of these little hints about what’s gonna happen. But that was my goal with One Piece for a little while: I’m gonna get to the timeskip. I have to get there. It’s coming, I know it’s coming, I don’t know when it’s coming, but I just have to reach it. 

  There are so many big moments in this arc, but looking back at it, are there any moments that stand out as prime One Piece to you? 

  The obvious one, for me, is when Luffy goes Third Gear and punches the giant out of the way. That’s so cool and such quintessential One Piece. A giant on an arena made of ice and a rubbery kid inflates his fist to make it huge and knocks him around. It’s so weird and it works. 

  ONE PIECE LIGHTNING ROUND!

  Favorite One Piece character?

  Usopp.

  Favorite One Piece villain?

  Crocodile.

  Favorite One Piece arc?

  Sabaody Archipelago.

  Which Devil Fruit would you eat if you had the choice? 

  Bellamy’s Spring Spring fruit. 

  If you had to live on any island in the One Piece universe, which would you choose?

  Does the Gran Tesoro from the Film: Gold movie count? That one’s pretty dope.

  Favorite One Piece fight?

  Luffy vs Blueno, when he first reveals the Second Gear.

  One Piece moment that made you cry the hardest?

  When the Franky Gang beats up Usopp and Nami finds him and Usopp is like “I’m useless. I can’t do anything.” Whenever Usopp gets beaten up, his nose gets all crooked and he loses teeth. There’s so many cartoon-ey visual indicators for Usopp in pain. It got me.

  One Piece moment that made you cheer the loudest?

  When Luffy punches the Celestial Dragon in the face. It’s so cathartic. 

      Stay tuned for the next installment of "My Favorite One Piece Arc" as we speak with One Piece Podcast Co-Host and storyboard artist Steve Yurko about his favorite One Piece arc: Baratie!!

      Daniel Dockery is a Senior Staff Writer for Crunchyroll. Follow him on Twitter!

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features.

By: Daniel Dockery

[thesevenseraphs]

Director’s Cut: Part 1

Hey everyone, 

I wanted to try a little experiment with our communications and put together a longer look at where Destiny has been over the last few months and where it's heading next. I think it's important to take time to reflect on what's happened so we can show you where we're going.  

I'm calling this Director's Cut. Based on how long this ended up being, a key learning from this is "maybe there's a better way to communicate this than a GIANT WALL OF TEXT!" Let me know. I also may like doing it in a different format in the future, I'll let you know.

Today, I'm going to talk about more than just the Destiny game and talk some about how we build Destiny and the effects it can have on the team. I think transparency about the game is important and I also want to be transparent about the work required. Sound OK? That's rhetorical, because a wall of text is coming up.  

We're making a lot of changes to Destiny 2 with Shadowkeep and New Light. We want Destiny 2 to be an amazing action MMO, in a single, evolving world, that you can play anytime, anywhere with your friends. I'm going to keep referencing that. All the time. Until it's true. And then, I'm going to keep referencing it until it's good enough.*

10 THOUGHTS ON THE LAST SIX MONTHS (LOOKING BACK)

Overall, there are some things about Annual Pass that worked out very well and some real learnings for us along the way. The Annual Pass was a big transition for us. We've been moving away from DLC and trying to provide more ongoing reasons to play Destiny. I wanted to start the State of the Game series by looking back at how we got here. I'm going to largely focus on Season of the Drifter to near-present day.  

We set up a calendar of content, showed you the plan early, and delivered it.

A lot of you love Destiny for the chase on the way to improving your characters. Between the Annual Pass drops, questlines, and events in between, the team did a great job of providing stuff to do, items to chase, growing fat with strength, et cetera. Destiny history has had many content droughts, but not this year.  

But, the Annual Pass was harder on the team than we anticipated.

The scope of what we delivered, the pace that we delivered it, and the overall throughput for Annual Pass takes a toll on the Bungie team. I--and many others--had conversations throughout the year with team members--who had jumped from release to release-- about the grind of working on Destiny. Working on the game was starting to wear people down. Here's an example:  

During the annual pass, we invented new, bespoke ways to earn rewards each season. Black Armory had its bounties, Season of the Drifter had the "Reckoning Machine," Season of Opulence had its Chalice. Each of these mechanics - each with their own lessons - were valuable, but also put the team into an unsustainable development cycle. We needed to develop a more systemic, standardized set of mechanics for progression to keep our teams healthier. 

 We're going to take this problem on in D2Y3.

WE HAVE A POWERFUL SOURCES PROBLEM

As the game's weekly sources of Power grew and Destiny grew with it, this  - at times - could really feel like a chore. Each season brought with it new Powerful sources and optimizing your character meant that you were maybe still running three story missions every week or returning to the Dreaming City months after those first few magical trips from last fall.   

I feel like we needed to do a better job of shifting Powerful sources. We could explore things like changing the value of Powerful sources to create new seasonal efficiencies or retire some Powerful sources as we bring new sources into the game. Simply put, I wish we'd been able do more seasonal curation of the game.

SEASON OF THE DRIFTER THOUGHTS, PART I

I like Gambit Prime. It felt like a great refinement of Gambit to me. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.  

Matches end quicker, so it feels more efficient. The invading frequency feels lower, so I can Collect and dunk. I think there's something cool about the roles, although the requirements to get a full set online to inhabit a role meant not enough folks got to appreciate the playstyle diversity.  

In the future, we're going to have to make a choice: Which Gambit is the Highlander of Gambits. Prime or Classic. This isn't just about removing stuff from Destiny 2 -- but the game cannot grow infinitely forever --it's about focusing refinements and evolutions to the Gambit ecosystem. We think Gambit is sweet and deserves more ongoing support and we want to ultimately focus that support on whichever mode ends up being the Highlander. There can be only one.  

That said, we hear you that not everyone is excited about a season that overly focuses on one part of the game. Destiny is a game with a lot of breadth and we agree that this season felt too specialized.

SEASON OF THE DRIFTER THOUGHTS, PART II AKA LET'S TALK ABOUT RECKONING

(and Encounter Design)

The first time I used Phoenix Protocol at home, I knew it was over. It's an exotic coat that refills my Well of Radiance and then refills itself as I "slay," so that I can continue to place my Well of Stand Here to be Borderline Invulnerable and Deal Tons of Damage. Datto has a great video that talks about Well of Radiance's effect on the PVE game. 

I wondered, How are we ever going to make content that fairly challenges players again? 

With Reckoning in Season of the Drifter, we got a taste of what kind of content we'd need to build to challenge Protocol-wearing Warlocks. Matchmade encounters that accost you from all directions, plant snipers off in the distance, and put players in between a pincher attack of many whelps, handle it (I wanted to link a thing here, but it's definitely not T for Teen) and giant bosses (also eff you Knight Taken guy).  

This is what it had to be. We were breaking encounter rules left, right, and center on the Reckoning bridge, in no small part due to players in always-active Wells of Radiance becoming invulnerable gods, holding all six infinity stones all the time. 

In Reckoning, we set out to build an activity that could be relatively easy at Tier 1 and scale up to very challenging at Tier 3. We have an internal team here codenamed: Velveeta (they were formed in the wake of the Crota's End modem-unplugging debacle to help find the cheesiest things to do/use in the challenging PVE portions of the game) – these players are some of our craftiest. 

Once Velveeta can get close to beating something, or beat it outright, that becomes an important data point on our "is this hard enough?" evaluation. We give them a bunch of tips like "here's how this works, can you beat it?”, so if they can, it's a good indicator of the action game and gear game working together.   

Let's talk about encounter design. Generally, in activities we expect players to complete alone (dungeons, raids, zero hour-type activities can play by a different set of properties!) or in matchmade groups, there are a number of guidelines we use when we build them.

We don't want to spawn enemies behind the player.

We want players to play a game of taking space from enemies.

We want players to have cover where their shields and health can recharge, or where they get to be smart using geometry, movement, ability and gunplay to dig enemies out of cover, and make interesting decisions about target prioritization.

We want players to be able to understand where in the space enemies will come from, and if we're going to reverse the combat front on players (AKA spawn enemies behind them, we want to telegraph that.

We use dropships, spawn clouds, audio cues, all kinds of tricks to try and prepare players for reinforcements.

As character power was dramatically increasing (more on reasons for this increase later on), the encounter rules got thrown out the window.

To summarize this: Destiny had sweet gear and in order to create challenge in the Reckoning we broke a bunch of our encounter design philosophy. That sweet gear, coupled with the encounter design meant the number of ways to viably/efficiently progress was dramatically reduced. We want Destiny to be a game where you have lots of choices with your character, build what you choose to do, and funneling those choices down to only one in Reckoning is something we don't want to repeat. There's more about damage and player power sprinkled in this update, and even more on the rest.  

Last, last note: I think it's totally sweet when an activity challenges you to use something other than your favorite item. I don't think the whole game should work that way, but when it's time to bust some shields on the Shanks in Zero Hour, I had a use for that Distant Relation scout rifle in my vault.  

SEASON OF THE DRIFTER THOUGHTS, PART III AKA NOW LET'S TALK ABOUT DIFFICULTY AND TOUCH ON SANDBOX NERFS

I started to talk about challenge/difficulty above and drifted (heh heh) to encounter difficulty. But, it's all related.  When the media would come to play our Halo games for an event, we'd always recommend they play the game on Heroic. Heroic changed a bunch about Halo combat – it made enemy weapons more accurate (but not too accurate); enemies would fire more frequently (which made you feel like a hero when you dodged them); it increased projectile speed; and Heroic lowered player outgoing damage (so that the enemies would survive longer and make their way further through their behavior tree - and therefore appear more intelligent). There's more than just the above going on, but that's a quick summary of some of the changes.  

But here's why: we asked the media to play the game on Heroic, because when the game is challenging, overcoming the challenge feels incredible.

Important to note here: Challenge isn't something universal. In an action game, challenge can be largely personal. One person's challenging might be easy to someone else. We've historically thought about the main Destiny campaigns as something we want to be pretty easy (I think D2's campaign was actually too easy at times), and as players push further into the post-game they'd be able to find more challenge. Across Destiny's history we haven't had enough challenge deep into the end game, and that's definitely something on our list as we head toward fall 2019.  

Overcoming challenges is a huge part of what makes an action game's moment-to-moment engaging. Action games are a delicate balance of growing stronger, the game rising up to push back, introducing new challenges that force you to learn/become more powerful/master a new element and -- at their best -- creating the fist pumping moment of celebration when you achieve victory. 

But Destiny has an RPG component, too. And the RPG component is about customization, optimization, and it's a way for players to choose how they overcome challenge. The entire time we've been making Destiny, the action game and the RPG have been fighting. It's the forever war. The RPG has the power to dramatically overcome the action game, and the action game has the power to render the RPG game irrelevant. It's a line - by nature - Destiny will always have to straddle.  

In order to create challenge during Season of the Drifter, we needed to break a bunch of encounter rules, have exotics like Phoenix Protocol basically function like a key (or hope you match with multiple Radiance Warlocks) which then unlocks success in the matchmade encounters of Reckoning. There's a really good video from Slayerage on this in the context of the nerfs we made heading into Season of Opulence.  

Those nerfs also saw Whisper of the Worm get its day in court. If I could turn back time, we'd probably not run Whisper as the original Black Hammer infinite ammo design. However, considering the year before had Destiny 2 feeling very restrictive and power-limited, I think we did the best that we could with the knowledge and intuition we had last summer.  

Whisper was an outlier that lets you stand still at a safe distance, in a pool that makes you borderline invulnerable, never having to reload or relocate for ammo, and allow players to deal piles and piles of damage on giant bosses who aren't threatening. This isn't your fault! It's ours! We're making some stuff too easy and allowing players to circumvent parts of the game! Mechanics that circumvent the ammo game (relocate to pick up ammo bricks) or completely ignore the reload animations (a critical part of weapon tuning) are mechanics that create the kind of outliers that we ultimately have to tamp down before the game spirals into the boss health version of Reckoning bridges.  

The other significant set of changes we made to the game during this time were taking down the Super Snowball exotics. With as powerful as Destiny Supers have become (they are - on the whole - dramatically more powerful than Destiny 1's Supers), using your Super to recover your Super is an amplification to player power that the challenge and difficulty game can't keep up with. But, we're going to talk about Supers much later on. 

Difficulty and challenge are important parts of mastery. There are more changes coming in Shadowkeep (buffs to things like Scout Rifles, nerfs to mechanics that circumvent the ammo economy, refactoring of the way damage stacking rules work) -- we're gonna talk about it in the next episode.  

SEASON OF OPULENCE, PART I: THE PURSUITS TRAY IS A CATERPILLAR IN A COCOON–QUESTLOG IS THE BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY

I've seen streams and videos of people beating activities in Destiny blindfolded. I cannot imagine developing the muscle memory and memorization (nevermind the thumbskill required) to be good at Destiny with the blast shield down.  

When things fundamentally change in a way that interrupts muscle memory and mastery, it is frustrating. The initial set of changes to the Pursuits tray earlier this year did a few things beyond upsetting muscle memory. It certainly didn't get as far as the team wanted in its initial release and it also didn't feel like an improvement over what previously existed.  

It felt like we started to redecorate your house but we didn't finish it (and sometimes, that's how things in a live game can feel).  

The morning after the Pursuits changes went live, I talked to some folks on the UI team about the feature. They had Reddit open.  

"Have you read it, Luke?" 

"Nah, I haven't." 

"Please don't."  

They were crestfallen. Not just because of the sometimes-harsh-feeling feedback, but because this team wanted make something sweet, exceed your expectations, and meet their own expectations. None of those things happened. We wanted to try something different with Pursuits, in the sense that we knew where we wanted this feature to end up, but that we'd take some iterative steps to get there. I think we've got to do a better job ensuring that while we're remodeling your house, the potential of the renovation is clearer either in the game or via some communication here on the site.  

We want a Questlog with great tracking that can help players prioritize what to do next.

Oh, and this fall, bounties will be separated from quests and PC players can assign a hot key that takes them directly to the Pursuits menu.

SEASON OF OPULENCE, PART II: THE EVOLVING EVERVERSE

Last year, we thought long and hard about Eververse and how we wanted to change the strategy around microtransactions in Destiny.  As some folks have smartly pointed out, MTX is a big part of our business being a live game. I'm not going to say "MTX funds the studio" or "pays for projects like Shadowkeep" -- it doesn't wholly fund either of those things. But it does help fund ongoing development of Destiny 2, and allows us to fund creative efforts we otherwise couldn't afford. For example: Whisper of the Worm's ornaments were successful enough that it paid [dev cost-wise] for the Zero Hour mission/rewards to be constructed (this shit matters!).  

The storefront, which we launched alongside Season of Opulence is the first part of the strategic shift we're making with MTX. The decision to run old content in Bright Engrams instead of making new Bright Engrams is another part of the shift. We want to believe that our players would rather just buy things they like from the store. Earlier this summer, we detailed a bunch of the changes coming to Bright Dust and Eververse this fall (and if you haven't read that, go check it out here).  

The storefront is going to get another round of enhancements this fall, too. We're going to move it to the Director, so you don't have go to the Tower and see Tess to interact with it. We're giving it some Class specific content, so if you're on your Titan looking for Titan Universal Ornaments with smaller shoulders, you'll see Titan armor on one of the store's subpages. We're also going to make it so that the pieces you've already acquired from a given set reduce the Silver price of the set. For instance, if you are 3/5 Optimacy set on your Titan, the cost to finish the set in Silver will be reduced by 60%.  

There are some other philosophies here that we haven't made explicitly clear:

We have made deliberate choices related to cosmetic items and not having them come from gameplay. Gameplay rewards are where you get items, power, mods, perk combinations, stats, triumphs, and titles. The aesthetics for armor blurs the line some – we want players to get cool armor from activities and the world that feel thematic to where they were acquired. Cosmetic items like universal ornaments, weapon ornaments, shaders, ships, sparrows, emotes, and finishers typically come from the store (There are exceptions, but generally speaking, that's how we think about this).  

We are continuing to try and separate capability/gameplay from vanity. Armor 2.0 and Universal Ornaments are big parts of this separation. This is also why Finisher perks are mods that can be socketed into equipment, so that their aesthetic can stand alone. 

 As always, we welcome your feedback and thoughts.

SEASON OF OPULENCE, PART III: THE MENAGERIE IS SWEET

Have you ever been to an amazing party for something like the Super Bowl? It's the kind of party where there is an incredible spread of snacks rolling out throughout the event, amazingly comfortable seating, an A/V system and TV that makes you jealous, and super sweet people to hang out with. Once you've been to this party -- the Super Bowl anywhere else never feels the same (invite me back somedayyyyyyyyy).  

This is how I feel about Escalation Protocol. Once I had the feeling of running around in public bubbles, fighting giant bosses with a bunch of players (even though getting into a good instance of Mars for Protocol was a pain in the butt!), public gameplay never felt the same. At its peak, when you have a bunch of players slaying big ol' bosses, Escalation Protocol is one of the best things we've added to Destiny 2. 

The Menagerie - a six-player matchmade activity where you make progress no matter what - is awesome. Its "learn-by-watching mechanics" means that it doesn't require communication between players. The way groups can make progress - even if they don't kill the boss - means the real efficiency gain is by learning and executing the fights quickly. Hasapiko, Beloved by Calus -- and also beloved by me -- feels like a great translation of World of Warcraft's Heigan the Unclean** into an action game.  

There's a lot to like about the Menagerie, but I'm going to close the activity part here with: We love the Menagerie, it's a great middle spot on a six-player activity pyramid, with Raids sitting at the top. Escalation Protocol (aka Partying in Public) is a great base. We want to do more activities like this, but in the context of what we learned and in a way that we can better support them over the long-term.

SEASON OF OPULENCE, PART IV: THE CHALICE OF OPULENCE AND SOMEHOW EVEN MORE SEASON OF THE DRIFTER THOUGHTS

Having some ways to target and farm some specific gear in Destiny is great. We did a version of this with Black Armory weapons but the very, very long character-specific attunement questline for the Forges was a bit much. We made the Opulence attunement account-wide as a result.  The Chalice was an even bigger version of targeting rewards. Players could unlock different sets of armor, different weapons, and even select their Masterwork perk roll.  

Pause on Chalice thoughts.

We will come back to the Chalice. Let's talk about how we build the game.  

While content for Destiny is released serially, it is largely developed in parallel. For instance, while Forsaken was in its final few months, Black Armory was well underway, and Season of the Drifter was in development while Black Armory was being built, et cetera. For years people have wondered "Why doesn't release X do the thing content drop Y did? Get it together, Bungie."  

This is one of the reasons why. So even though Menagerie is sweet, and Chalice is great, while Shadowkeep was being built, the Menagerie and the Chalice hadn't yet been released. So we didn't know how players would react.  

Because we have so much to build, we frequently find ourselves having to place many bets at the same time. This has paid dividends at times – we discover new and awesome things like Escalation Protocol or Menagerie - and this has also resulted in things that feel like setbacks at other times.  

An example of a setback is the reward chase during Season of the Drifter. There are a bunch of super awesome weapons in Drifter (One Two Punch Last Man Standing), but the path to them isn't clear like Black Armory or the Chalice. We didn't do a good enough job of rewarding players for their time or giving them clearer paths to some of the sweet weapons in the release. If we had a do-over with this season's rewards we'd probably have dropped Armor directly from Prime and maybe used Reckoning combined with learnings from Menagerie's fail forward mechanics to let players chase awesome rolls on weapons they could love. While I got pretty lucky with a Rapid Hit Kill Clip Spare Rations, I personally had more fun chasing my Kindled Orchid or Austringer.  

Unpause. Back to Chalice.

The Chalice isn't perfect. Being held hostage by THE rune you want to drop from a Strike or Crucible to go make the weapon or armor piece you're coveting is pretty frustrating.  

But having more ways in the game to pursue loot in a deterministic fashion, while preserving the hunt for a great roll, is something that we hope to explore.

Things left unsaid-ish while looking back

There's a lot a lot a lot of awesome stuff we didn't spend time talking about (Tribute Hall, Lumina, that cool Drifter cinematic with the Taken Captain, lore books, Vanguard/Drifter choice, et cetera).

Full disclosure: I'm almost always going to focus on opportunities for improvement, rather than celebration!

We're in the midst of Solstice and Moments of Triumph so the learnings for those are still bubbling up.  

Looking Ahead to Looking Ahead

The rest of the Director’s Cut updates are going to focus on Shadowkeep and the changes we’re making this year. Here are some of the topics that will be included:

Supers and PVP in Destiny 2

Armor, Stats, Mods, and Tradeoffs

Powerful Sources, Prime Engrams and the World

Damage numbers, damage stacking rules

And more

I know this is a lot to read (because it was a lot to write). I appreciate you taking the time to make it this far. Like all things with Destiny, it's a journey. The next two parts of this journey will look at the RPG and Combat game. 

See you soon, 

Luke Smith  

*It's a set of aspirational goals that can help guide the team to create better experiences for players who love Destiny. And it's a simple way to describe how we're thinking about the game to all of you. And even when it's true, there will always be work left to do. And we're committed to it.  

**Fun fact: Heigan the Unclean was often called the "dance" boss in the WoW Raid Naxxaramas and Hasapiko means "the butcher's dance" in Greek. It's a little nod back to Blizzard's Xûr reference.

[hopelesstargazer]

End of the Year Tag

So....I was tagged by @saijspellhart....never done one of these before so here goes nothing.

~favourite food?~

Okay, so I am a Minnesota raised girl and do love a good wild rice hotdish (and yes there is a difference between hotdish and casserole and if you don’t know, let me know so I can explain!). However my favorite food is either pupusas or pozole (latino cuisine). Both of them I over eat when my godchildren cook them for me and never regret it!

~favourite drink?~

Ummmm....Diet Pespi. Yeah, we won’t get into how cranky I get if I don’t have at least one pop a day. My godsons might have a story or two about how possessive I get in the late morning over my can of pop on the weekends....

~favourite clothing?~

My Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fleece pants and my long sleeve Cuddle-Duds. Comfort for the win. After a long day of dealing with people, nothing is more comforting than cozy wear. 

~favourite product?~

.....Pespi?.....I think. Does that count when you are an addict? Like can a pot head say that their favorite product is potbrownies? If not, I would say Google! Because it owns me and my information searching needs. After all, if you don’t know something, Lord Google will know it. Thus, All Hail Lord Google!

~favourite month?~

I’ve never thought about it. I guess you could say I like March. It was the month I was born and I like the little myth that comes with the month. The month of the Lion and the Lamb. My grandmother (a wonderful mother to 11 and a farmer in Northern MN) would always tell me that you knew how the month would go in the very beginning. If the weather was shitty and roaring at the start, it would leave calm and sweet at the end. Or in other words, if March came in like a Lion, it would leave like a Lamb. Of course, the opposite applies as well. If this is true, I honestly couldn’t say. I think it does, but I’m already bias so who really knows?

~favourite season?~

I’m fond of either Spring or Fall. It’s not too cold, but it’s not too hot. You really get those glorious days where the sun is shining, the air is crisp, and there is a magnitude of colors everywhere. It is just rejuvenating. 

~favourite holiday?~

I’m partial to Easter. And before you ask, yes I happen to be Christian, BUT that is not why I like the holiday. I like Easter because it symbolizes rebirth. It symbolizes a new beginning, a fresh start. When you go into this season, you might have just experienced a shitty winter or the pervious year was just horrific. Thus, your soul is all crusty and flaky and thinking that nothing gets better. Then this season of new beginnings start and there are baby animals, new flowers, laughing children, and brightly colored eggs everywhere! It is a reminder that life is nothing more than a cycle. Yes, horrible things can and will happen to you. Yes, it will be dark and sad to deal with it all. Winter, both figuratively (in your heart/soul) and literally, SUCK ASS! But! BUT! There will always be a moment of something new. Something bright. Something colorful. Something living. Something that will bring you up out of the ground of cold despair and into the light of a new beginning. Even if it is for a moment, it is there. Easter is the holiday/season that best represents what it means to be human. A shitty start that only turns into the brightest and warms of sun rays. And that is my Ted Talk, thank you for listening.

~favourite place?~

Minnehaha Falls! Gooseberry Falls! Or any waterfall. I adore waterfalls. The sound of crashing water and rushing waves drowning out bad thoughts. The scent of crisp water pulling you into the moment. The sensations of moving water rumbling in your chest. The sight of dancing sprites in the sky as water droplets create rainbows. Cold water taking the heat from your body only to leave a pleasant tingle in its wake. *blush**cough* I’ll stop with the poetry now.

~best experience?~

So, I took a trip to Scotland with my Father at the beginning of this year. I would definitely say that was my best experience of 2018.

~best song?~

Best song? Of all time or this year? This year I really like Burning Man by Dierks Bentley. Of all time, you can’t beat the Hokey Pokey. It is a must have dance song at every public gathering. I have no shame when I say that I request it and drag EVERYONE to the dance floor. 

~best movie?~

We have to clarify this nonsense for next year. Honestly, it’s just too vague. Best movie? This year? Of all time? Genre? Or is it just me that over thinks this stuff? *sigh* Okay, I thought Black Panther was extremely good, not just because it was an excellent superhero movie, had amazing female leads, astonishing action sequences, and wonderful humor. It really made me think about how hatred can pass down through the generations. It made me reevaluate how I teach my students in karate class and how I speak with/to them about social problems. Since most of them are immigrants or children of immigrants, it was an eye opening experience. Let’s leave it at that.

~best series?~

TV series right? (again with the over thinking simple questions) I really enjoyed Miraculous Ladybug, Voltron, How to Train Your Dragon, The Dragon Prince, and My Hero Academia. Granted, I also rewatch a bunch of anime classics as I taught the ways of being a nerd to my godsons. I’m proud to say that we have finally left the realm of Naruto and moved on to the great chasm that is known as Deathnote and One Piece.

~best book?~

Okay, so this one is exciting for me. I was suffering Tumblr and found a post that simple said “if Deadpool wrote a book, this would be it.” So of course, the ten year that still loves poop jokes and crude humor in me scream in joy and bought the book. It is called “Zeus Grants Stupid Wishes: A No-Bullshit Guide to World Mythology” by Cory O’Brien. I wish I could find the link so you could read some excerpts from it. I’ll just have to quote it.

“So one night Uranus is about to get busy with Gaia again I guess so he can father another baby and then stuff it back into her but instead of getting sex he gets a SURPRISE PENISECTOMY”

“So the moral of the story is that if you are not ready to be a father consider all of your options before skipping directly to cannibalism”

“ARE YOU READY FOR DISTENDED RACCOON TESTICLES? NO? WELL, YOU BETTER GET READY QUICK BECAUSE JAPAN JUST CALLED AND IT’S ‘BOUT TO DELIVER ONE WHOPPER OF A BALLSACK TO THE BAINPAN”

“So the moral of the story is that we should seriously consider firing the moon because I didn’t know we could do that and I bet we have the technology now to genetically engineer a WAY BETTER MOON than some dumb rabbit.”

So...10/10, greatest book I’ve read this year

~best video game?~

I don’t play many video games. Frankly, if it is not a bashing the buttons kind of game, I’m no good at it. Thus, I really like Shounen Jump battle game. I can hit random buttons while having no real skills. I also like watching people play them. That would lead me to Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Such a pretty game!

~have you unlearned any bad habits?~

hahahaha...oh, are you serious?

~biggest disappointment?~

I didn’t get back into college like I planned on. I just couldn’t find the time to give myself in order to achieve what I wanted. 

~worst experience?~

If we are talking about this year, then that would go to almost dying in a bus accident in the middle of the Highlands in Scotland. It’s a great story that I love to tell, because it turns out to be the funniest tale of my really long list of horrific stories. Minus the thought of dying on some random hill and how inconvenient it would have been for my mother to retrieve our bodies cause I didn’t buy travel insurance. 

However, if we are talking about ever in our lives, then that golden trophy would go to the time I, a store manager at Dollar Tree, was threaten with a plastic shank over $0.50 on hour 15 of my shift where I slept in the store that night so I could be there for the delivery at 5AM. That was horrible. Funny in hindsight, but horrible at the same time. Let me know, I can tell that story too.

~any new hobbies?~

Where do people find the time to start new hobbies? Serious, could you donate that precious time into a bank so I could have some? I would greatly appreciate it. 

~did you achieve your goals for 2018?~

hahahahahaha....oh, you’re serious again?

~have you fulfilled a long-term wish?~

Ah, this it did! So, back in 2011, I studied abroad in Scotland and vowed to take my father back so he could see the country that I fell completely in love with. Severely in love with. Like, I would marry any Scottish man that said to me, “Ach, lassie, yer bonnie and me heart tis yers. I have this castle in ta middle of the great Highlands. Would ye leave with me to Gretna Green to marry ov’r an blacksmith’s iron?” I would say yes in a heart beat. A HEARTBEAT YOU HEAR?!

~have you tried something new this year?~

um, I dressed myself in a kimono for the first time by myself. That was stupid hard. Also, I did a bang up job if I do say so myself (after the fourth attempt). 

~what plans or wishes do you have for next year?~

Let’s see, I am the best man at my best friend’s wedding in May, so I got that going. Also, in September, I’ll be going to Japan to visit my sister who is working as an English teacher, so I got that to look forward too. I would love to find some time to myself so I can try and finish my college degree that I started back in 2009. Cross your fingers. Also, I would like to complete this book I’m writing for myself. I would really like that. Oh, and finally, sleep more. Yeah, sleep. Good thing that is.

~what was the funniest moment?~

Serious, I teach kiddos karate at my church. I have no shortage of amazing moments in my life. Also I have three godsons and a goddaughter, stories are made every weekend. But I can tell you one of my favorites.

So, I’m teaching this not-yet-seven-year-old an introductory class to karate. I’m explaining to him that not only does yelling scare the bad guys away, but it tells the teacher that you are breathing. So I asked him playfully, “Do you like to breath?” And he stops all motion and looks at me. Then he shrugs and says “not really.” Needless to say, I too stop to stare at him, stunned by a response that I had NEVER received in my 13+ years of teaching children karate. So, I logically asked why not. This tiny little american-latino child that comes up to my waist tells me with the straightest face I have ever seen “Cause it take a lot of work to breath and I don’t know if I have the time for that.” (#mood much?) I’m losing my mind trying to hold in my laughter. Thus I spend the next few minutes with a 6 year-old having a philosophical discussion about the pros and cons of breathing. Eventually, we agree that blue is an ugly color on people’s face and we cannot do karate in our sleep so he had to stay awake and moving instead of passed out on the floor due to the lack of air in his body. Once that was establish, I asked another instructor to take over because I simply had to find a corner to sit in as I collected my laughing ass off the floor.

I will forever remember this child as the boy that I had to convince that breathing was a good thing and made me almost piss my pants in the middle of karate class. TWICE because that little stinker had to randomly blurt out in the middle of a different class weeks later that we were wrong because blue was a flattering shade on dead people and we should not be racist to dead people. 

I will now kindly remind you that this boy is 7 YEARS OLD. 

~what are you thankful for?~

I am thankful for family and friends. I am also thankful to @saijspellhart. In my desire to let her know that she is not alone, I am finding the courage to become more open with myself and other around me. So thank you. I hope that this year will be a rebirth for both of us and tons of smiles for everyone that reads this.

As for tagging other Tumblr users, I am too damn shy for that. Instead, if you are reading this and want to do this, tag me! I would love to get to know you and your likes. It’s nice to see the humanity on this site. Thank you for getting to the end and I hope to get to know you too!

[kayetaz1]

Everything I Ask For | Newt x Reader

Request: Hey love your imagines! Could you please do one with Newt where a new girl comes up and they are soul mates and Minho flirts with her and Newt gets mad? Thank you - Anonymous

 Warnings: None Word count: 2,258

 A/N: Thank you for the request! This was fun and cute to write. There’s a tiny bit of fluff at the end but I was trying to keep it from getting too long. I hope you like it!

The thing about drowning is that it is not a quick and merciful death. The pain in your head and chest before you’re allowed to finally die is so severe that you are forced to gasp for air even if you’re surrounded in water.

But I was no longer in water.

I cough harshly, my lungs desperately filling with oxygen as I begin to drunkenly take in my surroundings. I was in some kind of a metal cage that was moving up like an elevator, only much faster than I can remember an elevator moving. As I try to pinpoint an exact memory of being in an elevator, I realize that I don’t know anything: like how I got here, where I’m going, or even my own name.

The cage only seems to be getting faster and I try to scream, but I can only cough up more fluid. After a minute, I manage to hoarsely yell, “Help!” as if it would do anything.

As quickly as it started moving, it has now come to a stop and I squint into the harsh light as the doors above me are slowly opened. Figures appear in the light, but my eyes still haven’t adjusted enough to make them out.

“It’s a girl,” one of the blobs says with confusion before jumping into the cage in front of me.

He’s close enough now that I can make out some features: he’s tall, with short spikey hair and dark brown eyes. His eyebrows raise even higher as he looks over me, like I’m a show piece and not a person.

When I look up again, I see twenty or thirty people start to come into focus. I can see why the one in front of me had made a comment about my gender – they’re all boys.

He takes another step towards me, his height becoming even more intimidating and I quickly retreat away from him, my back hitting the back of the cage. There’s a screwdriver rolling around and I grab it and point it at him.

“Alright, Greenie, it’s okay. No need for that,” the tall boy says but he takes another threatening step so I stab one of his outstretched hands and run behind a stack of crates.

“Ow!” he yells and starts walking towards me again but another guy jumps in behind him and puts a hand on his back which stops him in his tracks.

The tall boy rolls his eyes and climbs out of the cage while the shorter one advances towards me. I hold out the screwdriver in the same defensive position and he holds his hands up and stays in his spot.

“You’re okay, love,” he says in a funny accent. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“You’re not?” I ask, finally finding my voice.

He smiles kindly and shakes his head at me.

“Good,” I say, before throwing the screwdriver at him with all of my might and climbing up the back wall of the cage, away from where the other boys were peering down at me like I was an animal in a zoo.

I take off in a sprint away from them, taking in the new environment. As far as my peripheral could tell, the place was surrounded by a tall cement wall. There’s a huge opening just ahead of me so I make that my goal destination. To my disappointment though, two guys emerge from it as I almost get close enough to go through.

“Whoa!” one of them yells as they grab me, holding tightly onto my arms and not letting me get further towards the wall.

“Let go of me!” I scream, and I can hear the boys that surrounded the cage catching up.

The second boy comes back over to me, a tiny blood spot on his collarbone from where the screwdriver made contact. “Please don’t run!”

“Okay,” I tell him, and he looks at me for a second before nodding to the Asian boy who was holding me and I’m let go.

I stay in my spot, fixing my jacket which got tousled up during my unsuccessful escape. I look back up to the second boy. He’s a few inches taller than me, with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. His hands are still up in a cautious position as he gets a few steps closer to me.

“Good,” he says, hesitantly, “I’m Newt. Do you remember your name or anything about yourself?”

I shake my head immediately. “No, I swear. I don’t know anything. I can’t-“

“It’s okay!” he says, stopping me. “It’s normal. We’ve all been through it. I can’t say much for any of your other memories, but you’ll get your name back in a few days.”

I nod at him, looking around at the whole area now. The walls go around the entire perimeter, with three other entrances besides the one now right behind me.

Newt sees me looking at the wall. “You can’t go out those doors.”

“Why? They did!” I say angrily, pointing at the two guys to my left with the funny looking leather packs.

“I’ll explain that. I’ll explain everything. Just please promise me you won’t try to leave again,” Newt says.

I take a deep breath, looking at the eyes surrounding me. Although most of them look confused, none look particularly malicious. I nod my head in response.

“Good that,” he says. “Alright, the rest of you bloody shanks need to get back to work. You know the drill. The rules don’t change just because there’s a girl now.”

The population begins to drift off towards other parts of the land, none of them going anywhere near the doors.

Newt walks closer to me, gesturing to the area around us. “Now, let me give you the tour.”

 --

 The sun – which I now know is artificial – has gone down and the ‘Gladers’ are throwing a bonfire. Newt says they do it every time someone new comes up. To me, it just seems like a reason for a bunch of teenage boys to get drunk and hit each other.

Newt hasn’t left my side the whole day, and is currently sitting next to me against a log trying to get me to drink out of a jar with a gross brown liquid inside.

“No, thanks. You should never drink anything a stranger offers you. Haven’t you seen the movies?”

Newt’s eyebrows furrow. “Which movies?”

I stare at the ground, biting my lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Look,” he says and takes a big gulp of the contents, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. “See? I wouldn’t drink it if it were poisonous.”

I roll my eyes and take the jar from him, taking a sip and grimacing as it burns my throat.

I hand it back to him but he only stares at me, wide-eyed.

“What?” I ask, starting to freak out. “Oh, god, it was poison, wasn’t it?”

“No!” he laughs, setting the jar down in between us. “I just have never seen a Greenie not spit it right back out.”

“Well, it’s disgusting. That’s for sure.”

Newt points back to the tall, threatening boy from early who I now know as Gally. “Gally’s recipe. Tastes like klunk but it gets the job done.”

I’m still working on the terminology of this place, but I do know that was my first and last sip of that stuff.

Newt scratches at his wrist again, cursing under his breath as he watches the rest of the Gladers.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” I finally ask, since he’s been messing about with it since my tour earlier.

“Just my soulmate mark,” he answers as if that were any kind of reasonable response.

“Your what?” I ask.

He laughs at me. “You know, the name tattooed on your wrist that tells you who your soulmate is.”

“You have a soulmate?”

He chuckles again. “Everyone does.”

“Okay, then what’s the name of yours?” I ask him, afraid to look at my own wrist.

He frowns. “I don’t know. It’s still blank. But it’s been itching. I bet it’ll show up any day now.”

I lean back further on the log. “Do you think it’ll be Gally or Winston?”

“Neither. I think it’ll be Jeff,” he says without missing a beat, making me crack up.

“Seriously?” I ask.

“No!” he laughs. “I’m not gay. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be someone I’ve met yet.”

My stomach seems to fall a little at that. If I were his soulmate, it would’ve at least shown up after we met. But I push the thought aside. Just because he was nice to me today doesn’t mean he’s my soulmate.

Nevertheless, I look down at my wrist and see… nothing.

“I guess I haven’t met my Prince Charming yet either,” I say, showing him my blank wrist.

He smiles at me. “Good that. You don’t want any of these shanks anyway.”

“No,” I sigh, “I guess not.”

 --

 It’s been almost two months since I’ve come up in the box and I still don’t remember my name. The guys started calling me Red because I manage to make either myself or someone else bleed almost every day.

Last week, I was getting bandaged up for cutting my hand on the plant scissors. I think Newt sweet talked his way into making me a Track-hoe so that I wouldn’t be stuck as a Slopper, since I kind of suck at everything.

Today, however, it was somehow my fault that Minho ran into a tree at the same time I dropped an entire basket of corn after something bit me on the arm.

When it’s lunch time, I sit down next to Minho and try really hard not to laugh at the fact that he has two tampons in his nose. I don’t think any of the other Gladers realize that’s what they are.

Newt sits across from me, looking uncharacteristically pissed off.

“You okay?” I ask him, doing anything I can to get my mind off of Minho’s condition.

“Yup,” he says curtly, continuing to stir his food around with his fork and not meeting my eyes.

Minho laughs next to me. “He’s mad at me.”

“Why?” I ask as Newt shoots him a threatening glare.

“Because I only walked into a tree because you bent down and I was checking out your ass,” he says unabashedly.

I crack up laughing and Newt turns his angry eyes on me.

“Seriously? That’s funny to you?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah. Why not?”

Newt gestures to the entire room. “So how about every Glader just starts staring at your ass. And your chest. That’s okay, right? But no, that won’t be enough. Then they’ll want to touch. Would that be alright? For them to just come up and touch whatever they want, whenever they bloody want?”

“Geez, Newt, relax,” Minho says.

“Wait, you’re mad at me because I’m not mad at Minho, and that somehow makes it okay for me to be sexually assaulted by the mass majority?” I ask him, angry.

His features go soft. “No, Red, of course not.”

“That’s not my name!” I scream at him. “Why would you call me that?”

He’s never called me that. It was a way for the other guys to make me feel inferior to them. It was the same thing as calling me ‘klutz’ or ‘shank’.

“It’s what everyone else calls you!” he says, his voice rising again.

“When did you start acting like everyone else? Or caring what anyone else thought?”

Newt looks away from me and I stand and walk quickly to the door, trying to get anywhere else but here. I can take the names and ridicule and rude comments from literally everyone else, but not from Newt. Not from the boy whose name I desperately hope to see pop up on my wrist every day. My soulmate who is not my soulmate.

I head towards the Deadheads because there’s too many people everywhere else but I hear footsteps following me.

“Wait!” Newt yells after me but I keep my head forward and continue walking.

“Please!” he tries again but I throw my hands in my pockets and keep my head high.

“(Y/N)!” he shouts desperately and I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him.

“(Y/N)…” I whisper, turning the name over and over in my head. “(Y/N)! My name is (Y/N)!”

I want to jump up and down in excitement but I can’t because, “Wait, how did you know that?”

He reaches me and takes a deep breath, before showing me his wrist. “I just had a feeling.”

‘(Y/N)’ is written in bold letters across his wrist. My mouth hangs open. It’s definitely my name. I can remember it perfectly now. But why isn’t Newt’s-

I look down at my wrist and finally­ I see the four letters I’ve been willing to show up since the first night in the Glade. I think about earlier how I thought a bug or something bit me, but it was just Newt’s name finally appearing.

I look up at him, smiling.

He smiles back at me. “Hello, soulmate.”

I laugh before pulling him into a kiss.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I whisper when we finally pull away.

“I’m sorry for being an ass earlier,” he says to me.

“You were being a total Slinthead,” I correct him and we both smile. “But I forgive you.”

Newt responds by pulling me into another kiss.

The end.

Requests open.

[choccos-database]

Browsing TV Tropes for tropes that line up with Project: Proclo (still a WIP)

!!!DEFINITELY HAS UNCENSORED SPOILERS!!!

Aerith and Bob: April and Ida compared to about every other main character. April’s name is even Earth-specific, considering it’s one of the months of the Earthean year. Then, we have all the rest of the characters: Skatra, Sarlife, Eyn, and Pillia, for examle.

Ambiguous Gender: Doc’s gender has never been specified. In most cases, they’ve been referred to as “he” and “they”. Similarly, Vee and Odell also aren’t male or female, either. (By the way, I hope I’m doing this right. If I’m not, please lemme know!)

Badass Bookworm: April leans more towards being more of the brains than brawn, but that doesn’t stop her from her physical ability.

Badass Longcoat: Eyn and Mr Skatra are hardly seen without one. Doc also manages to pull this off, even with a simple doctor’s coat.

Bastard Bastard: Mr Skatra’s a bit of a douche. It also just so happens that his parents were never married, either.

Big, Thin, Short Trio: Matro, April, and Pillia, and in that order. Wyra, Doc, and Ida fit here, as well.

Boomerang Bigot: Doc believes that robotic life is inferior to organic life, despite being an android themselves, and continuously building devices and modifications to help robots experience what organic life experiences.

Catchphrase: Farqua’s “[any object, but most often] screws in my ports”

Cute Bruiser: April’s small, but can really kick robot butt! Wyra can fit here, too. She’s definitely not intimidating to look at, but you don’t wanna mess with her.

Dark Action Girl: Eyn’s on what you’d consider the bad side. And she’s a girl that’s all about action and beating stuff up.

Dead All Along: April pretty much died before she was a cyborg.

Deadly Doctor: Doc doesn’t fight often, but when they do, you oughta be careful. They may know things you don’t.

Deadpan Snarker: Doc is especially prone to sarcasm.

Dr. Jerk: Doc’s pretty rude to pretty much everyone that isn’t Wyra. They also have a soft spot for kids, so they’re not rude to them, either (except April)

Dude Looks Like a Lady: Farqua’s got a very traditionally feminine look. His long lashes, rosy cheeks, and his bit of a curvaceous figure makes him fall under this trope.

Eaten Alive: [SPOILERS] Happens after Pillia gets injected with eggs from these short-lived yet fast-growing creatures that eat her from the inside out. For better or for worse, she survives this, even after a great deal of damage.

Embarrassing Nickname: Doc gets nicknamed “Bilby-doc” by April. They absolutely hate it.

Even Evil Has Loved Ones: Mr Skatra is a loving father to Eyn. [SPOILERS] And though what Doc’s doing may sound really heartless, they’re doing it because of a huge dilemma they had to make. They care very deeply for everyone in the building, especially the other doctor bots and creatures that work with them that they consider as family.

Family-Unfriendly Violence: Thankfully, a majority of the characters, especially involved in fighting, are machine, or at least part machine, otherwise, the comic would’ve been strictly for mature audiences. Not to mention, Farqua’s dismemberment especially wouldn’t have been able to work out.

Fantastic Drug: The effect chips that robots take.

Fantastic Racism: Farqua is very vocal about his hatered towards specifically humans, and goes as far as to telling April that she’s “pretty cool for a human.”

Four-Man Band: The four “rooftop robots” in the main cast: Doc’s the “Smart Guy,” (clearly), Matro’s the “Butt-Monkey,” Wyra’s the “Casanova-Wannabe,” and weirdly enough, Farqua’s the “Only Sane Man” of the bunch. I guess, his whole “ARE YA ACTUALLY STUPID?!” type of lines gets him this place.

Future Slang: Of course, it exists in year X766, light-years away from planet Earth.

Hair-Trigger Temper: Even the slightest things get Farqua totally ticked off.

Heel-Face Turn: [SPOILERS] Despite being an enemy in the first part, Farqua sides with April and co, after some sort of rehabilitation. Doc & Wyra would count here, but the difference between them and Farqua is Doc & Wyra were fighting for the same cause as April the entire time.

Idiot Hair: Check out Mr Skatra’s “stupid hair antennae.”

Intergenerational Friendship: Matro’s considered both a father-figure and a close friend to Pillia.

Interspecies Romance: Near the beginning of the story, Eyn, an android, hints to have a slight crush on Pillia, an alien.

Jerk with a Heart of Gold: Each Mr Skatra, Eyn, Farqua, and Doc. Skatra’s a loving dad and extremely family-oriented and Eyn will do anything to make a friend. Doc’s clearly still got a lot of care and consideration in them, while still being rude from time to time. And once you get to know Farqua better, it turns out he’s a real sweetheart.

Lady Looks Like a Dude: Eyn’s very tomboyish and she’s aware she comes across looking and acting more typically masculine. This is supposedly because she likes to dress up as her favourite character who is a typically masculine guy.

Pardon My Klingon: "Gozzuck,” “splubber,” “schtutt,” “xuelk,” and “chtidrat.” They’re all completely fictional.

Plucky Girl: Pillia, in most cases. For example, she’s literally tried defending herself from aggressive robots with a small shank. Wyra can fit here, too.

Punny Name: Some characters, more clear than others. April Dejonas' a protagonist. Matro Sivastes does metro services. Farqua Pells is kind of ironic (fuck apples). Now here are the reverses: Abarran Skatra - you’ll get something close to “scatterbrain.” Pillia Katru’s design inspiration’s from a caterpillar of some sort. Dr Sarlife Aufel’s pun is a bit more vague: “apples are life.” 

Really 700 Years Old: A lot of the service robots that live in the building are obsolete models that have existed for 30 and longer. Some of them are well over 100, but are still depicted as to being in their, say, 30s.

Real Men Wear Pink: Farqua’s kept to his more traditionally feminine appearance ever since, even with his macho attitude and his tough-guy voice.

Red Is Heroic: April's the protagonist and she wears a lot of red.

Ridiculously Human Robot: All the androids that live in the home building behave in a way that are scarily human-like. Ida even looks as if she actually IS a human.

Robot Hair: Matro, Doc, Ida, and Wyra are all examples of this.

“Second Law” My Ass! When Matro tells Farqua to override his system to speak the truth over his pre-programmed responses given to him by Mr Skatra.

Sir Swears-a-Lot: Farqua and Doc tend to swear a lot more frequently compared to the rest. This also includes the robot-specific profanity.

Super Strength: Farqua’s claimed to be strong enough to lift up a tree (which is true!) April’s quite strong, herself. But that’s exclusive to just her robotic parts, though. Also considering his old job, Matro’s here too.

The Ditz: Matro’s overconfidence and smugness can cause him to fall under this trope.

The Driver: It’s Matro’s job.

The Engineer: Don’t get me started on this one.

The Quiet One: Avus hardly talks. Ever.

“The Reason You Suck” Speech: April to Mr Skatra. [SPOILERS] April tells him she never asked to die and ever intended ruin his life, and elaborates on that.

The Rival: Eyn is to April.

Token Evil Teammate: When Farqua’s found out to be working for Mr Skatra, April and co. decide to force him to tag along with them to give them directions. So, in a way, he’s a teammate.

Token Human: Out of everyone involved in the main story, Mr Skatra is the only one built 100% out of human flesh and blood. April may count as this, too, since she still considers herself pretty much human enough.

Vitriolic Best Buds: Matro and Doc. Their exchange of dialogue and shared dry humour may sound like they’re on the verge of a broken friendship, but to the both of them it’s just fun banter. Matro and Farqua’s got this, too, but this happens after they start to re-develop their friendship as you get further in the story. And also: Wyra to the three of them.

Weapons of Their Trade: A lot of the robots that get in April’s way are service robots that used to work jobs for people. For example, Farqua. His shovel’s probably his favourite.

Wide-Eyed Idealist: Farqua believes that robots will be considered people one day, but given the context in the world he lives in, it’s probably never going to happen.

[incredibeale-archive]

The bellas played truth or dare and Beca picked dare for some reasons her and chloe end up stuck inside their haunted basement and beca is more scared than chloe but she's hiding it until something will freak her out while the bellas are trying to get them out of there

“Alright,” Fat Amy starts, bringing her gaze to Beca. “Truth or dare, shaw-shank.”

They’re all in the living room of the Bella house, each of them in various states of drunk, Beca herself is on her way to tipsy, leaving her a little more bolder. “Dare.” She decides, but then immediately regrets her choice when Amy just smiles in a way that lets Beca know that she’s just fucked. 

The blonde rubs her palms together and smirks. “I dare you to go down into the basement and stay down there for 10 minutes.”

Beca looks at her as if she’s grown three heads. “What? Dude, no.” 

“Why? You scared?” Fat Amy smirks, brow quirking up while all the Bellas look between Beca and Amy. 

Beca scoffs loudly. “Of course, not.” Except that she’s actually kind of, maybe a little scared – basements are fucking creepy, though! 

Jessica looks to Amy and frowns. “But what if it gets her…” She switches her worried gaze to Beca. 

“It?” Beca questions.

“The ghost. You know it’s haunted, Beca.” Ashley says as if it’s common knowledge(duh, Beca), taking Jessica’s hand nervously. 

Beca rolls her eyes. “Ghosts aren’t real, dude.” She turns to Amy and narrows her eyes at the blonde. “I’ll do your stupid dare, Fat Amy.” Silently, Beca curses her pride as she stands, and starts toward the kitchen where the door to the basement is. The rest of the Bellas get up to follow her. 

Just as Beca reaches for the door knob, she feels a hand grab her wrist. “Wait,” She turns her head to see Chloe looking at her worriedly. “I’ll go with you. It’s always good to have a buddy.”

Beca raises a brow and smirks. “Jesus, Chlo – you act like I’m going into shadytown. It’s just the basement.” As she says this, her heart thuds anxiously against her chest, reminding her how much she so doesn’t want to do this. 

Chloe just gives the brunette a look before taking Beca’s hand and nudging her to proceed. Beca sighs and opens the door and stepping into the first stair. Blindly, she reaches out for the light switch. Of course the light doesn’t put out much – enough for them to see a few steps in front of them as they descend the stairs. Beca turns to give Amy a pointed look. “10 minutes.”

Fat Amy nods, her smile making Beca uneasy. 

Taking a breath, Beca starts her trek down the stairs, Chloe behind her. It’s cold, dark and dank and… well, creepy. The light only reaches a few feet from the stairs, leaving the rest of the basement covered in darkness. 

It’s about as big as the living room is, with a few storage boxes pressed against the cement walls, and a bunch of other crap that Beca can’t really tell what it is. The wall adjacent to the stairs is full of rusty tools that are probably too old to use anymore, but might be something a serial killer would totally fucking use to bludgeon her to death with. “You okay, Becs?” Chloe asks, glancing down between them and back up at the brunette, a small knowing smile itching to crease her lips. 

It’s then that Beca realizes that at some point she’d re-taken Chloe’s hand and had begun to squeeze it as her eyes adjusted to the low light. As if she’s been burned, Beca snatches her hand back and scoffs. “Pfft, yeah, dude. I’m fine.” She says, voice a little higher than normal. She works to clear it and crosses her arms in a forced and false look of nonchalance. “Are you okay?”

Chloe bites her lip on a small smirk, but nods. “I’m fine, but it smells down here.” Her nose wrinkles as she glances around the darkness. 

At the top of the stairs, they can hear the girls murmuring about the many stories of the basement. “I hear they found dead bodies in the wall.” Flo says seriously. 

“I heard there used to be a hella old ass family cemetery here and they bulldozed over it in the 70s to build over it.” CR adds in a harsh whisper. 

“Please, you’re all wrong.” Fat Amy says loudly. “Some poor bloke killed himself down there after he murdered a buncha people.” 

Beca shares a look with Chloe before she rolls her eyes. “You guys are ridiculous! None of that happened, and it’s not haunted!” She calls up. 

They briefly hear Amy whispering to the others before they hear the unmistakable creak of the door closing. “Okay, Cap! Then you won’t mind if we just… shut the door for the remaining 8 minutes!” She calls down. 

Beca’s eyes widen and she moves toward the bottom of the stairs. “Fat Amy, you better not!” But it’s too late, the door shuts with a small thud and Beca lets out an annoyed growl, hiding how much her anxiety has just skyrocketed. 

Chloe steps forward and places a hand on her shoulder. “C’mon, Becs, don’t let her get to you. It’s just 8 minutes, and then we’ll get out of here.”

Beca just sighs and rolls her shoulders. She opens her mouth to give a smart reply before a box falls to the floor with a thud, making them both jump. “Jesus, fucking H Christmas!” She cries, hand going to her rapidly beating heart. “Okay, just a box – no reason to panic.”

Chloe chuckles a little at Beca’s reaction, though it’s evident to Beca that she’s getting a little antsy herself. 

Just as she thinks she’s calmed herself down better, the light bulb above them explodes and Beca yelps, both of them jumping as Beca closes the relatively short distance between them to snatch up Chloe’s hand like it’s a lifeline. “Okay, okay, small reason to panic.” Beca mumbles, voice shaky. 

“It’s old, down here – who knows the last time that light bulb has been changed.” Chloe says, though to Beca it sounds like she’s mostly talking to herself, but Beca takes what little comfort she can from her words. 

The darkness seems to swallow them up whole and as Beca’s eyes adjust to complete darkness, she can’t help but want to close them because there are shadowy figures slowly beginning to take shape. “Hey, Chlo…”

“Mmm?” Chloe mumbles, squeezing Beca’s hand. 

“Don’t tell anyone, but the dark kind of freaks me out.” Beca feels an arm wrap around her and another squeeze to her hand. 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. But, I’m pretty sure nobody is a fan of the dark.” Beca just nods, deciding that when she says that the dark kind of freaks her out, she means that it really freaks her out. Total darkness like this brings her back to her childhood, of nightmares and running into her parents room, trying to wake them up in time before the shadow people got her.

Something moves in the corner of the dark room and both of them tense before Chloe is pulling Beca toward the stairs. “How much longer, Amy!” 

“Ten minutes are up, but…” The aussie pauses. “There’s a slight problem.”

Beca’s jaw tenses for a moment before she rolls her eyes. “What kind of problem, Amy?” She practically growls. 

“Ehhhhh….” She makes that stupid noise that tells Beca that whatever problem there is, it’s not at all slight.

Before they know it, Beca is stomping up the stairs as best she can in total blackness. “You better get that god damn door open before I break it down and feed you to the wolves that live in Aubrey’s closet!”

Fat Amy seems to take that threat literal because the door knob jiggles and jangles before there’s a loud series of bangs and then the the thing just clambers to the floor and the door is opening to reveal all the Bellas standing around Fat Amy who’s holding a large metal (now dented) pot. 

Chloe frowns. “That’s my good pot!” Fat Amy smiles sheepishly, shrugging and handing the pot to the redhead. 

Beca shoves past all of them, grumbling about crazy Australians and how all of Bellas are going to put her into an early grave. 

“You okay, Cap’n?” Fat Amy asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice. 

The tiny DJ picks up the half bottle of vodka on the counter and takes a swig before she glares at all of them. “Just let it be known, that I didn’t back down from your stupid dare. Let it also be known, that I hate all of you.” 

And with that, she turned and headed back into the living room, taking the whole bottle with her. 

[theveryworstthing]

Downtrodden Answers: Lots O’ Bugs Edition

here are a bunch of answers for the staggering pile of downtrodden questions that have built up.

god, there are so many. this isn’t even a fraction of them. more coming soon.

@terminallytwisted

they’re uncommon to rare since they have such small clutches of eggs (for insects) and they’re not really the best parasites around. in fact, without breeding programs they would all be gone by now. like awful bug pandas.

there are specific breeders tasked with recreating ideal habitats and situations for the best results. these people train under other veteran breeders for years before they have the documentation and references to start managing their own clutches. of course, if you have a Walking Worm and the guy down the street has a Walking Worm you can breed them but the failure rate is high without a breeder’s counsel and if things aren’t handled correctly the worms can get defensive and aggressive. they’re intelligent social creatures and trying to mate them with a worm they don’t like or in a place they feel unsafe might get that other worm’s dick ripped off and you accidentally stepped on. not a good look. not worth the items or money saved on that counseling fee.

if your worms do manage to impregnate each other and lay clutches, congrats! no one lost a limb this time! you may now sell or trade those eggs to the highest bidder because those are some precious precious babies.

yup. they usually really excel at one or the other but there are shady places where you want to keep your pet close and most boat bodied worms get lonely if their owners are up on land for too long :(

@bleatingbico

there’s no really ‘taming’ snails. they just kind of do what they want. some people have them as pets though, and their mucus can be harvested for different healing and cosmetic uses.  rabbits don’t really breed them because their populations can get out of hand fast.

what do you think Wolves that never turn look like?

@sinezona

that’s such a cute idea! i decree it cannon. its probably more of a dark green though since it has to have as much contrast with the paper as possible for better low light reading. that or mixed in with glow in the dark liquids. as for newspapers, they’re not daily but there is an island-wide paper distributed by the postal workers covering general island news, predator sightings, deaths, that sort of thing. local news is covered by guilds who collect interesting findings and goings on in the surrounding area and then send what are essentially anchor rabbits to individual warrens to report them to the gathered crowds. these reports may also come by radio if the radio signals work there (owls do a number on radio signals).

@fignan

there are mines on the island, usually connected to special tunnels that connect to different warrens so that large groups of workers can get to work safely. what metalworkers do really depends on if its an area with other metalworkers present of if they’re the only one for miles. more crafters means more specialization. less means you’re kind of thrust into being the jack of all trades unless you order from other metalworkers. you might have to do this anyway though if you’re like great at cups but royally suck at daggers. in a wolf attack people will use your janky daggers but they’ll also come back and try to beat your ass with their remaining limbs. better to just get in contact with an outside source.

jesus.

1:yes

2: i’m totally using the bog iron idea thank you, also digging is more for home expansion/ underground transportation. its mostly done by hand with some shovel work to remove excess dirt and a few other tools to smooth walls and floors. mining is more intense and careful work. digging is about hollowing out the area, mining is actually searching for stuff. the two sometimes collide if interesting deposits are found while constructing burrows or warrens but rabbits try to keep mining operations away from their homes and water supplies just in case of disaster.

3: fungi, greens, squash, cabbages, bell peppers, seaweed, kiwi, coconuts, melons, peaches, almonds, and wheat. there are many more and there’s a lot of variety on the island between areas or just warrens. crops might also depend on how close to the Center you are. you can get a peach as big as a watermelon if your farm is far enough inland. they are prone to both dropping on unlucky people and producing the finest jams known to sapient life. you can barely taste the murder.

4: a lot of plant fibers like cotton and various woven items made of shed rabbit fur and the found pelts of larger creatures. rabbits like to use spider silk for durable items as well as sturdy wings and carapaces of certain bugs. it is important to note that many rabbits think wearing things from bugs commonly classified as pets is super gross unless its from your actual pet as a remembrance item. you’re not going to make any friends in a Walking Worm skin suit.

5: rabbits make 99% of their day to day items. they like mainland rice and a few other food items but if they import anything its usually luxury items like furniture or machines that were never commonly used on the island like cameras. when you can talk to the dead, keeping pictures around seems a lot less important. rabbits have really warmed up to photos though. despite the occasional flubbs like the shine of strange eyes hovering above nests of sleeping kits and shadowy figures sitting in on a family portraits, cameras are getting popular among those that can afford them.

6: rabbits have been obsessed with textiles since the dawn of their civilization. you know they know their way around a loom.

@crackingdrywall

warrens have a pretty tribal/family atmosphere. there is usually an ‘elder’ or ‘elders’ which are akin to the head of the warren who try to keep everyone from shanking each other, and then there are leaders for different facets of warren life. classically these were mated couples but these days its just two people who work well together and essentially act as managers for their specific responsibilities. its always two just in case something happens to someone and the next qualified person doesn’t have time to settle into the position, and its become more common for these managers to be comprised of one seasoned older person and one enterprising younger person. the common positions for management are:

kitchen (they handle food inventory, cooking, and food farming)

medicine (medical and rescue services, only led by midwives and doctors)

spiritual (priests and doctors who focus more on mental illness)

communication (necromancers, postal workers, journalists)

home (they handle the building, cleaning and upkeep of the warren. gotta make sure that the cranky old people are happy and that the bugs aren’t pooping everywhere)

entertainment (they handle the books, games, festivals, ect. diversions from the Bad Times)

and guards (the peeps who prevent the other peeps from being eaten by horror monsters)

of course these positions change and expand depending on what size your warren is, what the age demographic is, what the area is like, what predators are in that area, what the death rate is like, if you specialize in crafting or trading for certain things, if you’re made of family groups or guild workers who’ll just be there for parts of the year, if you’re a secret street fighting ring, ect. there’s a lot to keep in mind.

also those position names are boring and will probably be revised later but the fact that they’re basically just what they say they are is so Rabbit i don’t know if i should change it.

@joysweeper

not really. vultures are hard to catch and kind of gross to eat so they don’t have any real natural predators on the island. i mean, things only got after rabbits because they’re delicious and they can catch them. and some things, like foxes, won’t even bother with that if there are enough bugs and berries around.

there are still plenty of creatures that will fuck them up if they DO get caught but they can usually avoid them. its why they keep their meals short and don’t bring their children down to eat.

@balaur-of-four-toes

i really Feel that comic.

and those other creature thoughts are spot on. the fennecs would be a little bigger though. maybe the size of a real life wolf since Downtrodden foxes and rabbits are equivalent in scale to real life foxes and rabbits.

maybe when i’m done with the island and the mainland and the holy city, we can go to some far off places and meet some other weird talking critters.

i’m not sure if i answered this one but i have talked about house boats. as for pure underwater dens, there is a huge system of hot springs and fresh water underground rivers that rabbits take advantage of. a lot of rabbits like to make their homes near them. there are also the seaside glass caves where the tides and general proximity to the ocean can lead to warrens or burrows surrounded by cliff side waterfalls or aquarium-like glass walls.

@stanzicapparatireplayers

see above friendo :)

wellllll. you’re half right about what went down.

rabbits sort of used it to their advantage when they could. see, they have very little sexual dismorphia just like the mainlanders, and since the mainlanders were used to using social and visual cues to pick out the minute differences in reproductive roles they could call a rabbit maybe 60% of the time if they’re alone with them. but the fact that rabbits don’t really follow a super strict design template for body shape and height and they don’t have larger boobs unless they’re pregnant, currently nursing, or the mother of a bunch of kits, make a group of rabbits look like ten million different species with no discernible gender to the mainlander eye. at least in the olden days. so, the rabbits would use gendered pronouns to go places and exhibit behaviors that were seen as contrary to their gender roles. and the mainlanders would be so relived that they had a gender to go on that they didn’t really question it for quite a while. of course, then there were a few scandals over revealed homosexual relationships, obscenity charges slapped on people in places they shouldn’t be, ect, and the mainland got very strict about your gender matching your reproductive role. most rabbits stepped in line but the paranoia was already there. it was only ten years ago that most jobs required full body physicals before hiring rabbits.

it was kind of a sucky thing!

@adeterminedloser

they’ve had enough of my shit and i can’t blame them.

and the idea was very simple to me. life is hard. its weird and scary and awesome and everything is always changing. there are so many things that go wrong and so much danger. life is hard to control, even if that life is a little bean sprout.

meanwhile, death is pretty chill. you’re already dead dude! what more is gonna happen to you?

it also plays off something my mom and grandmothers told me about ghosts when i was little so i wouldn’t be scared.

you’ve got way more to fear from the living than the dead.

[onepieceimagines]

So I'm 22 and have been out for awhile, but I'm sorta in a depressed mood partly because of it and wanted 'support' from the characters of my favorite anime. Could you possibly do one where the reader confesses to the entire Straw-hat crew, and Shanks and Benn that he's gay? I'd like to see their reactions and possibly have them comfort the reader if he's upset about it. It seems you're closed for requests but you posted a couple things, so I thought I'd try asking. I'm sorry to bug if you are.

(You’re not bugging me! I’m sorry its taken a while to get this out. I admire you for being out. I don’t have the courage to come out yet to my family ._. I hope this helps you fell a little less lonely at least! I used ‘you’ for the story since I think that will help best)

Monkey D. Luffy: He had been looking for you for a while now. A pout formed on his lips as he couldn’t find you anywhere. He liked hanging out with you the most since you always were free to play games with him or just hang out with him. The last place he had to look in was the aquarium. He peaked in through the window on the door and grinned as he saw your form. He didn’t notice the zoned out expression you had on your face nor how you were curled up.in the seat. You almost jumped out of your seat as he slammed the door open.

“(Y/N)! I’ve been looking for you!” He bounded over to you and threw his arms around you, his head tilted to the side. “What’s up? You’ve been kind of gloomy lately.” You could only smile faintly at the curiosity in his voice. 

“I… I should really tell you something, Luffy. Mind sitting down?” He blinked and sat down with his legs crossed on top of the seat, facing you. 

“Sounds serious.” You let out a breathless chuckle and scratched the back of your head.

“Kind of…” You sighed at how his eyes were looking at him wide-eyed. “Luffy… I’m gay.” Silence filled the room and you were too nervous to look at him.

“Uh, (Y/N)? What does that mean?” He muttered hesitantly. You glanced at him and gulped, already feeling your confidence fading.

“It means… I’m not attracted to women and I’ll fall in love with a man one day.” The rubber man blinked and his mouth turned to a small ‘o’ as it clicked. You watched his expression and cracked a small smile as you could literally see the cogs turn in his head. 

“So… Kind of like the opposite of Sanji?”

“Please don’t compare me to Sanji.”

“Okay so like a little bit of Sanji?”

“If it’ll help you process this, then yes.” He grinned at you but it soon fell as a question raised up from the depths of his head.

“So, why do you look so upset?” You clasped your hands in front of you and fiddled with your thumbs.

“A lot of people don’t find it acceptable. I couldn’t help but be nervous when I was telling you.” He blinked and his cheeks puffed out.

“That’s dumb. You love who you love.” He raised his fist up. “And if anyone says anything to you, you got me and everyone else to back you up.” He grinned again. “So, don’t worry about it anymore. I’ve got your back. Always.” You felt a smile lift your lips and a sting behind your eyes. You gently bumped your fist against his, relief hitting your body like a wave.

Roronoa Zoro: You watched as he slumped down on the floor and prepared to take a nap. You stepped over him to sit on the couch. After countless spats in the past, you let him sleep wherever he wanted. He was the most comfortable in his own space anyway. His arms were resting behind his head and he had his eyes closed. You looked at him from where you were sitting and sighed.

“Hey.” He hummed in response, not even flinching. “I have to tell you something.”

“Go ahead then.” He mumbled.

“… I’m gay.” He opened his eye to look at you and closed it a while after some silence.

“Thanks for telling me.” You blinked, surprised. Your best friend wasn’t really great with words but you expected more of a big reaction from the swordsman.

“That’s it?” He opened his eye again and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t going to act shocked or ask a bunch of questions?” He shrugged and put his arms down.

“Well, I do mean it when I say I’m grateful for you telling me. It’s your thing to tell so I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.” You grinned and crossed your legs on the seat.

“You’re such a softie on the inside.” He rolled his eyes and went back to his resting position.

“Shut up, will ya?” After a moment of silence, you couldn’t help but voice the question that’s been nagging at you.

“So… It really doesn’t bother you?” He sighed softly and looked at you again, raising an eyebrow.

“Why would it bother me? It’s your life. Who you find attractive is your choice.”

“It bothers a lot of people…” He glared at you and reached over to flick your forehead.

“You care too much about what other people think. Who cares? It’s your life and you’re gonna find someone to like or love or whatever.” He closed his eye and grumbled. “Let me sleep now.” You smiled slightly and nodded.

“Right. Sorry.” You laid down against the seat, thinking that a nap would be a good idea for now. As you were drifting off, you heard his voice grunt.

“(Y/N).”

“Hmm?”

“If someone says something to you, let me know. I’ll beat their ass.” He grumbled, making you smile sleepily. 

“Overprotective softie.” He grunted again before snores filled the room from him. You curled up against the seat and dozed off yourself.

Nami: You sat next to the orange haired girl as she tended to the tangerines. The two of you finally found a calm day within the crew to step away and look over the tangerine trees. You were gripping the bottom of your shirt tightly as you glanced in her direction. ‘She’ll accept me… She will… Right?’ You kept thinking as your heart raced against your chest.

“Nami?” She looked at you and smiled.

“What is it, (Y/N)?” She asked, brushing her hands off of any dirt and leaves.

“I… Okay… What if a close friend of yours told you that… that they were gay?” You cursed at yourself for not just letting the words come out but your courage left as quickly as the words left your mouth. She stayed quiet for a bit, thinking before smiling and sliding closer to you.

“Then, I’d give them a hug and let them know that I still love them. They’re my precious friend and that won’t change.” You felt your eyes stinging, urging the tears to not flow.

“So… It wouldn’t bother you if this friend was gay?” She giggled softly and hugged your arm gently.

“Nope. They love who they love. I have no say in that. I’m here to support them.” She smiled up at you. “They’re still my precious friend and I’d feel honored that they trust me enough to tell me something so important.” Your tears finally showed themselves but you hugged her tightly to hide them from showing. 

“Even if other people hate it?” Your voice came out muffled against her shirt. Her eyebrows furrowed before her expression saddened. 

“If anyone dared to hurt for something you can’t control, I won’t accept it. I’ll always back you up.” She cleared her throat before stroking your hair back. “I mean your friend.” You could barely contain the tears that you felt from the overwhelming support you got from her.

“… Your friend really is grateful to have you as their friend.” She giggled and hugged back, patting your back.

“Just know, (Y/N). You don’t ever have to be afraid to tell me anything. I mean it when I say that I’ll be there to support you.” You sniffled and rubbed at your eyes, looking at her.

“Nami… I’m gay.” She smiled at you, giggling as she helped you to wipe your tears away.

“Thank you for telling me. I will always support you.” You let out a breathless chuckle and hugged her again.

Usopp: You don’t know how the phrase left your lips but you just knew that the silence between you was tense and you didn’t want that. You hung around Usopp a lot since he didn’t mind your presence and he also liked that you complimented his work once he was done with it. You don’t really know how the phrase left your lips but it put a halt to your conversation.

“Uh… That’s not the way I wanted to tell you…” You mumbled, gripping the sides of your head in frustration. Usopp looked at you with wide eyes.

“You’re gay?” You peaked at him and nodded slowly.

“Yeah…” You saw how a smile bloomed on his face and he put his hand on your shoulder. 

“What are you worrying about? That’s great news, right?” You blinked, taken aback by his reaction.

“You’re not… Freaking out about it?” He raised an eyebrow, already packing his tools and chemicals away. Once he was done with that, he looked over at you. 

“Freak out? Why would I?” He plopped down in front of you and tilted his head.

“I don’t know… Some people are uncomfortable with this kind of stuff…” He shook his head and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Listen. You’re still the person that I wanted to be friends with. You’ve discovered something about yourself but that doesn’t change who you are. If you love guys, it doesn’t make me stop wanting to be friends with you.” He grinned and got up. “So that’s why this is something we should celebrate! Let’s get the others too! They’ll definitely want to party about this too.” He said as he stood up, holding his hands out to help you up.

You put your hands in both of his and pushed yourself up with his help. You caught him by surprise when you moved your hands to wrap around him in a hug.

“(Y/N)?” When you didn’t respond, he hugged back just as tightly as you held him and patted your back. “You were really stressed about this, huh?” You sniffled, your voice muffled from the fabric of his shirt.

“I didn’t want you to hate me….” He let out a soft huff, gently ruffling your shoulder.

“You’re my friend. Through thick and thin.” You smiled and raised your hand to rub at your eyes, nodding.

Sanji: You literally thought you broke him. His cigarette was hanging loosely between his fingers and his visible eye was wide as he stared at you. You checked the time and saw that he’s been quiet for about a minute and a half. You reached forward and snapped your fingers in front of his face. He snapped out of it and blinked a couple of times.

“Wait, you’re-”

“Gay. Yeah. I’m gay.” You could see that the wheels were turning in his head.

“So, you like-”

“Men. Yes.”

“Not women?”

“Not romantically or sexually.” He stayed quiet for a bit again and took a drag of his cigarette. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

“Are you going to be okay with this information?” He nodded a little, pushing the plate of small sandwiches in front of you that he just finished making before you had entered the kitchen and leaned back.

“I’m perfectly fine with it. That means I won’t have to keep an eye out on you when you’re around Robin-chwan and Nami-swan.” You let a breathless chuckle, your tense body finally relaxing as you could tell that he was half-serious.

“I thought you’d be the least understanding.” You quickly shook your hands. “No offense! Your love for women is so strong! I didn’t know how you would react!” He pouted slightly but it disappeared once he realized that you were right.

“Makes sense.” He rested his elbows on the table and looked at you in the eye. “(Y/N). I love women.” You felt a sweat drop forming on your forehead.

“Yeah, we all know that.” He nodded before gesturing to you.

“You love men. I know that now so just as you let me be, I’ll let you be. I have no say in what you do but just know that as long as we’re friends, I’ll support you.” Your smile made a smile lift his lips up too and you nodded.

“Thanks, Sanji.” 

Tony Tony Chopper: The cute expression on his made you feel ridiculous that the little reindeer would judge you. He blinked his big eyes and tilted his head.

“Gay?” You nodded.

“Yeah… It’s seen as ‘normal’ for a man to love a woman but for me and a lot of people, we like the same gender.” He held his cheeks in his hooves and puffed his cheeks out.

“So you’re gay? So that means that you like men?” You nodded.

“You got it.” You smiled slightly. “It’s pretty serious for me. Your reaction is pretty positive but there have been people I’ve told who have reacted badly…” Chopper crossed his arms and closed his eyes as he tried to make sense of it in his head.

“Hmm, that’s ignorant. I remember the reindeers I was around back on Drum Island looked for a female mate but it was rare when it was two males.” He looked at you and smiled. “But love is love, right? If you love someone, it doesn’t matter what others say! It’s between you and the person you love! Regardless of gender!” His grin made you sweep him up and hug him tightly. He was flustered at the sudden show of affection but smiled happily at you.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He shook his head.

“Of course not! You’re my friend and I still love you!” He grinned at you. “So if anyone says something to you, I’ll back you up!” He thought for a bit and his grin became sheepish. “Or get Luffy and Zoro to come help.” You laughed and gave him a final squeeze before putting him back down.

“Thanks, Chopper. I won’t hide something from you again.” He smiled at you and held up his hoof, making you smile and bumping your fist against his hoof.

“Thanks for trusting me with something so important!”

Nico Robin: She peaked over her book to look at you as you entered the library where she had planted herself in for the night. She smiled at you and patted the spot next to her while moving the blanket away from her so you could sit next to her. You smiled slightly and sat next to her, getting under the blanket as well. It was almost as if she was expecting you since she had a second cup of tea ready on the table. She was skimming her eyes on the page but she could tell that you were nervous from how you rested your head against her shoulder.

“What’s on your mind?” She asked as she flipped a page.

“… i wanted to tell you…” You took a breath. “I’m… I’m gay.” The silence that followed made your eyes turn to look at her. She had a soft smile on her face as her eyes skimmed the page. 

“That’s amazing, (Y/N). I’m happy that you told me.” 

“It doesn’t bother you? Or surprise you?” She closed her book and looked at you, smiling gently. 

“I had an inkling that you were but it wasn’t my place to assume.” She tilted her head slightly. “Why would it bother me?” You shrugged slightly and took a breath through your nose.

“I don’t know… People’s views get in the way of friendships sometimes.” She shook her head and smoothed her fingers through your hair.

“(Y/N). I know a thing or two about being judged. I would never do that to you. I’ll be here to support you. Always.” She smiled as she pushed the tea saucer closer to you. You wrapped your hands around the cup and smiled softly. Robin would be the most understanding from her past. You took a sip of the tea and put it down.

“Thanks for not hating me, Robin.” She giggled gently before opening her book again. 

“I should say the same to you.” You both rested in silence, you enjoying your tea and Robin enjoying her book. She broke it with a teasing tone behind her question. “So, anyone on the ship catch your eye?” You felt your cheeks heat up and rolled your eyes playfully.

“Already teasing me?” She giggled and nodded.

“What? You wanted tonight to be serious?” You smiled at her sly smile and poked her cheek.

“Go back to reading.” She giggled and nodded, looking back at her book as you continued to relax on her shoulder.

Cyborg Franky: You had to cover your ears from how loud and excitedly he yelled.

“(Y/N)! That’s awesome! It’s SUPER!!” He was grinning at you as you slowly lowered your hands. You smiled, his enthusiasm was contagious.

“Really?”

“Of course! It’s an honor knowing that you trust me so much to tell me something so personal!” You smiled but it soon fell as your insecurities came back up your throat and out in a flurry of words. 

“But won’t you be uncomfortable if I have a boyfriend around here eventually?” He blinked and shook his head.

“Why should I be? It’s your life, right? I would never be uncomfortable if you’re happy and have someone to love.” He grinned at you. “By the way, have you found someone that’s caught your eye?” You blushed lightly and shook your head quickly, making him let out a chuckle. 

“Franky, thanks for not pushing me away. I really do appreciate it.” He placed his much bigger hand on your shoulder and looked at you seriously in the eyes.

“(Y/N), you are my friend, more like family. I would never abandon you. None of us on this ship will.” He moved his hand to your hair and gently ruffled, smiling. “No one is going to say something rude or mean to you while I’m around. I’ll protect you and so will the rest of the crew.” You smiled, reaching up and patting his hand with yours, your head moving a little at the movement you caused.

“I couldn’t ask for a better friend if I tried.” You grinned up at him as he laughed.

“That’s good to know. You can trust me with anything from now on.” He smiled and patted your head. “Let’s go get some cola.” You chuckled and nodded.

“I’ll give you my share.” As the two of you made your way to the kitchen, you looked up at the cyborg. “By the way, Franky... Could you please keep this between us for now?” He gave you a thumbs up and grinned.

“You got it. But when you do tell everyone and you need back up, you got me.” The tension in your shoulders relaxed and you laughed again, this one much more relieved.

Dead Bones Brook: He was humming along to the tune of his violin as he was writing another song when you walked in. He smiled at you before playing the last string and putting the violin down. 

“What brings you here, (Y/N)-san?” You smiled slightly as you stepped over to sit down at the seat, putting a tea saucer down. 

“I brought you some tea.” He smiled and stepped over to take a seat next to you. 

“Thank you so much, (Y/N)-san.” He took a gulp of the tea before turning to face you. He tilted his head slightly as you bit your lip, looking lost in thought. “The tea isn’t the only reason you came here, is it?” You took a breath and shook your head.

“No... I came here to tell you something that’s pretty important.” He laid the tea cup down and gave you his full attention. He stayed still until you decided to speak up. Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes back up. “I’m... I’m gay.” He smiled at you as he picked his tea cup back up and took a sip.

“That’s great. You didn’t have to be nervous to tell me.” You smiled slightly.

“I know that you wouldn’t react badly but there was still that fear.” You closed your eyes, releasing another shaky breath. “You’re a precious friend of mine and if you reacted badly... I wouldn’t know what to do.” You confessed, curling up into a small ball. Bony fingers stroked through your hair as he smiled.

“I support you, (Y/N)-san, and I’m grateful that you told me. It’s something to be proud of! You’ve accepted a part of yourself and now you can be honest with yourself as well.” He reached over and grabbed his violin. “Thank you again for trusting in me.” You opened your eyes to look at him and smiled.

“You accepted me for who I am. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you and the rest of the crew.” He did a soft version of his laugh and he positioned his violin 

“It’s the least I could do. You accepted me for who I am as well.” You smiled as he started playing again. You leaned back and closed your eyes, your head swaying a little to the music. 

Red Hair Shanks: You wanted to let him know this part of you but there was that small chance that he would freak out and react negatively to your news. After a night of partying, the rest of the crew was passed out across the ship, hungover and in a deep sleep. You were laying on the deck next to your captain, looking up at the stars. He would doze off any second now so you wanted to let this itching thought out as fast as you can.

“Captain...” Shanks looked at you and smiled, he had sobered up long while ago but the drowsiness was finally getting him. 

“What’s up, (Y/N)?” He saw the serious look from just your profile and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“What if... What if I told you that I was... gay?...” He didn’t look away from your profile.

“... Then we would celebrate this.” You looked at him with wide eyes.

“What?” He smiled at you.

“Yeah. What? Did you think I would kick you out of the crew or something?” You shook your head slowly, still in amazement.

“O-Of course not but... You’re taking this surprisingly well...” He chuckled and nodded, looking back up at the sky. 

“Our crew is very diverse. I don’t judge those for something they can’t control.” He looked at you and smiled. “Just like everyone on the ship, I still respect you and am grateful that you’re trusting me with something so important to you.” He reached over and patted your head. You smiled, feeling relief go through your body.

“I was afraid you’d freak out.” He pouted slightly, glancing at you. 

“Hey, I can be serious sometimes.” He stretched his arm above him and let out a yawn. “Let’s get some rest, alright?” He grinned at you, more sleepily than before. “We can throw another party to celebrate.” You chuckled and rolled your eyes, looking back up at the stars.

“I think you’ve had enough talk about parties today.” You murmured, hearing the snores already coming up from next to you.

Benn Beckman: He was a bit surprised when you wanted to talk to him in private but he tried to find some time from his first mate duties to talk with you. Finally sitting together, he waited patiently for you to start talking.

“There’s something important I wanted to tell you.” You murmured, throwing him off. Usually, when someone in the crew wanted to rely their secrets on someone, it would be the captain. He guessed that it was his stoic expression most of the time that scared people off. He nodded a bit, focusing back on you.

“What is it?” You took a deep breath, a bit nervous at how you were going to confess a big part of yourself to the first mate.

“You’re the first one I’m telling this to but... I’m gay...” Your voice quieting down towards the end. Even though your voice was quieter than a whisper, he still caught it. He silently looked at you, unsure of what to say. After a while, he noticed the flustered expression on your face. He realized how much courage it took for you to say this to him. A small smile lifted his lips and he patted your head gently. You looked up at him, surprised a bit at his sudden actions.

“You’re very courageous to let me know this about you. It’s an honor to know that you rely on me enough to share something so personal.”

“You’re taking this really well...” He nodded.

“It’s not my place to judge you nor do I want to. You will love who you love and you’ve got the crew and I to support you from now on.” He gently patted your head.

“You really think so?” He nodded and a genuine smile filled his face.

“Yes I do. So thank you so much for relying on me again.” He murmured before hearing his name being called. He sighed softly and patted your shoulder. “I gotta go now but if you need someone to talk to or to support you, come find me. We have your back through everything.” He smiled at you one last time before leaving the room. You took a deep breath and slouched down in your seat, unable to believe how easy that was and how understanding he actually was.

(I’m sorry if these aren’t that well written. Half-way through they got repetitive it seems ._.)

[blairwriting]

Bulletproof Heart (Maze Runner AU) (Chapter 2)

[A/N: I’m copying and pasting these from Microsoft word so they are (for some reason) weirdly spaced so I’m sorry!]

Chapter 2

The party had begun and everyone was gathered around bonfire laughing and conversing. I sat, a drink in hand, on a log around ten feet away watching and observing them.

I didn’t know why I didn’t want to be around everyone but every time I was in the group I felt overwhelmed.

I closed my eyes and exhaled loudly, my head facing the night sky.

“You ok?” I felt a presence beside me.

I turned and saw Jack sitting there and my stomach erupted into butterflies.

‘Wait, why did I feel that way?’ I thought to myself.

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to be in a crowd right now,” I smiled.

“I understand completely, sometimes it just gets to be too much.”

We sat in a comfortable silence, his presence alone being all the comfort I needed.

“How’s are you holding up around here?” He breaks the silence.

“Good. I guess. I mean there are still so many unanswered questions I have,” I groaned.

“We all have gone through that,” he laughed lightly, “Apparently Finn freaked out so much they had to lock him in the pit for a whole night before he calmed down.”

I laughed. For the first time that I can remember, I actually laughed.

He looked at me and smiled, “you should do that more.”

I gave him a confused look, “do what more?”

“Smile. It suits you.”

My cheeks turned a dark red but luckily it was dark so he couldn’t see.

Maybe being here wouldn’t be so bad.....maybe.

After a moment a loud series of growls and screeches protruded from behind the maze doors.

“What the heck was that!?” I yelled.

“Grievers. The horrendous monsters that roam the maze at night,” he said solemnly, “don’t worry, the little slintheads can’t get through the walls.”

“Is that why the doors close at night?”

He nodded, “it’s the only protection we’re given.”

“Given?”

“Yeah, obviously someone put us here. We just don’t know who,” he looked up at the sky.

“Why would someone do this?”

He shrugged, “who knows, guess I’ll have to ask the shanks if we ever get out if this prison.”

I just stayed silent, not knowing what to say next.

I looked over at the rest of the Gladers to see that they were all in a circle surrounding some sort of commotion. They were cheering and ‘oo’s” and ‘aahh’s’ were heard.

Me and Jack got up and made our way over to see what was going on, but by the smile on Jack’s face I had a feeling he knew.

Once we were in the crowd I could see Wyatt and Finn with their hands on each other’s shoulders trying to push each other out of a ‘ring’ which was just some sticks layer in the floor in a large circle.

I guessed that this was a sort of game they played. A smile creeped on my face as I watched the fight, it wasn’t certainly very entertaining.

In the end, Wyatt was the victor and a very grumpy Finn stood to the side mumbling about it not being ‘fair’. Everyone cheered and Jaeden gave Wyatt the ‘guy hug’. A bunch of people started laughing and pushed Jack Into the circle. He laughed and him and Wyatt got into position before starting.

Their heels dug into the dirt as they each used all their strength to beat the other person. Wyatt glanced at me for a split second and smirked; he put his mouth to jacks ear and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Jack’s eyes went wide before his feet slipped from under him and he face planted into the ground.

Gasps echoed around the crowd before they erupted into fits of laughter. I ran over to Jack to see if he was alright, but when I got to his side he had already started cracking up; I started laughing too.

I helped him up, “Are you ok?” I asked.

His laughter died down, “Yeah, thank you.”

“No problem,” I paused, “what did Wyatt say to you?”

He stiffened for a second, “nothing. Just some stupid comment to throw me off.”

“Oh.”

After a little while Chosen spoke up, “guys it’s getting late, it’s probably time to call it a night.”

Everyone mumbled ‘goodnight’s’ And ‘goodbye’s’ to each other before walking to their huts.

“I’ll walk with you to your hammock if you want. I’m pretty sure we’re in the same hut,” Jack smiled at me.

“Sure,” I smiled back.

We started walking towards our shack talking about random stuff.

“Tomorrow you’ll be helping Jaeden out in the kitchen, I believe,” he says out of nowhere.

“Cool. Will you be out in the maze tomorrow?”

“How did you kn-”

“Jeremy told me earlier.”

“Ahh. But no, I’m a sort of back up. I only go out there if Wyatt or Sophia are taking the day off or they get injured.”

“Ok.”

We made it to the shack and turned to look at each other,

“Goodnight, greenie,” Jack smirks.

“Goodnight, Jackie Boy.” I smiled.

He laughed softly before we made our way to our hammocks.