#anyway after a number of months of doing this little game it is pretty easy for me now and i get a kick out of it

[tropes-and-tales]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

(Richard Muñoz x F!Reader)

CW:  Light angst (talk of anxiety disorders, therapy, and medication); bad first dates; two shy dummies who are destined for each other. Fluffy goodness, as one would expect with Richard.

Word Count:  3951

AN:  This was requested a long time ago by @frasmotic - sorry it took a lifetime to write this!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way whatsoever.

Richard only agrees to the blind date because he’s had absolutely no luck in finding dates on his own.  When he sits and tries to calculate the last time he went out with a woman, his mind boggles at the years—not months—that have passed since then.

When he tries to calculate the last time he had a bona fide girlfriend, he despairs and gives up before he comes up with the exact amount of time that has passed.

Anyway, he doesn’t require precise numbers.  He knows how he feels:  lonely.  He has his dog but no one else.  He lives alone, spends his evenings and weekends alone.  Spends his holidays alone.  His sole interaction with humans is from his coworkers and whatever paltry connections he can build with customer service employees.

It’s a fellow guard, Mike, at the prison who sets up the blind date.  Mike’s sister-in-law is similarly shy, the same sort of introvert as Richard.

“A real nice gal, Rich,” Mike explains over lunch.  “Smart, has a good job.  Owns her own house.  She just has trouble meeting a nice guy.  Everyone on the apps are either creeps or assholes who ghost her.”

Richard would never agree to it, but then Mike slides his phone across the table to him.  He’s pulled up your profile on social media, and Richard studies your picture.

“She’s pretty,” Richard admits.  He feels a fluttery swooping in his gut at the thought of taking you out, but Mike is something of a bull in a china shop, and before Richard can even stop it, his fellow guard is setting up a double date for him and his wife, and you and Richard.

“Safety in numbers,” Mike says, and it seems that Richard has little to do other than show up and be himself.  As if it’s that easy.

“Dios,” he mutters after his lunch break ends.  Already he’s flushing at the thought, his palms slick with sweat.

-----

The date is supposed to be low stakes:  dinner at Mike’s house.  There are no public spaces to navigate, no random people to throw Richard off what little game he has.  He turns up at Mike’s house ten minutes early with a bottle of wine that he spent far too much time agonizing over at the store.  In his other hand he clutches a mixed bouquet, and that took too much time to choose too.

The zenith of the date is here, on Mike’s front porch, the few moments before he knocks.

It goes downhill from there.

*****

Your sister married an idiot, but Mike has his sweet moments.  For example, this date he set up.  To hear your sister tell it, it was mostly Mike’s idea. 

“He worries about you,” she told you weeks ago.

You snort and shake your head, secretly pleased that your brother-in-law is so, well, brotherly to you. 

“He’s only worried you’ll get stuck with me when I’m old and infirm,” you replied.

“Not true.  Besides, he said this guy, Richard?  Said he’s nice.  Shy, like you.  He thinks you’ll hit it off.”

You can’t quite buy into Mike’s optimism.  Because the guy, this Richard, barely looks at you, and he says even less.

Mike introduces you with an expectant smile.  Richard is cute, you decide, edging against handsome.  You offer him a smile, tell him you’re happy to meet him.  In reply, you get the limpest handshake in the history of mankind, and then Richard winces, swipes his hand against his pants. 

Mike frowns slightly but rebounds.  He claps Richard on his back and tells you about how your date works in the letter room of the prison.

“Tell her about it,” Mike prods gently.

“It’s not that interesting,” Richard mumbles.

Which is about all he says to you all evening.

Bless your sister and brother-in-law, though.  They try to help Richard along.  They do all they can to open up lines of conversation, to sing your praises to him, to sing his praises to you.  They uncork a second bottle of wine.  They put on some low music to fill in the awkward gaps of silence. 

During the start of dinner, you are merely perplexed.  Are you hideous to him?  Do you smell abhorrent?  He’s not even being polite, and as the evening drags on, your confusion cedes to a low-simmering anger—which makes your own shyness fade.

“More broccoli?” you ask him, and you move to hand him the dish.  The motion makes Richard flinch way too hard, and his hand catches the edge of his wine glass.  The deep red merlot splashes on your dress, and you slide back from the table, then stand.  Richard doesn’t turn to look at you; he only stares at the widening stain on the tablecloth, and he hisses out a low, tortured fuck.

Your sister stands too, and she gives a polite ‘excuse us, gentlemen,’ then ushers you to the powder room where the two of you daub at the splash of wine.

“This is not going well,” she finally murmurs to you.

“You think?”  It comes out sarcastic, and you wince when you catch her reflection in the mirror.  She looks apologetic.

“Mike said he was awkward…”  She tries to explain the rude behavior away but then trails off, goes silent.

You sigh.  You tilt your head towards the ceiling and shut your eyes for a beat.  Another awful date, and this one had been served to you on a silver platter. 

“It’s not Mike’s fault,” you finally concede.  “And anyway, it’s almost over.”

-----

When the two of you return to the dining room, it turns out the date is already over.  Mike sits alone, picks at the food on his plate, and he looks at you gloomily as he announces that Richard left.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I have no idea what his fucking problem was.”

You return to your seat and try to school the tears that prickle behind your eyelids.  Are you that terrible a prospect?  You know you aren’t some great beauty, but you have a lot going for you—

“I’m sorry,” Mike repeats, quieter, and you glance over to see him shaking his head. 

“It’s okay,” you reply, even though it isn’t.  This hurts, and it draws cracks in your foundation.  You know there will be fallout to your confidence in the days and weeks that follow.

You don’t have the heart to stay much longer, and your sister walks out with you as you climb into your car.  You wave at her and drive off, and you are a block away when your sister turns to go back into the house.  Something bright catches the corner of her eye, and she looks down at the ornamental shrubs that stand beside the porch.  Tangled in the low branches is a bouquet of flowers, tossed aside.  She bends down and scoops them up, notices that they look pretty fresh.  She takes them inside.

“What you got there?” Mike asks when she joins him in the kitchen.  He’s scraping off plates and loading the dishwasher, and he watches as she snags a vase from the cabinet under the sink.

“Flowers.  They were thrown in the shrubs by the porch.”

“Huh.”  Mike looks at them, then pulls together a theory.  “You think Richard brought them?”

“And threw them away before he even came in?”  She shakes her head.  “Why?”

*****

If Richard had enough money, he’d quit his job and move to the other side of the country.  Hell, he’d move to the other side of the globe if he could pull it off.

He’s never been so ashamed.  So embarrassed.  Mortified.  There’s no adjective that can capture the depth of shame he feels at how he acted on his date.

He can’t even really explain it—though he tries, of course, when Mike angrily corners him in the breakroom the following Monday.  Richard tries to explain how out-of-body he felt, how the moment he knocked on Mike’s door and heard footfalls making their way to let him in, he panicked.  He tossed the flowers away, suddenly terrified that the cheerful blooms looked cheap in their cellophane wrapping. 

And it only got worse from there.

He broke out in a sweat immediately.  He felt it trickling down his temples, had to daub it away with his shirt sleeve on the sly.  He felt his armpits growing damp, felt flushed and sickly, feverish.  The air in the room was too warm and too heavy, like breathing through soup, and the shallow breaths he took only made the panic grow.

Then you entered the room and for heaven’s sake:  you were pretty in the pictures Mike showed him, but you looked downright angelic in person.  Dress lightly skimming your curves, gentle smile on your face as you looked at him expectantly.  When you stepped closer to introduce yourself, Richard caught the scent of you—faintly sweet, a warm smell.

How could he feel anything but shame to shake your hand with his own sweaty palm?  You were perfect, and he felt unwieldy, monstrous beside you.

And you had tried to be kind anyway.  Tried to converse with him, asked him questions about his life that he only grunted at.  He asked you no questions in return, and when you tried to pass him some food, he ended up staining your beautiful dress with the wine he brought.

Of course he fled.  Of course he spent the drive home cursing himself, cursing his stupid brain that was always so eager to flood itself with stress hormones the minute a situation got uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells Mike in the breakroom of the prison.  He tries to explain it, assumes he fails like he does everything else.  “Please…tell her it wasn’t her fault at all.”

“Of course it wasn’t her fault!”

Richard flinches at the anger in Mike’s voice, but then he hangs his head.  He lets the fresh wave of misery course through him.  “She was too good for me anyway.”  It comes out a low mumble, but Mike must catch it anyway.  The other man sighs after a long beat, then lays a heavy hand on Richard’s shoulder.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown you into the lion’s den like that,” he concedes.  “But for fuck’s sake, man.  You made her feel terrible.”

“I know.  I mean, I guessed as much.”

“So it wasn’t a love match.”  Mike drops his hand and sighs again.  “But it would help a lot to apologize to her.  She’s beating herself up pretty bad.”

Richard looks up, surprised.  “She’d be willing to see me again?”

“Doubtful,” Mike replies with a shake of his head.

“Then how—”

“Fuck, man.  You work in the fucking letter room, right?  So write her a letter.  I’ll get it to her.”

*****

You’re not overtly depressed over it.

You’re also not okay about it.

It doesn’t help that the days are getting shorter.  It gets dark early, so it’s easy to justify the hermit-nature you’re embracing.  You come home from work, you walk your dog, and then you spend long hours in your pajamas watching trashy reality TV shows before you go to bed.

You sleep a lot.  It helps with the little pit of despair your failed blind date opened up in you.  It shook your confidence harder than you would have thought.  You’re generally pretty sturdy in your sense of self, but each year that passes without any success with the men erodes it more than you care to admit.

You spend the week after the failed date wallowing.  No sense in white-knuckling through it.  You feel bad for yourself, you go a bit maudlin, and you start to climb your way out…

Then your sister stops by for a visit, and when she goes to leave, she hesitates, then reaches into her purse.

“This is for you,” she says, but she holds it for a long moment before she hands it to you.  It’s a white envelope, and it bears your name across the face in unfamiliar handwriting.

She takes in your puzzled expression and clarifies.  “It’s from Richard.”

“Ah.”

“He felt terrible, sweetie.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

She studies you for a beat.  “You know, he brought you flowers, but something made him panic, I think.  I found them tossed behind a shrub after you left.”

You furrow your brows in confusion.  “Kinda weird.”

“Kinda.  But not serial killer weird, at least.”

You smile.  “True enough.”  You hold up the envelope.  “At least he didn’t ghost me.”

-----

You’d like to say that you have a certain measure of patience, but the moment your front door clicks behind your sister, you tear that envelope open like a wild animal.  Your curiosity allows nothing else.

It’s a single page, but Richard’s printing is small and tight.  You have to hold the paper closer to the light to read it.

It’s an apology, of course.  A genuine one that goes a long way at softening your heart to the man who had been so impolite at your date.  Because he tries to offer an explanation too—the utter panic he felt, the crippling anxiety—and that softens you too.

You know about that sort of panic, that sort of anxiety.  It used to cripple you too until intense therapy and the right combination of meds helped you tame it.  Still, you can feel it claw at your chest sometimes, so your anger at Richard is replaced by understanding.

Also, he drops this line in the middle of his letter, and when has a man ever said (or written) something so guilelessly sweet?

I think you might not realize how beautiful you are, Richard wrote in his cramped, neat printing.  I was already struggling to breathe from the panic, but the moment I saw you, I couldn’t breathe at all.

“Richard, you surprising son of a bitch,” you whisper aloud in your kitchen, and you reach for your phone to text your sister.

*****

It’s grace that Richard doesn’t feel he deserves, yet Mike offers it:  a second chance.

“It’s a big holiday party,” Mike explains when he hands Richard the invitation.  “My wife fucking loves all that Martha Stewart, Bing Crosby, chestnuts on an open fire bullshit.  There will be a lot of people there, so...”

He trails off, but Richard catches his meaning.  A lot of people will serve as cover for Richard.  He’ll be able to melt into the crowd, peel off into another room if his anxiety threatens to choke him.

He’s not so sure it will, though.  In the month and a half since that terrible first impression, and since he found out his apology letter was well-received, Richard has taken control of it.  For the first time in his life, he got angry—angry enough to make an appointment to see his doctor.  Angry enough for a referral for a therapist.  Angry enough to try out a low dose of anti-anxiety medication.

There was no shame in it, he had decided.  If a person had high blood pressure, didn’t they get medicine for it?  Richard had grown up in a home that stigmatized feelings in general, and he had always taken the ‘ignore-it-and-it’ll-go-away’ approach to his own mental health. 

But when Mike had told him—secondhand, through his wife—how well you had responded to Richard’s letter, he felt that flush of anger.  At himself, partially, but also at the family legacy of suffering in silence.  Why had he suffered so long with no relief?  Why did you offer him more kindness than he had ever offered himself?

Hence the meds.  Hence the forty-five minutes every week where he awkwardly stammered through his overanxious thoughts, his family history, his own history.

And it seems to be working.  The medication seems to drop a thin veil between him and his own head.  It gives him the barest bit of a barrier, just enough protection from himself.  The therapy gives him the tools to understand why he reacts the way he does.  Richard comes to understand that it’s his low self-esteem that drives much of his social panic, and his therapist prescribes him a list of mantras he is to repeat to himself in the mirror each morning and night.

It embarrasses him at first.  His reflection flushes in the mirror as he says nice things to himself…but damned if it doesn’t seem to work.

-----

Who can say why it goes better the second time around?  Maybe it’s the meds or the therapy, or maybe it’s the barest bit of understand Richard has achieved through his letter to you.  Maybe it a combination of all three things.  Richard doesn’t linger over the why because the what is so much more gratifying.

What is it?  It’s…so much better.  Richard arrives at the perfect time—not too early, not too late.  He walks through the front door, and he doesn’t toss aside the bouquet of flowers this time.  His heart hammers in his chest, but he remembers to breathe, remembers to smile.  He repeats his mantras in his head as he makes his way through the growing throng to find you.

I am worthy of happiness.  I am worthy of love.  I am open to new possibilities.

He finds you alone in the kitchen, half-bent in front of the oven and peering at whatever cooks inside it.  You’re just as beautiful as he remembered.  His pulse picks up, rapid, but he swallows.  Takes a breath.

I am worthy of happiness.  I am worthy of love.

“Hello,” he says.

You stand up and turn; at the sight of him, you smile.  At the sight of the flowers in his hand—a wintry mix of white roses and sprigs of cut pine—your smile grows wider.

“Those would look better in a vase than tossed in the azalea out front,” you tease, but you say it gently with that smile on your face, and Richard shakes his head ruefully.

“I thought I might wait at least a few hours before I throw wine on you, too,” he jokes back.  The joke lands because you laugh—a merry sound that makes him chuckle.

You reply that you specifically wore black in case he turned up, and he chuckles at that too, but then he turns serious.  He apologized by letter, but he knows he has to say it to your face as well.

“I am sorry about that evening,” he says now.  “I’m m-mortified…”  He trails off when he stammers, and he feels his face flush hotly.  Dammit, he thinks, but then he realizes what he’s doing—he’s falling back into the deep rut of old behavior, so he thinks an abbreviated mantra over and over to steer himself away from the cliff’s edge where he stands.  I’m worthy, I’m worthy, I’m worthy—

His thoughts are interrupted by your soft hand, tentative, on his arm.  Just for a second you touch him.  Just enough to reassure him, because he looks into your eyes and sees only understanding. 

“You don’t have to apologize again.  It’s in the past.”

“I just—”

You shake your head, cut him off with a smile.  “I have an entire lifetime of awkward social moments.  I get it.  Really.”

What else can he do but gaze back at you, to return your smile with his own?  To finally nod his head, to consider himself forgiven?

“Good!”  You break away with a little clap of your hands.  “Now let’s get a vase for those flowers, and then you can help me with the mini quiches my sister has baking.  I forgive you, but your penance is being a fellow cater-waiter for the evening, okay?”

What else can he do but laugh at that, then give you a little salute?  How can he resist your charm as the two of you take orders from your sister, the hostess?  The two of you spend most of the party in the kitchen together, running the dishwasher, drying glasses, uncorking bottles of wine, refilling trays of food.  You take turns rejoining the party proper, but when you regroup in the kitchen after each excursion, you share little jokes about the other guests, observations and gentle teasing, and Richard realizes late that the entire evening passes and he hasn’t broken out in a cold sweat once.

He realizes that he hasn’t overthought anything either.  Hasn’t ruminated over his words.  He’s at ease, and he’s enjoying himself.

-----

Which means that the night ends far too early. 

His role in the kitchen gives him a bit of a reprieve:  when the other guests leave, Richard stays behind and helps clean up.  Not that you or your sister asked—he volunteers to stay, and he misses the bemused look that passes from your sister to Mike.  You miss the look too.

You and Richard tidy up as best you can.  The bulk of the cleanup will be in the morning, but you put away the leftovers, you set the dishwasher for one last load, and you sweep away the crumbs. 

The cleanup ends far too early too.

You get his coat for him from the guest bedroom, and then you walk him to the door.  Mike had said you were shy too, but Richard has never seen it—until now.  At parting, you turn shy.  You don’t quite meet his eye, and you stammer out how you had fun, as you thank him for his help.

It’s funny how much your sudden shyness endears you more to Richard.  He recognizes the emotion in you, and it makes the kinship between you feel stronger.  You understand him and he understands you, and when was the last time he felt that sort of connection?

That must be what gives him the mad bit of courage as he stands at the threshold.  You remain indoors, he stands just on the other side of the doorway, and he feels a surge of bravery that makes him lean forward, quick, and brush the gentlest of kisses across your warm cheek. 

“Oh!” you say, startled, and Richard suddenly thinks he’s overplayed his hand.  He feels his own flush creep up from the collar of his coat.

“Sorry, I—”  He starts to say.

“No.  No!  You’re fine!  You’re—”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You just surprised me.”

“Oh.”

You smile, your eyes finding his.  “A nice surprise.”

-----

The entire drive home, Richard can’t stop grinning.  He smiles so much—and has smiled so much throughout the evening—that his cheeks hurt, the muscles so unused to so much effort.  It’s only once he’s inside his own home that he kicks himself; he didn’t get your number or give you his, so there’s no way—

“Just ask Mike for it, dummy,” he mutters to himself, but then he recognizes the negative talk, so he amends it.  “I can just ask Mike for it.  No worries.  Of course I didn’t think of it in the moment.  I was enjoying myself so much.”

But maybe he wasn’t the only one with the mad bit of courage in the end.  When he goes to shed his coat and hang it up in the hallway closet, he checks his pockets for his wallet…and finds a small scrap of paper, folded into fourths.  It’s like a passed-note in school, though no one ever passed him a note during his school years.

It’s from you, of course.  Your elegant cursive with your name and your number, and below that, an invitation to call you sometime so the two of you can get to know each other better.

[rubiatinctorum]

identifying textile fibres by touch is like a game to me now, i'm getting pretty good at guessing them. so i idly started feeling this one texture near my leg and i was like 'cotton for sure. but i don't remember wearing a cotton skirt today'

well yeah because the thing i was touching was my cotton top bedsheet. right textile wrong item

[goldielia]

girlfriend?

a part of: call it what you want au

everyone’s kind of distracted today. it’s the day of the hockey east championship game and the locker room is eerily quiet and simultaneously buzzing with energy.

it’s pretty frustrating from allys point of view, nobody answers unless she repeats herself at least once, the boys all seemingly already on the ice with at least half their brain capacity. she doesn’t blame them, it’s an important game after all, but it’s also not exactly easy for her.

when she’s offered every player new equipment at least once, she retreats back into the comfort of her equipment room, busying herself with preparing the blades and sticks she’ll take out to the bench with her.

after she’s hauled everything out rinkside and sorted it the way she likes, ally finds the locker room to be in a much better mood. their usual hype playlist blasts through speakers and slowly but surely the boys look like their usual confident selves again.

“gimme a sec, you can wait for me at the station”, she says to will when she passes by him to her locker and he’s already holding his tape out to her. she doesn’t have a stall but for christmas the boys got her her own little locker and a jersey because they pretty much viewed her as part of the team anyway.

she was at every skate, practice and game, spent her spare time in their little hangout area and went through loss and win with them so a jersey with her lucky number 7 and her last name was the best gift they could give her.

it had become a habit for her to tape will’s stick for games so as soon as she’s unzipped her sweater jacket and thrown it into her locker, leaving her in her wine red v-neck and black suit pants, and thrown her hair up into a messy bun she makes her way to the equipment room, not knowing she leaves behind a confused bunch of hockey players.

“was she wearing a 2 on her necklace?” “i thought i imagined that” “why’s she wearing a 2? eamon, you got somethin’ to say?”

their captan only shakes his head, knowing ally definitely would not wear his number. “it’s not because of me, but i don’t know what else it would be.” nobody notices gabe and ryan exchange an amused look.

the team go back to getting ready for the game quickly, everything too important for gossip right now. when eamon gets up to get himself a gatorade out of the fridge he’s disappointed to see his favourite flavour’s out.

knowing ally keeps spares of most flavours in a mini fridge in the equipment room, being the saint that she is, he stops in the doorframe to call out for her and can hold himself back just in time.

at the station he sees ally sat on the workspace, will leaning his hip on it next to her, head on her shoulder and hand around her waist as she tapes his stick. eamon’s surprised to see will’s eyes closed - he’s usually very particular about his tape job.

then it hits him though, he hasn’t seen will tape his stick himself in weeks, maybe months, and ally looks confident and practised, nails painting blue stripes in his vision with how fast she’s taping, seemingly knowing just how to move without disturbing will on her shoulder.

they’re whispering quietly to each other, his hand resting on the sliver of skin between her pants and shirt. it looks intimate in an almost casual way, and eamon can’t quite bring himself to interrupt or look away, even though he should.

ally finishes up the tape job by writing something on the tape quickly and he watches will open his eyes and stand between her legs, discarding the stick to the side.

it all dawns on him when will softly taps the dainty 2-necklace resting on her neckline, that will wears number 2 originally. and then he remembers that will, gabe and ryan were driven to the rink by ally before the game today. and that he thinks he saw ally and will cuddling on the bus after a loss a few months ago.

and that’s when his self control runs out and he clears his throat, lifting one eyebrow when they both jump like they’ve been caught doing something forbidden.

“jesus, it’s just you” ally breathes, hopping off the workspace and putting the tape away, all back to business withing seconds. “what can i do for you?” she asks eamon. “first of all, why’re you wearing that necklace? boys think ‘s ‘cause of me” he gestures at her necklace.

“’cause she’s my girlfriend” will answers confidently and eamon’s surprised to see ally blush, he’s not used to seeing the usually so nonchalant brunette show much emotion on her face.

“so, who knows about this” he points back and forth between her and the blond boy vaguely, his eyebrow rising even higher when will answers. “gabe, leno and olivia. and you, apparently”.

“not for long, boys saw your necklace” he warns ally. “that’s okay” she smiles, and eamons knees almost weaken with the intensity in her eyes when she looks back at will.

“i was actually looking for some blue gatorade, you got some back here? big fridge is all out” he states his original request. “oh yeah, for sure. one sec” she answers before she squeezes past an unmoving will with her hand on his bicep, handing eamon his bottle moments later. he decides to get back to his game day routine, but he has to chirp at them just once before he leaves: “no funny business in the facility though. i mean it.”

just before he’s out of the room he catches one last glimpse of wills stick, sees the small heart drawn on the bottom stripe of tape there with the tiny A next to it.

he’s barely out the door when ally turns to will. “girlfriend?” she asks shyly. will smiles, not used to seeing her without her confidence, pulls her into his arms. his smile widens when she rests her chin on his sternum so she can look up at him. “well yeah, you’ve been around for some time now and you know me really well, if you wanted to leave you already would’ve so i’m awarding you that title as of today” she grins up at him, presses one last peck to his lips for good luck before she pushes him back out into the locker room.

now that he knows about ally and will, eamon really doesn’t get how he could’ve not known. gabe and ryan are pretty obvious, whispering about them and exchanging glances everytime someone mentions a girlfriend or love or will. olivia’s kinda obvious, too. the social media girl always waiting until ally’s out of shot to take the picture, probably having been told to not show them together on the hockey team’s socials.

the most obvious though are the couple themselves. if any of the boys openend their eyes they’d definitely notice the love there as well. eamon can’t unsee it now.

it’s in the way allys eyes sparkle when will does well on the ice, in the way will sends her a tiny wink at the end of the high five line every time he scores.

it’s in the way he hugs her for a little too long when it’s game and he got his first hatty and they’re hockey east champions. in the way he has olivia take pictures of the two of them with his mvp trophy, in the way he smiles at her in some of them because she looks angelic under the lights, her eyes bright with pride.

it’s in the way they disappear for a little bit during the celebrations, eamon’s not sure if he wants to know where to or what they’re doing.

it’s in the way will convinces ally to come with to some party the upperclassmen are throwing, her having to leave her car at the rink and going to pick it up tomorrow. it’s in the way she can’t help but agree immediately when he flashes his puppy eyes at her.

it’s in the lighthearted competition of who gets more cups during the beer pong game at said party, in the joint cheer when they win and in the way will pulls ally onto the porch to kiss her privately but not secretly anymore.

and it’s in the way will grimaces but takes it when the boys pat (read: hit) him all over his back and shoulders, in the way he pulls ally right back in front of him when they’ve let up, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

it’s even in the way will scrunches his nose up in half-fake-disgust while ally giggles uncontrollably, head thrown back onto his shoulder, when cutter jokes “smitty, no wonder you’ve been playing so well, gettin’ your stick taped by a pretty girl before every game”.

[khalixvitae]

★Stitched ★

Idia Shroud x Reader | ~5k words

Warnings: none really??? Idia is self deprecating as usual. Allusions to book 6 lore but no spoilers. I leaned into Idia’s weird hybrid inferiority/superiority complex (he’s frustrating and annoying but that’s my wife). I wrote way more than I intended lmao.

Info: GN Reader with no physical descriptions. slowish burn, potential to be friends to lovers? No resolution in the end, a smattering of angst bc Idia is… well he’s himself. Heavily based on his vignettes, Home Screen idles, etc etc (this is for the detail oriented baddies and by that I mean I have capital A Autism and I’ve been fixated on him for months). I have been very into the idea of Idia making cosplays and props since becoming obsessed w his Halloween card, so uh. Yeah! There’s no mention of what the reader’s costume is, so it can be whoever you want! Only mentions that it’s from a manga so go wild! <3

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When Ortho Shroud suggested that you commission his brother to build a prop for your Halloween costume, you’d agreed enthusiastically. You’d even said something about how sure you were that it would look great- a compliment he’d pass on to his reclusive sibling. After all, Ortho was living(?) proof of Idia’s handiwork, so making a prop would be playing on easy mode. Ortho did neglect to mention that his brother was not taking commissions (and frankly never would if Idia had it his way), but it wouldn’t be that big of an issue, right?

Wrong. The second Idia’s phone pinged with a message from an unknown number, from your unknown number, he was convinced he was going to die.

You were lucky you’d stated your case all in one message- if you’d started with just a greeting and expected small talk he would’ve just preemptively blocked you to avoid your little side quest. Besides, who messaged someone so early in the morning? Another look at his phone through bleary eyes would show that it was actually 6 pm, but nonetheless! He’d just woken up, so it was still far too early for that kind of shameless extrovert behavior. At least your message was pretty concise; Ortho had passed along his number because you wanted to commission him, and you’d offer payment in exchange. As clear as that was, there was still a lot to unpack. Ortho’s intentions to find friends for him were clearly at play here, which would’ve ground his gears more if it all wasn’t so well meaning. But giving someone his number for a cosplay commission? That felt a little excessive! What kind of meet-cute scenario was this? And how on earth did you plan to pay for a custom piece anyway? Not that he would actually make it, of course, but hypothetically. He’d heard through the grapevine (read: Azul’s chattering during board game club meetings) that you had a part time gig at Monstro Lounge, but surely you wouldn’t be spending your limited in-game currency on a cosplay prop. While he thought it would be a stupid decision, he had to respect your dedication.

Hypothetically, of course.

Despite any reluctant interest he had in knowing what costume you were putting together, there was no way he’d actually agree to a commission. Besides, it was probably a lame request anyway. And who cares if you’d probably (definitely) look great in your costume? Certainly not Idia, no sir. And he totally didn’t think about how happy you’d be if he were to accept your commission (which he’d never do, of course), or how you’d look holding a piece of his unquestionably perfect work. No, he wouldn’t lie awake thinking about any of that at all. Thus he decided to ignore your text indefinitely- it’s not like he had his read receipts on or anything. He’d just kick back, work on his own nearly finished costume, and maybe even send a halfhearted “soz, just saw this :/” a day or two before Halloween night. No unnecessary and draining social interactions, and you wouldn’t have to be inevitably disappointed by… well, by him. His craftsmanship was S tier without a doubt, but he had a charisma stat of 4 at most. So he’d just let the message sit there. That would be easier for everyone involved.

Well, that was the plan. But as it turned out, Ortho would have none of it. When he’d caught wind that Idia hadn’t bothered to answer your message a whole day later, he’d immediately bombarded his big brother with endless arguments for your case. It was the usual string of points- that Idia would be happier if he had irl friends (as if), that his general quality of life would improve if he had some positive social interaction (no way!), and so on. At least he was sure Ortho’s logic processors were working as irritatingly well as ever, though Idia found his points far too idealistic. But logos wasn’t the way to go when talking Idia into something he had no interest in doing- it would have to be pathos all the way baby, appealing to what really made him tick. Unfortunately for him, Ortho knew that too.

“I need you to make a friend before you graduate,” he said abruptly, arms crossed like he was prepared for a one shot k.o. “Just one. I’m sorry I gave them your number without permission, but I really think this could be fun. You make the coolest stuff ever, and it’s your favorite holiday, so I thought it was a good opportunity for you to talk to someone.” He was silent for only a moment, as if deciding whether or not to deliver the final blow. “I just need to know my big brother will be okay after graduation. And I’d like to see you have fun every once and a while, you know.”

There it was, the absolute punch in the gut Idia was dreading. “You see me having fun all the time, Ortho. We hang out every day.” It was a weak argument and he knew it.

“Yeah and I love hanging out with you, but that’s different! And I know other people would love hanging out with you, too! You’re the coolest person ever, big bro.”

And how could he ever say no to that?

“What’s the costume anyway?” Idia muttered, pulling his lower lip between sharp teeth.

“I’m not sure. They told me it was someone from a manga they really like! You should ask them about it!” Ortho was absolutely beaming. Something in Idia’s chest ached.

His response to your message was short and simple. He asked what your inspiration would be, and what prop you were looking for. Price could be negotiated, etcetera.

You responded with astounding speed; it made him nauseous. At least you were courteous, though. You gave him a lot of info to say the least- more than he needed considering he was a fan of the same series. Ortho had definitely known that, but that was a complaint for some other time. He had to admit it was a good choice- and the character you had in mind would suit you well (he’d never put that in writing so long as he lived). You sent him all of your inspo pictures- purely from the manga, you explained, as the anime adaptation had changed some of the details and you had a strong preference- as well as any measurements he might need. Idia couldn’t resist pointing out that the anime had made a number of phenomenal aesthetic choices, which did start somewhat of a tangent. Before he knew it, he was caught in a back and forth with you. It was… easy. Way easier than he had expected. When you stopped replying he was even a little disheartened; that is until he realized it was nearly 4 am. It had been that long of a conversation? Something about that made him warm all over. He’d ignore it for the moment.

When you messaged him back the following morning he felt the same rush of… something wash over him. And so a tentative back and forth between you two began. Draft sketches and material concepts on his end, and what felt like endless amounts of praise from you. That’s not to say you never brought any criticism to the table. You were just as fickle as he was, it seemed- and he liked arguing with you. Whether it was about the commission or over some unrelated tangent (which the two of you frequently succumbed to), there was something uniquely fun about debating your shared interests.

Over the week or so leading up to Halloween, your communication persisted outside of his prop updates. You even sent him photos of Grim! It was hard to stomach that he’d hit it off so well with some normie, but if you were sending him cat photos and had some (several) based media takes he’d tolerate that discomfort. Part of him kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. The exchange was transactional- after Ortho delivered the prop to you, there would be no need to keep socializing with him. He couldn’t imagine why you’d want to anyway. Speaking of transactions, the two of you hadn’t decided on a price point. Or rather whenever you’d ask, he pushed the question aside by saying he ‘wasn’t sure yet’. He’d given you a relative range, but no exact number. He felt pathetic, but part of him didn’t even want to charge you for it. It wasn’t like he needed the money anyway, and Ortho had been right about the whole arrangement entertaining him. He couldn’t believe he was going so soft. But it wasn’t entirely his fault! Every time he’d start to work up the nerve to give a number, you’d do something so nice it made his head hurt. Sometimes it was asking questions about his games, or sending him voice messages so you could keep the conversation going when you couldn’t text. You’d even asked to vc once or twice! He’d denied that request, but nonetheless you asked! How was he supposed to follow that up? “Oh haha yeah, it’ll be like half your last paycheck sry lmao”? He’d rather die! He knew what his work was worth (and frankly so did you), but the idea of charging you that amount was a little nauseating. How fucking lame could he get?

And the other shoe did drop eventually, just not in the way he’d expected. It came as a lull in your late night banter, followed by ‘[name] is typing…’ for quite some time. That totally didn’t make him want to puke, no way. The message that followed was as short as it was sweet.

“Hey, so ik it’s not really your scene, but I’m having a Halloween thing at Ramshackle. Idk if I’d call it a party but yk it’s something. I was wondering if you’d want to stop by? If not that’s totally cool!”

Idia stared at that message for a while. Shit. Of course there was no way he’d go, not a chance, but he couldn’t just say that could he? He’d rather be dropped headlong into Tartarus than to go to some gathering of extroverts and npcs when he could be collecting his Halloween login rewards. At the same time, giving you a resounding ‘fuck no’ sounded just as unpleasant. So he just sat there and stared for a while before doing what he did best: he gave some vague, noncommittal answer.

“uhhh idk. I don’t wanna intrude haha. plus i have a raid planned so idk if i could make it sry”.

It seemed like you got what he was trying to say; Idia was beginning to resent just how well you listened to him.

“Totally get it! Just thought I’d ask :)! Send pics of ur costume tho! I wanna see it all put together :D!”

He tossed his phone aside, opting to throw himself face down in his pillow with a resounding groan. Why did you have to be so considerate? You had to have known he’d reject that request, so why even ask? And why did it mean so much to him that you had? His moping was interrupted by Ortho knocking at the door. Idia just grunted in response, turning his head to face him.

“What’s the matter bro?” Ortho hovered in the doorway, glowing eyes keenly focused on Idia’s sprawled figure. At times like this, only illuminated by blue screens and his own artificial fire, he had an uncanny effect that was hard to shake.

Idia peeked at him through his flickering bangs, huffing a little and sending the flames askew. He subsequently realized that they were streaked with a mortifying shade of pink, one that made him want to scream into the pillow all over again. “Nothing, I’m good. What’s up?” It was obviously a lie and he wasn’t helping his case by rolling over to face the wall.

“I wanted to see if you were up for a few pvp rounds before I set up to charge for the night. But what’s going on? My scanners detect no signs of physical injury, but your vitals indicate distress. Do you need medical attention?” Idia didn’t have to turn around to know his ‘brother’ had hovered closer.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid-,” he planted his face back into the pillow defeatedly. “It’s- [name] invited me to some stupid Halloween thing.” It was muffled, but that didn’t matter. There was no way Ortho wouldn’t hear him, so there was no need to sit up.

“They invited you to a party? That’s awesome! We could go together! I know, you could even give them the prop in person and see their costume completed!”

“I’m not going.”

“What? Why not? You’ve had so much fun talking to them and working on this commission! You should go see them!” Ortho was gearing up for another uphill battle, one Idia was once again going to resist him on.

“Because I don’t want to. You can go, I guess. I mean I’m sure you’re invited. That’s probably why they asked me, right? Because we’re a package deal? You’ll have more fun without me there to weigh you down. And anyway, I don’t wanna be around that many people. It’ll probably be total npc shit anyway.” He fell silent for a moment, the quiet whir of machine fans filling the air in his stead. Ortho didn’t try to interject.

“It’s not like- it’s not like they wanna see me anyway. Maybe my costume, I mean its S tier, but not me. And I can’t even get on a vc with them- I’d be seriously delusional if I thought I could hang out with them irl.”

“Hey, they totally want to see you. I mean, I’m sure they want to see your costume too. But I know they want to see you. If you don’t feel like going that's okay, but I don’t want you to miss out because you think their invitation wasn’t genuine.”

“Why? Like I know we get along fine over chat, and they’ve interacted with my tablet, but what if they see me irl and get all weirded out? ‘Oh, why is he blue all over? What’s with his teeth? Ewww’. I think I’ll pass.” He chewed at his sleeve, nervous over the mere prospect of facing you like that. “Even if they’ve seen me in passing like once, being up close is a whole other level.”

There was another long pause before Ortho spoke again. “They like your hair.”

“What?”

“They told me they like your hair. Like you said, they’ve seen you irl once or twice in passing. Should I play the recording for you?”

Idia felt a little conflicted about that. It felt a little invasive somehow. But a far less conflicted part of him (his massive ego) needed to hear it, and ultimately triumphed. “Yeah, fine. Go ahead.” He curbed his anxious enthusiasm by biting his sleeve even harder.

“Sure thing! Commencing playback.” There was the sudden background noise of hallway chatter, followed by your voice. “I think I saw your brother in the library yesterday. Well, I’m assuming it was him, he looked a lot like you. He’s got great hair, I’ve never seen anything like it. It must’ve taken forever to grow it out that long.”

There was a measured click as the clip came to a stop. “Recording ends. See? They don’t think you look weird. And there’s nothing else in my data logs to indicate that they would.”

“That’s… not exactly reassuring,” Idia muttered, watching as the mess of curls surrounding him flickered to life with the same rosy hues as before. Of course you wouldn’t tell Ortho that you thought he looked weird, that was his brother. But nevertheless, that was technically a compliment. A win was a win right?

“We should go, I think they’d love to see you there in person. We could even go super early to drop off the prop and leave before everyone else gets there,” Ortho chimed in, clearly trying to find some loophole in his brother’s anxiety. “And we can show off our costumes again.” There was another long pause.

“Fine. But just to drop it off.”

The remaining few days passed without incident, aside from Idia’s mounting anxieties (which he was sure would culminate in sudden death). Half dressed for the function, he sat on the edge of his bed and sent you photos of the final product. At the very least he was sure you’d like it- how could you not? He was a master craftsman after all. Your response came back at the typical lightning speed. He doubted he’d ever get used to that.

“Holy shit, it’s perfect??? Thank you so so much, I love it!! <3 did u sign it?”

“no lmao?? y?”

“Bc it’s your work??? And u should be proud of it and put ur name on it ??? Duh??? And bc I want you to ofc.”

Well that was certainly unexpected. He sat there for a minute and mulled it over- what could you possibly gain from him signing it? Did you really just want that, plain and simple? God you were fucking weird. It did feel kind of nice though. Nice enough for a smile to fight its way onto his face as he meandered back to his workstation. What was the harm in indulging that request?

“can do ig. i charge extra for autographs tho, soz. so ik ortho was gonna drop this off, but is it cool if i come? want to make sure it doesn’t need any adjustments etc yk”

Even though it took him a few (fifteen) minutes to type, it came out smoother than he’d expected. He’d consider it a win. Of course the piece didn’t need any adjusting, it was perfect and he knew it, but he had to justify his sudden appearance (mostly to himself).

“You can make it ??? Nice !!! Yeah ofc! Come over whenever :D !!! <3”

Hearts. Were you trying to kill him? And why did your texts read like the logs of a dating sim? Maybe he should lay off the otome games.

Getting fully into costume was a little more complicated than he’d anticipated. Combined with putting the finishing touches on Ortho’s matching specs and engraving an insignia onto your prop, there was no way the Shroud duo would arrive early. In fact, they’d be perfectly punctual (which Idia loathed). Halfway up the driveway to Ramshackle he started digging his heels into the dirt. Even from a distance he could see light streaming through the dingy windows, along with far too many figures crowded on the porch. Part of him wondered how many students such a dilapidated structure could support- he decided to drop that train of thought before he collapsed in your front yard. “Hey- maybe this is a bad idea. Even if they wanna see me-“

But it was too late. Cater was the first to spot the two, and immediately came down the stairs to greet them. Oh great, a boss level extrovert right off the bat? He had to get out of here!

“Hey hey! I didn’t expect to see you two here! Ooh, whatcha got there? And nice costumes! Did you make them yourself?” The redhead had a cup in one hand and his cellphone in the other, his head cocked as he observed the brothers.

Idia’s mouth just sort of stopped working, and the more questions Cater asked the more he wanted to dip out. Luckily Ortho was way better at navigating normie conversations.

“Hi Cater Diamond! [Name] invited us! And yes my brother made our costumes, aren’t they so cool? We’re kind of in a hurry though, we have the last piece of [Name]’s costume! Once we get it to them, we’ll have more time to talk.” He started to move past Cater, who was now more than ready to usher them through the throng of people in the foyer. Idia followed behind in amazement. Having Ortho around was such an op move.

“Oh nice! They should still be upstairs. Once they’re all set the three of you should come back down so I can snap your pics, ‘kay? You guys really went all out!” Cater slipped away easily before either brother could refuse his invitation. Well, Idia would just have to make sure the coast was clear when he decided to make his escape. The two made their way up the rickety staircase (seriously, how was this place still standing?) and onto the landing above. Your bedroom door was open so at the very least you were easy to locate. Before Idia would go any further he slipped on the pumpkin helmet, properly obscuring his face. That felt a little better- maybe he’d actually be able to look at you.

He lingered behind Ortho as if it would block him from your view (despite being much taller than the android model), knocking at the door frame twice. “Uh… hey. Can we come in?”

You looked up from your phone with a start, eyes widening as you took them in. “Idia? Wait, holy shit, you guys look sick.” You were fully in costume- had you been waiting for them? The way you said his name nearly made him keel over right then and there. “Like I knew they would be cool, but this is insane.” Your gaze flickered to the prop in his hands. “And that’s for me? Dude, it’s perfect. Seriously, thank you so much. I’m so glad you came.”

Idia didn’t process half of it, including you taking the prop from his grasp. You looked so good he felt lightheaded. Forget talking to you, now he was worried about remaining upright. “You- uh- yeah. You too,” he stammered weakly. You too? That didn’t make any sense! “I mean- I mean you look cool. And yeah this is for you.” Breathing in the helmet was a bit of a challenge and he couldn’t recall a time his throat had ever been drier. Ortho made no effort to intervene either- he was just watching, practically on standby mode as his brother made a fool of himself. Great. So much for his op cheat code.

He decided that looking anywhere but at you was his best option, his eyes scanning along the walls of your bedroom. It did look liveable, he’d give you that much. You even had a small shelf with a decently sized manga collection- considering how long you’d been there and the wages Monstro paid, he was kind of impressed. It was cute (you were cute). Your voice snapped him back out of his meditative scanning.

“Sorry there are so many people. I would’ve given you a heads up, but I had no idea it would be this crazy. People just started posting about it and,” you sighed. “So now like half the school is in my condemned house. Happy Halloween I guess? Deuce and Jack got a few of the other first years to preemptively agree to help with post party cleanup, so that’s nice.” You were still looking at him intently; Idia had to remind himself that you were checking out his costume and not him, of course. Unfortunately that didn’t stop the ends of his hair from flickering a dull but obvious pink. He knew it caught your attention, but you didn’t mention it. Instead you opted to change the subject entirely. By the Seven, how were you so good at this? “Anyway, I wanna hear all about your costumes. I got bits and pieces over messages but give me the rundown!”

Now that he could do.

Infodumping was an art form, and boy had Idia Shroud mastered it. From the materials he used to the classic inspo, he was more than happy to tell you all about his creations. It took him a little warming up, but he was quickly in full swing. Down to the sound effect rigging, he gave you a thorough explanation of his work. You seemed particularly delighted in how he and Ortho’s costumes were a matching pair, and of course that opened the floor for him to explain the intricacies of making new specs for his brother. In his excited haste, he’d even taken off the helmet to show you its interior. He didn’t notice for quite a while, nor did you make any mention of it. You just watched him, smiling and nodding attentively. By the time he picked up on just how greatly his range of vision had improved, it was far too late. With his peripheral unblocked he also realized that Ortho was gone. A wave of panic washed over him as he reassessed his surroundings. It was just the two of you, standing beyond the threshold of your bedroom, alone. How long had he been talking? And why were you looking at him with those big, starry eyes? He tried to tell you to stop staring, but no sound came out. Once again, Idia was convinced he was going to die.

You definitely caught onto his nervous demeanor- he wished you’d stop doing that. “Hey, so how much do I owe you?” You asked, your voice gentler than he’d realistically want it to be. Why were you being so nice to him? You had the prop already, so just kick him out! There was a whole party going on downstairs, yet here you were spending god only knows how long alone with him! Wasn’t that depressing?

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a hard ask, and only noobs care about production costs,” he muttered, his tone not entirely unkind but thoroughly dismissive nonetheless.

“Oh- are you sure? Idia, it’s really beautifully done. Even if it wasn’t hard to do, you still took the time to do it. I owe you something.”

“I could make another one in my sleep. Just take it,” he was planning his escape, but could see no easy way out besides just turning tail and running. “Sorry for uh- well, for keeping you up here for so long. You’ve got a party to get to.”

“I’ll take it if you’re sure. Thank you, seriously. And don’t apologize, I like talking to you. I know this really isn’t your scene, so I really appreciate you coming out tonight.” The way you looked at him had him itching to put the helmet back on in record time. Your next words would foil even that half baked plan and freeze him in place. “If you wanted, maybe you could come over and hang out sometime? It’s not normally this crowded, it’s usually just Grim and I. You’re welcome here whenever, and so is Ortho.”

Every turn of phrase felt like you were whittling a hole in his brain, which made it increasingly difficult to think straight. What angle were you trying to work here? Was it just to embarrass him? He couldn’t think of a single thing you could gain from befriending him, which frankly made your kindness even more concerning. You had him one friendly gesture away from counting five things he could see, four things he could touch, and so on in the middle of the function. “I’m gonna go find Ortho,” he stated, abruptly turning on his heel. Now was not the time to go nonverbal, but that was steadily where he was headed. And he’d been doing so well! He’d talked to you irl, face to face! You hadn’t even seemed grossed out- if anything it felt like the opposite (which he would ignore). But of course his brain had to catch up and ruin everything. No, he had to ruin everything, just like always. This fucking sucked. The pumpkin helmet was back on, and he wasn’t showing his face until he was safely back at Ignihyde.

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’ll walk down with you.” You wasted no time following after him, still holding your new prop. The trip down the main staircase was a silent one, but the raucous sounds of the party below more than made up for it. You didn’t push him to speak, which he was begrudgingly grateful for.

It was no surprise that your arrival from upstairs with Idia in tow drew a little attention. Cater even snapped a photo, saying something about how “cammable” you two looked (Idia didn’t have the strength to wonder where that photo would end up). You handled your entrance to the gathering like a pro, deflecting all the attention away from him with a small smile. He really couldn’t decide whether or not he hated how considerate you were, but that would be a viable train of thought once he was safely in his own bedroom. As he slipped away to find Ortho, he heard you discussing your costume with those gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Working up the nerve to risk a look back, he saw you proudly showing off the piece he’d made for you. The way you were so eager to credit him for it was debilitating.

Part of him wondered what would happen if he walked back over and joined the crowd. He knew he didn’t belong there, of course, but hypothetically. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like to stand there by your side for just a little longer, to even let people photograph the two of you together. You hadn’t seemed to mind it a moment before. But maybe you were just being nice. You were always so nice. Regardless these were only hypotheticals, and he was bound to ruin your time if he stayed any longer. He’d be doing you a favor by leaving, right?

Right. With one last look at you, he resolved to find Ortho and get the hell out while he could, for your sake and his own.

Maybe next year, then.

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Tag list: @v-anrouge @vtoriacore @phoneymedic @gum-gum-time @heatofmyexoheart (dm to be removed or added! <3)

Soz for not posting for a while (and this late as hell Halloween fic eek!), I obliterated my ankle about a week ago and have just been taking time to recover (that is a lie I’ve had to go to work every day on it but I digress!!!)

[pokemon-card-of-the-day]

Pokemon Card of the Day #3238: Reshiram & Charizard-GX (Unbroken Bonds)

Reshiram & Charizard-GX was a pretty crazy Pokemon. Sure, it couldn't use its main attack multiple turns in a row, but 230 was such a good damage number that it was an exciting card anyway. This was also a very bulky Pokemon that could get another attack to hit hard after taking a lot of damage, and was on a type that got an incredible amount of support. Sometimes it seemed like they wanted a certain card to work, and Reshiram & Charizard-GX was one of those. Maybe they just wanted a Charizard to break through somehow.

270 HP, while unsurprising for a Tag Team, was very bulky. Even other Tag Teams and the V Pokemon later weren't really getting there. A gigantic hit from a Blacephalon could, but unless you were in a perfect spot there decks were looking to 2 hit KO this. Water was only a minor Weakness to have. Keldeo-GX had a few months in the spotlight but it didn't really last, and Frosmoth had only a few big moments. The Retreat Cost was the only bad thing, as 3 Energy was a lot to pay to retreat. The good news was that most decks using this were generally revolving around Basic Pokemon and tended to have room for the switching cards that were badly needed on a Pokemon that couldn't use its best attack repeatedly.

Outrage, at the start of the game, wasn't good. 30 damage was the base here, and it required a Fire and a Colorless Energy. There was an extra 10 damage for each damage counter on Reshiram & Charizard-GX, however, and since it was almost never being Knocked Out from full health, this became a really solid secondary attack in some spots. It was a little less useful than you'd think because using it often meant you were about to give up 3 Prizes to the next attacker, but if you could get a big KO and survive doing that the one time sometimes it would be worth it. It was also good if the opponent didn't look like they were going to be able to set the next thing up to respond.

Flare Strike needed 4 Energy, 3 of which had to be Fire, and also couldn't be used during your next turn. An attack like this had to have a lot going for it to be worth using... And it did 230 damage, which was incredible. Only other Tag Teams and VMAXes were taking this, and any chip damage at all or a follow-up from any other Pokemon could get the job done alongside it. This was all about damage, as there were no effects of any sort on the attack.

Double Blaze GX did 200 for 3 Fire Energy, which was certainly more than most like it. You'd still be going for Flare Strike... Usually. If you could get 3 extra Fire Energy attached, 100 more damage was added and all effects on the opponent's Active Pokemon were ignored. This functionally just deleted any Pokemon that wasn't a VMAX. This wasn't easy to actually pull off, but was certainly possible with Welder around and it was a game-winning play sometimes.

Reshiram & Charizard-GX showed up in a lot of decks in its time. It was best known for being the star of its own deck, especially in its first year. Sometimes it would pair with general supporting Pokemon and sometimes it skipped those to gain access to Green's Exploration for Trainer cards since it didn't have an Ability. The power was impressive enough to stay relevant and Welder was the acceleration it really needed. It was also used in Fire-based Mewtwo & Mew-GX decks, taking advantage of how many options said type had along with the Welder access. As time went on, Reshiram & Charizard-GX did slip a bit, though it never fully went away, and could be seen in Fire toolboxes as well as a few decks of its own. Achievable big damage on a well-supported type was enough to make this one of the stars of its time despite really needing room for switching cards to be really great on its own, and you'd just expect to see this at tournaments for the span of a couple of years.

[aita-blorbos]

*spoilers

AITA for surviving an assassination attempt?

For context, the other month my rival (18M) blackmailed me (17M) and my friends (15-18, F, M, cat) into pulling a heist so he could exonerate us, otherwise he'd be forced to disband our vigilante group. (He was a detective but that's not really relevant rn). Once we did it, though, he had the entire building swatted, absolutely surrounded by what looked like cops from all over the capital, and I had to let myself be arrested and interrogated to give my teammates time to get out of the premises. Of course we knew this was all just a plot on my rival's part to corner me and assassinate me, so we'd hatched an escape plan in advance to get me out. Fast forward a few weeks later, we ran into my rival during a heist on a ship, and he was absolutely, balls to the walls, furious at me. Granted, it was probably a buildup of so many things and this was just the straw that broke the camel's back, but he seemed genuinely pissed that I ruined his lifelong plot and that I 'have things that he doesn't' and 'don't let the bonds of my past hold me back'. But whatever, that's just Tuesday for us. But THEN (this all happened after we fought each other on the ship, so we were both pretty fucking drained) he decided to sacrifice himself to save me and my friends and asked that we complete our heist on his behalf to avenge him.

Like?? Yes, me and my friends would have done the heist regardless, but... I know he'd always been a sore loser - we've fought before, but it was something coy, the two of us had been holding back a little because we were scheming behind each other's backs - when he lost that fight, he'd said he hated me but we both knew that that wasn't the only thing he felt about me. (I also hated him, but we were in love about it. I thought he knew.) And now that he lost this battle, he just decided to... straight up go ahead and die? I'm sorry, did you think it was easy to contrive the entirety of Tokyo's police force and convince a desperate public prosecutor willing to sell people to the devil for one pack of yakisoba that she's capable of righteousness? I know my rival wouldn't have respected me if I had actually ended up dead in that dingy interrogation room anyway, the way I wouldn't have respected him if his initial deal was actually legit and not a coverup for his mercenary job. I survived for him, so why wouldn't he do the same for me? I know he could beat me in the game if he'd just - lived, and started another scheme to end my life, I don't know! It's so unfair.

Anyway, I just needed to get that off my chest, we have more pressing things to do rn. Like killing God. We're killing God on Christmas Eve BTW so if you ever feel like joining us on that, my number's still the same. Or, our online forum is still up. Whichever you'd like.

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

362, spommy :]

number 362 on the spreadsheet is from this list of prompts the prompt you generated in specific is: hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 4.4k, rated T

The first time Spencer feels a pull at the bottom of his shirt from a person who is not less than ten years old, he's at work. It's not a big deal. He's in the middle of something, sure, but it doesn't feel insistent. Whoever it is waits for the minute that he's directing stuff for Games, silent until Spencer turns around to see them. And it's Tommy. So it's not like he was ever going to be mad anyway. He raises his eyebrows, looking up at the other man's face with a smile. Tommy's fingers pinch at the hem of the front of his shirt now. He's so fucking cute.

"Hey," Tommy says, just looking at Spencer for a moment without speaking. They've agreed not to do the whole public display of affection at work thing (and in general), out of respect for everyone else but also just because they haven't been together that long. That was one of the surprises of the beginning of their relationship, honestly. He's always been somewhat affectionate in his relationships, sure, and he had thought that he had been clingy in previous relationships. He can't keep his fucking hands off of Tommy, though, and it doesn't seem like vice versa is happening either. Like somewhat in a sexual way, but also in the fact that Spencer wants to be touching him all the time, and he wants to look at him all the time, and he has never thought of himself as a guy in one of those annoying couples, openly besotted with one another, but well. Then he met Tommy.

"Hi," he replies, that saccharine honeymoon phase sweetness wrapping even around that single word. Tommy pulls him a little closer, fingers twisting in the bottom of Spencer's shirt. It's fucking cute, so he's not even irritated by it. He just fucking likes the guy so much. They've been officially dating a month or so, and he can't decide whether they should be over this part yet, but he doesn't know how to love Tommy at a lower volume and he's not super into the idea of teaching himself how.

"You look good today," Tommy says. Spencer snorts, rolling his eyes and looking away from his boyfriend.

"Did you just interrupt your whole day to come tell me I look pretty?"

"Hey now, I said you look good, no one ever said pretty," Tommy protests, wrinkling his nose.

"So you don't think I'm pretty?" Spencer asks, outright grinning now with it being so easy to wind Tommy up. Tommy breathes out through his nose and obviously tries not to rise to Spencer's bait, but after a moment of inaction scrunches his nose and physically shakes off the sensation of attempting to limit his ire.

"That is also not what I said! I do think you're pretty, I just didn't know if that was, like, an okay compliment for you, some guys are uncomfortable with it," he says, his tone embarrassed and waspish as he peters off there. Spencer can't fucking help but look at Tommy like he hung the moon in the sky. He rocks on his feet into the other man's orbit.

"You can call me whatever you want," Spencer says, not without a note of challenge. Tommy raises an eyebrow, returning the challenge.

"Anything?"

"Within reason," he says, trying to stick a caveat of sorts on it, but he's hardpressed to think of a single thing he wouldn't at least consider with Tommy. It's Tommy. If he's into something a little weirder than handcuffs and shit, then, like, whatever, right? It's Tommy. Several images pass through his mind at once of doing things he's never done in his life with Tommy, images he does not allow himself to linger upon at all because they are at work, dude, keep it together. Tommy's looking down at him with a smile and narrowed eyes, like Spencer is something he's trying to figure out.

"You would totally, like, actually let me call you Daddy if I wanted to. Dude, you like me so much it makes you look stupid," Tommy observes, because there really is no other word for it. It's true, Spencer does. Still, he scoffs.

"How dare you? My stupidity makes me look stupid, so jot that down," he says, snorting at his own joke as Tommy swats at him.

"Shut up, you're not stupid, stupid," Tommy sputters, one of his hands lifted like he's going to push Spencer back, but he just lays his palm flat on Spencer's chest instead. Spencer puts his own hand over it, fondness thick in his throat as he laces their fingers one over another.

"You say such sweet things to me, baby," he says, maybe a little quieter than an appropriate speaking volume but a little louder than a whisper, surely. The desire to pull Tommy down to kiss him is so strong it aches, clawing through him like hunger pangs. Tommy is looking at him like he can't help but agree.

"This is not work appropriate, Spencer Agnew," he says, lips pursed. They're shiny. Spencer flicks his gaze back up to make eye contact.

"You're the one who came over here to tell me I look pretty, dude," he replies, the desire to kiss Tommy not getting any smaller, and the gap between them not getting any larger. Knuckles are knocked against the door frame twice and they both look over, seeing a sheepish Shayne shrugging his shoulders.

"Hey guys, sorry, but Lisa said she needed Tommy, and Spence, you're about five minutes late for a meeting," he reminds them both, smiling apologetically before he taps the door frame again and moves on with his day. They separate from one another reluctantly, Spencer squeezing Tommy's fingers between his own before heading down to his meeting. It could have been an email. He doesn't see Tommy again til the end of the workday; Tommy walks him to his car, opens his stupid fucking door for him, stands with Spencer's car door open and leans against it while they finish their conversation, the whole nine. He kisses Spencer and asks him to come over, in the parking lot where anybody could see them. Spencer makes the drive to Tommy's apartment with the memory of that kiss burning within him.

They have a really nice night together. Tommy makes him promise to text him when he gets home. Something hot and bright takes up residence in his rib cage.

He's editing when he feels it this next time, and the fact that it's a recurrence rather than the first time does make it less surprising to find that it's Tommy pinching the fabric of the shoulder of Spencer's shirt between two fingers. He finds a stopping place pretty quickly and then spins his chair around to face Tommy, who is much closer than Spencer thought he was. Like, logically, it makes sense that Tommy was right behind him before he turned the chair but now Spencer's boyfriend is looming over him and wow, that's hot actually. He's a short king but he's never really dated someone taller than him before; most of his exes are cis women around average height. Tommy is like half a foot taller than him. Sitting down, Spencer has to tilt his head back to look at him, hooking his fingers in Tommy's belt loops.

"What's up?" he asks with a grin, helplessly happy to see Tommy as always. Tommy's expression goes soft just for looking at him and it sends warmth through Spencer.

"I had a question," Tommy says, though instead of asking anything, he just continues to look at Spencer. Spencer grins.

"Forgot your question, huh, Squidward?"

"Despite it happening every time, I still get surprised that you're always cuter than the last time I saw you." Spencer groans.

"Baby, you are down so bad for me. Listen to yourself," he says, leaning his head against Tommy's stomach. Tommy cards his fingers through his hair and Spencer fights the urge to go pliant against him and just let Tommy hold him up. There's a worried quality to the gentleness of his hands, like he's handling Spencer with care. It's equal parts nice and disorienting. He doesn't know that anyone has ever looked after him like Tommy does. Tommy tilts Spencer's head back into his hands, his thumbs behind Spencer's ears as he adjusts Spencer to look at him. Spencer just lets himself be moved. What is he if not supplicant beneath Tommy's hands?

"You okay?" Tommy asks, head tilted. Spencer gives a short laugh and nods as well as he can, looking down and away from making eye contact with Tommy. So maybe he hasn't been sleeping well lately, and maybe he hasn't slept well since the last night he and Tommy slept in the same bed, but even if those things were true, they would be Spencer's problems and not Tommy's problems. It's Spencer's own fault he barely takes care of himself. He's overcaffeinated and overworked and he knows that, it's just that knowing that doesn't mean there's less work to do and it doesn't mean he has more time to sleep. Giving a small concerned noise, Tommy runs his fingers through Spencer's hair, which is not a fair thing to do when Spencer is trying to compose himself.

"I'm fine, Tommy," he says, knowing as soon as it drops out of his mouth that he said that a little too flatly for Tommy to go with it. True to form, Tommy frowns.

"Hey, I wanna help. We've talked about this, bub," Tommy says, and they have, and Spencer sighs. It was one of their first... it wasn't a fight, really. They haven't been together that long, they haven't gotten into any real fights yet. There is, however, a pretty open policy to their relationship where if something is bothering them, they bring it up. He had actually been the one to bring it up, thinking about Tommy's disposition to hold a grudge, the way he minimizes his own annoyance til it explodes. Tommy had agreed to tell him if he was ever bothered, but not without some conditions of his own. Tommy will ask for help as long as Spencer will too. So yeah, Spencer sighs.

"Come over tonight?" he asks, leaning back into Tommy's hands. Tommy raises his eyebrows.

"Come over like have dinner together or come over like-"

"Come over like spend the night, Tommy. Come over like sleep in my bed," Spencer clarifies, low and honest. Nodding, Tommy starts to lean down, aborting the motion after thinking it through, probably. They're at work. Even a quick kiss is too much PDA for work, right? They're in public. It doesn't mean that Tommy pulling away without kissing him doesn't sting a little. They agreed on little to no PDA.

He still can't control the way his face falls. He's not a miracle worker.

"I should get back... I'll come find you if I remember my question?" Tommy asks, posing it as a question as if Spencer would ever not want Tommy around. Be so fucking for real. Spencer gives him a smile and a nod and Tommy squeezes his shoulder. It's not the kind of goodbye that Spencer would like them to have with one another. He doesn't even know what he would rather them do, but this thing where they're not acting any different than when they were just friends is throwing him off. And like, they agreed to no PDA and he's aware of that, and he's cool with that! He'd never want Tommy to do something he's not comfortable with. Maybe it would be nice, though. Who knows?

It isn't just happening at work now. At the grocery store, when they're cooking dinner together, if he wants to hold Spencer's hand while they're walking. Tommy'll just tug on Spencer's sleeve or the bottom of his shirt or the lapel of his jacket or his belt loops, using anything really to get a grip on Spencer to get his attention. A lot of the time, Tommy looks at him apologetically after he does it, like he hadn't meant to do it and thinks Spencer is annoyed with him for it. But like, Spencer couldn't be further from annoyed if he tried. It's fucking cute, you know?

And like of course it's cute. It's Tommy. Be realistic.

When they end up having to talk about it, Spencer is glad that they're at home. Tommy's place, anyway. Home is relative these days. They're standing in the kitchen debating what they're going to eat, and Spencer was looking through the cabinet when there's a pull at the back of his shift. Used to it by now, Spencer smiles and turns, Tommy's hand moving to the front hem. For some reason, he's not expecting Tommy to look embarrassed, retracting his hand.

"Sorry-" Tommy starts, but Spencer takes his wrist in hand, pulling it back to rest at the hem of his shirt. Tommy doesn't return to the action at first, so Spencer makes it more obvious, holding the fabric out for Tommy to grab. He does so reluctantly.

"I don't mind," Spencer assures, smile soft as he looks up at Tommy. Tommy looks down at him, obviously skeptical, expression still tinged with that thick embarrassment Spencer would do anything to assuage.

"You don't mind that I tug on your shirt like a little kid," Tommy says, deadpan and flat. Spencer shrugs.

"I mean, yeah," he says. It's that simple for him. He doesn't mind. Why would he mind? It's cute. It's sweet. It's Tommy. Why the fuck would he mind?

"I know it's annoying, Spence, you don't have to pretend it isn't," Tommy continues, cynical smile splitting his mouth. Spencer grabs Tommy's hand back from where it's holding onto his shirt, lacing their fingers and pulling Tommy over to the couch. Some conversations are better had sitting down and holding onto one another, and so they will. He sits down and pulls Tommy to stand in front of him, leading him to sit forward in Spencer's lap and pulling him closer then into a hug. Tommy breathes out a relaxing breath through his nose slowly, tucking it into the rolled collar of Spencer's hoodie. Hands spread across Tommy's back to hold him close, Spencer takes it upon himself to clarify something.

"I like it," he says, to which Tommy immediately rears back to squint at him.

"You what." It doesn't even sound like a question, still Spencer smiles and answers, holding his hand to Tommy's cheek.

"I like when you pull on my shirt, or my sleeve, or my belt loops, or whatever. It's cute and it-" he pauses, unsure if the other part is something you tell other people or just an inside his head thought. He doesn't always know how to tell those apart. Tommy hooks his fingers where he had tucked his nose before.

"And it what, Spence?" he asks, quiet and gentle, and Spencer could swear he was the one doing the reassuring here. Sometimes it feels like they pass the idea of being the composed one back and forth, bloodhounds for one another's soft spots. Spencer clears his throat, looking down and to the left.

"It makes me feel like you need me. That part's kinda nice," he admits, clearing his throat again like that'll get rid of the ball of anxiety that he just can't swallow. A confused noise follows that, and when Spencer looks at him, Tommy only looks more puzzled than he did before.

"I do need you," Tommy says, dropping this as if it's obvious and the idea of someone not coming to the same conclusion had never even occurred to Tommy. Spencer raises a skeptical eyebrow, cognizant of the fact that they haven't been together very long, and Tommy could bounce back from breaking up with him pretty quickly if they did it now. Sometimes, it feels like he's always going to be waiting for that other shoe to drop. "Baby, you're my friend. Like even if I wasn't totally crazy about you, which, for the record, I am, we've been friends a good little while here. We've spoken almost every day for several years. I love you." There's a lump in Spencer's throat and Tommy's holding his face like he's something precious and Spencer doesn't know what to do with all of this sincerity.

"We were talking about you," he protests weakly, his expression souring. Tommy leans down and kisses him gently, backing off after just a moment of contact. Spencer strains up to follow him, but Tommy stays out of his reach. Fucking tall boyfriend. Asshole.

"I want to talk about you, now," Tommy says, using his hand on Spencer's jaw to tilt his head up a little more, making it nearly impossible to do anything besides make eye contact with him. He has pretty eyes. That's not really what they're talking about, though.

"I like when you grab onto me because it makes me feel like... it makes me feel like you want me around more than you care about looking normal and social niceties and being in public. It makes me feel like you don't mind what other people think if it means we're touching. It's really dumb, and romanticized, and I know I'm being like. Weird about it. So like, it's an in-my-head thing. I just don't want you to think that I'm annoyed with you for holding onto me, or pulling me places or whatever. I think it's neat. I don't know," he rambles, just closing his eyes halfway through because he doesn't know if he can bear how Tommy has to be looking at him right now. He knows he's weird in relationships sometimes. He likes the idea of someone (of Tommy) liking him to the point of caring more about having him close than about whatever societal rules they're supposed to be observing. They agreed upon little to no PDA. It's completely cool with him, but. The pulling is nice.

"Baby," Tommy whispers, brushing a kiss along Spencer's cheek as he tries to wrap himself entirely around Spencer through determination alone, his knees closing around Spencer's hips like somebody is gonna try and lift him off his boyfriend's lap or some shit. Spencer rubs his hand up Tommy's back again, not saying a goddamn word. "I want you like. All the time, dude. I like holding your hand and kissing you in public and being the sappy couple with you. I just didn't want to push it because we decided no PDA from go. Why did we decide on no PDA if we're both cool with PDA?" he asks, sounding more like he's musing aloud than actually posing the question. Still, Spencer answers. Such is his nature.

"I thought you wouldn't want to. Like, as a. Okay, logically, I know that we are together at least partially because you're attracted to me, but it's hard to remember sometimes that this incredibly hot guy is actually cool with the idea of people knowing we're in a relationship," he says, saying way too much and immediately pressing his face back into Tommy's shoulder and wishing he could, like, disappear or something. He's aware of the fact that his self esteem these days probably falls beneath double digits on the assessment they make you take at doctor's appointments when they know you're mentally ill. Like, he's aware. It's just that it's easier not to talk about it, to make it small and ignore it, self aggrandize til everyone thinks he believes his own myth too, and it's some fucking bullshit. Having low self esteem is some bullshit.

"The way that you think I would not sit on your lap in front of everyone we know is extraordinarily funny to me seeing as I do not know if I could project a more down bad for you vibe if I fucking tried, dude," Tommy says, smooth sarcasm running through his voice even as he makes Spencer blush a lurid red. He strokes his thumb over Spencer's cheekbone. Looking at him makes Spencer's heart ache, fondness almost as thick as nausea in his throat. Like love is something that he has to cough up, wisteria spreading itself through the branches of his bronchial tubes. He doesn't know what to do with all of that feeling.

"I really fucking like you, Tommy," he whispers, leaning into Tommy's hand. Tommy leans in and presses another kiss to his lips.

"Well, that's great, because I really fucking like you too, Spencer. I really fucking like you," Tommy repeats, kissing him again, longer this time and so sweet. Spencer lowers one of his hands and grabs Tommy's ass just because he can. Tommy breaks the kiss, snorting and pushing his face down against Spencer's collarbone.

"It's a nice ass," Spencer says, shrugging the shoulder that Tommy is leaning on. Experiencing the honk of Tommy's laugh this close would probably be startling if Spencer wasn't always looking to make it happen, always ready for it because it's what he wants to be happening. He likes making Tommy laugh like that, striking him with amusement he wasn't expecting to the level that he's not prepared for it, that he loses all sense of volume control. More in the positive, Tommy presses a kiss to his cheek, the laughter something Spencer can now feel as well, and he's in love with Tommy, fuck, he's in love with him. He won't tell him now. But fuck, it's true.

He isn't sure if when Tommy said he loved him, if he- it's really early for them to be saying I love you, right? Like, they've been friends for years, sure, but there's a pace that is supposed to apply here and it sure as fuck is not applying. But Tommy meant that he loves Spencer like he's always loved Spencer, like they've been friends since they started working together kind of love for Spencer. They're still working on the in love thing. There's no fucking way Tommy is in as deep as he is on this. He's this deep in because it's Tommy. Wait a fucking second.

"I think I just realized that you actually like me. Like right now. Like with you in my lap? Yeah. Like I think my brain has only been processing the part where I'm in love with you, and like the other side of that equation just never hit me before right now. Holy shit. You like me. Like genuinely," Spencer rambles, unable to stop the pace of his speech just given the absolute revelation of this, and how fucking dumb it is that this feels like a revelation. Tommy is looking down at him with open confusion. Well, he can dig that. He is aware that the way his brain works isn't always, like. Good. For him or for others. Realization crosses Tommy's face and he tenses, blinking and looking away from Spencer's face before he speaks.

"I don't make you feel like I love you?" he says, soft and a little sad. Fuck. He reaches up and cups Tommy's face in his palm, running his thumb over Tommy's cheekbone. He waits to speak til Tommy's looking at him, big brown eyes finally meeting his own.

"You make me feel so fucking special, dude. You make feel taken care of, and cared about, and enjoyed, and appreciated, and worthy in a way I didn't even know I was fucking missing. It just didn't click for me that like- that's. That's you loving me. That is me being loved by you," he says, trailing off with the last bit, heart pounding in his ears. Holy shit. That's how Tommy has looked at him this entire time, isn't it? He feels like he's been ignoring an entire aspect of their relationship, the obvious conclusion blocked by stupid ass low self esteem. Tommy leans down and kisses him softly, gentle and tender and all of that bullshit that makes Spencer feel so fucking loved under his hands. He loves him. Holy shit. How is anyone normal about being in love? This is crazy. What the fuck.

"I love you. Dumbass," Tommy murmurs against his jaw, leaning down on Spencer's shoulder. Spencer wraps his arms around him.

"I love you too," he says, the feeling of this interaction, this reassurance, this love a warm weight in his stomach, heat rising through his chest.

"You need to tell me if you feel like that," Tommy reminds him, bussing a kiss across his cheek. Spencer makes a vaguely agreeing noise.

"You need to tell me if you feel like that, too. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm annoyed by you being you. I'm not. I like when you pull me places and I like that you flirt with me badly when you're drunk and I like when you talk through movies and I like when you tell me about Drag Race I've never seen and I like everything else you've ever apologized to me just for doing. That's kinda, like, part of loving you, dude. I love you. Cute little habits and all," he rambles into Tommy's shoulder, unable to make himself pull back and look up at Tommy to say any of this. He doesn't like talking feelings shit. It's awkward and vulnerable and it makes him feel a little nauseous, but again. This is Tommy. If Tommy needs to know how absolute insane about him Spencer is, then well, he's gonna have to put his big boy pants on and tell him. Fuck.

"You really love me, huh?" Tommy says softly, like he's having the same revelation Spencer had a few minutes ago. Spencer chuckles roughly, leaning up to fumble through kissing Tommy gently, tears in his eyes.

"I think we need to start believing each other more, baby," he whispers, pulling a laugh from Tommy as well. His heart aches in his chest. Tommy kisses him, gentle and steady, before pushing himself up out of Spencer's lap, standing to his full height. He extends a hand to Spencer once he's firmly on his feet. Spencer raises an eyebrow.

"I'm thinking we lay down in bed and look through delivery apps for a little while?" Tommy proposes. Spencer lets himself be pulled up, lets himself be lead, lets himself be loved.

They end up ordering Chinese.

[gender-buddies]

Final Thoughts on Gender Buddies

All in all the project wasn't too bad! I thought that I'd run into way more artist's block, but I managed to come up with a lot of good ideas pretty quickly. Once I stopped overthinking it, it was easy to come up with some good designs. It helped that I stopped making the Buddies so high-concept after phase 1. At a certain point I was coming up with these designs on the fly rather than sketching them in my notebook, taking a bunch of notes, then moving them to a digital format. Streamline!

There are a few designs I would love to redo (looking at you, Aesthetigender.) I also had some lofty plans to have "items" that followers could use on Buddies to change their elements, or to turn them into the fluid or flux version of the genders they represent, meaning I would draw new designs for them. I was also hoping to release some "special edition" Buddies to commemorate important dates, like when I posted Neogender on New Year's Day (another design I didn't like all that much.) I was also supposed to post Demiboy as a birthday Buddy (I'm a demiboy and would have posted it on my birthday to celebrate my identity), but never did and instead posted it as part of the original 120.

Yes, I do want to take requests. I didn't accept or deny requests that I got because I didn't want to give away which Buddies were or weren't planned, but now I can do the requests! There are two that I plan to draw in the near future, but I mostly want to take a break for a month or two before touching them. But I'll totally take requests. If I have time, I'll post a list of every single Buddy I drew so it's all in one place and followers don't have to search so much.

I think my biggest disappointment was the lack of follower interaction (like comments and asks) and the lack of popularity. I was hoping for more followers and more talk about it (I barely saw anything discussed in the YB3 server even though I was posting a lot of updates.) I don't typically worry about the numbers, but I feel like it would have at least pulled in some new followers from my YouTube channel or something! That feels silly though, but this is the first time I've ever finished a planned project, and it was a big deal for me.

Maybe I'll do another similar project in the future, maybe one with a lot less structure. I put a TON of thought into the stats and into which Buddies would make it into each phase. I use Trello for all my planning and you should see what it looks like! It legitimately looks like I'm programming a Pokemon game or something!

This project really helped me get better at drawing because I was drawing so regularly, and that's after spending years not drawing anything at all. I have some newly developed muscle and nerve issues in my dominant hand from intense restaurant work, so that was a struggle for me. But I eventually embraced the shaky lines and slightly off proportions and saw those things as features rather than mistakes. It's not great as an artist to embrace things that clearly need adjusting, but it is what it is. I'm an amateur and self-taught. It's okay if I suck at drawing!

Feel free to send asks about any of the Buddies and I'll gladly talk about where I got the ideas for them and what they're based on. Phase 9 and 10 Buddies have artist commentaries in their replies and I do have posts with artist commentaries for previous phases, but I would love to talk more about individual designs!

Anyway, thank you for supporting my silly little project. Now my focus is on my dragon story worldbuilding crap (@project--eclipse.)💙

[theuniversitychallengereview]

Local Month of Writing A Novel

For possibly the fourth time in the nine years I’ve been doing this blog I have decided to add to my writing workload by participating in NaNoWriMo. Except this year I’m not calling it NaNoWriMo because the official NaNoWriMo organisation has been involved in a number of recent controversies including one whereby it reckons you’d have written a novel if you asked an AI to spit out 50,000 words for you with little to no human input.

Instead, I’m calling it LoMoWriNo.

Local Month of Writing a Novel.

LoMoWriNo works in much the same way as NaNoWriMo, with the aim being to complete a 50,000-word draft of a novel in November. This means you have to write 1667 words a day, which is pretty easy when you’re waffling on in University Challenge Review intros, but pretty difficult when you have to hang more than one thing together in a coherent narrative.

Not that I’ve ever really got the knack of the whole coherent narrative business. I’m trying though, and that’s all that matters. And I’m going to try and avoid doing what I did when I was seventeen which was to fill entire pages with the word ‘really’ if I ran out of ideas or was too tired to get my words out. A tactic which is still more noble than getting AI to write it for you.

If I were a clever blogger, I would have prepared some intros like a Blue Peter host, here’s some I made earlier and all that jazz. But I am not a clever blogger — if I were I’d have a few more subscribers, I’m sure.

The good thing about my hopes of completing LoMoWriNo this month is that, unlike my previous attempts, I don’t have the pesky spectre of a job or a university degree to distract me. So I might just get it done.

However, there is also a chance I might launch another newsletter this month, about moving to Scotland and going for walks, so I have artificially increased my level of busyness by a considerable level.

Anyway, this year’s novel is about a big mine — if you subscribe to this blog I’ll probably chuck you a few snippets if I get it done on time.

The University Challenge Review

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For now, though, I’m going to get on with the episode, because unlike previous years I’m not going to count this introduction as part of my word requirement. It would have been useful, a quick 400 to get me started, but there is no need to cheat like that this year.

Tonight’s match was between Leicester and LSE.

LSE finished second in the second series of the BBC era, losing a tight final to Imperial in 1996.

Leicester finished first in the first series of the ITV era, winning the first ever Grand Final trophy against Balliol in 1963.

At Christmas in 1998 there was a special episode which saw the Leicester 1963 team face off against the 1998 winners Magdalen, Ox.

I won’t spoil who won because this would be a good match to review in my Patreon series of old shows, which features a match which was broadcast a week after this Champion of Champions contest (link below).

Special Episode, 1999 - Tabloids vs Broadsheets

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www.quizposting.com

Here’s your first starter for ten.

First to recognise King as the surname which links a list of people is LSE’s Dalton, and they took a triple (A) from a bonus set on batteries. Commonwealth gives Dalton a second consecutive starter, and they took another hat-trick on economics (nothing more than to be expected, given the university they represent, and the fact that three of them are studying economics in one way or another).

They took one bonus before Lister won them the picture bonuses by recognising an close up of the flag of Malta. Two bonuses closed the gap to ten points before Gowland tied the game with Futurama.

Dalton is the only member of LSE with a starter so far, and he makes it three with Oman. Bramley gets in on the act with Vivien Westwood, and LSE begin to pull away thanks to an excellent buzz of ceteris paribus by Nyang. Another economics question though. If one were minded to create conspiracy theories one would have a good place to start. But of course, I’m not minded to do that.

Get On With It!

Nyang is on a roll now and adds another with Triassic, but the music starter goes to Leicester’s Lister, keeping them in it. Gowland takes his second of the evening with Marriage of Figaro, and they dawdle on the bonuses, prompting Rajan to tell them to hurry up and give themselves a chance at a high score.

At this point they are only 35 points behind with more than ten minutes left, so I think Rajan is getting ahead of himself.

Either that or he knew what was going to happen next because LSE ended the match with a 125–25 run, blowing Leicester away and stranding them 25 points below the high-scoring loser spots.

Pole Position

On the rare occasion that they managed to get a starter, Leicester struggled with the bonuses. A set of flags in Formula 1 sees them leave with nothing. Two are relatively easy (yellow and blue) for people who have a passing understanding of F1, and they don’t have a clue about those.

But they almost managed the hardest one, giving ‘black flag with an orange square’ rather than ‘black flag with an orange circle’. I have no idea how they guessed their way so close to the correct answer on that one. I’ve been watching F1 for 25 years and I don’t remember ever having seen that flag.

Beeden brings Leicester into triple figures with four, as in the regnal number shared by the consecutive monarchs George IV and William IV. Before the show was broadcast he told the BBC:

“It’s always something I have wanted to do. It’s quite surreal actually because I got the chance to see how it all worked behind-the-scenes” “I have a very rare form of dwarfism, and you do not see people with visible disabilities on the show,” “It really inspires people who do not fit the stereotypical mould to really try and achieve these things. That’s really inspirational.”

With the match sewn up, LSE are commanding on the buzzer, racking up an impressive score that will mark them a dangerous side going into Round 2.

LSE 235–100 Leicester

With only one game left in the first round, St Andrews and UCL are confirmed in the high-scoring loser play-offs. At least one, possibly 2, of Liverpool, UEA and Leeds will be joining them.

SOAS or St Edmund Hall will make it in even if they lose so long as they score 130 or more. See you next week for that match.

[tainbocuailnge]

i think one of the primary factors behind granblue fantasy’s continued success is that it’s a game that’s very easy to come back to. the barrier of entry for granblue has always been pretty high and has only gotten higher with the years despite repeat attempts from cygames to make the early stages of getting started easier, because in “streamlining” old content they ended up just removing a lot of it which means you have barely anything to do in the game until you hit rank 100 where all the actual content is. I used to really hate the “100 rank tutorial” jokes for being exaggerated but they’ve gotten increasingly real over the years.

however once you’re past that barrier and have a grid and are at the player rank where you have shit to do the granblue fantasy content schedule is very comfortable with you either playing the game nonstop for days or completely ignoring it for months, because regardless of when you last opened the game there will be like thirty little tasks you can juggle working towards and there’s a valor badge event coming soon if you need a more specific goal and all that’s really changed is there’s more characters now and more swag outfits to put on your player character and also they’re letting you skip over some of the more annoying chores now and slipped another 300 ap recovery items into your inventory. being a browser game means it doesn’t even hoard valuable storage space when you’re going through a period of not playing it. there’s going to be new jacked up endgame raids but whatever ol reliable team you set up a year ago is definitely still going to work in whatever raid you made it for, and that raid is probably still going to be relevant to you if it’s the last thing you were farming so you can pick up right where you left off.

so even though my relationship with granblue has been rocky the past few years to say the least, whenever some seasonal campaign comes around I often end up playing for a while again anyway because even if the state of the game progresses it doesn’t feel like i’m left behind. whenever the mood for some number go up strikes my ex game dot granbluefantasy dot jp is ready and waiting.

when it comes to long running live service games and especially gacha games that can’t easily go back on having released something before that’s actually a very hard balance to strike so i think granblue really does deserve high praise for managing to not leave players that don’t actively keep up behind. and I think especially the past year or so they’ve made a lot of respectable efforts towards making sure the older stuff that you put a lot of effort into back when it was the best you could get still remains relevant as the game progresses which is part of why i have a more positive attitude towards the game again lately too. the extra grid slots for bahamut and ultima weapons in both sandbox (casual content) and revans raids + super ultimate bahamut (hardcore endgame content) are a great move when there’s always more new fancy weapons fighting for a grid slot that these former endgame must-haves couldn’t compete with anymore.

the class design on row V classes and recent mastery bonuses for row IV to go with it are a good example too because they clearly made an effort to have row V be both a clear upgrade but also more demanding to use (stricter mainhand requirements due to aux weapons, high commitment for farming shields and manatura) so there remains reason to use the row IV counterpart that you put all those masteries into to get row V in the first place. class design in general has been genuinely really good lately both in visual design (slutty gran outfits) and how it plays. so here too coming back to game dot granbluefantasy dot jp after a long time away you won’t find that everything you worked so hard for is now obsolete but rather that you can just keep playing your favourite class forever and make it fuck even harder if thats what you want

and i say things will be mostly the same whenever you get back but i also think introducing battle system v2 and the recent change to qilin were pretty ballsy moves and good signs that cygames continues to think about the long term health of the game even though they blatantly always wanted to be a console game dev and it felt like they’d put all the competent people on GBVS and relink for years. actually maybe the fact that relink is finally coming close to being a real game is why mobile granblue is getting better again recently. anyway. lord forgive me but i’m back on my shit (playing granblue fantasy again)

[scramble-crossing]

Hi friend! I am a resident kh fan who's been into the games for over 10 years. I actually started the bc my friend forced me to play twewy, I loved it, and she was like ~ooooo~ these characters are in KH you should play it~~

Little did I know that at the time, it was literally the last game in the series that they were in lol.

But! Here's a handy dandy guide if you would like to get into them!

There's a lot of different numbers for the games but repeat numbers and extensions, are just different versions of the games. So don't worry about "2.5" or "0.2" necessarily.

Ok!

So the game order to play:

Kingdom Hearts

Chain of Memories

Kingdom Hearts 2

358/2 Days

Birth by Sleep

Re:coded

Dream Drop Distance

KH UX

0.2 Fragmentary Passage

Kingdom Hearts 3

Melody of Memory

I know it's a lot but luckily, they made it really easy by bundling remakes together. There's a game called 1.5+2.5 and that's just the first 6 titles. 2 games (days and re:coded) were just made into cutscene movies so you don't have to play them. I highly recommend just watching the scenes for Chain of Memories bc it's a very different type of gameplay and a lot of people don't like that one as much, but it's important to the story. One little thing I don't like about the bundle is it switches the order for kh2 and days. Try to keep that in mind. Then after that you need 2.8. It will have a remake of DDD, a cutscene movie of the original plot of khux (mobile game), and 0.2. It's a new extra chapter to birth by sleep. It's pretty short but still important. You can find these all put together for PS4 (and PC I think?) called Kingdom hearts the story so far

Then KH3!! The game many were waiting for so so long. (Make sure to include the dlc scenes)

After that is Melody of Memory. It's a rhythm game that only has about half an hour of actual important plot.

Then the mobile game. Which unfortunately had been shut down but you can find videos of the entire plot in chronological order. Oh and an extra little story called dark road. That is what has baldur.

So to summarize:

1.5+2.5 remix

2.8

Kh3

Melody of Memory

Mobile game

(and you can condense it more by getting 1.5+2.5 and 2.8 in one bundle and watching MoM and KHUX on YouTube)

The only purchases would be story so far bundle, and kh3.

Sorry this is a long ask but I felt like it's important to explain all the different titles. Feel free to message me if you have any questions!

Oh geez tysm!!

Its very kind of you to type out a guide for a series with like...man 11 whole games??? There's a RHYTHM GAME??? With PLOT IMPORTANCE??? I mean I guess I'm not too surprised. I don't think there's much this franchise can do to surprise me anymore - knock on wood (<- just learned about Baldr mass murder like three hours ago)

Anyways, it's good to know that there's a bundle game out there to make things easier for newcomers! Yknow a few months ago I stumbled across one of them - I think it was 358/2 Days - at a second-hand game store. I didn't grab it right away and kind of regretted it (I mean I tried to play neo twewy first, might as well have a simialrly awkward introduction to kh), so I drove right back a few days later and the thing was ALREADY gone! Would've been cool to own, but my main concern with getting into this franchise was that I'd miss games due to them running on out-of-date consoles or else being rare or pricey, so I'm glad there's still an easy way to play it via bundle!

I mean with a name like that who can resist

I'm gonna have to look into this later...winter break plans perhaps? 👀 The twewy-kh pipeline feels inevitable so I might as well embrace it.

And if I procrastinate well hey, there's always a chance there'll be twewy crossover pt. 2 in the upcoming game, and if Sho's there I swear I WILL drop everything to play game # fourtwelve in a franchise I've never touched before. That is a promise.

[readingbythestreetlights]

i was tagged by the wonderful @crimsonicarus to share a snippet of one of my WIPs!!

i couldn’t decide if i wanted to post a bit of my mcstrome one or my mick/esteban one, so here’s a snippet from each!! (my apologies, the first one is a little long.)

despite all the rain

Dylan really isn’t a big fan of taking faceoffs against McDavid, but they are, quite frankly, the easiest part about playing him.

Training for faceoffs is less about the speed of your body and more about reaction time. Dylan has good reflexes. So when the arena goes quiet for that split second between the time the ref blows the whistle and when he actually drops the puck, Dylan steadies his breathing. Track the puck, don’t look at your stick. If you don’t win it immediately, do what you can to wrestle it from the other guy–don’t let him pass it cleanly back.

Dylan takes a shaky breath, not looking at the yellow CCM stick in front of him, instead watching the referee’s hands, preparing. Then the puck drops and he wins the draw, sweeping an easy pass back to the defense.

Whip’s earlier acknowledgment of the energy was on point; it’s one of those games where all the lines are working hard, some of the guys who usually fly under the radar finding important moments to shine through. Alexeyev has a quality block, rewarded with pumped-up hollers and stick taps on the shin as he passes by the bench. The bigger guys are doing their thing, throwing their bodies around and getting some good, clean hits in there.

The Capitals aren’t in a playoff spot at the moment, but they could be. There’s still a month and a half of the regular season, enough time to play catchup to the current Wild Card teams, still only behind in the runnings by a handful of points. This road trip is important. Dylan imagines the announcers are probably saying something about how this little Pacific swing could quite possibly define the season for the Caps— to make the playoffs or to not make the playoffs?

With the game tied at one going into the second (a powerplay goal for Osh and a killer snipe from Nugent-Hopkins on an odd-man rush), the team knows they have to take it up to the next notch, understands that they have to capitalize on the puckluck and good vibes tonight or forever hold their peace.

McDavid gets the puck stripped from him early in the period. The Caps bench is full of cheers and shoulder bumps at that.

Dylan would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel the need to prove himself every time he plays Edmonton. When everyone’s eyes are drawn to number 97 anyway, it’s easy to pretend that there’s no extra reason Dylan’s gaze follows McDavid between shifts. It’s easy to pretend that there’s no reason Connor would or should look back at all.

Dylan still wishes he would.

It’s early in the third that the floodgates fully break open for the Caps, the score having been stuck at 3-2 Washington since the middle of the second. The fourth goal is Dylan and the fifth might as well have been credited to him, fishing the puck out in a tough battle against the boards and deking out the defensemen before giving a slick saucer to Sheary, the pair of them getting herded into a good old Tom Wilson hug after the goal.

Dylan and Connor’s eyes meet as Dylan skates toward the bench to high-five the boys. It’s brief eye contact, but God, it has meaning.

won’t we see you once again? (in foreign soil, in foreign land)

Mick doesn’t bother too much with getting to know new people. He prefers consistency, enjoys conversations threaded with inside jokes, old stories, no expectations.

Esteban had looked pretty in the Spanish sun, his eyes appearing amber and his grin as inviting as ever.

Mick had let himself enjoy it. He was single now—no guilt for appreciating the beauty of life.

Offering up Mallorca just made sense. Mick, for some reason, has never minded showing Esteban the places most dear and private to him. He likes it that way.

Thinks the lack of walls between the two of them is nice.

Thinks the lack of walls between them could one day amount to a lack of physical distance. Hopes, anyway.

Esteban wears that grin no matter who he’s with.

Still, Mick hopes the way the French driver bites his lips softly while in conversation with Mick is purely reserved for just that. Conversations between just them.

[little-mouse-adventures]

All this OC talk… now you’ve got me curious- tell me a little bit about your OCs, if you would like!

:3

the thing is. the OC's that have been rattling around in my brain for like... five months? are NOT part of the fic I am 3/4 of the way through writing. So that's been fun.

But they won't get out of my head, and I like them a lot, so I'm gonna natter about them. (They also show up in this fic, and I keep thinking I might expand on that... I also have another fic idea I might put them in, because they're my OC's and I can put them in any world I want, but their backstories would be pretty much unchanged).

uh. this got long, so things are under the cut.

Ji-hun (Jimmy) Kim: Mid-40's, Korean-Canadian entrepreneur. Born the second son and third of four children to the leader of a Canadian based Korean crime family. He cut ties with his family in his late 20's and basically started his own little criminal empire. He quit that a few years later after his adopted sister Delaney nearly died from his bullshit and he nearly died because she wasn't there to protect him, and he went mostly legitimate into the fashion industry. He started going by Jimmy at that time, with only a very, very small number of people allowed to call him by his given name.

He puts on a pretty non-threatening and almost campy public persona. In reality, he's a highly intelligent and shrewd businessman and learned long ago that being a flashy, non-threatening person allowed him to get in close for Hello hugs and walk away with the other person's watch, wallet, and phone, which he can then mine for information to use later. Mainly focuses on fashion, though splits his time between high fashion and couture collections and practical wear for mundane combat - clothes that look casual and normal, but are actually tailored to carry multiple weapons or protect from bullets or knives.

Generally pretty easy-going, but he does have a temper, and is willing to hold grudges. He doesn't let them get in the way of work, but he certainly doesn't forget any wrongs against him or those he cares about, which is mostly just like two people total. Has majority stakeholder interest in a few ventures outside of fashion, a few electronic parts manufacturing companies, owns and operates a few exclusive clubs, that kind of thing. He goes a bit squirrely if he's bored, which can happen easily. He always needs a project, whether that's designing a new dress or pouring over tech magazines to figure out which microchip manufacturer to invest in next.

Delaney Winters: Early 40's, Jimmy's adopted sister and bodyguard/ personal assistant. She met Ji-hun when she was twelve and her father sold her to Ji-hun's mother to be trained as an escort/ intel agent to pay for his gambling debts to the crime family. She learned the skills, but was a bit too scrappy for the graceful, accomplished look the crime family wanted in their people, so she started training as a fighter. Ji-hun was in training at the same time - his mother didn't care for that as she wanted him to take on the medic role for the family, but he never really got along with his mother. He and Delaney got along like a house on fire and quickly became inseparable, so they were partnered together. It also worked well as cover: each had a "date" for fancy events where they would attend to perform assignments for the family from gathering information, committing heists, or enacting assassinations. This led to a lot of rumours about Del and Jimmy being romantically involved - they absolutely are not, but they don't do much to discourage the rumours.

Del is nearly always in high heels, and never (unless she's completely relaxed at home, and even then it's iffy) has her hair down. It's a dangerous game, to have long hair in a world where it can get caught or pulled in a fight or left behind as evidence, but she likes it anyways so keeps it.

She has less of a temper than her brother, and is more willing to forgive people. She's also willing to negotiate more, which, partnered with her love of old-fashiond Colt single action army revolvers, earned herself the nickname The Peacemaker. Likes dancing and daisies and houseplants - she sometimes wants a simple, normal life, but worries that it would drive her crazy with boredom. So for now, she's fine running around the globe as the bodyguard/ PA for her brother. She can be very charming when she wants to be, but mostly plays the straight man to her brother's goofball persona, and can be sharp-tongued and sarcastic. She's loyal to a fault - literally.

Marcus: Haven't sorted out his last name yet, but he's Ji-hun's love interest and eventual husband. Mid to late 40's. He's a chef, and runs a few high-end restaurants and does some catering, but he's just like... a normal dude. No criminal ties, no dangerous past. The worst thing on his background check is that he had a couple DUI's and speeding tickets in his early 20's. Very calm personality, almost surfer-dude-esque. Keeps his hair long (for a dude, it mostly hits his shoulders), and enjoys experimenting with different recipes. Eventually he and Ji-hun adopt two kids together and he is hands-down the less stressed parent - probably because he's the only one who had an actual decent upbringing lol.

[fenmere]

OK, so here's the really funny thing.

You've been dating Crime-Cat for a little over a month now. It was the next logical thing to do when they refused to let you become their henchperson or even lieutenant. And they were the one to ask you for your number when you finally managed to convince them that you were not a superhero named the Deliverator.

See, they had had to move their secret lair after you'd delivered pizza to it over a year ago, and they decided that you were obviously their nemesis. So they'd started stalking you. Typical pitfalls of working pizza delivery. You still don't know who called in the prank delivery, but you thank them every evening when you put on your Moonlight Pizza uniform, your civilian, human, disguise.

This game of cat and Kepekapean mouse with Crime-Cat was fun and potentially rewarding.

It had ultimately been inevitable that you'd convince Crime-Cat that you weren't the Deliverator, because you weren't.

Pizza delivery just pays the bills. Normally. Especially when the customers tip, which Crime-Cat definitely did (and not just with police cars).

It certainly paid better than being a super hero.

"Go to Earth and become a Super Hero! It's easy!"

Such was the refrain from everyone back at your school. Pretty much the "wisdom" across the galaxy, really. Everyone talked about doing it, but kind of as a joke.

The idea was that your "alien to the humans" natural abilities would make you a shoe in for saving their planet every week. And it turns out they weren't wrong about it at all!

It's just that most everyone else had different aspirations for their lives, so you were only one of a relative few to take the plunge.

And what nobody ever mentioned was that by the time you got to Earth, apparently unpredictably, most of their wealthiest cultures would be stuck in this proto-fascist capitalist hell. And being a super-hero didn't come with a paycheck. Not even a stipend!

And that's if you were even recognized by the state and its people as a hero! If you, Mau forbid, did any actual heroing, you were likely to be branded a villain.

So, anyway, you'd been diving deeper and deeper into your humansona when Crime-Cat had finally come around to inviting you to ask them out on a date. You'd done such a good job convincing them that you were a normal, mundane, powerless human enby, and a cute one at that apparently, that you had yourself half convinced. And you started dating them.

Which has all led to this moment tonight.

They are, in about a second, going to show you their secret lair. Because being the personfriend of a supervillain comes with its perks. Like getting to sit on the arm of their Chair of Power.

Which is going to be quite the sight, because you are so much taller than them.

You're at the door of it right now, and they are so nervous and giddy, and paranoid, it's painfully adorable, and they have no clue.

And you're going to walk in there and pretend it's all amazing and wonderous and scary.

And, like, if this had happened somehow a year ago, or if you hadn't been taken by surprise during that prank pizza order and had known what you were walking into, Crime-Cat might have ended up in Super Prison, and your teammates would be congratulating you on discovering their lair.

It's a good thing your teammates don't know everything a Kepekapean is capable of. Because they wouldn't recognize you now, and that's what will make this possible.

The plan is, as you see it, to keep dating Crime-Cat. Maybe even to pop the question. And definitely to sit sexily on the arm of that Chair of Power, while asking inane but adorable questions. Maybe even to throw in some surprisingly helpful ideas every now and then. And throw everyone off your scent entirely.

Your teammates will wonder where you've gone. They'll wonder who this vapid new personfriend of Crime-Cat's is, but they'll never make the connection. They never knew you'd been doubling your life as the Deliverator, after all. Your protective coloration is too sophisticated for humans to pick up on, and they have no aliens besides you on their team.

And then, somewhere down the road, they will corner Crime-Cat. The "heroes" may not get paid by the state. But they sure are supported by it in other ways. The military unit they call "the police" are at their beck and call. They have resources Crime-Cat doesn't. Crime-Cat will get cornered, and outgunned, and their campaign of terror will finally be at an end.

And that's when you'll step up. When everyone least expects it, you'll shed all of your disguises and swoop in to save the real hero. The one who's really working for the betterment of humankind. The one the rest of the galaxy would be proud to see you support.

Crime-Cat.

Who is about to open the door to their lair and show you around.

If they can just remember the passcode.

Being a superhero doesn’t pay enough for bills. Hence they got a second job. What’s their second job?

[catherinnn]

Diviner.

Sirius x reader based on the song "Telepath" by Conan Gray.

You and Sirius have always had a very toxic relationship for the past couple of years, where you're breaking up and getting back together again.

a/n: I'm not very pleased with this one, definitely not one of my favorites, but maybe you'll like it? idk I hope so.

warnings: cursing, toxic relationship, fighting, my English.

Sirius and you have always had the on and off going relationship. You started dating each other when you were both fifteen, and it was all very cute until he broke up with you for the first of many times, he said he didn't feel like it was working between you two, but that you should still be friends.

You cried a lot that time, and a few other break ups with him after that one. But after a considerable number of break ups you had with him, you just stopped crying, you didn't really know why, maybe you just got used to it.

What you did know is that it was so easy for you guys to make up and start dating again. Not that you minded at first, you really thought you were meant to be together. But now it was just ridiculous. You started saying that you would never even consider getting back together with Sirius. But he just always knew when to come back. You couldn't understand how he just knew when you were at your lowest, when you were crying over some other thing that happened and he always came back to comfort you. To make it all go away. And you would kiss him and ask him to stay with you. And he would-- for at least a month and then he broke up with you again.

So this time you really said no more Sirius and Y/n. You weren't having it anymore.

One of your wishes for your last year at hogwarts--yes, you guys were already on your seventh year-- was to start forgetting about Sirius and start seeing other people, and that's exactly what you did. "There were more fish in the sea" Lily always said to you. She never liked your relationship with Sirius--she never liked Sirius very much actually, she thought he was an arrogant narcissistic womanizer. On the one hand, you thought so too. But on the other, you also fell for his arrogant narcissistic arse.

But anyways, here you were at your dorm room on a Friday night. Everyone else was just downstairs in your common room partying. Griffyndor had won today's game against Hufflepuf. It wasn't that you didn't like parties, you loved them actually. But the marauders had hosted this party--as always. And you didn't really want to see Sirius or even worse, drunk Sirius, where he would make out with any girl he saw. It wouldn't help you get over him.

You were tidying some things in your room, just to pass time and make you forget about the party that was being held downstairs, when you heard a knock on you door--it was probably just Lily or Marlene, your dormates.

When you went to open the door, you were surprised to see a face that you were trying not to look at in the past weeks, a face you were actually trying to get out of you head. It was, obviously, Sirius face--a very drunk one might I add.

"Hi beautiful" He said, looking at you with those pretty eyes. He came inside and try to lay down on your bed--a bed he was very familiar with, and lately, a bed he was starting to miss a little to much, specially the person who sleeps in it.

You stopped him before he could even sit on it. He looked at you pouting but still standing up in front of you.

"What are you doing here?" You asked him.

"I missed you downstairs, I thought I was going to see you at the party" he said keeping his pout. He looked so damn cute right now.

"Why did you miss me? we're not even friends anymore"

"I don't like being like this with you, c'mon, give me a kiss" he said coming closer to you. But you stopped him.

"No Sirius, stop it, c'mon let's get you a glass of water" you tried to take him to the bathroom but he just stayed there, you couldn't move him, he was much stronger than you. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you why, because I miss you" he whined, "I thought I was going to see you tonight and I wanted to talk to you because I don't want to be without you anymore"

"Why did you suddenly realize this? Why didn't you think about it when you were breaking up with me a few weeks ago?" you said angrily.

"I realized it when I saw you flirting with that stupid Revenclaw boy this week" he admitted, "I got so fucking jealous, I don't want you to be with another boy, I want you to be with me again, I miss so much puppy" he started leaving kisses on you ckeek.

"So you can be with other girls, but I can't do the same? I have to keep waiting for you to get bored and want me again?" you asked him trying to stay angry and tough. But you weren't going to lie, the nickname and the kisses softened you much more than you wanted to.

"I wasn't with any other girl" he stopped kissing you and instead he pulled away, looking at you "I don't like other girls, none of them makes me feel like you do. I was so focused on trying to deny this on this past few weeks because I knew you wouldn't want me again. But when I saw you laughing and flirting and fucking touching him instead of me I couldn't take it any more"

You didn't say anything, you didn't know what to say, you didn't know what to belive. He was so wasted right now and admitting all of these things, you wanted to belive him, and actually, you were starting to.

"You're not just saying things? Are you telling me the truth?" you asked almost whispering while you put your hand on his cheek. He calmed.

"I'm telling you the truth. I miss so so much Y/n, please" he whispered back. You moved closer to him.

"Please what baby?" you asked calmly.

"Kiss me"

And you did.

Because it was so easy to go back to him.

After more hours of making out with Sirius and telling each other how much you missed this, you both fell asleep on your bed. And when Lily came back to the dorm room, she saw you two cuddling and sleeping together again.

She got mad at you, but she got even more mad at him.

A few weeks had passed and you had started to date Sirius again after that night.

You were hanging with him and his friends again, you were sleeping in his dorm every weekend--and even some weekdays too. You were that perfect couple again.

Until...

Because yes, I mentioned it before, on and off and on off. You know that after the on, the off was waiting just arround the cortner.

And here you are again.

"Don't even finish that sentence babe" you stopped him. "I already know what is going to happen, you will break up with me, oh what a shame, and you don't even want to stay friends?" you asked sarcastically.

"Y/n-" Sirius started but you interrupted him again.

"It's always like this, It's just so you, so fucking predictable. You give me the same old speech, you don't even try to think of something more original"

"Well, if you know me so fucking much why are you getting so angry?" he yelled.

"I just wish that you would at least try to make your 'break up' speeches to sound as convincing as your 'make up' speeches. Because those are the one you actually put effort on, those are the ones you actually care off!" you yelled back at him.

"Oh no, don't worry, you won't be hearing another 'make up' speech from me ever again!"

"Oh really? 'cause I got a feeling you're coming back in a few weeks just like you have in the past" you responded, "I wonder why is it going to be about next time. Maybe you'll see me moving on and hate that I'm gone like last time, or maybe you'll come in perfect timing, like you know how to do, maybe when I'm crying because you know I won't stop you trying. You're so fucking predictable"

"What? do you think you're some fucking diviner or something?" he questioned "I promise Y/n, I won't, I don't want nothing to do with you anymore"

"Oh, I really hope you keep thinking that next time you see me flirting with another guy, because I don't want anything to do with you either Sirius" you walked away leaving him speaking alone.

You didn't care anymore, this time was the fucking last time.

Except it wasn't.