#anyway excuse the style change i guess? i figured out making a new brush but idk if ill stick w it

[simslegacy5083]

Today's (11/22/2024) Episode: Orientation Blues

Despite having his close friends with him, Skye’s first visit to the high school was definitely not drama free.

“Why did I drink all that soda with lunch!?” Skye moaned, exited the  auditorium with his parents and classmates. “Now everyone is going to remember me as the kid who burped so loud in orientation it interrupted the principal's welcome speech. They’ll come up with some awful nickname for me, like Burpface, and I’ll be the butt of all the jokes. My life is OVER!”

“I don’t think it was that bad” Greyson said. “Yeah, and we’ll hang out with you no matter what” Peter agreed. “Thanks guys” Skye smiled sadly, unconvinced but appreciative that his friends were trying to help.

“You know…” Luigi told him once they’d said their goodbyes “we haven’t taken you school shopping yet.”

“If you change up your look, get some new clothes and a new pair of glasses, I bet no one will even recognize you. It’s not like you met many new sims in person today anyway since we sat with Don, Denton, Amaya and the kids. What do you think son – interested in a little retail reinvention?”

Skye nodded energetically “That sounds great! No one will laugh or call me burpface if they don’t realize I was the one who did  it! Thanks dad.”

“My pleasure” his father smiled broadly “I have work tonight but I’m off tomorrow. We’ll start bright and early, so we don’t have to rush.”

Noemi snuggled in close to her spouse as Skye rushed ahead towards the teleporter that would take them back to the island “Well that certainly seemed to lighten up our boy's bad mood – good job you!”

Skye’s mood skyrocketed that evening when he got a text from Elyse “So BORED 💀!” it said “Come hang? New TV in my room, Simflix and Chill?”

“Sure!” he texted back, his pulse suddenly racing “I’ll be right over”

Stashing his phone in his inventory Skye ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth “ugh, if only we’d done our shopping trip TODAY!” he said to his reflection “then I could show Elyse my cool new look. I guess this will have to do.”

Finding Noemi out back practicing the barrels with Roach he called out “I’m going to Elyse’s, we’re going to watch a movie, bye!!” barely giving her time to shout out “have fun” before he was speed walking towards the boardwalk.

“Watch Out!” Skye screamed, covering his eyes just before the chainsaw welding main character of Moonlight Massacre 3 claimed their last victim.

As the credits rolled Elyse turned towards him, laughing “you are such a scaredy cat!”

“Well excuse me for not enjoying 2 hours worth of jump scares and death.” Skye shot back, his heart still pounding and not in a good way.

Seeing she’d hit a nerve Elyse backed down and changed the subject “Sorry. No more horror movies, I promise. Now tell me, how was orientation?”

“Terrible” he replied morosely “I embarrassed myself by burping right in the middle of the principal’s speech. I really don’t want that to be my main recognizable moment around school, so mom and dad are going to take me to pick out a whole new look tomorrow.

“Hey” Elyse replied “WE should go shopping together instead! I’m sure your parents won’t mind. Then I can help you pick out some really cool new outfits. You’re always telling me how much you like my style after all.” She blushed, suddenly unsure of herself… unless you’re just humoring me.

Skye did love Elyse’s sleek dark goth ensembles, but he also had one important question “I can wear SOME stuff that isn’t black, right?”

“I think we can find you something cool with blue highlights” she grinned “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“OK… I’m in!” Skye smiled back at her, suddenly excited “I’ll talk to my folks and then text you to figure out a time. This is going to be great!”

“Glad I could make my lil’ blue teddy a little less blue” she giggled evilly, dredging up the nickname she’d used for him when they were toddlers.

“Oh Grim Elyse, you can’t spread that nickname around! It’s almost as bad as Burpface!” he groaned. Her teasing devolved into a tickle fight between the two friends, and while a good teenage ticklefight has no real losers, she eventually agreed to keep his childhood nickname their little secret.

When she finally caught her breath, Elyse had another proposal. Mom promised she’d make her famous taco casserole tonight and I’m starving. You want to stay for dinner?” “Sure” Skye smiled “You know I love your mom's casserole.” Skye’s sadness from earlier in the day was forgotten as he trailed her out of the bedroom. His best friend sure knew how to turn his bad day around.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[ginnympotter]

if you are still doing prompts can you do #50 with hinny pls! And if at all possible can u please do it with jily alive, imma sucker for those!:)

“Shh, stop fussing,” Harry said, trying to soothe her. “I’m just braiding your hair.”

“Don’t shush me,” she muttered, hugging the toilet. “When did you learn how to braid hair, anyway?”

“Mum taught me,” he told her, as he carefully wove her ginger locks together into a tight plait. “On Sirius.”

Despite her current disposition, Ginny let out a short chuckle. “What?”

“When I was seven, Sirius went through a long hair phase. He was trying to grow it longer than my mum’s,” he explained. “They can tell you about it at the table. You have a hair tie?”

Ginny stuck out a hand, and Harry gently pulled off the black tie from her wrist. He tied up the end of her plait and put his hands on her shoulders. “There. Now your hair won’t be in the way.”

She looked back at him, her face soft and pale. “Thank you.”

“You think you’ve finished?”

She nodded. “For now.”

Harry stood up, flushed the toilet one more time for good measure, and then offered his hand to Ginny and helped her up. “You think you’ll be able to get through the rest of lunch?”

“I’m hoping,” she said, attempting a smile. “You go back out there, I’m just gonna brush my teeth...again.”

He kissed her cheek and left the bathroom. When he returned to the dining room, James and Sirius were caught up in a heated debate about whether flying the motorbike or a broom was a more efficient way of travelling. Lily had a knowing look on her face as Harry sat back down, which made Harry want to avoid her eyes, afraid his own would confirm it.

She played along, anyway. “Is Ginny alright, love?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’ll be out in a moment,” he assured her, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

Sirius halted his argument with James to add, “I did think she seemed a bit off-color when we got here.”

Of course Sirius decided to become observant when they were trying to keep something private. He was glad to have an excuse to change the subject. “I was just telling her about your long hair phase when I was a kid, remember that?”

“My glory days, you mean?” Sirius reminisced wistfully. He looked at James and Lily. “You think I should grow it out again?”

“No,” said James at the same time as Lily said “yes.”

“What Evans says goes,” Sirius smiled.

Just then, Ginny emerged from the bathroom and joined them at the table. She sat down and muttered, “Sorry about that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” James waved off, pouring her a glass of water. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.” She squeezed Harry’s thigh with one hand and took the water in the other. Harry took that as his cue to take lead of the conversation.

“Ginny wanted to hear about how I learned to braid hair,” Harry told them.

Sirius and Lily laughed as James dug into more food. “I had just cut my hair,” started Lily. “Shoulder-length. And Sirius’s hair was getting pretty long, he was about to cut it himself when we realized it was about the same length.”

“So we had a contest,” Sirius said. “Who could grow out their hair longer, faster.”

“It was a pretty close call,” James joined in.

“But eventually I got tired of only donning a man-bun. It was time to change up my style. So I asked my dear sister here to teach me how to braid my hair. Even though I could’ve just used my wand, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“So Sirius practiced on me,” Lily recalled. “And Harry watched, and then we got him to braid Sirius’s hair for him. I said, ‘my love, one day this is going to be a skill that will come in handy in one way or another,’ and any time spent with Sirius was time well spent for Harry.”

“Still feel that way, kid?” Sirius asked Harry, grinning.

Harry shrugged playfully and Ginny laughed, bringing some color back into her face. “Depends on the day.”

“I get it, you’re married now,” Sirius lamented as he ruffled his own hair, much shorter than it was back then. “But I guess Ginny has me to thank for that lovely plait, given all the hair you ripped out of my head practicing.”

“No hairs were ripped out in the making of this plait,” Ginny assured them, smiling. She reached for a roll and took a small bite. Harry could tell she was hungry but scared to eat anything more. She swallowed. “Thank you for teaching him, most helpful.”

“Remember how we used to have braid-offs?” said James, his arm around Lily. “To see if Harry or I could braid faster?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry laughed, recollecting it. “Whoever was braiding Mum’s hair always won,” he told Ginny, holding her hand on his thigh. “Because hers was much easier to work with than Sirius’s.”

As Sirius took great offense to this and started going on about how female conditioner is better than male conditioner and it took him a year to figure that out and make the switch, Harry looked over at his wife and saw her scrunching up her features. “You ok?” he asked, quiet but concerned.

“I thought I was done, but…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth. “I don’t think that’s the case.”

And then she stood up abruptly, mumbled, “excuse me,” and ran down the hall, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

They all went quiet, staring at the closed door.

James spoke first. “Is she alright? If Ginny’s sick we can get going, you can take care of her.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s-” he stammered, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

“Harry,” said Lily, compassion in her voice. She knew. Harry knew she knew. She smiled at him. “Go check up on her, let her decide.”

He could tell she meant let her decide if she wants to tell them the news more than decide if they should leave. Harry nodded, getting up from his seat and apologizing. “Sorry, be right back.”

He walked quickly down the hall and knocked on the door. “It’s me,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Harry heard her clear her voice before responding, “Yes.”

There she was on the floor again, head hanging in defeat over the toilet, a sight that Harry has been saddened to become so familiar with over the past couple of weeks, despite the otherwise wonderful cause of it.

He shut the door behind him, and squatted down on the floor, gently placing a hand on her back.

“Your mum so knows,” she grumbled. “Doesn’t she?”

“I suspect so, yeah,” he replied as she flushed the toilet. “Gin, if you don’t want to tell them yet we don’t have to, we can tell them you’re sick and they can go home.”

She shook her head slowly and turned her gaze to her husband. “No, let’s tell them. I want them to know. It’s just...we haven’t told anyone, you know? Saying it out loud makes it feel more real.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, of course not,” she clarified. “I’m so happy, you know that. But it’s still scary.”

He smiled, moving closer to her as he continued to rub her back. “They’ll help us.”

“I know they will,” she smiled back.

Harry helped her up again, and she moved to wash her hands and face. As she was finishing up he asked, “Are you sure you’re done?”

“Yeah, that was the last of it,” Ginny stated in reassurance. She rinsed with mouthwash and spit it out. “This baby better be worth all the vomit.”

Harry laughed, pulling her in, enveloping her in a hug with gentle arms. “It will be.”

She sighed against him, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, which then prompted him to lean down and kiss her on the mouth. She pulled away laughing. “You do not want to kiss me after that.”

“I always want to kiss you,” he told her in earnest. “You used mouthwash, it’s fine.”

“Harry-”

He caught her lips with his own, kissing her passionately. And how could he not? She was going to be the mother of their child. He felt so grateful to her, so guilty that she had to be the one to bear the bodily burden of it all. He hoped he could translate it all into his kiss.

Ginny must’ve understood- she always did - as she kissed him back with equal enthusiasm for a minute before pulling away again. “Harry,” she repeated, this time with tenderness in her voice.

“Sorry,” he said. He moved a stray hair from her braid and tucked it behind her ear. His heart was swelling. He could hold her all day. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she told him as her eyes softened. “Alright, let’s do this.”

They exited the bathroom together and approached the dining room table. Before they could even sit back down Sirius said, “Are you pregnant or something?”

James groaned and Lily smacked Sirius’s arm hard.

Sirius swore loudly, glaring at Lily. “What the hell, Evans?”

“That’s a rude question to ask, Pads,” James muttered.

“No tact,” Lily sighed in disappointment. “None, whatsoever!”

“I was just asking an innocent question! Her sprinting from the table just reminded me of you when you were pregnant with this one,” Sirius said, nudging his head towards his godson. Then he looked at them. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude.”

Before Harry could interject, Ginny said, “No, it’s ok. You’re right.”

The room fell quiet. James’s eyes widened. “Come again?”

“He’s right,” she repeated. “I am pregnant.”

“Surprise?” Harry offered.

There was a beat, and then Lily, James, and Sirius all started speaking at once, sharing their congratulations, shooting up out of their seats and moving to hug them. When Lily reached her son, she put both her hands on his face, and she had tears in her eyes.

Harry smiled. “You knew, right?”

“A mother always does,” she confirmed, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “You’ll learn that soon enough when Ginny suddenly becomes all-knowing.”

“She already is.”

[secndlife]

[5:47pm]

"Do you want me to bring you anything?” You asked Soonyoung, phone glued to your ear, while grabbing a pack of rice from the shelf. You spent the afternoon running some errands, groceries being the last one of your tasks.

He thought about it for a second, “Kimchi?” Of course.

“I already ordered it from that small shop you like,” you informed him, eyes scanning your cart to check if you had all you needed.

“Oh, okay! I’ll pick it up to—ouch!” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. What was he doing?

“Stop moving and it won’t hurt!” You heard someone say in the background.

No. Not someone. Krys. Your chest automatically moved as you sighed. Soonyoung and Krys unsupervised never meant anything good. You stopped walking, standing still by the grain section.

“Soonyoung?” You asked, voice gentle. He hummed in response. “What is Krys doing there?” You had no idea what could she possibly be doing there on a Saturday evening. Weekends were, as she liked to call, Seokmin days. So when you heard her voice echoing through your apartment, your senses tingled.

Someone almost bumped at you, making it pretty clear you were in the way. You gave the young man an apologetic look, trying to focus now on whatever excuse Soonyoung was about to offer. “Nothing?” He sounded unsure. Shy, even. Like a child that’s about to get busted.

You rubbed your temples, “Krys is never doing nothing. Especially with you.” They were partners in crime.

“You’ll see when you get home?” Uncertainty, again.

Another long breath escaped you. “Can you just please don’t get slime on the ceiling like that one time?”

He laughed and you felt almost calm. Almost. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Should I be concerned?” You asked, genuinely curious.

“Will you not be concerned if I tell you there’s no reason to be concerned?”

Krys snorted in the background, “Of course she won’t. She doesn’t trust us!”

Your eyes went to the back of your head, “Hey! Can she hear me? If not, tell her to shut up.”

He ignored your banter, “Will you?”

You really wanted to say yes. No one would believe you, though. “No.”

Your boyfriend giggled, “Then be concerned and when you come home you’ll see it’s not a big deal and relax.”

“Just—”

“It’s not slime, and we won’t break anything, ok? Finish doing the groceries, and we’ll see you soon.”

You bit the insides of your cheek, “Do you promise there’s no sli—”

“Love you, bye.”

And then he hung up. Just like that. Plain and simple. You sighed dramatically, staring at the various types of rice in front of you, trying to come up with a scenario where the two of them are alone and doing something that wouldn’t end up in someone getting hurt or in a mess you’d have to fix. Nothing. You guessed you’d just have to go home and see with your own eyes.

The drive from the market to your apartment seemed long. Too long. You probably shouldn’t be this worried. Whatever the two of them were doing was most likely fixable. You’d just have to put on the big girl pants and manage it, like always.

It was just that they were one and the same. Both too impulsive, too often. You loved them despite and because of it. But it was also something that could give you massive headaches whenever they were left alone together.

When you put your keys in the lock, you let out one last breath before you were actually ready to face whatever was expecting you. As you moved the bags inside, you heard footsteps approaching you.

“Hi, bestie.” Krys said, with a sneaky smile across her lips.

You raised an eyebrow at her while closing the door behind you. “What did you do to my boyfriend this time?”

The woman huffed, “Can you stop acting as if I’m some sort of mastermind behind evil plans?”

“Aren’t you?” You said, walking inside, eyes quickly moving through the place in the hopes of finding Soonyoung and whatever mess they had made.

She chased after you, a hand reaching for your arm. “Am not. He is equally involved in everything.” You got confused by her grip, but didn’t really say anything, simply allowing her to drag you further into the living room. “Sit.”

“What for? Where is Soonyoung?” You were feeling agitated.

She somewhat managed to make you follow her orders, legs hitting the comfortable fabric of your couch. “Can you wait, please?”

You shook your head, “No. I want to know what you did.”

Krys rolled her eyes, “For the record, this was his idea. And stop being dramatic, you will actually thank me this time.”

“I doubt it,” you said with a laugh.

She ignored it, confidence very clear in her tone. “Close your eyes, I’ll go get your furry boyfriend.”

“He’s not a furry!”

“Yeah, yeah.” She stood there, facing you, waiting for you to do as you had been told. “C’mon, close them. Otherwise, I won’t bring the furry.”

It was your turn to huff, “Stop calling him that!” When you realized she wouldn’t bulge, you placed your hands over your eyes. “Fine.”

Krys smiled, triumphantly, “You’ll love this.” You could hear her walking away and, for some reason, your heart started beating faster.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” You heard Soonyoung ask her not long after. You guessed that wasn’t for you to hear, but he had never done a good job when it came to concealing words, anyway.

You figured she reassured him some other way as you didn’t hear her voice until she spoke to you again. “Okay, as much as I want to see your reaction, furry guy is too excited, so I think I’ll let you two enjoy this moment alone.”

“Did you buy him a tiger suit? Because if you did I swear—”

“I’ll wait for your thank you text.” You heard something that sounded like hands clapping, guessing they had just high-fived each other. Idiots. “Go get her.”

Not long after, you heard the door closing once again, taking that as your cue. “Soo? Can I—”

“No!” He said, perhaps a bit too loud, before you could move your hands.

“What’s going on?” You whined. “I’m getting worried.”

The man chuckled, “Getting?”

“Please, let me look.” You were practically begging now. A thousand scenarios had crossed your mind already, and you were going crazy at this point because you couldn’t really think of anything besides Krys buying him a goddamn tiger suit.

Soonyoung let out a breath in an attempt to ease his nervousness. This wasn’t that big of a deal. He was sure you’d love him anyway. Still, he really, really hoped you’d like it. He whispered, “You can look now.”

Your boyfriend had barely finished speaking when you started uncovering your eyes. You were met with something you weren’t expecting. He was smiling. Big. He looked different, too. It was almost as if your heart had skipped a beat. Words were failing you, so you struggled to manage mumbling something cohesive. “Oh!”

“Is it bad?” He pouted.

“What? No!” You said, truthfully. You then stood up, standing in front of him. “I guess I just thought it’d be something else.”

He chuckled, “You think too low of Krys and I.”

“I have my reasons.” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You look amazing. Like, really fucking good.”

He was blond.

Could that even be considered blond? It was actually more leaning towards white and, if you looked at it close enough, there were subtle hints of purple on the background tone. Apparently, Krys came not long after you left earlier, bringing the necessary equipment to support Soonyoung in his newest decision. She always had his back. He said she bleached it and styled it before you came home, being well aware of how weak you were for side parted hair, and a couple of strands falling over his eyes Soonyoung.

“Do you like it?” He sounded timid. Almost as if he was too scared to ask. He was always the confident one. Still, when it came to you, Soonyoung was often like an insecure teenager that wanted nothing more but to impress his crush.

You nodded, “I love it.” You weren’t a big fan of blond men, always being the one to go for dark haired ones. Still, much like with many other things, Soonyoung was a decisive and welcoming change of opinion. You wrapped your arms around his neck while his went instinctively to one of the places he called home - your waist.

When you didn’t say anything for a bit, he took his chance to tease. “I see it made you speechless.”

You smiled, “It just kinda reminds me of the first picture I saw of you.”

Seeing Soonyoung with the same hairstyle he had when you were first introduced to his remarkable features, even if only through an Instagram post, gave you butterflies. It took you back to when you barely even knew who he was. To when you were, unknowingly, falling for his eyes for the first time. It felt new and, at the same time, familiar.

You took some time to just admire him. To take in how good he looked. To allow him to read, in your eyes, how much you loved him. To let your heart go back to its usual rhythm. To understand that, now, this was a different Soonyoung than the one you first saw on Doki’s phone. That this Soonyoung was as in love with you as you were with him. That this Soonyoung was as yours as you were his.

“I didn’t look this hot back then.” He said, lips curving in a smug smirk.

You laughed, “You definitely didn’t. I don’t know how, but you manage to look better and better every day.” Your fingers danced against the hair on his nape. “This just makes you even hotter.”

He pulled you closer, welcoming the sudden ego boost. “Hot enough for you to let me fuck you right here, right now?”

You stared into his eyes and felt something twist inside you. He raised his eyebrows as if he was waiting for a confirmation he could push you up against a wall and make you moan his name within minutes.

You smiled his favorite smile, face already mere millimeters away from his. “Yeah.”

While you were lost in his kisses and moans and bites, your phone was buzzing by your pocket.

[5:47pm] Krys: you’re only excused from not texting me thank you if you’re fucking your newly blond boyfriend :)

a/n: yes this is another mmf!soonyoung thing. am i still obsessed with this universe? yes. am i planning/writing another long ass fic about it? yes. will i post small drabbles that fit between the timeline for mmf 1 and 2 while i work on part 2? probably. anyway! when he first showed up blond recently i almost died bc i’m such a black haired supremacist and he was looking SO GOOD with the previous hair i was kinda bitter. but. now. you know. he knocked me down. he did that. he is so sexy. blond/white soonyoung is so sexy. so yeah! no explanation, just sexy blondish soonyoung. also, for the sake of writing, let’s pretend you can actually go from black to his current haircolor in a day without going bald. as usual,my askbox is always open even tho i now apparently suck at answering asks. sorry about that. I WILL WORK ON IT !!! yeah so! i hope you’ll enjoy it mwah

[meruz]

Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for? 

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha. 

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at isellhotdogs@gmail.com.

<33333333333333333333333333

[twokinkybeans]

Stark On Ice: Starker Figure Skating AU Chapter 1

Summary: Six months ago, the broadcasters asked Tony to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off.

He didn't expect them to take his answer seriously.

Masterpost (to be posted) Find On AO3

---

Chapter One: Let Me Entertain You Tony readjusts his jacket as he walks into the large building that is the Midtown Ice Arena. It’s a few minutes before 7 AM, and he already downed a triple espresso on his way here - amusedly ignoring Happy’s complaints about it being so damn early. He will give the man a raise soon. Tony can’t say he’s a morning person, but having to get up this early every single day for three months in a row helps to get used to it. Today is different, though. He feels jittery and on-edge just thinking about today’s events. It’s the final rehearsal. Tonight he’s going to skate in front of the entirety of the States. He knows many people won’t even bother to watch the TV series, but the idea has him slightly nauseous anyway. His first live show…

Live show.

Tony chuckles sarcastically at himself as he sits down on one of the benches in the changing room. Live show. Six months ago, the broadcasters asked him to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off. 

He’s still not sure why they took his answer seriously, but they had. Tony Stark doesn’t back out of a promise, though. So, here he is, lacing up his skates after three months of intensive training, ready to work through his choreo together with his assigned partner Peter Parker. From what Tony’s heard, Peter is a pretty big deal in the skating world. He’s a sweet, enthusiastic 21-year-old who has enough talent and skill in pair skating to participate in the Olympics, yet he’d chosen not to. Instead, he tours across the US with Stars On Ice, coaches young kids at Midtown, and has a YouTube channel where he and his partner MJ post routines with traditional gender roles reversed.  Tony admires Peter’s passion. The man doesn’t like other people very fast, but Peter was something else entirely. He’s endearing in a way. It’s easy to like him. Which, thank god, is a positive thing. They’ve had to train together for a minimum of eighteen hours for the past three months - both on ice and off. Tony had been surprised to see that the theory classes and off-rink practice were just as important.

When Tony finishes lacing up his skates he walks towards the rink, finally knowing how to do that without looking like a waddling duck. A smile creeps onto his face when he spots his partner on the ice already. The boy moves around ever so graciously, practicing his triple axel. A few days prior, Peter told him he hadn’t done it in a while, and he and MJ intend to use it in their new YouTube tutorial, so he’s been wanting to perfect his landing. It’s not like he pops it, but the boy isn’t content very easily. Tony enjoys watching him rehearse no matter how he lands. He’s so beautiful out there. Like he was born to skate. After landing perfectly three times, Peter slows down to give himself a short break, and that’s when he spots Tony at the entrance. The man waves awkwardly and Peter grins. “Mornin’, grumpy-head!” Peter laughs as he skates towards him.  “Well, look at you. Always a beaming ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” “You know me too well, Mr. Stark. Hope you didn’t forget to apply your sunscreen today!” Peter jokes, jumping off the ice to give Tony a short hug. Tony hates to admit he likes that Peter greets him like that every single day. The boy isn’t scared of him, unlike most other people. Another reason why Tony likes him. He grunts as a response to the joke and nudges Peter. “Think it’s time to start training. Steve here yet?” Tony asks, looking around to see if he spots their coach. Peter shakes his head. “No, his car broke down a few blocks from Midtown, he’ll be here soon enough. Let’s start warming up so we can dive right into the sequence when he gets here.” “Yes, coach.”

-

“Why- Why do these outfits have to be so glittery,” Tony jests as he eyes himself in the mirror. He’s wearing a tight and stretchy black button-up with thick, gold seams and shiny gold beads all over it. Thank god his pants are a simple plain black. Peter is adjusting his hair right next to him. The metallic gold tee hugs the boy’s skin so incredibly tight that Tony can’t help his gaze from wandering down a little, peeking at the boy’s gorgeous abs. Peter grins as he follows Tony’s gaze. “Well, I guess that’s why,” Peter retorts, and Tony blushes. He sniffs, staring at his own reflection again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Says the man who asked for a male partner. I still don’t-” “Oh shush,” Tony cuts him off playfully and waves his hand in the air. Peter simply chuckles and finishes styling his curls. They’re silent for a moment and Tony’s thoughts wander. He hadn’t meant to stare like that. Yes, he was bisexual but that doesn’t mean he liked Peter like that. They were already making headlines on entertainment websites. He can’t even imagine what’d happen if they’d actually feel something for each other. That’d be insane and highly unprofessional. The kid is too young, and- No. Tony doesn’t even have to make excuses for himself. Peter is nice. That’s it. 

Thinking about them making the news doesn’t exactly settle his nerves. People are interested in them. Tony Stark on skates must be high-end entertainment for many people in itself, but the fact that they’re a male couple… He knows the public’s eye is on them tonight. “So tell me, kid. How does one contain nerves for a show, uh?” Tony asks, trying to keep it casual but failing massively. A gentle smile tugs on Peter’s lips. “Experience. Trusting yourself,” he starts. “You know, Tony. You won’t be flawless tonight. But that’s okay, remember? No one will be. Flawless is not what we aim for. Chemistry. Engaging the public, and-” “-just having fun on the ice,” Tony finishes for him with a nod. Peter has told him this many times before, but the reminder does settle his nerves. Tony’s a beginner, but he’s got the name and his charm. And Peter... They’ve got a pretty good shot. “Exactly. Now, tell me- what are you most nervous about?” “Honestly?” “Well, yes.” “Dropping you.” Peter sighs and takes a step closer to Tony.  “You won’t. You’ve only dropped me once, and I wasn’t even hurt. Even if it were to happen, I know how to take a fall. We’ll be alright. You’re one of the best skaters in this competition. You’re gonna ace this.” “Thank you, Pete. Hey, for what it counts, I’m glad you’re my skating partner.” “And I’m glad you’re mine.”

-

Tony’s throat is dry, his heart beating rapidly in his chest when his fingers tangle into Peter’s. The boy is so close to him, just like during practice. It grounds him. The floor manager smiles at them. “Good luck out there, you ready for it?” Tony nods, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Smile. He should smile. Peter squeezes his hands once and Tony takes a deep breath. He’s got this. They’ve got this. The floor manager signals, “-Standing by…” Oh, God. This is it. Tony sniffs. His hands feel sweaty, his stomach knots together once more. As much as he appears to be comfortable in public, the moment right before always has him on edge. Any moment now. His gaze focused on the floor manager. Waiting for her cue.  “And go!”

Tony forces his most charming smile on his face when he skates forward in unison with Peter, the cheers of the audience enveloping him. They stop in the center of the rink and he guides Peter in front of him. The boy’s arms are crossed in front of his chest. Tony puts a hand on Peter’s right shoulder. It’s quiet for a second, but then the familiar tune starts playing and Tony licks his lips. Peter smirks, pushing his skates into the ice to circle around the man, Tony’s gaze tracking him until he’s in front once again.

Hell is gone and heaven’s here There’s nothing left for you to fear Shake your arse come over here Now scream 

Peter twirls and presses into Tony’s side. They grin at each other and skate forward, towards the edge of the rink. Tony’s nerves finally settle when he focuses on just how smooth Peter glides over the ice. The loud music cuts off the sounds of their blades crushing the frozen surface beneath them, but Tony hears it in his mind instead. He knows exactly where to turn, where to move. Peter sends him a little nod right before they go into the crossovers. Tony doesn’t like crossovers all that much, it makes him feel stiff and uncoordinated. Yet, somehow his body seems to do it on autopilot today, simply mimicking Peter’s lead. 

I’m a burning effigy Of everything I used to be You’re my rock of empathy, my dear

Tony feels powerful in a way, his movements loosening up with every passing second. It’s time for their waltz jump. He turns around to transition into backward crosscuts and then shifts his weight from the right outer edge to the left one, throwing his right leg up in front. He gasps when he feels how smoothly he lifts off the ice. He’s flying through the air, weightless, and a quick glance confirms that Peter is too. When his right foot hits the ice again, he bends his right knee and extends his left leg behind him. The applause envelopes him like a warm blanket and the adrenaline coursing through his veins is an exhilarating sensation. He did it. He did it!

So come on let me entertain you Let me entertain you Let me entertain you

Tony turns around again to find Peter skating in his direction with a proud and goofy grin on his face. Tony’s heart leaps out of his chest when he realizes his partner is just as impressed as he is. Their hands find each other as they increase their speed to make it through another set of crossovers. Tony doesn’t even worry about them anymore at this point. Everything is just fucking amazing. 

Let me entertain you Let me entertain you (let me entertain you) So come on let me entertain you (let me entertain you) Let me entertain you (let me entertain you)

Tony takes a deep breath when he realizes it’s time for their lift. He sets off for his continuous three turns and feels how Peter starts leaning into him. The man prepares for the boy to jump up from the ice gracefully. When Peter does so, he easily catches him and they spin into their rotational lift. Tony loves this one - loves to have Peter in his arms bridal style while spinning around and around and around while remembering his words. Don’t be afraid of the speed. Stalling is falling. Tony doesn’t feel like they’re falling. No, it feels like they’re floating, setting off for space.

Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on

Peter moves slightly, indicating it’s time for Tony to help him back down again. They transition into forward strokes toward the center once more and slow down. Their arms are spread wide proudly. Peter then circles Tony just like he did in the beginning, leaning into Tony’s side when the music comes to an end. He can’t help wrapping an arm around him to pull him in closer, bathing in the applause and the cheers that are thrown their way. Oh my god. They pulled it off. He can’t believe they did it. Of course, he doesn’t have Peter’s finesse but fuck. As Peter would say, they aced it. Together. 

---

Next Chapter: To Be Posted

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 28

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary:  Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​

The cheap excuse of a building, decorated quite violently in various obnoxious colorful shades, welcomed its new guests with blasts of a dying sanity. Music, you said. Loki would laugh, but he had to keep his teeth from chattering. 

The dancing, as you'd explained, was occurring in the vast central space of the large, windowless room, somewhere in between the wrenching, spasming bodies glistening from sweat and spilled drinks. Loki was unsure where precisely, for the lights were changing rapidly in colorful, nauseating bursts, but he trusted your word on it.

The interesting part actually seemed to be happening on the outskirts of the room, in the booths shadowed partially from the lights, and behind the few beautiful people dancing on the poles in a breathtaking show of agility with their painted bodies. 

Loki admired their skill for a moment before his attention was snatched to the two men standing by the far wall, nothing outstanding about them, right until the moment they opened a door for another man and then quickly closed it behind him. Despite the overwhelming amount of decorations stabbing Loki's eyeballs from every space he looked, the door was bare of any, making it almost invisible were it not for the movement. 

"Interesting," he muttered, his voice almost lost in the clamor. You only heard him because you were still standing together by the entrance, taking everything in. 

"We'll have to split up and find a nice tiger's tail to step on," you agreed. 

"Are you anticipating another fight? You should've warned me, I'd have taken a knife at least." 

You slowly made it down the few stairs leading to the dancing pit. On the other side of it, like a sole beacon in the writhing chaos, shimmered the bar. 

"You took it anyway," you said, sending him a wicked look. 

"What can I say," Loki shrugged. "If we're going to crash this party, we should at least do it with style." 

Your laughter rang in his ears, sweeter than anything the music boxes were capable of producing. You let go of his arm and for a moment, despite the accumulated heat of the ever present mass of bodies, the world felt cold again. 

"Good hunt," you wished him, holding his eyes for a bit longer, and slid into the crowd. 

Loki followed your figure and the shadows casted over your features, changing with each blast of color, but never truly twisting what he had come to know almost instinctively. His heart dropped the tiniest bit when he couldn't see you any longer. 

Loki squared his shoulders, clothed in the finest garment he could spot in this whole place, and decided to take another path, slightly closer to the booths on the left. 

He didn't rush, for he intended to be seen and he didn't shy away from the looks he gathered on his way. There was a cane leaning on one of the tables, behind someone's back. Loki's fingers merely brushed it on his way, and it fell right into his touch, already a part of him. He liked the firm wood under his fingers, although he personally would have chosen a different design. He shouldn't expect much from a person dressed like that, though, so he didn't. 

He merely gazed upon the booths, taking in the people laughing over drinks, some looking more focused on business and some twisted together, making the night memorable, if only poorly. 

By the time he made it to the bar, his ears rang with the deafening sounds, and he welcomed the soft suggestion of a change when the music seemed to quiet down a bit there, probably to allow for any non-yelled conversation. The long counter was polished and its edges engraved with faded silver. There were only a few occupants on the high, backless stools with soft cushions that encircled the place. Alcohol of various shapes and names Loki was unfamiliar with shone on the packed shelf behind the bar man's back. 

The moment Loki chose one of the stools, the bar man's eyes landed attentively on him. The boy seemed young, but Loki was not the best judge of humans' fleeting age. What he could, would, and in fact did base his judgment on, was their taste, and Loki, for the first time since entering this festering hole, enjoyed what he was seeing. 

He leaned to the man, his eyelids heavy and the softest hint of a smile playing on his painted lips. "Why don't you show me what you mortals have fun with, darling?" 

The man must've encountered all sorts of customers over his time, for he did not startle, and did not question Loki's words. He merely smiled, making Loki's eyes fall onto that beautiful feature, and reached behind him for the bottle. 

It was a good start, Loki decided, watching the art unraveling before his eyes. If there was anyone in this place aware of everything the clients did or wanted, the bartender would be the very first person they reached out to. Besides, Loki guessed, the man seemed fairly open to share a few things with him. He was not to blame, of course. There was a mirror behind the bar, and even though the lights danced constantly like feral things, Loki was sure that every second he had spent preparing for that night was visible, noticed, and striking wild jealousy into the hearts of others. Just as things should be. 

But as it happens with all good things, there were dimwitted individuals whose only reason in life was to interrupt such times. 

Loki's interruption looked like a frequent visitor to places of a disputable renown, and even though his clothes held a suggestion of not being ripped from the back of another person, the overall sense of fashion seemed to have been lost - a long time ago, and along with a toothbrush at that. 

"I haven't seen a new face around here lately," the man said, taking the seat next to Loki. 

With the greatest effort, the god forced himself to school his features and not wince or laugh his throat dry at the pathetic excuse to start a conversation. He had to remind himself why he was at that place, and that his main concern should be gathering information, even coming from such an unappealing source. 

"Oh?" he said then, because it wasn't saying anything, but merely acknowledging the man's presence. It was more than he deserved, but Loki was still in a good mood and felt enough generosity not to turn down a potential source. 

The bait had been noticed, and gulped down with the whole hook. 

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember someone so outstanding," the man said. "But I have a feeling we haven't been introduced. My name is Marco and I can't help but wonder what brought you here?" 

"Isn't it obvious?" Loki attended to his drink, sipping it with perfect manners and imperfect curiosity. 

"I'm afraid it isn't," Marco said, and the softest hint of steel plagued his smile. 

Loki sighed, burdened deeply with exhaustion one can only experience in unpleasant social situations. 

He turned his head just enough to see the man. "The word spreads, darling," he said quietly, even though the word was far from being spread yet. "Does it really surprise you that it garners attention?" 

There was a subtle difference between creating a perfect, but blunt bluff, and making it seem natural, and effortless. The night was growing hotter and perfect for crossing lines. 

Marco's gaze dropped for only the shortest bit, but it was enough of a suggestion that Loki's word struck something in him, and a seed of doubt had been planted. 

It would be reckless and naive to think of it as a success already, so Loki didn't let any of his thoughts show on his face. The drink in his hand was sweeter that he imagined, but carried just enough flavor not to overwhelm the taste.

Marco's tongue darted out, wetting his lips. "Listen here, pal," he said. "I'd really like to know who precisely invited you in. We're not open for strangers, you see."

Loki put his hand to his chest. "You have no idea how much physical pain it gives me but I have to decline." 

The man blinked once, unsure if he was being mocked. "I beg your pardon?" he said through gritted teeth. 

Loki shrugged, indifferent. 

"Then beg." 

It was difficult to guess the changes in Marco's face, but Loki had a feeling it'd gotten a tad more red than it used to be. Such a beautiful sight it was, a man boiling inside. Loki chuckled and watched the man get to his feet. For a moment, it looked as if he was readying for a punch, but the idea left him as soon as it came. 

"This is not over," he spat and scrambled back into the twisting crowd. 

The barman, even though he had pretended not to see the conversation, cast a look after him. Loki leaned closer, baiting him with the empty glass. 

Another drink was served to him. Loki caught the bar man's eyes. "I've been wondering for some time now - this place is so huge and new to me. I would hate to wander off somewhere not meant for my humble self." 

The barman fiddled with the bottle for a second longer. 

"I'd certainly refrain from angering the mobsters," he finally said. His head motioned towards a booth at the far end of the wall to the right, only a few steps away from the not-so-secret door. 

The men sitting there were obscured in more shadows than other parts of the place. It almost looked like a conscious choice was made when the lights had been hanged. The dark suits were bare of any details, and so were their grim faces. It was difficult to see well through the bodies on the dance floor in between, but Loki thought he could see some cards being played. He wondered, although the answer should be obvious thanks to the semi-circle of empty space around them, if anyone would be reckless enough to join them for a round or two. 

A part of him tugged him in that direction. Stepping on a tiger's tail was a perfect description of what his soul sang for. If there ever was a better way to unleash chaos than angering the ones in power, Loki still hadn't found one. 

As if summoned by his wishes, the perfect partner in crime appeared on the edge of the crowd. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat emanating from the people, but your steps were as swaggering as ever. The smile you threw in Loki's direction was painted in the shades of deep, unruly satisfaction one was only able to achieve right before ruining someone's day. 

Loki felt your arms wrap around his shoulders as your hand gently turned his head in the mobsters' direction. 

"How do you feel about a game of cards?" 

His heart skipped a beat, his fingers twitched around the glass. "Dear, do I hear malicious intent in your voice?"

"Me? Suggesting we see how much they are able to lose before their patience snaps? I'd never." 

A laugh rumbled in his chest. "Then let's play the fairest game of cards this place has ever seen, love." 

[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

Beards of a feather flock together

(I only wanted to write a short, jokey thing about lockdown beards for the Ineffable Husbands. Why did it turn into an actual fic-long jokey thing?!)

Crowley is using the lockdown efficiently, he thinks, to experiment with facial hair, like all the humans seem to be doing.

He knows he doesn’t technically need the excuse of ‘nobody will see me for a while, so I can let my beard grow out and play around with it’. He knows that he is using miracles for it anyway, and could do it any day and have it disappear and reappear instantaneously.

He knows that. He’s still using the lockdown as an excuse. He’s absolutely not above lying to himself, or making up explanations that sound far more plausible than “I was being extremely bored and had told Aziraphale I was going to sleep so I couldn’t even bother him without exposing that as a blatant lie to avoid being honest about wanting to come over to his place”. There's only so many times you can scream at plants and clean the entire flat top to bottom before you end up at this level of boredom, which was usually interrupted by a particularly wine-laden dinner or a quick run-in at a park, both out of the question now as well.

And so, Crowley is experimenting with facial hair this afternoon. He’s not done it a lot before, to be honest. Oh sure, he’s changed his hairstyle almost as often as his gender, if not even more, and he’s had the rare moustache when human fashion called for it, but he’s never kept any kind of beard for longer than absolutely necessary. He wonders why.

Seeing himself in the mirror, he realises why.

He’s decided to re-visit some old styles at first, but brushing along the small tuft of hair on his chin, all he can think about is the reactions he’d last gotten for it. Some drunkard in a tavern had compared it to a goat, he remembered, and Aziraphale next to him had giggled. Giggled. It had not felt good.

An angry snap of fingers later, and an equally troublesome moustache is staring at him in the mirror. He wonders if it had maybe been the glasses that had put this particular ensemble together decades ago, or the shirt, but he knows neither of it had been able to save him back then, and nothing was able to save him from it right now. At least this time around there is no angel to tell him that it seems less reminiscent of some movie stars and more of a dead member of his beloved rat army.

Snap after snap after snap, the dark red patches across his face change from bad to horrid to absolutely unmentionable, and his patience grows thinner than it has ever been before, and it's been pretty much at the level of a piece of rice paper for several centuries.

One last snap leaves him with just a regular, run-of-the-mill full beard, slightly darker than his normal hair, but styled just as meticulously. He runs his fingers through it, feeling the soft rasp along his hand.

“That's not half bad.” He reasons to his reflection. Not something he's going to go outside with any time soon (he's not going out anyway, but, just as a general point), but not so bad he'd have to fear more unwanted comments or giggles from certain blonde, one-style-fits-all-centuries angel.

The phone rings. He swirls around and almost races towards the throne room office, but remembers quickly enough that he's supposed to be asleep and not ready to answer the phone after the first ring.

He's allowed to pick it up before it goes to the answering machine, though, right?

“What.” He grumbles, hoping it sound sufficiently drowsy and just-woke-up-ish.

“Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry. Am I bothering you?”

“Told you I was gonna sleep.”

“Yes, I know. I only wanted to check. I thought I would get that horrid machine, anyway.”

“Why d'you need to check, then?”

“Well.” Quiet rummaging, shuffling. Crowley can see Aziraphale adjusting his waistcoat before his inner eye. “It's recommended.”

“What is?”

“Checking in on-” A soft pause. “Friends and family. Keeping in touch. You know.”

“Ah.” Is all he can manage to answer, which is not exactly anything, so the line stays quiet for a while.

Quite a while.

“Well, I shouldn't be keeping you from your sleep-” is said at the exact same second as his “How's your baking going?”

They pause again after that verbal collision, to gather themselves and their wits back up. Crowley clears his throat, but Aziraphale manages to break through first.

“Oh, my baking is going splendid. I'd say I've mastered the European styles by now. I've been experimenting with some Middle Eastern breads and desserts, and some things I remember from back when we were, um, stationed in the area. But it is awfully hard to find the proper spices and ingredients for it in the shops at the moment. Essentials, you know?”

Crowley doesn't know. Crowley hasn't set foot in a supermarket for years, but the idea of Aziraphale with a shopping trolley and a bag for life and a little list of items on a torn piece of paper makes him want to spend several hours at Waitrose's looking for whatever extinct herb Aziraphale needs.

“Sounds like you need something else to pass the time.” That is not meant to sound as obvious as it does, so a quick addendum is needed. “Reread all your books by now?”

“Well, yes, actually.” Aziraphale sighs. “Ah, I decided to look around on that interweb you set up for me a while back, as well, you remember?” Crowley remembers staring down the ancient desktop pc in the bookshop and telling it to better rear up a good browser and immaculate virus protection or so help it... so a quick hum is the only reply before Aziraphale rattles on.

“And, well, there are quite a lot of people talking about things to do during the lockdown, you know. A lot of people are baking, just like me! And they’re making all kinds of very entertaining videos, and jokes, although I don’t understand all of them. I think they are very popular media related, I’m afraid.”

“You're planning to become a youtube star now? An influencer?”

“Heavens, no!” He can hear the soft smile in that, and it's almost annoying that he can despite not seeing it. He had no idea how badly he wants to see it. Well, maybe he had, but he hadn't admitted it yet. “I'm only saying, humans are coming up with the most random things to entertain themselves during this horrid time. It's quite heartwarming.”

“I suppose.”

“And everyone seems to be using this unwanted time off to try new things! They're being so creative and courageous. The young lady down the street, with the flyers, you remember? I saw her at the grocer's, and she's shaved off half her hair! It does look marvellous, I have to say.”

Well, it's not exactly surprising for Crowley to hear, he thinks, because if he'd had to peg anyone on Aziraphale's street to go straight for some queer quarantine hairstyling, it would've been her. But he doesn't get much time to think about that before Aziraphale's voice pulls him back into the very one-sided conversation.

“It's all very inspiring. And I figured, well, why not? Nobody is going to come into the shop for a while, and I'm not going out, and I've always wondered-”

“Angel.” Crowley cuts through the babbling with almost a bit of dread in his voice. “Did you shave your head? Is that what you're trying to say?”

“Oh gosh, no, nothing that extreme! Really, would you actually believe me to do that? I know you like your hair changed every few years or so, but I-”

“What did you do, then? What did Holly and her shaved head inspire you to do?”

Another round of silence on both ends of the line. Crowley prepares himself for the worst, though he has no idea what that would be.

“I've grown a beard.” Aziraphale almost whispers.

“You what?”

“I've grown a beard!” He repeats, a tad louder. “I've always wondered – there's barely any angels with facial hair, and you used to have those- I just had no idea what I might look like with one, and I thought, if not now-”

“And?”

“And what?” Aziraphale huffs.

“What do you look like?” Crowley's grin is mischievous, and his voice really shouldn't sound like this, but he can't help the teasing as he rubs across his own beard, still not vanished away by miracle. He hears a soft scratching on the other end of the line.

“It's not- it's not bad, if that's what you're expecting to hear. Although it seems a bit patchy, the colour, at least.”

“Patchy.”

“Yes, there's this bit – in the front – my chin, you see. It seems an awful lot lighter than the rest.”

“Angel, you have to expect some white hairs after six thousand years.”

“You are mocking me.” Aziraphale tuts down the line.

“I swear I'm not. It's just hard to imagine you with a beard. Never seen anything on your face, even when it was the style for humans.”

“Well you certainly won't be seeing it anyway. I'll make sure to be presentable once the lockdown is lifted.”

“What?!” Crowley interjects a bit too shocked, maybe. “You can't do that to me, angel! You can't dangle this little morsel of information in front of my face and then never let me have it!”

“I'm not going to go outside or greet customers like this only so you can have a quick laugh, old serpent.”

“You leave me no choice, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to see this beard of yours, angel. Even if it means coming over before regulations are changed.”

“Well.” Aziraphale says, and Crowley is sure he can hear a smile again, but definitely not a soft one. That bastard. “I simply can't keep you from breaking the rules, can I? You are a demon, after all. Not all your wiles can be thwarted, I guess.”

Probably not, Crowley thinks as he realises he's been had, but you're definitely an A-class tempter.

(the story actually goes further here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402841

because nobody seems to reblog the second, longer version :( )

[lances-wormhole]

More Than Any Title, I Love You (Fraxus One-Shot)

Read on Ao3 here

Please leave a kudos on there if you have the time : ) But I’d also really appreciate a like and reblog on here!

(Not Beta-Read)

***

Freed ignored the mud that splattered against his boots as he paced back and forth in the heavy rain. He was alone. Or rather, he kept telling himself he was alone just so he could save his heart from the unpleasant feeling of someone else hiding and watching him when he wasn’t aware.

Now, everyone gets the gist. This job was “different from typical jobs”. Every member of the guild has probably heard those words a billion times before… so many times. But this time it is painfully true.

Laxus Dreyar asked Freed to go with him alone, so he went along with a severe lack of questioning… And now here he is, standing in the mud, soaking wet, with only one question now on his mind:

Where is Laxus?

Freed didn’t fear many things outside the typical “I hope my friends are alright” mentality that seemed to be strikingly popular amongst the wizards of Fairy Tail. And you could say that maybe, just maybe that sense of protectiveness peaked around the Raijinshu… and, according to Bickslow, it especially showed when Laxus was involved. Freed couldn’t quite help that. The large lighting mage had a knack for getting himself into tricky situations. He found that he had no choice but to always be by Laxus’s side to get him out of it… Not like he minded being near him anyway.

Grunting, Freed pushed his sopping wet bangs out of his face, squinting across the field in lookout for the missing wizard.

“Laxus!” He called uselessly, shivering slightly. “Laxus! You’re out there somewhere, I know it!”

No reply.

Freed frowned, rubbing his hands against his arms as he slowly spun in a circle. He could feel his heartbeat steadily picking up his pace because of all the what ifs floating around in his brain.

“The storm is picking up!” He continued, one hand drifting down toward his sword. “We should call it a day and head back towards the hotel! Laxus!”

Again, no reply.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Freed unsheathed his sword and pointed it down to the ground. Trying to think around his panic, he attempted to cast some sort of rune that might be able to help him get in contact with his team mate. But before he could complete it, a loud crack of lightning flashed off somewhere towards his right, into the woods.

“Laxus?” Freed gulped, pushing back his wet bangs again as his gaze darted around the area. Without a second thought, he found his feet already running off towards where the lightning had striked, ignoring the buzz of electricity and static in the air.

Breathing heavily, Freed could tell he was starting to lose any sense of composure he may have left. But the mere thought of just finding Laxus, not completing their job, and going back to their hotel rooms where it is safe was just oh so compelling… he couldn’t even think of anything else.

Coming to a stop where the lighting striked, Freed could feel the static in the air causing the loose strands of his hair to rise to the sky. It was a familiar feeling. Whenever Laxus got too worked up, he would emit electricity ever so slightly into the air around him. And Freed, often being at his side, had slowly grown accustomed to it.

“Laxus…” Freed called, stalking into the woods cautiously, “Please.”

The Rune Mage could feel his throat start to squeeze, every ounce of emotion starting to bud at his eyes.

“I don’t…” He clenched his hand tightly against his sword, “I don’t know what you were thinking. Just bringing you and myself out on this quest. You can really be a big idiot sometimes.”

He expected to hear Laxus’s all too familiar disgruntled grunt, but all that could be heard was the continuous patter of rain against the leaves.

“I know you enjoy taking charge. I know you think you're strong enough to do these jobs on your own…” Freed spoke, an unwanted hiccup escaping his lips. This wasn’t like him at all. “But please. I can’t take it when you get hurt more than you’ve been. I’ve seen you suffer and I don’t want to see it anymore.”

He couldn’t help the tears that began to roll down his cheeks. If anyone else were here he would excuse it as rain.

“I could never live with myself if you were to be suffering more without me around to be with you.” He sobbed, body shivering from the overflow of emotion and the freezing rain. “Laxus—”

Another loud crash of lightning boomed from nearby, so close that Freed had to take cover, shielding his head with his arms.

Breathing heavily, Freed anxiously surveyed the area before running off where the lighting had struck.

“Laxus!” He shouted, nearing a mass of rock and rubble. “Are you—”

A low mumble from the wreckage interrupted his question. Overwhelmed, it took Freed a second to process before finally spotting a torn piece of Laxus’s jacket wedged in between a few rocks.

“Hold on.” Freed said seriously now, wiping away his tears as he neared the rocks, but before he could get further, a wall of runes blocked his path, surrounding the entirety of the scene. “Ah…”

Composing himself, Freed quickly dispelled the runes, keeping a mental note of the style and formation of the spell for later aid in the job, and hurried over to where Laxus was buried.

“Can you hear me?” He asked, already tugging the large rocks off and throwing them behind him with little care or attention. “Are you hurt? What happened? Why aren't you speaking?”

“Give me a second to explain myself and I will.” Laxus finally said, weakly pushing the final boulder away from himself.

Freed looked down at the lighting mage with a glare, whilst simultaneously looking over his body for any injuries. Fortunately nothing too serious, but he couldn’t miss the obvious signs of magic drainage. “Go on.” He urged impatiently.

Laxus watched him for a moment, noting the redness in the whites of his teammate’s eyes… however he chose to ignore that for now in the matter of current circumstances. “Firstly… I'm sorry for leaving you behind. It must be an undying habit of mine to go off and do things on my own.”

Freed clenched his jaw but stayed silent so Laxus could continue.

“I chased after what I thought was one of our targets. I remembered hearing something about a rune mage, that's initially why I thought to bring you along I guess. But I guess it didn’t cross my mind that he was a trickster like you and probably set a trap.” Laxus sighed, patting a rock that sat beside him. “The runes were slowly draining my magic energy. On top of that, a stupid second thief trapped me down here the minute I let loose that first lighting strike. He must’ve caught on that I was trying to lure someone over… that being you.”

“An idiot you are for using such large blasts.” Freed scolded, his hand subconsciously moving to cup Laxus’s cheek, letting his thumbs brush over the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I would have known it was you with the smallest sliver of lighting.”

“You would,” Laxus agreed, watching Freed with amusement. “I’m as much an idiot as you are reliable it seems.”

***

Getting back to the hotel, Freed forced Laxus to promise that they’ll postpone their raid on their targets until he had properly regained his lost stamina. Although the job requester didn’t seem too happy with the news, all it took was for Freed to give a dark, haunting glare, and they were well on their way.

After compelling Laxus into taking a bath, Freed immediately got to work cleaning and patching up the lighting mage’s wounds.

“Back in the forest,” he started, spreading ointment generously onto Laxus’s collar bone, “You said you thought of me initially. That makes me assume the reason changed.”

He was greeted by silence at the theory.

Looking up and away from the wound, he noticed that Laxus was looking away towards the window with an odd expression on his face. “Laxus? Is there another reason you brought me, and left without Ever or Bickslow?”

Freed watched as Laxus’s facial expressions flowed between different emotions before landing on one that could only be described as a calm dedication.

“Since the war ended, I’ve found myself talking to the old man more. Both of our run-ins with near deaths helped us mend whatever crack in our bond we still had.” Laxus closed his eyes for a second, thinking over his words. “He started to talk about seriously stepping down… wasting no mercy in saying that he was deciding between Erza, Mirajane, and… me.”

Freed’s eyes widened at the reveal, forgetting about the wound he was treating. “That’s… wow… But that doesn’t explain why you brought me.”

Laxus shook his head weakly against his pillow before continuing with his story, ignoring Free’s statement for the time being. “I thought he was crazy to think of me. After everything I’ve done. My selfishness in the past... But he didn’t give me a chance to argue. And he left to go think about his decision.”

He paused for a moment, nibbling at his lower lip.

“Since then I started thinking over and over about what the future had in store for me. If I were the guild master, I couldn’t imagine what I would do. All those past thoughts of ruling and taking control… it's all so… undesirable to me now. But I know that if he picked me, I would never say no to him. So I just had to figure out how I felt. I knew that once I became guild master I wouldn’t be able to go out on these missions with you or the Raijinshu as much as I like to. Maybe not ever since our guild is rather… crazy.” He chuckled, looking up at Freed now who was watching him with such pride and adoration. “Evergreen urged me to take this job with you… alone. Originally it was going to be the four of us as usual but she turned it down and promised that you alone would give me the answer.”

Freed couldn’t help the blush rising to his cheeks at the sentiment. “Answer?”

“I needed a reason to decline his offer. Straight up. Before he could even say anything to anyone. I… I planned on this job going much easier. I lost sight of my purpose here in the first place really.” Laxus huffed out a laugh, his eyes never leaving his partner’s. “But the way you found me, dispelled those runes, patched me up and ordered me to take care of myself. The way you look at me, Freed, I am so fucking helpless.”

Freed gripped onto the bed sheets, lower lip quivering despite his efforts to remain stoic.

“Even though I have a habit for getting myself into this idiotic situations ending in me usually getting hurt, I would still miss it so much if I can’t just be out here doing jobs with you. I know as a guild master I’ll always be able to see you but I’d never see you in action when I want to.” Laxus spoke softly, moving his hand to rest on top of Freed’s shaky ones. “I don’t want to lose any time I have to watch you conquer the way you do. I’m afraid that I love that too much to lose to paperwork and meetings.”

Laxus watched as Freed started to move closer, and in turn he slowly started to rise from his pillow to match the other’s movements.”

“I love you more than any responsibility and title I ever thought I wanted. I love you.” He spoke quickly before colliding with Freed, cradling his jaw in his hands as he pressed a fiery, yearning kiss against the other’s lips.

“I love you too,” Freed whispered, smiling against the other’s lips as he leaned over him from his forgotten seat beside the bed. “I love you so much.”

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 2

AO3

It's pouring outside, and expectations are met with varying success.

There are new faces in the lighthouse.

Martin, big as he was, didn’t get much mileage out of umbrellas, especially when the rain decided that falling straight down would be too convenient. There was just too much of him to cover, and as he walked his way up the cliff side that morning, umbrella in hand, he considered just turning back and leaving the day’s work for Saturday. It wouldn’t be so terrible, skipping a day. With no one to check in on him, he had every right to finish things up later.

He thought of his home on the rocky beach and kept moving upward. Already soaked through, there wasn’t much point turning back, now was there? And he had already made it through the worst of the muddy path anyway. He would just hang his jacket up somewhere in the kitchen when he got to the lighthouse, maybe his shoes too while he was at it.

The walk was loud with the rain and splashing footsteps of the usually morning passerby. The weather gave Martin ample reason to keep his head down, and if it hadn’t been for a loud crack of thunder making him jump and peek up at the sky, he wouldn’t have looked up at all. The lighthouse was stark white against the storm clouds, and in the small lot tucked to the right side of the building, were several unfamiliar cars and one very nice familiar one.

Martin groaned. “Peter.” He mentally patted himself on the back for not giving into his lazier impulses. Of course Peter changed his plans with no notice. He was so rich that the concept of people having time for anything other than his use probably never occurred to him. Hopefully this time it wasn’t another weird congregation of his fellow old rich men from the next town over. The last time Peter had had to postpone a boating trip for business, it had left him in a foul mood for weeks, and Martin was the one to deal with it.

The other cars in the lot didn’t read as particularly nice, but Martin didn’t know much about cars and couldn’t judge on a clear day, nevermind one like this. He considered using the back entrance, but he was already tired and wet and ready to make himself from tea. Up the dark stone steps, he found the main door unlocked and quietly let himself inside, hoping that Peter and whoever his guests were had already-

“Martin! A bit late, aren’t we?” Peter’s voice rang out through the building, making Martin wince. Martin closed his umbrella and looked across the main room to see Peter and three distinctly not-old-men staring at him. They looked somewhere around his age, though at his ripe age of twenty-nine, it was hard to tell between early twenty-somethings and those pushing forty. “Hope this doesn’t mean I have to figure out a clock-in system. You know how bad I am with such things.” Peter was smiling in a way that told Martin instantly just how pissed he was to be dealing with whatever this was. Great.

“Oh, um. Yes, the rain made the walk up a bit- sorry. Um, what’s going on?” Martin stumbled through with his usual grace, wanting to shrink down and die with the way the four of them were staring. “You were-”

“Supposed to be on the boat this morning, yes,” Peter said through his teeth.

One of the strangers, the tallest and by far the best-looking with perfectly styled hair despite the rain, raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with the short woman with dark, curly hair pulled back into a half ponytail. Next to her was the shortest of the three, a man with dark skin and even darker, shaggy hair that was just turning gray at the roots, who looked at Martin for a moment before apparently deciding that there was nothing of interest there and impatiently turning back to Peter.

“Some quick introductions and then I’ll be on my way,” said Peter, moving around the three newcomers to walk towards Martin and the door. “One of my beneficiaries, Mr. Bouchard, has requested at very little notice to have some of his own come here for a week or two for research purposes. Incidentally, I will be out for that exact time, starting in a few minutes! Your work documents will be delivered as usual. Just let them do their work, stay in your space, and it’ll be over before you know it.” Before Martin could utter a sound, Peter brushed past him and said, quietly, “Stuffy academic types, the lot of them. Very judgmental I’ve heard.” And then he was out the door. Martin watched him leave and then turned back awkwardly.

“Um. Hi?” Martin waved stupidly, feeling the horrible burn of their gazes. The good-looking one smiled brightly and brought up a hand in friendly recognition.

“Y’know, he said he’d do introductions, but last time I checked my name wasn’t ‘work documents’,” he said, coming forward and putting a hand out, which Martin shook in a daze. The woman behind him snorted. “My name’s Tim Stoker. Behind me is Sasha James, hereby dubbed ‘research purposes’, and our head leader man, Jonathan Sims.” Tim put up a hand in a secretive manner. “A big longer title, ‘It’ll be over before you know it’, but it fits all the same.” He winked, and Martin laughed despite himself. Jonathan rolled his eyes and walked over to the folding table to sift through his work bag. Martin saw this and wanted to kick himself.

“I’m Martin Blackwood, Peter’s assistant. You’re all researchers then? What-” and at that moment, Martin sneezed. “Oh, gosh, excuse me. I’d better at least stop dripping all over the place.” Martin sheepishly walked past Jonathan to the kitchen, shedding his damp coat to hang in the corner. He could feel the wetness in his shoes and socks and for a moment resented his unexpected company but shook the thought away. Taking stock of the cupboard in his mind, Martin popped his head back into the main room.

“I’m making tea if anybody would like some,” he offered. Tim and Sasha were receptive and followed him back to the kitchen, taking off their own coats to hang next to his own and sitting down at the uncomfortably small table.

“Is this thing made for people to sit at?” Tim asked, his long legs bumping against Sasha’s.

“One person, maybe? God, it’s like a university desk.” Sasha replied, purposefully bumping her knee into his to make him move and laughing when we gave an exaggerated noise of pain. Martin smiled a little to himself as he placed the kettle on the stove. Sasha leaned onto her elbows and looked up at him. “So, Martin. Does anyone else work here?” He frowned, keeping his face away from them.

“Oh, um, no. Just me,” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Peter keeps a pretty small staff and they work in other buildings, so. Yeah. Just me.” Martin could feel the awkward pause coming and continued, turning to lean next to the stove top. “So, researchers! Can’t think of why you’d come to a big old lighthouse. Is this some sort of, I dunno, architecture thing? Testing saltwater? Coming to find a sea monster?”

“Actually, not a terrible guess!” Tim tilted his chair back and linked his fingers behind his head. “Probably not a sea monster, though it would be pretty cool.”

“We’re researchers looking into the supernatural,” Sasha interjected in a more serious tone. “The three of us were sent out here to take some statements and do some investigating into local occurrences. Usually it would just be one of us, but Elias, the Mr. Bouchard Peter mentioned, wanted us all on the ground for this one.”

“It’s ridiculous.” Martin jumped at the sound. Jonathan stood in the doorway, keeping his displeased look trained on the paper in his hands. Tim glanced at Martin in a way that seemed to say here we go. “Just one of us would be good enough to take some statements and be on our way. It’s just a waste of resources.” It was Sasha’s turn to roll her eyes. The way Tim and Sasha seemed to include Martin in this small moment of exasperation made him feel equal parts warm and ashamed at taking humor at Jonathan’s expense.

Sasha replied, “Look Jon, the fact that we were all sent out means there’s probably something really interesting about this place.” Jonathan snorted, finally looking up at her.

“Sure, because Elias has never wasted our time.” He looked back down, content with leaning against the doorway. “We’ll talk to some locals, get some childhood campfire stories, and leave knowing a little bit more about local culture and not much else.” There was a lull in the conversation as Jonathan seemed to check out, satisfied with his point.

“What do you think, Martin?” Tim asked eventually.

“What?”

“Any weird things in this town? Spooky hauntings? Creatures of the deep?” Tim asked further. Before Martin could answer, the kettle began to squeal and he began his tea preparations.

“Oh, nothing that I know of, no. It’s a quiet place.” The sea folk here are definitely quiet, he thought, which he knew was unfair to think. His mother didn’t talk much, certainly, but it’s no reason to be mean. “Oh, Jonathan-”

“Just Jon.”

“Oh, um, okay. Jon, did you want any? Tea, I mean?” Jon looked up at him for a moment and then down again.

“Yes, I suppose so. Whatever is fine.” And then he turned and left the room.

“Oookay.” Martin sifted through the decent amount of tea he had collected over the last few months. He asked for Tim and Sasha’s preferences and did his best to follow them. “Anyway, yeah, I’m not super involved in what goes on in town, to be honest. I live down the cliff side by the shore, so local stuff kind of goes over my head,” Martin said, laughing a bit before biting his tongue. What an awful joke. He carried over the mugs of tea.

“Darn, and here I’d hoped you’d be able to make our jobs a bit easier for Jon’s sake. But hey, we’ll let you know if there’s evil lurking around the corner.” Tim sipped at his tea and seemed satisfied. Sasha did the same.

“If you think of anything, let us know. We got a bit of direction, but it’s not much. We’ll take just about anything,” Sasha said. Martin picked up Jon’s mug.

“Hmm. Well, I guess there’s this one weird thing? It’s probably nothing, but, y’know, it could be helpful.” Sasha and Tim looked at him expectantly, and the tips of his ears grew hot. “It’s just, you guys drove in right? Well, if you start from further away and head toward this building on foot, it doesn’t look right.”

“How do you mean?” Sasha asked, her brows knitting together. Martin struggled for a moment to find the words.

“Like. Like the perspective, I guess? It gets bigger but it feels like it’s going too fast, to the point where I can’t look at it when I come to work. Could just be a weird vertigo thing I have going on, but it would be easy enough to check when it’s not, y’know, pouring outside.” Martin looked at Sasha; she didn’t look entirely impressed, and Martin looked away. “Anyway, it’s probably nothing. I’m gonna-” and as he walked through the doorway, Jon appeared with a much larger stack of documents only for Martin to stumble into him and splash tea all over the papers. Jon jumped back and dropped them, freezing for a moment before looking up with such indignation that he couldn’t speak.

“Oh god, I’m-” Martin began, his face burning hot enough that it should’ve fogged his glasses. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you coming back and-” And then he shut his horrible mouth at the sight of Jon’s withering glare.

“Yes, well. It’s as Mr. Lukas said.” He bent down to pick up the soiled papers. “‘It’ll be over before you know it.’” Martin looked back at Tim and Sasha who gave him twin pained expressions.

No words left, Martin grabbed a towel to clean up the mess he’d made. He would do as Peter said, then. Let them do their work, stay in his own space, and, as a bonus step, keep out of Jonathan Sims’ way until things went back to the way they were.

-

The three researchers worked together at the folding table, grumbling at the lack of space, though Tim at least stopped complaining when he saw Martin’s tiny tray of a desk tucked away into the corner.

Martin got through his work, though the extra sounds echoed so much louder than when it was just him, and his pace was slowed a bit as he struggled not to eavesdrop. Still, he finished early as he had intended and began his trek up the spiral stairs to complete the list.

“Oh, are you heading up to the top? I’ve never been in a lighthouse before,” Tim said, stretching out of his cramped position at the table. “Mind if I tag along to stretch my legs?”

Martin thought for a moment and said, “I guess that should be fine? Though it’s not gonna look like much right now.”

“I’ll take it.” Tim stood and looked at his coworkers. “You coming, Sash’? Jon?”

Sasha stretched as well and got up, elbowing Jon lightly and pointing her chin towards the stairs. “C’mon, let’s take a break.” Jon stared for a bit before sighing.

“Fine.”

Martin led the way up, conscious the whole way of how slow he walked in comparison to the others. The walk itself was quiet only for the echoes of their footsteps bouncing around the cylindrical structure and the rain battering from outside. Martin kept his eyes on his feet, making sure to use the handrail. Tim, who started the climb up in the middle of the stairs, soon found himself clinging to the rail as well.

“I definitely believe you about the whole vertigo thing. I can feel it just walking up this place, and I don’t even have a thing about heights,” Tim said, doing his best to keep his tone upbeat.

“Yeah, I’d say you get used to it, but I still haven’t after months of this.” Martin let them lapse back into total silence, and when they reached the top, the researchers breathed a sigh of relief. Martin walked to his work station while they looked out the large panes of glass. Jon sniffed.

“Well, Tim, I hope it was worth it to see more fog.” He stepped away from the glass, tapping his foot impatiently. “We might as well start back down.”

“Oh, calm down,”” Sasha said. “We’ll let Martin finish. Besides, we need a break from all the walking.” Sasha walked past the window panes and then squinted as if in thought. “It was still raining, wasn’t it? When we started up here?”

“Must’ve stopped at some point,” Tim said, looking up in the direction of the sky.

“Yeah, but, there’s no droplets.”

“What?”

“On the glass. There should be rain droplets, right? There isn’t a large enough overhang to block the rain from hitting them.” Jon stopped tapping his foot and came to stand by them. The three looked out into the fog and then back at Martin, who was too busy with his tasks to pay attention to their conversation.

“Martin?” Sasha asked, jostling him from his concentration.

“Wh-yeah?” Sorry, I’m almost done-”

“That thing that happens when you walk here. Could you show us?”

[yankyo]

Commission by @witchyrem-ains

No warnings here, just pure fluff and some Beej pining

        Falling in love for the first time was never easy - especially when you were a millenia old demon with a strenuous relationship with the phenomena known as emotions to begin with. But here lay Beetlejuice, completely and uncontrollably twitterpated with no real clue of what he was supposed to be doing here. He knew how to scare breathers, hell he was a straight up genius when it came to making breathers run for the hills, but he didn’t want her to run from him. He wanted her laughter, not her screams, her smile instead of her shrieks. Fuck, he really had it bad for this human. The last time he made her laugh at one of his stupid jokes, he damn near melted into a happy, pink puddle at her side. Remington. The name was enough to get his hair turning pink these days, enough to make his unbeating heart all but leap out of his chest. The demon groaned aloud, rolling from his place up on the roof to instead slither back into the house - he could and has spent hours out here staring at the stars and imagining what it would be like to call her his. To run his fingers through her long, soft hair, to kiss her full lips, to feel her body against his…. hearing her calling him Lawrence. Fuck. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, he didn’t need another problem that would result in him curling up with the odd pieces of clothing she had left behind, or those odd pieces he had swiped from her home to stuff in the slowly growing nest in his room… he really had a problem here, didn’t he? 

       It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying to keep his infatuation a secret. He flirted up a storm whenever he was in her direct vicinity, but her responses were always playful, never taking his propositions seriously - but fuck she was so cute that he couldn’t even be frustrated with her, not when she would turn to him with those pretty eyes of hers shining with mirth, her cheeks pink with laughter and his innards would do somersaults and his brain would just straight up shut down. And she would head home, not knowing that she was leaving with his heart in her hands. But what was he supposed to do? He flirted, he left little gifts for her - sure usually he was leaving rats and the odd bug he personally found interesting, but they were gifts nonetheless, and he knew she enjoyed his company too. At least, he was pretty sure she did…Barbra insisted the real reason Rem kept coming around was for him after all and Barbra couldn’t lie to save her ass. That and Barbra had to know something about relationships, despite how utterly boring it was, she and Adam had been in a pretty happy relationship for a good stretch of time. Beetlejuice usually saw couples dissolve after death, unable to handle the strain the change caused, but the Maitlands were still going strong and everyone was uncomfortably aware of just how enamored the Deetz couple were with one another. He had played creepy voyeur to the Maitlands for years, but even he hadn’t been prepared to turn a corner and spy Charles with his tongue halfway down Delia’s throat and his hand obviously going up er dress. And how many times did he have to whirl around and protect the young Lydia from such a scarring sight? They certainly had to know what they were doing here, right? For someone as emotionally constipated as Charles to be so clearly happy with his new wife meant he had to be doing something right, right? And Rem got along quite well with both couples, didn’t she? 

       Beetlejuice’s stomach twisted at the thought, but he crept through the house anyways, quickly finding himself idling by the stairs up to the attic, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his suit. How was he supposed to ask for their help? Yeah, their relationship had come a long way, but was he relationship advice close?

       “Hey BJ, do ya need something?” The voice from behind him made him jolt and whirl around, coming face to face with Adam himself. They were getting pretty good with their scares and while he would usually be proud to be taken by surprise, or would immediately be all over the other man, but this time Beetlejuice just stood there, fumbling over his words as he tried to find the best way to phrase this question. “Beetlejuice?” Adam stepped forwards, placing a hand on his shoulder with a concerned look. 

       “Howdoyouaskoutagirl?” The question left him in one breath, his entire body a light, embarrassed pink. Adam blinked, surprised, but a slow smile spread across his face as the words registered.

       “You’re finally going to ask out Remmy?” His voice was far too loud, but before Beetlejuice could even attempt to try and shush him, Babra stuck her head through the door, 

       “He’s asking her out?” She exclaimed, quickly phasing through the door to rush down the stairs. “I told you it was going to happen, Adam was beginning to fear you weren’t going to!” She took his hands in hers, her eyes glittering in excitement. “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you all done up for Remmy!” before he could even think to respond, she was dragging him down the hall, calling for Delia, Adam at his side with an encouraging look. 

       Beetlejuice found himself awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, fidgeting with his fingers as Delia and Barbra fussed over him. 

       “We need to do his hair,” Delia brushed her nails through his hair as if trying to find the right style, 

       “Perhaps get him a nice new suit? Oh one of Adam’s old shirts would look nice, right?” Barbra was examining his old suit as if trying to guess his size. 

       “A bath would probably be a great first step. We should take him to the porch and hose em down.” A sardonic voice spoke up from the doorway. Lydia gave him an amused look as she strolled into the room. “Dad, you owe me twenty bucks. I told you he’d come for help.“ 

       “You made bets?” Beetlejuice watched in shock as Chuck presented his daughter with a crisp twenty dollar bill, the girl taking it with a smug smile and a shrug.

       “Everyone saw the little song and dance Rem and you have been doing around one another, we all wondered who was gonna figure it out first and how it would go down. I bet you would realize it and get frustrated enough with Rem’s obliviousness to come asking for help. Delia bet you wouldn’t realize and Rem would get tired of you messing around and would pounce.” The idea wasn’t the worst, though he definitely couldn’t see Rem pinning him down… that was a thought to enjoy later in his nest. 

       “You all seem pretty certain she likes me, she could just see me as a dead guy she hangs out with.” The looks every single person in that room gave him seemed to be a varying degree of ‘are you joking’, only for each to see just how serious Beetlejuice was and sigh. 

       “We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us.” Delia gave an anxious laugh, to break the awkward silence. “Come on, let’s see what clothing we can get for you." 

----------

       "Are yall sure about this?” Beetlejuice gave his appearance a skeptical look. After a good few hours of prepping, in which Lydia made good on the comment of hosing him down and Barbra found clothing that somewhat fit him, Beetlejuice looked… well he looked like a bloated rat that was half drowned and was dressed by an old, depressed farmhand. 

       “Now, remember, you want to give her flowers when she comes.” Delia had been coaching him the entire time, bouncing off of Barbra as the two women instructed him on how to talk to women. No inappropriate compliments, no coarse language, no dirty jokes, no gross humor, no taking off his head, no eating bugs, no oversharing. Listen to her, compliment her nicely, ask her about her day. He had summoned some pretty flowers to give to her, soft yellow flowers he had often seen blooming outside just beyond his reach. He assumed it was a good choice, when he had shown them off no one had said they weren’t good, in fact they had given him the look one would give an especially endearing kitten. That was probably a good sign, right? 

       Lydia had been tasked with calling up Remmy, inviting her over for dinner and as the hour drew nearer, Beetlejuice found himself pacing the floor nervously. After his last disastrous attempt at cooking, he had been permanently banned from the kitchen, so dinner had been prepared by Barbra and Adam while Delia had set up his room nicely for the ‘date’. Beetlejuice had hidden away the trinkets he kept of Remmy’s and had made sure his treasures were well away from the garbage can as he helped Delia clean up and light some nice candles - the basement was looking quite good if he did say so himself, a nice little table set up already for them. Everything was ready, everything was prepared, but when there came a knock at the door, Beetlejuice was just about ready to hurl himself headfirst into the mouth of the nearest sandworm. Instead, he hid behind a wall as Lydia answered the door and gave her halfhearted line of:

       “Oh dear, a friend of mine from school needs help with whatever, gotta jet.” On her way out the door. Behind her was Charles and Delia, their excuses for why they had to leave something about work and Barbra and Adam had already hopped out into the Netherworld, leaving the house empty save for Beetlejuice and Remington. 

       “H… hey.” Beetlejuice greeted, already sweating buckets as he held out a fistful of dandelions. “Dinner is… it’s ready and downstairs.” Remmy gave the flowers a look, a soft, amused smile spreading across her face as she took him in. 

       “Are you wearing Adam’s old clothing?” She asked with a soft laugh. “It looks like the buttons are about to go flying." 

       "They probably are.” The demon replied, with a glance down. His belly was quite a bit rounder than Adam’s were and he commended the old shirt for it’s attempt at wrapping around his midsection. He led the way downstairs, going over his instructions in his head over and over again. 

       “I’ve never been down here, I didn’t know they made it your room.” Remington commented, glancing around interestedly. “Is that… is that a coffin?” She asked, her eyes shimmering with interest. 

       “Yeah. It’s my bed.” She gave him another look, but instead of the judgement he was expecting, she looked rather excited instead. 

       “Really? You actually sleep in it?” Her excitement made him chuckle, following after her as she made her way through the room. All this time doing up the room and she focused on the coffin, satan or god, whoever is listening, I love this girl. He followed after, unable to help the fond look on his face. 

       “I don’t exactly sleep no, but I do lay in it at nights sometimes. It’s pretty comfortable.” He pulled open the lid, revealing the black and white striped plush lining and an array of stuffed animals he had collected through the years. 

       “Can… can I lay down inside?” She asked and Beetlejuice couldn’t help the shiver that crept down his spine at the question. 

“Be my guest.” She… she would lay in his coffin. It would smell like her. He almost vibrated with excitement as she settled down inside, stretching out comfortably  before she glanced up at him, a soft smile on her face,

       “Come join me.” Beetlejuice almost choked, but stumbled forwards, unable to deny her. Her body was too close, her scent enveloping him as he stiffly laid down next to her. Unfortunately, or rather thankfully she didn’t seem to notice his growing problem and she scooted forwards to lay her head on his chest. “Hey Beetlejuice?” He grunted softly in response, not trusting himself to try and speak. “Is… is this a date?” Her voice was soft, disbelieving. “Lydia said something but… I don’t want to just expect anything without actually…. you know." 

       "I was… well, I was hoping it would be. If, uh, if you aren’t ok with that, I mean, it could just be a dinner..” His voice was a soft, embarrassing squeak, his entire body practically glowing pink. She lifted her head, hazel eyes meeting green, so close he could swear if he leaned in just a hair he could kiss her. 

       “I… I’m ok with it being a date.” Her cheeks were a soft, pretty pink. So beautiful he couldn’t help but raise a hand and cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over the warm skin. 

       “You’re ok with… me?” He knew he didn’t have to explain what he meant, he knew exactly what he was. For such a pretty breather to actually have interest in him and want him as he was was a fantasy he didn’t typically indulge in. Remmy leaned in, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks as she gave him a soft kiss. 

       “What’s not to be ok with?” The smile she gave him would have stopped his heart if it hadn’t already stopped beating so many years ago. “You’re perfect.” Beetlejuice all but melted, leaning in to kiss her this time, the kiss soft and lingering. He knew the dinner was getting cold at the table, but he couldn’t give it another thought. Not with his girl in his arms. He’d steal some take out later and give her a real Beetlejuice date. As soon as he could reassemble the liquidated remains of his brains and pull himself away from her welcoming arms. 

[ashflynns]

☄〔 HUNTER SCHAFER, TWENTY ONE, TRANS FEMALE, DREAM TRAVEL 〕╰ ASHLEY FLYNN just came over half - blood hill . you know , the child of HYPNOS who was claimed two months ago ? i’ve heard chiron say that she is PLAYFUL & EMPATHETIC , but if you ask the aphrodite kids , they’d say she’s LAZY & TACTLESS . i’d say they remind me of sleepy smiles and under-eye bags, messy buns and an unmade bed, running from your problems with bare feet & trying to hard to keep your friends but losing them anyway, especially since she’s FOR THE NEW CABINS . ( ✎ joey , 24 , she/her , bst . )

*insert nice graphic here aka for the love of god someone find me a photoshop link*

hi! its your resident sea witch joey here ready to bombard you with an encyclopedic knowledge of the greek pantheon and uk criminal law?? i guess??? if u dont already know, i’m the one with six (6) cats. i combined my task and intro because im LAZY and bad at intros so i’ll use paige’s stats as a crutch whoops. ash is the lazy laid-back stoner friend everyone needs. she has no trauma because she DOESN’t DESERVE IT so maybe the real trauma will be the friends we make along the way.

𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕔𝕤 .

name :  ashley finn

nicknames : ash, whatever cute names u wanna give her

birth date :  4th february (aquarius squad speak up!)

gender :  trans female

pronouns :  she/her

ethnicity : white

nationality : irish american

hometown : ?? idk american towns SUE ME but she’s from SOMEWHERE in oregon

demigod abilities : sleep manipulation, dream manipulation, dream travel

cabin number & godly parent :  cabin fifteen, hypnos

how did their godly parent meet their mortal parent? :  hlhglkhg so i thought it’d be funny if they met when ash’s mum participated in a sleep research study. i think i’m hilarious.

𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 .

faceclaim : hunter schafer

height :  5′11″

hair colour : blonde

eye colour : blue/green.

dominant hand : leftie!

distinguishing features : her hair’s actually super curly she just straightens it a lot bc curly bedhead is a bitch to brush through in the mornings.

dress style : ugh this is gonna be hard to explain but like. you know those alt hippy stoner girls?? like that. likes baggy clothes and neutral colours. a lot of quote unquote ugly clothes with clashing prints. band t-shirts and whatnot.

𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕡-𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 .

go - to  weapon : HAH implying she willingly participates in capture the flag. she’d go for a xiphos because it’s the most basic dfkjg

ambrosia :  garlic bread. yeah she’s that kind of bitch

favourite camp location :  zephyros creek!

their opinion of their godly parent :  really unbothered tbqh. but she’s a very laid-back person to begin with. a ton of her school friends had absent dads. if she hadn’t come to chb so early then maybe the whole ‘i have powers with no explanation’ would’ve caused some resentment but hey, he’s a god. he’s a busy man. and being raised by a single mum made up most of who ash is, so it’s not like she’d change anything.

age they were claimed :  this year baby!

how they were claimed :  look dad’s timing was off but as far as he was concerned he claimed ash when percy made the deal. ash kinda always knew it was gonna be him so it was no surprise.

stance on the new cabins : for  the  new  cabins.

their opinion on lyssa pentelute :   as far as ash is concerned, lyssa’s whole shtick is just an excuse to shit on the kids who don’t have to suffer the same way she did. so, uh, she’s kind of a bitch? i have this in a bit more detail down below.

quests :  i’m gonna tentatively put no for now (unless anyone else on quests decides they’d like to have dragged ash along!)

𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 .

positive traits : playful, empathetic, laid-back, friendly but not a pushover, patient

negative traits :  lazy, tactless, aloof,  spacey, struggles to express said empathy, lack of focus

mbti :  Iinfp-t, the mediator

alignment : neutral good

hogwarts house :  hufflepuff

kinsey scale : JUST ASK IF SHES A LESBIAN OKAY?? THE ANSWER IS YES.

archetype :  somehow she matched equally with the innocent child and the wise old man *insert so what is the truth meme*

what candle scent are they :  vanilla

goals & desires :  well this one was tricky bc ash is a simple girl with simple needs and really just doesn’t want anything to change. she wants a life without the pressures of work and commitment, but that’s just not gonna happen, is it? her short-term goals are to practice fighting that urge to stay in bed all day and try to be a bit more productive. it’s not going well.

fears : explained more below but basically she has a fear of destroying all her relationships due to a lack of connect with the world

hobbies : when she’s not napping? probably gaming, going on nature walks, baking treats.

habits :  biting nails is the worst one. spacing out. you know that thing where you just?? stop focusing your eyes?? but you’re still tuned in to the conversation? that.

𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 .

so hear’s the short version kfjglkdfgjd ( for NOW ):

ashley’s mum, niamh, is third-gen irish immigrant. ash didn’t have a luxurious life or anything. they mostly lived off benefits or whatever niamh could pick up from her extremely lucrative dog-walking business. how she met hypnos was a literal joke. they met when she participated in a fucking sleep study and i guess they hit it off. typical story of dad fucks off/single parent yadda yadda. there’s no real ~~trauma~~ to ash. yeah, transphobia sucks and high school really sucked all but her mum’s been super supportive since she first came out and no one at chb has given her shit yet. niamh’s still around and ash goes back home every couple of months to visit her. they have a pretty good relationship. it’s all cool.

i feel cliche saying she was a ‘dreamy’ girl but dreamy or spacey really is the best word for it. mixed with your typical demigod adhd you get a kid who really struggled with school. well, it’s not like she struggled - ashley’s a smart gal - but the teacher’s struggled with her. i guess it was hard for them to understand that ash actually does her best thinking when she’s asleep.

struggles to keep friends - maintains a persona of aloofness and apathy but actually cares way too much. the narcolepsy hinders her ability to form proper connections ( although she’ll argue the sCiEnTiFiCaLlY pRoVeN fAcT that napping with someone for half an hour does more to build trust than anything else ). and no one’s really that fond of ash popping into their dreams. maybe they shouldnt have so much to hide, huh?

her biggest ‘’’ inner struggle ’’’ shall we say is the pressure to be productive. let’s face it, she IS a lazy bitch, and that’s pretty much an inherited nature. getting a job sounds like hell, she sucks at combat training, she really could NOT be bothered with camp politics and god wars and whatever else. why can’t she just sleep and dream walk all day? monster’s are out there man, she’s gonna die some point soon anyway. but that doesn’t mean  she doesn’t feel guilty about it all. it’s kinda hard not to.

so, moving on to the ISSUE AT HAND. so when you walk through dreams and you sleep for 20 hours of the day, it’s not hard to figure out who your dad is, even if he never turns up. like, seriously, who else would it be? so yeah, sure. she was only claimed a couple of months ago. but she wasn’t completely in the dark like some of her other campers, and she respects that, truly. she got the luckier end of the stick and its not hard to understand the resentment among the minor demigods and the unclaimed.

HOWEVER, she’s very much FOR the new cabins. as explained above, lyssa’s a bitch whose taking her mummy issues out on others. ash loves bunking with the hermes kids but she’d like a space of her own and at the end of the day who the fuck is lyssa to make that decision?

𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒 .

pinterest! (its a wip there’s not much IM SORRY)

spotify (now this is the one thing i will never let u down on)

wanted connections coming soon!

[justatiredghost]

Unsolved Academy Ch11 - End

Klaus and Dave run a Buzzfeed Unsolved-style tv show and they’ve just gotten engaged. (Since the plot is now essentially wrapped up, I’m marking this fic as complete. However, I still have some ideas that I might add as bonus episodes later)

“Just so you know,” Dave said. “I seriously considered proposing in some super fancy restaurant.”

They were holding hands as they walked home from their adventurous night out, their steps slow and casual like they didn’t want the night to end, both of them wearing their rings. Klaus raised their clasped hands periodically to suck on what little candy remained on his RingPop despite the awkward angle. Dave’s was already gone. 

“And how exactly did you think we would be paying for that?” Klaus asked, laughing against Dave’s shoulder.

“Now, see, that’s the beauty of it,” Dave said, raising a hand as he laid out his scheme. “If we’d conveniently forgotten our wallets, surely they’d simply let us go. We’d just gotten engaged after all! It’d be kind of a dick move to accuse us of anything or demand payment. I decided against it though, I’d feel bad not being able to leave a proper tip.”

“Amazing,” Klaus laughed, leaning into him. “Man after my own heart.”

By the time they made it back to the house, enough time had gone by that it could charitably be called early morning. Ben was already up and eating breakfast like a responsible adult, no doubt getting ready to head to class. Klaus was still full of too much energy and excitement and didn’t waste any time.

“Ben!” he exclaimed, bounding up to him and holding up his hand. “Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben, look! We’re getting married!”

“About time,” Ben said with a smile, looking truly happy for them. 

“Wait, why don’t you look surprised?” Klaus asked, immediately suspicious when Dave blushed crimson and avoided eye contact. 

“Your fiancé there actually asked for my blessing,” Ben chuckled. 

“What?” Klaus said, drawing out the world, and he couldn’t help but laugh, wishing he could have been there to see it. 

“What? I don’t know how these things work. I never thought this sort of thing would apply to me so I never really paid attention.”

“You are too adorable,” Klaus said, pinching his cheek.

“Did he propose with the RingPop?” Ben asked. “I thought it was a nice touch.”

“Oh yeah, and check this out, you’re never going to believe this,” Klaus held up Dave’s hand to show off the plastic ring there as well. 

“Klaus also got a RingPop to propose with,” Dave explained. 

“Oh my god,” Ben laughed. “You have got to be kidding me. You guys really are ridiculous.”

Klaus beamed at that, finding Dave’s hand again and squeezing tightly.

“Come on,” Dave said to him. “We’ve been up all night, I think we’ve earned some sleep.”

“Good idea. See ya, Ben, good luck in class.”

“Sleep well,” Ben said, smiling and shaking his head as he watched them go. 

-

“Klaus Katz,” Klaus said dreamily, hand up in the air as he examined the ring on his finger as if it had a diamond on it. He rolled over on the bed and scooted closer to Dave, taking his hand as he did so. “I think I like the sound of that.” 

“Hmm, I dunno,” Dave chuckled, so close that their noses bumped.

“What? I think it’s perfect. It might as well be alliterative and over the top. Go all in, baby.”

“Over the top is definitely you, but what about Dave Hargreeves?” Dave countered.

“Aww, have you been doodling that in notebooks?” Klaus asked. “Maybe with little hearts around it?”

“Maybe,” Dave said evasively, grinning.

“Adorable. But really, you don’t want to take that name,” Klaus chuckled. “I’m fine with leaving it and all of Reggie’s legacy in the dust.”

“Is that really what you want?” Dave said, voice thoughtful as he ran a hand absently through Klaus’ hair. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, fuck your old man, but it’s not his name I’m taking. It’s yours. It’s the family you and your siblings are making. You took all the shit he dumped on you and you’re turning it into something good. A real family. And I’m honored to be a part of that.”

He extended Klaus’ arm so he could run his thumb gently across the umbrella tattoo there. Honestly, Klaus would have gotten it covered up with a different design a long time ago if he hadn’t found the entire thing so hilarious; a ‘fuck you’ to dear old dad, having his symbol on his greatest failure, and wasn’t Klaus just the perfect representation of how the whole Umbrella Academy business had turned out? Quite literally in the gutter. But Reginald was dead and this didn’t have to be about him any longer. 

After they’d saved the world, Klaus was actually truly glad he hadn’t gotten it covered or removed. Sure, there was still a lot of pain there, but Dave was right, they were making this their own, repairing their relationships and building the family they’d never had. And to represent that, he and his siblings had gone out and gotten the old faded tattoos touched up, tweaking the design to be their own, to represent something else. Something new. 

None of them had really bothered to put it into words but Klaus supposed it sort of existed as a representation of a promise to try to do better by each other, to make sure none of them had to feel so alone and helpless again. And this time, Vanya was a part of it. Not because she had powers now but because she was their sister.

“But you don’t need to keep the name to keep your family,” Dave continued. “So if your dad is all you think about when you hear the name, then by all means, ditch it. It’s just, I know how hard you’ve tried to keep me away from everything he did and how glad you are I never had to meet him. I just don’t want you to give anything up for me that you might regret.”

“I’m not going to regret anything with you,” Klaus said, placing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Good. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Because you’re my family.”

“Oh my god! You are too sentimental, you know that? I’m way too tired for you to be this sappy,” Klaus laughed, burying his face in Dave’s neck.

“I can’t help it, I get sappy when I’m tired,” Dave said. “Really this is your fault for keeping me out all night.”

“Maybe that’s because I secretly like it,” Klaus said. 

“We could always abbreviate. Katz-Hargreeves. Hargreeves-Katz? I guess we have plenty of time to work it out. When are we doing this anyway?”

“Oh, right,” Klaus said. “I’d been so focused on the asking part that I completely forgot that it’s not over, we still gotta do the actual wedding. When did you want to do it?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Dave laughed. “I also wasn’t really thinking that far ahead.”

“We could stick to the plan,” Klaus suggested.

“Yeah, save up, rent a place, then I guess save some more for some actual rings that are a bit sturdier than cheap plastic? We could probably use our average income to figure out how far away that’ll be.”

“Uuugh, math,” Klaus groaned. “Math is for morning us.”

“It is morning. And besides, I know you’re secretly great at math.”

“It’s for ‘after sleeping’ us then because I am not so secretly exhausted.”

“Sounds good,” Dave said with a laugh. “As for the actual wedding, did you have anything in mind for that? I’d be fine with just going to a courthouse and getting the paperwork taken care of or whatever. I don’t need anything fancy, just you.”

“That’s very sweet but you are missing the perfect opportunity for an excuse to put on a wild party,” Klaus pointed out. “And Pogo would probably pay for it.”

“Oh shit you’re right.” 

“Besides, you can’t tell me you never dreamed of being able to have a traditional Jewish wedding.” 

“Aw, has someone been doing research?” Dave said and he looked much too fond.

“Of course I did, babe,” Klaus said, bringing his hand up to frame his face, brushing his thumb fondly across his cheek. “It’s important to you. So? Do you want that?”

“Yeah, actually, I think I do want that,” Dave said, smiling. “I never really thought it would be an option for me so— yeah. Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For this, for thinking of me even when I forget. Just for everything. You’re my dream come true.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Klaus said, beaming and maybe even blushing a little as he hit Dave with his pillow, but not very hard. Dave was about to retaliate, the two of them sitting up for a better angle, but Klaus suddenly thought of something and raised a hand. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, I just had an amazing idea! What if we got an elephant?” 

“What? Is that even possible?” Dave asked, lowering his weapon, looking curious but suspicious. 

“I dunno but it would be pretty awesome. Come on, it’s your special day, live a little! What else could we do?”

“Okay, how about this,” Dave said, hands out like he had something huge. “An elephant wouldn’t fit, but what if we went somewhere with a ball pit?”

“I’m intrigued, please continue,” Klaus said with a grin, chin in hands.

“It’s suddenly become my dream to see Diego in one. Can you imagine?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Klaus cackled. “We have to do that now. And I’m not above tackling him into it if necessary.” 

“I’d ask if you think we could get Five too but that’s probably pushing our luck.” 

“I guess it depends if you want to die on our wedding day or not.”

“Point taken.” 

“How about Luther instead?” Klaus suggested.

“It might take more than the two of us to tackle him in though.”

“Ben will help. But we gotta be careful or people might catch on the third or fourth time we tackle someone.” 

-

It felt like something huge had happened, even though a proposal didn’t actually change anything between them. Their day to day was the same, but there was just something so official about it all, it just reinforced the fact that they had done it, they had found love, a partner in life, and they were overwhelmingly happy. 

Both of them went into Vietnam thinking they had nothing, that their lives were virtually over, and now, after somehow surviving and coming out the other side, it felt like their lives were just beginning. This was so much more than either of them ever expected to have and suddenly they had a future to look forward to. Together.

Thanks to the success of their channel, they were able to move out sooner than they’d anticipated. They found a tiny apartment, just like they’d talked about, and even if it wasn’t the nicest, it was still utterly perfect. This was theirs. Their home. They stood there side by side, an arm around each other’s waist, perhaps a dozen boxes full of their belongings strewn about.

“We did it,” Dave said, voice full of awe. “Holy shit we did it. We really are adults.”

“Debatable, but we already signed the contract so they can’t kick us out now,” Klaus said gleefully. 

“I mean, they can, but never mind,” Dave said. “Hey, we can do whatever the hell we want in here! What sort of childhood dreams do you want to fulfill? We could get a hammock if we wanted.”

“Yes! And we need a pillow fort! And lots of hideous decor!,” Klaus said.

“I know it’s only one floor,” Dave said excitedly. “But do you think we can fit a slide somewhere in here?”

“I don’t know, but we’re gonna try,” Klaus said. “And obviously we gotta make it all as gay as possible.”

“Hey, Klaus?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

It was so strange for Klaus to be standing in the middle of a home he could actually call his own with the man of his dreams in his arms. He’d lived on the streets for so long, he’d gotten so used to just drifting, never having a place of his own, and the only place he had been able to call a home, the place he’d grown up, was anything but. It had been full of so much cruelty and loneliness. 

But this? This was theirs. And they would make it everything a home was supposed to be, full of laughter and love, where they could both be happy and live the lives they always wanted, that they could be proud of. He hugged Dave a little closer, letting him rest his head against his shoulder and he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Wait,” Dave said. “We’re gonna have to unpack all this shit.”

“Fuck. This is gonna take forever.”

-

(Author’s note: apparently I spoke too soon and I’m not done with this yet, bonus chapter here)

[zankivich]

Dad!Shawn x Black Reader x Black Daughter: A Blurb

a/n: I don't have a title for this yet. it’s just a blurb for right now, but someone submitted this idea and I couldn’t NOT write it. Omg this is so cute and I love it. I think it could be read as a companion piece to Coco Butter Kisses, but it’s not necessary at all. I just love writing for black women is all. It’s kinda iconic. K. bye. (Please reblog and comment If ya like?)

*Masterlist in bio*

The relationship between a Black Woman and her hair is not one to be fucked with. He had learned that super early on when they first started going out. His girlfriend would show up to their date with braids in one day and then a sleek ponytail only for him to show up to her apartment late night to find her sitting on her floor while her best friend would sew new tracks in for her. Her hair styles were as versatile as her outfits, and he loved every minute of it. She was beautiful to him no matter what her head looked like, and he found that the more she played around with her styles the happier she was. That was all that he cared about.

When they had gotten married, he had thought aimlessly about what their kids might be like. With his pastiness and portuguese and her Southern Tennessee roots and molten chocolate skin. It wasn’t until she actually got pregnant that she schooled him all about how mixed children were usually perceived; the problematic notions of only loving black children if they were mixed with something else. They spent hours talking about it at night when the baby wouldn’t stop kicking and she couldn’t sleep, so he couldn’t either.

The day he has a daughter changes his life forever. He thought it was impossible to be more obsessed with someone then his wife, had never loved anyone like he loved her, until the day they placed that little girl in his hands. He was suddenly tethered completely to her. From that day on he’d done anything for her, would be anything for her, if it meant she would smile and be happy.

So, it should come to no surprise to anyone that when it came time, and his baby girl needed her hair done, he immediately stepped up to the plate. She had been born with chocolate curls like her daddy’s, but the second she turned five her texture had quickly become like her mother’s, turning into these beautiful ringlets that needed attention and care.

It starts with just watching.

“Ella, sweetheart, go get the hair basket. Mommy’s gonna do your hair before bed!” Y/n asked.

“Daddy will you help?” She asked smiling up at him with a smile that was so much like her mother’s it never ceased to amaze him.

“Of course I will baby.” He grinned scooping her up off the ground and onto his hip.

His wife rolled her eyes playfully. “Didn’t I tell you to go get it and not Daddy?”

She was a Daddy’s girl through and through. It probably had something to do with the fact that he’d been wrapped around her finger since the day she was born.

“Daddy likes to help though.” Ella explained tiny hands squeezing her father’s cheeks for emphasis.

He beamed at his wife. “Yea, daddy likes to help.”

They go and get the basket together that holds all of her hair accessories, brushes, creams, and anything else y/n liked to use. He hands the basket to his wife while his daughters goes and grabs a pillow to plop down on the floor between her mother’s legs. It’s their nightly ritual and he loves it endlessly. When Ella gets tired and cranky, y/n and her often have heated discussions during hair time, but for the most part his daughter loves getting her hair done and Shawn loves to watch.

He pops a squat on couch beside his wife watching as she grabs a spray bottle and starts to wetten Ella’s hair.

“Babe, what’s in the spray bottle?” He asked.

Her hands don’t slow down at all as she grabs a different mist to go on top of the other spray and slowly begins to detangle Ella’s hair.

“It’s olive oil and water. It just makes her hair a little easier to work with and detangle.” She explained.

“And what’s that you’re adding now?”

“It’s just a little detangler.”

“But I thought that’s what the olive oil and water was for.” He asked, confused.

She snorted. “The olive oil just sort of penetrates the hair shafts and helps moisturize and with the water her hair is naturally easier to work with, but the detangler helps actually work to make it hurt less when I go in with the come, babe.”

“Oh wow. It’s so complicated.” He hummed.

Ella attempted to peer back at her father only to pushed back around by her mother.

“Do I look pretty daddy?” She called anyway.

“Oh of course! You’re the prettiest girl in the whole entire world, elly belly.”

He tries his hardest to pay attention but it really is harder than it looks. His wife has a way of braiding so quickly that sometimes if he blinks he misses it. Her hands are skilled like that. So that night after Ella goes to bed with her special pink bonnet that she picked out all by herself, and y/n comes into their room he can’t help but pull her into his lap.

“Baby can I ask you something?” He murmured gripping her thighs tightly in his hands.

She hums softly. “Of course.”

“Can I braid your hair?”

She chuckled. “Well that’s a first.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ain’t no white boy ever tried to touch my hair before. They usually know better by the time they get to me.”

His hands reached to grab at her ass the way that he knows she’s likes and gives her a bit of a pout for good measure.

“Guess I never learned my lesson. Please, babe?”

“Why would you even want to braid my hair anyway?”

He shrugged. “Wanna practice for Ella.”

Her eyes widened at that and he thought that maybe she might find it cute. He certainly thought it was cute. Not so much.

“Excuse me? Don’t you think you should be practicing on Ella’s hair before you touch my grown ass head, instead of the reverse”

He chuckled softly giving her hips a gentle, affirming squeeze.

“I love both my ladies; I just want Ella to know that her dad cares about her hair and her culture. I--I want you to know that too. I want to be there for both of you in every way that I can.”

He sees it work its way through her system, and he know that he’s got her when she runs her fingers through his a hair, a telltale sign that she can’t say no to him.

“Ugh. You’re annoying. Fine. But if you fuck my hair my up, I fuck you up. And not in the way that you like, understand?”

He nods aggressively giving her the scouts honor despite the fact that he was never even in boy scouts.

It’s a learning curve for sure. She has to show him how to hold the hair and the best way to create sections with hair that isn’t so thin and easy to part. The good news is he asks her about her day while they sit there. She tells him about work and he even makes her laugh a couple of times. He loves his wife with his whole entire being and they both know he’d do anything in the world to make her happy. The nights spent in their bedroom, not even when they’re being intimate, are what make him the happiest. It’s those moments that reiterate that she’s his best friend, that she’s everything to him, besides Ella, which she is. When she throws her head back to laugh and he gets an eye full of her teeth and her smile and her whole chest shaking, he falls in love all over again. She has that effect on him.

***

He doesn’t get to try out his skills until y/n leaves to go visit her mom in Tennessee when she’s sick. It’s short notice, and she doesn’t wanna bring Ella, so Shawn stays behind with their daughter. He cancels some promo and jam sessions, but it’s worth it to be with Ella. His daughter is one of the funniest people in the world and so they have an absolute blast. He let’s her skip school and they build pillow forts in the middle of the living room, rearranging furniture to his baby girl’s liking, and playing music on the speakers louder than mommy would ever allow because she asks.

When she asks for ice cream and there’s none in the freezer, they really don’t have a truth but to take a trip. But, it only takes one look at his daughter’s head to know that his wife would never have her walk out the house in the manner that she’s currently in.

“Sweetheart if you wanna go get ice cream we’ll have to do your hair.” He tells her.

She scrunches up her face and once again she’s so much like her mother it’s ridiculous.

“But only mommy knows how to do my hair.”

“Well, maybe we let daddy have a try. I promise we won’t leave the house if you don’t like it okay? We’ll get uncle Geoff to bring us some.”

She’s more willing than he could have expected and he has a feeling it’s only because she loves him so much.

Ella sits between her father’s thighs bouncing up and down and playing with his legs. Shawn learns very quickly that when his wife would get frustrated and tell Ella over and over to sit still that there was such validity to that statement. He’s sitting there with the iPad trying to figure out how the hell to do a “Goddess Braid” and his daughter is jumping like a wild banshee. Everytime he thinks he might be on the brink of doing it correctly she turns her head to ask a question and he has to start all over again. His wife was a much stronger human being than he. She was able to get Ella to do what she asked off sheer authority alone. Shawn; however, was much softer and much more Canadian. He worked off bribes.

“Hey baby girl,” Shawn sighed trying to mask the fluttering irritation in his gut.

“Yesss daddy?”

“Do you wanna go out to a big girl dinner? Just you and me? We can go somewhere to sit down, wherever you want.”

Her eyes light up and she bounces again between his legs.

“Yea! Can we really?!”

“Yes, of course. But, you gotta be a good girl for Daddy okay? We can’t go anywhere until your hair is done. As soon as I finish your hair we can go eat, and get ice-cream.”

It’s like magic. Suddenly her legs are crossed. She keeps her head straight and holds the rubberbands in her hand until he needs them. It’s actually much easier to do on Ella’s head then it is on y/n’s. She’s tiny and when he looks down he can see her entire head. He puts a part down the middle of her head the way y/n did. He uses the spray bottle to get the hair wet, and he dentagles it just the way he knows how. His long fingers work over the strands of hair braiding them tightly against her scalp. When the braids are in place he cross them in the opposite direction along the top of her head and slots two bobby pins against the braids to make sure they stay. When he’s done, his hands are a little greasy and he swears he broken out into a sweat, but it doesn’t look bad at all and he kinda wants to call his wife and cry a little bit.

“Sweetheart can we take a picture for Mommy to show her how pretty your hair looks?”

She poses like the adorable little diva that she is and runs of to grab her shoes for dinner while he texts his wife.

Shawn: Baby I think I may have upstaged you a little bit.

Y/n: Awww it’s looks really good babes. I can’t believe you did it. How difficult was she?

Shawn: Very. I’m never gonna get upset with you for yelling again. I might have promised I’d take her to dinner and ice-cream to get her to sit still

Y/n: Oh wonderful. When do I get dinner and ice-cream?

Shawn: You can have dinner and ice-cream whenever you want baby. I miss you so much.

Y/n: I miss you too. Call me before Ella goes to bed so I can say goodnight.

Shawn: K. You gonna say goodnight to me too? ;)

Y/n: Boy get off my phone.

A man can try.

[artsymew]

Hadn’t realized how much I craved Contestshipping content until I started writing it again. Felt compelled enough to write 1k+ on Drew finally getting some new pants -  its a public service at this point. You can also read it (and the previous story for context, though not required) here.

.

.

“You need new pants.”

Drew finishes his espresso, throwing the Sawsbucks cup in a nearby bin. May hungrily takes another bite of her bagel, staring unsatisfyingly at Drew’s pants.

“I suppose you’re right,” Drew picks at the frays lining the tear, frowning. “These were my favorite.”

May’s cringe goes by unnoticed at his statement. He’s handsome; anyone with a pair of working eyes can tell. His elegant and suave contest persona make him a popular coordinator. He’s always a step ahead of her. She sometimes finds these qualities unfair, but looking at those pants…

Arceus must have decided to be fair; he gave Drew a terrible sense of style.

“Let’s go shopping!” she insists, “we got here early, and we were just looking around today.”

“Wait, we?”

“Yeah! What else am I supposed to do while waiting for you?”

“Practice your appeals?” he answers as if it’s obvious. May sighs, he has a point. She should practice with Glaceon given that the warmer weather affects ice-type attacks…but…

She glances at those pants again. Their color reminiscent of her first impression of Drew all those years ago: obnoxious. She never cared much before, dismissing them as an odd Larousse fashion. But all those same years of getting to know him – growing closer - made those once-tolerable pants increasingly noticeable.

As her friend Dawn would likely say: not helping someone in need of fashion advice is a disservice.    

Arceus knows he needs it.

“Our Pokémon just healed up,” she reasons, “I’d rather give them more time to rest before practicing. Plus, I already planned to shop a little later anyways!”

Drew prepares another excuse, but seeing May beaming up at him excitedly doesn’t exactly help in his favor. A few more seconds pass but the fiery determination shining in her big, blue eyes doesn’t dim. Honestly, he should have expected this.

He sighs, defeated.

“I guess having you as a second opinion wouldn’t be the worst that’s happened to me today.”

Drew’s a simple guy when it comes to clothes: he finds something practical; he wears it. It’s simplicity he engages in outside of coordinating, preferring to leave the showing-off to his Pokémon. He’s worn these pants since the beginning of his journey and they’ve lasted, needing to only roll up the cuffs during his growth spurt. He also doesn’t mind their color, thinking it quite nice. Though, he knew he would have to change them eventually.  

Just not to the khaki pants May’s showing him.

“Drew! This shade goes well with your hair color!” she lifts them closer to him eagerly, then another glimmer catches her eye, “oh! those red ones would look great too!”

“Sure, the red ones are nice,” he shrugs as May beams, “if I wanted to look like a Christmas tree.”

Drew stifles a laugh when face morphs into a frown and she huffs away to another rack. It’s the fifth store they’ve gone into. Fifth. He found something at the first one yet May insisted they compare other options. She could probably go on for hours and its already nearing noon. He knew he was going to regret this. Why did he let her come along again?

She’s currently holding a pair of navy-blue pants and staring intently at Drew’s hair when she catches his gaze. She smiles sheepishly, a light blush dusting her cheeks. His heart flutters.

Ah. That’s why. Stupid feelings.

Still, as much as he enjoys spending time with her, his general disinterest for shopping and his exposed knee-cap urge him to wrap this up.  

May practically skips to meet him, another pair of pants in hand. “Any luck finding something?”

Time to be honest with her.

“Look May, I appreciate your help, but I’ll just look for something later.”

He immediately feels like an ass when her expression falls.

“Oh…” she clutches the pants, “I’m sorry Drew. Guess I got carried away. You don’t like doing this kinda stuff, do you?” She tries smiling at him. “I’ll wait while you look for some- “

“Actually,” he interrupts a little desperately, gesturing at the pair she’s holding, “those ones aren’t bad.”

Drew honestly hadn’t paid much attention to the ones she’d been holding. So, here he was in the dressing room much to May’s excitement and his dismay. Unlike his pants these were plain, black cargos. An interesting choice considering her attempts so far to try out “fashionable” statements. Though not something he saw himself picking out, they’re surprisingly comfortable and fit him well. He tucks in the violet shirt he did pick out (that looks very similar to the one he already owns) and exits the stall.

May’s waiting on the bench nearby. She smiles wide when she sees him, rushing up to him.

“Drew!” she gasps, clasping her hands together. Her smile turns a bit smug, “I knew these would suit you!”

Drew’s too taken aback at her enthusiastic response to remark. Contest-Drew would typically brush it off with a flick of his hair and a confident attitude. Normal-Drew, on the other hand, doesn’t know how to handle compliments from May, his rival and the girl he’s been hopelessly in love with for years.

So, he just stands there, eyes wide and blushing and willing himself to snap out of it. Meanwhile, May’s too focused on inspecting his outfit to notice. Her eyes narrow. “Wait, your shirt looks a bit off…”

She steps forward, reaching to undo the top button of his shirt and Drew (if even possible) turns a darker shade of red. She’s too close. Close enough to view how impossibly blue her eyes are through long lashes. Close enough to feel her breath tickle his neck as she fixes his collar. Close enough to smell the sweet perfume she tried on at one of the stores. Close enough to hear her heart beat over his own booming thrum while she gently loosens the tuck on his shirt.

Close enough that, if she allowed him, he could find out the taste of her lips.

“There…” she admires her work, oblivious to the flustered mess she’s rendered her rival in. It’s only when she looks up and notices how red he is – how lovely flecks of jade appear up close in his gorgeous forest eyes - that she realizes what she’s doing.

Now she’s blushing.

“I-I’m so sorry!” she jumps away, arms flailing. “I didn’t mean-- I j-just wanted to fix the button and then saw how the collar was a bit wrinkled and—and---"  

Seeing how she’s out-flustering him, Drew clears his throat to regain his composure. “Don’t worry, I know its hard for you to keep your hands off me.”

She stops rambling and glares at him, cheeks puffing out in annoyance. He finds it both amusing and adorable thinking how she resembles a Cherubi. “You’re so full of it.”

“If by ‘it’ you mean good lucks and a sharp wit, then you’re absolutely right, May”. He flicks his hair, mostly because he knows doing so will further infuriate her. He holds in a chuckle when it does.

“Well, what do you think of them?”

Right, he had yet to opinion on these pants. Pondering, he tugs at the rough fabric, sliding his hands in their large pockets (another plus) before answering. “I didn’t have high expectations,” he smirks when May pouts, “but they’re comfortable. If they have you practically swooning, they probably don’t look bad either.”

“Hey! I’m just glad you like something I picked out,” she crosses her arms defensively. Then she’s looking at her shoes, attempting to hide another blush. “And you do look really good, so…”

He’s convinced.

After paying for the clothes at the register, he wears them out the store. May’s gloating in her success, but he figures he’ll let her be for now. Instead, he holds his old pants in front of him, looking wistful. “Shame I have to part with these though,” May turns to him curiously, “maybe I could turn them into shorts.”

“Please don’t.”

.

[distractedhistotech]

Before MSA + 1: Halloween

Arthur had managed to put together something that acted like a diaper but which fitted into his pocket instead of around the hamster.  “It takes a little bit to put them together though…”

Cadence seemed happy with the pocket diaper considering how much time she was spending in Arthur’s shirt and coat pockets.

“I wonder if you could incorporate it into your Halloween costume,” mused Vivi.

“Uh…What’s Halloween?” asked Arthur.

Sydney and Lewis gave Arthur startled looks.  “You don’t know what Halloween is?!”

Arthur panicked a bit as he realized this was something everyone was supposed to know about. “My parents were super religious,” he said quickly.  Sydney and Lewis seemed to accept it.

“Halloween evolved from the Celtic celebration of Samhain,” explained Vivi.  “It was the ending of the year at sun down, but the new year didn’t start until the sun rose.  Being outside of time as it were meant that ghosts and the like had an easier time manifesting. It probably makes magic easier and stronger too.  At some point, people started wearing scary outfits to try and blend in or scare away the spirits.  That ritual eventually became putting on costumes for fun and, in the case of kids, going around to houses and asking for treats.”

The other kids were staring at her in surprise at the info dump, while Arthur was wondering if this meant Halloween was technically a pagan holiday.

“Actually, the Catholic church took a lot of pagan holidays and incorporated them into their religion.  Christmas takes place in December because that’s when a big festival called Saturnalia took place in the Roman empire.  Evidence suggests that Jesus was actually born in Spring,” continued Vivi as if she’d predicted Arthur’s thoughts.

The more Arthur learned the more he wondered if the adults in his early life knew what they were doing.

“Anyway…My dad makes cosplay as a side job so if you want he can make you guys costumes too,” said Sydney.

Lewis nodded. “He always makes costumes for us.”

Vivi perked up.  “Really?”

Sydney nodded. “But nothing super complicated, okay? He’s gotta budget.”

“What’s cosplay?” asked Arthur.

“Costume play,” explained Lewis.  “People dress up like characters from anime or videogames that they love.  Some of the outfits are really complicated or accurate.”

“We usually do a theme for Halloween,” continued Sydney.

“We did Sailor Moon for a couple of years,” said Lewis.

“Another time we were Ed and Al Elric,” said Sydney.  “I’m not sure what we could do with four people.”

“Power Rangers?” suggested Vivi.

“There’s usually five of ‘em though,” said Sydney.

“Is that a big deal?” asked Arthur.

“Not really,” said Lewis.  “It would just seem a little weird to be short a ranger.”

“So, we need a group of four people,” muttered Sydney.  “All I can think of are Transformers, but that might be too complicated.”

“All I can think of is the Scooby Doo gang,” said Vivi.

Silence.  The kids turned to stare at Ben.  “Would Ben let us dye his fur?” asked Lewis.

“I have no idea,” admitted Vivi.  “Would the dye be safe?”

“I have no idea,” repeated Sydney.  “Dad knows a bit about hair dye…”

“I think you could get away with leaving him white and black,” said Arthur.

“So, who would be who?” asked Lewis.

Vivi and Sydney promptly pointed at Lewis.  “Fred.” Then they pointed towards Arthur. “Shaggy.”

“You do have the muscle tone going on,” agreed Arthur.

And Lewis blushed because he was somehow the biggest one there despite (probably) being the youngest.  “W-well, who’s gonna be Velma and Daphne?”

Sydney and Vivi exchanged looks.  That was…less obvious.  Both wore glasses, had relatively short statures, and were fairly tomboyish.

“You’re shorter,” said Vivi.

Sydney pouted. “Yeah, I am.  Guess that makes me Velma…What kind of name is Velma?”

“I dunno.”

“Will we need a van?”

“None of us can drive,” pointed out Arthur.

“Maybe a toy or something,” suggested Lewis.

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense,” admitted Arthur.

The four kids (and dog and hamster) just lay there for several minutes.  It hadn’t been a particularly odd conversation, but something in the air seemed heavy, as if something life changing had just happened.

Then Ben started licking Arthur’s face, ending the moment.  Arthur let out a laugh.  “H-hey! Stop!  Stop!”

Vivi grinned. “You’re saying ‘stop’, but you’re laughing.”  Ben decided to switch targets and started licking Vivi instead.  She giggled.  “Ben!”

“We should teach him how to talk!”  Ben turned his attention to Sydney.  “Hey! Ew!  Your breath smells like fish!  Why does it smell like fish?  You’re not a cat!”

“Ben’ll eat anything if you give him the chance,” said Vivi.

Lewis pulled a bag of chips out from somewhere and grinned.  “Like this?”  He popped the bag open.  He was immediately tackled by the dog.  “Ack!” Ben quickly stuck his head in the bag and quickly snapped up the contents before transferring his ministrations to Lewis.  “Oh yuck! Your breath really does smell like fish!”

“Hold him for me,” said Vivi.  “I’ll brush his teeth!”

The whole thing devolved into a wrestling match.  No teeth were cleaned.  Everyone needed a bath afterwards.

 Sydney had been right about the Scooby Doo costumes being fairly simple to make.  She hadn’t stopped to think about make-up and hairstyling though.

“Are you almost done?” asked Sydney Jr.

“Almost…Just one more pin…and done!”  Sydney Sr stepped back to admire how Sydney looked with the brown bob wig in addition to the rest of her costume.  “The shape of the glasses aren’t the same, but I don’t think anyone will care.”

Sydney Jr. twirled and did a hop-skip over to Vivi, who was messing with her noticeably longer orange wig.  “How ‘bout you?”

“I prefer shorter hair.  Hair this long just…gets in the way,” said Vivi as she glared distastefully at a lock of orange hair.

Sydney nodded. “I hear ya.  I just want it long enough to ponytail it.”  She glanced at the boys.  “How ‘bout you two?”

Unlike the girls, the boys weren’t wearing wigs.  They’d just had their hair styled into a close approximation of their chosen characters. Sydney Sr claimed this was because the wigs would look too bulky unless the boys were willing to shave their hair. They weren’t.

Arthur fingered his hair.  “This doesn’t feel too different from usual besides the colors.”  He was wearing green and red.  He was coming to prefer bright colors like orange and yellow.

Lewis was happily studying his reflection.  “I kind of like this hairstyle.”  He turned to Sydney Sr.  “Will you teach me how to do this?”

Sydney Sr gave him a grin.  “Sure! I’ll get you some decent hair mousse. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go change into my costume.”  On his way out, he ran into Hiro.  “So, how’d Ben like the vegetable dye?”

“He tolerated it.” That was a lie.  Ben had taken one look at the dye, snorted, and changed his fur color to the proper brown color.

“I’m leaving you alone with Noelle and the kids for a bit.  Behave now.”  And Sydney Sr hurried down the hallway.

Hiro raised an eyebrow.  The Sydneys were pretty darn odd.  Still, they got along with the rest of the family and friends, and Hiro did like them…in reasonable amounts.

He walked Ben over to the kids, who all started petting him.  “Wow, this dye is really realistic,” said Lewis.

Sydney nodded. “My dad knows what he’s doing.”

“How you holding up boy?” asked Vivi.  Ben licked her in response.  “Good to know.”

“Oh, you kids look so cute like that,” said Noelle.  “Let me get my camera!”

Hiro let the kids pose for the camera for several moments before clearing his throat. “Now, I don’t know how much you know about the holiday, but it is easier to come into contact with the supernatural starting tonight and lasting until November 2.  It’s most intense on Halloween though.  So, Mr. Scoville and I will be escorting you tonight.  I have tools prepared to chase off anything that may take an untoward interest in your group, and you will all be spending the night here.  Mr. Scoville also has some sort of repelling ability, so I’d imagine this is one of the safest places in the county.”

Arthur let out a sigh of relief.  “That’s a relief.”

“Had some bad experiences?” asked Vivi.

Arthur nodded. “I just knew they were at the end of October.  I didn’t know about the Halloween thing.  Why does it get so much worse anyway?”

“That’s not something with a simple answer,” said Hiro.  “Something makes…magic for lack of a better word more potent during these days, which makes it easier for people to see ghosts and for ghosts, along with other normally invisible entities, to become visible to people.  It’s a good time for them to be heard if there’s something they want to get across to the mundane, living population.”  Hiro glowered.  “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a tradition among the supernatural to have fun and try to scare humans.  It’s what people are expecting to happen after all.”

Ben gave a barely noticeable shrug.  Hiro wasn’t wrong, but it was more of a ‘teenagers messing around and doing things their parents won’t necessarily approve of’ sort of thing.

Arthur crossed his arms.  “Well, I don’t like it, whatever it is…”

Vivi turned to Sydney and Lewis.  “Have you guys ever noticed anything weird around this time of year?”

“I haven’t ever noticed anything,” said Sydney.  “Lewis says there are ghosts all over the place though.”

Lewis nodded. “Yeah, some are pretty scary. It’s a lot more active in the cemetery and house.  Sydney always spends the night since some of them look pretty scary.”  Lewis made a face as something suddenly occurred to him. “Uh, this is the first Halloween we haven’t slept over at my house.  Do you think Mom and Dad and Belle will be okay?���

“I put some ofudas up at your house that should keep away most dangerous entities,” reassured Hiro. “Honestly, you probably attract half of the activity so just spending time away from them will put a stop to a portion of the paranormal activity.”

“Huh, really?  I had no idea,” said Lewis.

“Oh, yes, once ghosts figure out someone can see them word spreads very quickly.”

“Wait.  I can’t see ghosts, so why do they keep following me around?” asked Arthur.

Hiro shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure why, but you…leak energy.  Being around you is like it being Halloween all the time,” said Hiro.  “You also have an aura that the supernatural find pleasing, like how kids will gravitate to a kitchen where cookies have just been cooked.”

“I could go for some cookies,” said Vivi.

“You’re going to be getting plenty of candy tonight,” said Noelle.  “You can see about having cookies after you finish off the candy.”

Vivi grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

“No,” said Hiro.

“Aw…but-”

“No, you remember what happened last time,” said Hiro.

“Ooh, what happened last time?” asked Sydney.

“When she was five she ate all of her Halloween candy at once and didn’t sleep for three days,” explained Hiro.  “She tried to feed Ben chocolate.  Dogs can’t eat chocolate.”

Ben huffed because he could eat chocolate, thank you very much.  Stupid need to hold up the illusion all the time.  He couldn’t wait until Vivi was mature enough to know what he really was so he could relax at home.  Not to mention it would be easier to snatch some of whatever that was Noelle was cooking.

Lewis must have noticed how Ben was staring longingly towards the kitchen because he grabbed a treat out of his pocket.  “Would you like a Scooby Snack?”

Eh, it’ll do. Ben snapped it up and gave Lewis a lick of thanks.

“What’s taking your dad so long?” asked Vivi.  “He said he was going to be a zombie.  It can’t take that long to put on some torn clothing and fake blood.”

Sydney grinned. “Dad put in way more effort than that. There’s latex and make-up and contact lenses…”

“Mr. Scoville’s costumes are really complicated,” agreed Lewis.

Any further conversation was interrupted by a groaning sound.  Everyone turned to see…a zombie.  It was covered in bite marks, half rotten, had clouded over eyes, and dirty, torn clothing.  It was completely unrecognizable as Sydney Sr.

“…Okay, that is a convincing zombie costume,” admitted Vivi.

“Thank you,” said Sydney Sr, briefly breaking character before going back to groaning.

“You look like a dead body!” said Arthur.  “Which I guess is the point, but it’s creepy.”

Sydney Scoville groaned again.  He sure was taking the zombie thing seriously.

“So…”  Sydney Jr held up her treat bag.  “Can we go trick-or-treating now?”

“Unnngh!”

“Taking that as a yes!”

Thankfully, the other adults decided to agree with the translation so the kids were able to head out. “There are a lot of costumes,” commented Arthur.

Vivi nodded. “Yep, it’s a popular holiday.”

“What a cute baby!” cooed Lewis at a young couple and their baby, all of them dressed like dinosaurs.

“Thank you!”

“But most of them seem to be younger than us,” continued Arthur.

“That guy’s older than us,” pointing at a guy dressed like a robot.

“People just prefer to go to parties once they get older.  I don’t know why.  They’re sooo boring,” complained Vivi.  “Where’s the darkness?  Where’s the creepy shadows?  Where’s the questioning of if there’s a ghost around the corner or if that’s a really good werewolf costume or some werewolf decided to go to the store to pick up milk?”

“There are some ghosts following us,” commented Lewis.

Arthur tensed up. “Why?”

Lewis glanced towards the ghosts.  “Are you sure he’s not a zombie?  He looks pretty dead.”

“It’s Halloween. It’s obviously a very good costume.”

“He smells like a zombie though.”

“We’re ghosts! We can’t smell!”

“Oh yeah.”

“Besides, wasn’t there a Scooby-Doo movie with zombies?”

“Since when are there Scooby-Doo movies?”

“Mr. Scoville’s costume is really convincing,” said Lewis.

“Unngh!”

“Are zombies real?” asked Sydney.

“Yes,” said Hiro. “Under very specific circumstances. It takes one of a few specific rituals. It’s very dangerous and is not something that should ever be done unless you have prior permission from the subject of interest.  Even then, it’s not recommended because of the possible side effects.”  He paused.  “Actually, this is a very complicated subject.  Let’s talk about it when we have more time.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it at all,” muttered Arthur as they walked up to a house.

They took a moment to ring the doorbell, ask for treats, and thank the woman handing out the treats. Ben tried to beg for treats.  This wasn’t allowed, and the group went on their way.

“Do ghost hunters have a lot of work on Halloween?” asked Sydney.

“Paranormal investigators,” corrected Hiro.  “While we do look for ghosts, calling us ‘hunters’ suggests we intend to hurt ghosts in some way.  That’s a last resort in cases where the ghosts in question seek to harm the living and cannot be convinced otherwise.  And whether an investigator works on Halloween or not varies.  Most will take the time off because they might get false positives.  Some like working on Halloween though since they might get results they wouldn’t usually come by.”

“That doesn’t sound very professional,” muttered Arthur.

“I agree,” said Hiro. “Personally, I feel that circumstances that modify magical strengths can be dangerous, even if it’s something to your advantage.”

“Wouldn’t that make things easier?” asked Sydney.

“Yes, which might be good in an emergency, but it can make you under or overestimate a situation.”

“How is overestimating bad?” questioned Arthur.

Hiro took a minute to think about how to describe what he was thinking.  “It’s like using a hand grenade to make a hole when a drill will suffice.”

Vivi, Lewis, both Sydneys, and even Arthur laughed.  Hiro had to admit it wasn’t the best analogy, but it’s what he came up with on short notice.

“It’s like you thought the corn was sweet so you put in the wrong amount of salt,” said Lewis.

“That’s a better analogy,” admitted Hiro.  “Anyway, once you outgrow trick-or-treating, you should find some way to spend Halloween that doesn’t involve the supernatural.  Maybe go to a party or stay home and watch movies.”

“Watching movies would be nice,” said Arthur.

“Ooh!  We could watch the Nightmare Before Christmas again!” said Vivi.

“You will not. It’s a school night,” said Hiro.  “As it is the only reason you’re spending the night together is for safety’s sake.”  He looked to Sydney Sr.  “I’m trusting you and Mrs. Scoville to get the children to sleep and awake on time.”

“Nggggh!”

“That means yes,” said Sydney Jr.

“I still wish we could spend the night at Lewis’ house,” said Vivi.  “There’s a lot more space, and it seems more fitting to spend Halloween in a haunted house.”

“Belle sometimes cries at night.  She might wake you up,” said Lewis.

“Or we might wake her up,” countered Arthur.

“I don’t wanna wake Baby Belle up!” agreed Sydney Jr.  “She’s cute when she’s sleeping.”

The subject of conversation rapidly changed to siblings and sleepovers.  Hiro watched them absentmindedly before feeling something brush against his side.

It was just Ben, who gave him a smile unseen by anyone else.  Hiro found himself smiling back.  It was nice…seeing the children all so happy like this.

It would be nice if it would last forever.

[dustbunny105]

Title: Where the Heart Is Fandom: Lost Light Ship: Anolug Word Count: 2449 Rating: PG Summary: Lug and Anode are due to unload their junker of a ship but Anode needs one last thing from it first. A/N: I didn’t want to repeat fandoms for FemFeb but I also really wanted to post at least four fics so, eh. Same continuity, different title, so, I mean, technically... Anyway, been sitting on this idea for a long little bit and it’s about time I got off of it. Might edit some more later, when I’m less sleepy.

.

Lug comes awake slowly, responding to movement across her abdomen. Anode is sprawled over her, engine humming a little too loud in the dark, and the arm she has slung over Lug is moving like she’s stroking something.

Something other than Lug, for sure, because otherwise that’s what would have woken her. She frowns, trying to make sense of Anode stroking the recharge slab, and turns over to curl into Anode’s chassis.

“What’s up?” she asks into Anode’s neck. “Is the slab scared of the ion storm?”

“No, the storm passed-- told you it’d be fine,” says Anode, a little too slowly. Her next stroke goes from the slab up Lug’s back, then higher until she’s running her fingers along Lug’s antenna.

“So, then?” Lug asks, a little more awake. It never bodes well when Anode avoids answering a question-- less so when she tries to change the subject. She props herself up on one elbow and searches Anode’s face for signs of mischief but finds her expression closed. “Anode?”

“I’m just not tired,” Anode says, but she’s not looking at Lug when she says it. She rolls onto her back, shifting to cuddle Lug against her side, and stares at the ceiling. “I did recharge a few days ago.”

“Yeah,” says Lug, “before running yourself ragged dealing with the navigation systems and autopilot all failing at once.” She wraps herself around Anode, curling her arm around Anode’s chassis to stroke at the plating on her side. Distracted, she mutters, “I’m surprised this junkheap is worth what we’re getting even for the scrap parts.”

Anode shifts at the words. Lug couldn’t explain what it was about the movement that tips her off to what the problem is, but she jerks up to stare down at Anode, who is now showing more than the usual interest in a far corner of the ceiling.

“You’re going to miss this junkheap,” she says in astonishment. “That’s what’s keeping you up?”

“Oh, come on,” Anode says, almost snaps, dropping all pretense of ignoring Lug as she sits up and frowns at her, arms crossed. “Won’t you, even a little?”

“No.”

“Even a little?” Anode wheedles, somehow looking truly taken aback.

“I already said no,” says Lug, though this time it makes her feel just a little bit bad to say it. Even if it is the complete truth. “Anode-- this thing has gotten us nearly killed almost as often as you have, you realize that, don’t you?”

“Well,” says Anode, flustered, “sure, but-- almost! Almost as often as I have. And you love me, don’t you?”

“In spite of my better judgement, yes,” Lug says. “But you have redeeming qualities.”

“Such as?” Anode asks. Rather than wait for an answer, she holds up one finger and then points it at Lug. With all the confidence of someone striking a finishing move, she declares, “Such as, I haven’t gotten us killed yet, right? Just like the Junkbucket here!”

“I told you not to name it,” Lug mutters, burying her face in her hands. “I told you not to name it, didn’t I?”

“Oh, that’s just an affectionate nickname.”

“You’ve gone and gotten attached,” Lug despairs. Anode’s weak excuse, she ignores; she’s gotten pretty good at that through their time together. Not as good as she’d like to be, but still. “This is why I told you not to name it.”

“I thought you told me not to name it because you hate all the names that I come up with.”

“Well, that too.” Lug sighs, resigning herself to being awake when she really isn’t ready to be. They aren’t to hand over the ship for hours yet and they have nothing to do until then. The planet where they had docked to meet their buyer isn’t the worst that they’ve ever visited but also isn’t one that she’s about to wander around on. “If you’re going to try to talk me into keeping the ship…”

“Oh, good grief, no,” says Anode, though it is painfully obvious that her spark isn’t in it. She looks around their cramped little quarters with a wistful expression. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m committed to turning this thing over to be scrapped. It’s like you said, we’re lucky to be getting as much for it as we are now. I can’t begin to imagine how much the value will have decreased by the next spaceport we hit, even if we don’t hit it on fire.”

Lug waits a moment and, when Anode seems unlikely to continue on her own, prompts, “But…?”

“But,” says Anode, sighing herself, “it’s… home, isn’t it?” Anode curls around her and rests her head on Lug’s, drawing the conversation close around them. Her fingers are restless, whispering across Lug’s plating not unlike her confession. “This has been our home for… a lot longer than I expected it to hold together, honestly.”

Lug considers this, her spark humming. She runs her hands over Anode in turn, soothing comfort into her seams, and tips her head so that they’re looking each other in the face. Cautiously, she points out, “That’s not really your style, is it, though? Having a home.”

“I never really thought of it as,” Anode admits with a wry quirk to her lips. She stares off into the distance; through the walls, through space. Her eyes are back on Lug’s before she goes on, “But I guess a ship is the best of both worlds that way, isn’t it? It’s not one place but it is someplace... safe.”

Safe is about the last word that Lug would ever use to describe their ship. The thing is a death trap cobbled together from centuries of desperation. Still, wrapped in Anode’s embrace, Lug supposes that she can at least understand the sentiment. It’s less about their junker of a ship and more about having somewhere, anywhere, to go back to at the end of an adventure. And she has to admit, for all that it’s held together by its own dying prayers, it’s done as well by them as it can. Better than they could reasonably have expected, when they first picked it up. And if it can help Anode acclimate to the idea of having one place to settle down in, Lug supposes it’s only right that she be grateful for that. It’s more than she’s managed, anyway.

That still doesn’t mean she’s going to miss it. Not even if giving it up means they have to use the worst public transport that the galaxy has to offer for the rest of their lives. Which, given their clientele and success rate both, it very well might.

“I don’t get it,” Lug admits, “but... I understand.” She leans to nuzzle Anode and to brush a kiss over her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, no,” says Anode. She shifts, still wrapped around Lug but with that restlessness crawling from her fingertips out through the rest of her. One hand jerks twice, thrice in the air, before dipping into a compartment that’s popped open on her side. “None of that now, I--” she draws something out of the compartment but keeps it hidden in her fist. Her fingers twitch around it as if whatever it is wants to be freed. “I’m sorry, y’know? It’s just…”

“What’ve you done?” Lug asks, tense but not for reasons that she recognizes. In another moment, she realizes that she’s reacting to Anode’s field roiling against hers. “Anode?”

“It’s more what I haven’t done,” Anode says on a sigh. She’s using the tone she favors when she wants to redirect or dismiss, so familiar that it makes the wholly foreign nervousness all the more stark. “I didn’t think this the whole way through, not really.”

“You didn’t think what through, the sale?” Lug hazards to guess. “The trip out? You did buy the tickets, right?” Anode stares at her with flat optics and Lug almost panics before remembering, “No, wait, I bought the tickets.”

Anode huffs a laugh and hugs Lug tight to her, her still closed fist disappearing behind Lug’s back. “You’re making me feel just a little better about this now,” she teases; her field says that it’s the truth, thick though it still is with tension. She draws back and looks at Lug like she might never seen her again; her mouth moves, wordless. Then the look clears and she stares over Lug’s shoulder, deliberately blank, and blurts, “The reason I’m afraid of scraplets is that I fell into a nest of them while I was exploring someplace I wasn’t supposed to be. No one knew I was there. No one ever would’ve known where I’d gone, if I hadn’t gotten out. I’ve never told anyone, but that’s why.”

Lug wriggles and reaches to hook her fingers in Anode’s seams; she meets instead smooth planes of metal, Anode having slicked her plating flat. She can’t help but gawk, caught between this little information dump and Anode’s strange behavior. “Anode--”

“I wasn’t sure what to get, is the thing,” Anode says over her, a non sequitur as far as Lug can understand it. She shifts again, handling Lug so that she ends up perched on Anode’s crossed shins, and leans back on one hand. Her other hand, she opens at last between them, showing off a new set of mood pipes. “And we were coming down to the wire. But then your old set got dinged on that job yesterday and I figured I might as well.”

“Did you steal those?” Lug asks, thinking of the dangerous-looking mechanism who’d been standing over the booth where she remembered having seen them. It’s a silly question but it saves her from shorting out over the creeping realization of what’s happening here.

“Of course I did,” says Anode. “We haven’t sold the ship yet. Do you like them?”

“You wouldn’t have stolen them if you didn’t know I would like them,” Lug points out. Reaching for the pipes is like reaching for a dream, except that they don’t fade away under her fingertips. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t take them, not just yet. Just rests her hands around them, Anode’s palm warm against her. Nervous static snaps between them, sparking in the dark.

“O-oh,” she says, dizzy as reality at last smacks her upside the head, so quickly tired of being ignored. Anode looks at her like she’s trying to see her spark through her eyes and Lug blurts, “I’m sorry-- I don’t know what to do.” Anode’s expression turns puzzled and Lug goes on, “I mean, it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

Her turn, what seals the deal. A demonstration of devotion in return for a secret disclosed and a gift proffered, following a display of intimacy. They’ve been together so long that they’re conjunx in all but the formalities of the matter. Lug can honestly say that she forgets sometimes that they’ve never walked through the ritus-- the idea that she could forget such a thing feels ludicrous in this moment, as she finds herself stumbling on this last leg of the journey.

“Then it’s yes?” Anode asks, leaning forward and catching Lug by the shoulder. There’s a smile on her face but it looks less sure of its place than any smile Lug has ever seen her wear before.

“Of course it’s yes, what kind of question is that?” Lug demands. “But we’re not done until the Act of Devotion and I don’t know--”

“That’s it,” Anode says, shushing her, swooping in to sprinkle kisses across her cheeks. She laughs at Lug’s sputtering and pulls back, eyes sparkling down on Lug like she’s never seen greater treasure. Her hand goes from Lug’s shoulder to her cheek, thumb stroking over the curve. “All I drag us through, all we both know I’m going to drag us through, now without even our so-called ship at our disposal-- and you’re saying yes?” There’s a series of clicks and the smooth slide of metal as she opens her chest to bare her spark, never taking her eyes off of Lug. “How much more proof of devotion could I ask for?”

“But that isn’t how it goes,” Lug grumbles even as she leans back to give her own paneling room to slide away, a clumsier process than Anode’s thanks to the way her compartments are built in. “I’m supposed to make you some kind of a grand gesture!”

“Oh, you make grand gestures at me all the time-- don’t think I don’t notice,” Anode says. All traces of nerves melt away and she presses the mood pipes properly into Lug’s hand before gathering her up in her arms and flopping them both onto the slab with a dull clang. “Besides, since when do we live our lives based on how things are supposed to be?”

Lug curls against her, cradling the mood pipes against Anode’s back, protests giving way to shivers as realization strikes her anew in the dance of their spark light. If Anode is willing to accept nothing more or less than Lug’s agreement, then it’s done. Neither of them is about to make a speech, so-- that’s it. They’ve done it, just like that.

Well. Of course they did it just like that-- Anode has never been one to look before she leaps and Lug has never been far behind. No point looking twice at it now, she supposes, a smile wobbling across her face. The mingling of their fields and sparks is at once familiar and new.

“My conjunx,” she murmurs, one hand sliding forward to trace the edge where their open chambers press together. “You’re my conjunx now.” Then her thoughts back up and she can’t help frowning. She tucks the pipes away into a compartment for safekeeping and takes Anode’s face between her hands, stroking concern across her cheeks. “Are you really okay about selling the ship?”

“Going to insist on an Act of Devotion?” Anode teases. Lug’s thoughts on the matter must be plain on her face, because Anode softens and goes serious all at once. She turns away, like maybe if she doesn’t look at Lug, Lug will forget somehow that Anode needed the questionable safety of their rundown ship to chance making her proposal. The glance askance soon becomes a wistful look around the room.

“Anode?” Lug asks, drawing her attention back. “If you really--”

“I don’t want to watch it get scrapped,” Anode says with real melancholy, “but-- yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. And I’ll be okay.” She lets go of Lug long enough to pat the slab and nuzzles a grin against Lug’s cheeks. “Anyhow, I’d say that the old tub finished on a high note, wouldn’t you?”