#arrest all tumblr blues

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp Prompt #29

Okay! I have seen plenty of prompts on both tumblr and Ao3 to think of one of biggest misunderstandings that I could think of for Dc x Dp.

Amity Park being mistaken for a base camp for training child soldiers.

Because think of it!

Mr. Lancer's class all going to Gotham and being unphased by everything that was happening. In fact, some of them seemed even excited at the possibility of interacting with a rogue or possibly fighting them. And teacher did nothing but give them light warnings about causing too much trouble.

Of course it was thought to be big talk from outsiders who didn't know how dangerous Gotham truly was. Once they dealt with their first villain, they'd see how much trouble they really were in for.

But the thing was, they didn't.

Oh, they dealt with a criminal alright. It was the Penguin. He held up one of the museums the class was touring for some priceless item that he wanted.

Of course, Penguin thought that the group of newcomers were going to cow under the sight of the criminal and his goons. But standing there, he immediately found out of wrong he was.

The group didn't look scared. No. They looked excited at the sight of him and his goons.

A few of the teens were brimming with excitement at the sight of the criminal, though a few did look a bit disappointed. Not afraid-disappointed! He heard a few whispers of how upset that "the Joker wasn't the one to show" or "how they expected someone else to show up". Those words were enough to make his blood boil.

You know what? Screw these kids! He was going to show them that The Penguin wasn't someone you just go around and make fun of. So, he orders a few goons to put the kids in their place. Confident that once they were thrown around a bit, they'd know what kind of trouble they're in for when they come to Gotham.

But they. Don't. Get. Scared!

Not even a little bit. Not even a small flinch. He swore that he saw a few of them yawn! If the threat of roughening up wasn't going to do anything, then some action would definitely was. A goon thought this as they reached out to try and grab one of the students. Unfortunately, that student he grabbed was Valerie Gray, and she didn't take well to some stranger trying to grab her like that. Well, one shoulder throw lead to a brawl between gangsters and a bunch a teens that were touring around. And, to the horror of both the Penguin and all Gothamites watching, the teens won. All goons were seen on the floor either groaning or unconscious, the teens above them looking satisfied with their work, and their teacher on the sidelines looking irritated of the whole thing. Thankfully, the police arrived not too soon after that to arrest the goons and the penguins themselves; leaving all Gothamites confused about what just happened.

And it didn't stop there.

All over Gotham, both civilians and rogues alike would experience the oddity that would be the Amity bunch.

A barista witnessed Paulina stop a robbery with a well practiced kick in her high heels, all while the girl muttered about her morning coffee before going back to her order like nothing happened.

An old woman was saved from a mugging by a group of jocks. Though seeing as one stopped it by grabbing the mugger by the scruff of his neck, she supposed that the blond was the only one that she needed. And multiple civilians all over Gotham took note of a black haired and blue eyed kid that walked around with a goth girl and a boy with a red beanie. If he wasn't mistaken as a Wayne kid, he was causing havoc that had him on the news either way. Already the kid was caught fighting the Joker twice on purpose! As if he didn't seem crazy enough.

Strength, not scared by any of the rogues, even openly fighting the rouges? This class was continuing to grow on the "do not mess with" the longer they're in Gotham with everything they do.

And if you were to ask their teacher, he would simply sigh and say "There's so much he could do to control those hellions." It wasn't long before the Wayne family caught onto their arrival, and became immediately suspicious. A group of teens with abilities like that and fighting both rogues and goons as if they were nothing wasn't a mere coincidence. And from a place called Amity Park that's supposed to be the most "Haunted Place on Earth", there's no way something fishy going on.

Bruce, Tim, and Damian are the first to believe that they are all child soldiers of some sort. The youngest pointing out that Danny was one possibly meant to infiltrate their family for an unknown reason. The rest of the family are still cautious, but still don't know what they are here for.

Now they just had to get close enough to find out the reason the class was really here without setting off any alarms the possible assassins could have.

But they didn't take account the total weirdness they might face in infiltrating the class.

[mokulule]

Take Out for Dummies - Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main Previous | Masterpost Note: So I was planning on sitting on this until I was about done with part 3, but then @yeetyeetedyote, who tumblr doesn't allow me to tag, did a meme for part 1 and I couldn't help but post it. So hope you enjoy. Jason did not know what to wear. It was Red Hood who had a date, but going in his full uniform seemed very excessive somehow. But there was also no way he was going unarmed. He pondered his closet with a frown. What clothing did he even own that were suitable for a date? He’d never had to ponder this before. What level of formality was expected? Probably not formal, considering there would be no dinner. Also he was Red Hood, there was no way he’d do formal, he had an aesthetic.

He finally settled on jeans, a red henley and the brown leather jacket he used as Red Hood. He held up the jacket and inspected it critically for blood spatters, that at least he felt certain wasn’t appropriate.

One hour later saw Red Hood rolling up to the curb in front of the building. Only one person was leaning against the brick wall there, absorbed in their phone; it had to be Danny. The rest of the people there were just walking past. It was Crime Alley, Red Hood barely got a glance of interest. Gotta love Gothamites.

Jason had not been able to really get good visual on Danny in the dark, aside from the fact that he was rather short and had dark hair, the night vision in his helmet could only do so much. He had not been prepared for how he looked up and the wide blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. Nor the way the button down shirt and the jeans hugged close to broad shoulders and slim waist in a way the hoodie he’d worn previously had clearly not.

Somehow in all his musings about how this would go Jason had never considered the possibility that Danny would be hot.

“Hi,” Danny said still smiling as he came up to him. He raised his arms out from his sides a bit helplessly before letting them fall back. “So how do you want me?”

Jason’s brain screeched to a halt as those words brought a decidedly not appropriate image to his head. He was so glad he was wearing his helmet right now. Jason must have stiffened or given away his embarrassment some other way, because Danny’s cheeks flushed as he too realized how his question could have been understood.

“I meant on your bike.”Jason hunched over, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Because that was not helping at all.

Wordlessly Jason held out the extra helmet. Danny took it gratefully and stuffed it over his red face.

“Front.” Jason said over the radio connection between the helmets.

Jason had to give Danny a hand to get him situated in front. He had to hold on near the center of handlebars and he didn’t really have good place to place his feet and had to hold them curled up.

It was neither safe nor legal, but Jason was not about to have a potential assassin at his back and besides who was gonna arrest Red Hood for traffic violations? The small hitched gasp when Jason curled around Danny’s back to reach the handlebars had his lips quirking up, and he might have pressed him just a bit further forward just for that.

“Where to?”

“Sommerset.”Jason raised an eyebrow at that as he kicked off the curb. Carefully, as he got a feeling for the different weight distribution, he drove them in the direction of the Trigate Bridge.

“If a tour of Old Arkham is your idea of a date, I think I’m gonna have to shoot you.”

Danny scoffed.

“I promised you fun, didn’t I?”

At Jason’s lack of response, he slumped further.

“There’s a traveling carnival on the fair grounds at the edge of town.”

“Huh.” Jason was trying to think of a time he’d actually visited a carnival as a visitor and not a vigilante to stop some villain plot. He was coming up short. There was a feeling in his chest he had a hard time identifying, an uncertain thing, but it wasn’t bad. If nothing else he was gonna have an experience? Oo o oO

They parked the bike in the attached gravel parking lot near the fair grounds. Jason had to step off the bike first and then promptly had to catch Danny as his legs refused to carry him when he stepped off the bike.

“Oh wow, my legs fell asleep there.” He laughed and stepped away on wobbly legs as he pulled the helmet off. He handed it to Jason who put it into its compartment.

He took another wobbly step forward and Jason couldn’t help the way he reached for him to steady him. Instead Danny grabbed his hand firmly. Jason was baffled at the action looking from Danny to their hands, uncertain how to react, but Danny just smiled and changed his hold so their fingers were twined together.

He looked mightily satisfied about it too as he tugged Jason forward toward the fair grounds. A fair bit of the rides were visible because of their heights and Jason could easily imagine how the place would light up with multicolored lights once evening came.

Once they entered the fair grounds they drew quite a lot of attention. Lots of people stopped and pointed at Red Hood and his companion. Phones were pointed in their direction and Jason found himself tensing.

Danny leaned closer and spoke lowly, “Don’t worry, nobody will believe them. Regular digital cameras are odd around me, so they won’t get usable footage.”

Jason’s mind raced, what did that mean? Did he have some sort of jammer? Was it a meta ability? Was it related to his ability to sneak up on vigilantes on Gotham rooftops?

“And,” Danny continued, “if anyone asks, we can always say you’re a cosplayer.”

Jason grimaced. Danny slapped his chest as if he could see right through the mask.

“Hey! Cosplay is a great creative hobby.”

“That’s not- I’m a former crime lord. I don’t understand why anyone would dress up as me.”

“Pffft, don’t sell yourself short. Also you have a cool recognizable thing going on with the helmet. It will be especially funny if someone critiques it for not being accurate.”

Jason couldn’t help his chuckle at how gleeful Danny looked at the prospect.

“This is the real reason you want me to claim I’m cosplaying?”

“It would be so funny, admit it!”

Jason huffed. It would be pretty funny.

“Ha! I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, time to show off some of those shooting skills and win me a plushie.” With that statement Danny pointed towards a game booth with truly ridiculously large unicorn plushies hanging from it and tugged Jason forward. It was only at that moment he remembered they were still holding hands. It was…

It was nice.

Danny glanced back at him and he was smiling, warm and excited. Jason didn’t remember the last time someone had smiled that much at him. Jason found himself smiling back, and he was suddenly grateful he couldn’t be seen behind the helmet.

The shooting booth operator eyed Red Hood warily until Danny broke the tension in a voice that carried, “my friend’s cosplay is pretty awesome right?”

The operator’s shoulders fell and he chuckled, “pretty brave of him to wear that this close to Gotham proper.”

“Sure is! But not to worry if there’s any trouble I will protect him,” Danny said seriously, with a glance and a wink at Jason.

The man took in Danny’s skinny and less than imposing appearance and burst out laughing, and just like that any remaining tension was gone.

The operator explained the game. There were different tiers with bottles lined up on shelves and flat rings of different widths balancing on top. You got points if you knocked the ring down over the bottle neck. The slimmer rings offered more points.

It was a pretty simple game.

Danny put down cash for the game and looked at Jason expectantly. “Show us some of that Red Hood skill.”

The operator chuckled. Jason rolled his eyes and stepped up.

Immediately, as he picked up the air gun it felt clunky in his hand. It was sharp-edged where it should be smooth and was weighted all wrong especially with the pressure cable attached to it, but that was not going to stop him. He loaded it with one of the five cork stoppers the operator handed him. He seemed to be enjoying Danny’s teasing as much as Danny himself.

Out the corner of his vision he saw Danny lean forward expectantly as he took aim.

He pulled the trigger.

The cork stopper was ejected with a loud pop and promptly hit the edge of a shelf bouncing backwards to land on the floor where it rolled around three times before stopping.

Danny looked at him wide eyed before bursting out in helpless snickers. Jason shoved him in revenge, but he couldn’t help smiling. There was just something refreshing about how despite knowing he was the real Red Hood he was so completely unafraid of him. Not even his family was that relaxed around him.

He didn’t want to bring his mood down contemplating that, so he reloaded the clunky gun and took aim again. He considered the points on the rings and the available prize tiers. Four shots left, with a bit of luck he could still do decently.

Aiming higher and slightly more to the right of how he would aim a real gun he shot the first maximum point ring down around the bottle neck. Three more fell in rapid succession.

Danny cheered, pumping his fist in the air.

“That’s four hundred points, that gives you the choice of a large prize,” the operator said impressed.

He pointed at a large unicorn plush, it wasn’t quite the extra large ones that hung on the outside of the stall, those required cumulative points from at least two games, but it was still a very decent size.

Danny was the very opposite of disappointed when Jason handed it over. He squished it in his arms and absolutely beamed up at Jason. Jason looked away, embarrassed for feeling so satisfied and warm just for winning a silly game.

The operator snorted giving them a knowing look. “Have a nice evening boys.”

“You too,” Danny replied, sidling up close and entwining their fingers again as he pulled them away and off towards the various rides.

Jason eyed their once more joined hands in bemusement, not really sure what to think, but he’d already allowed it once. It sold the appearance of a date, made it all the more likely to the bystanders that Jason was just some cosplayer with a death wish, so it was smart to keep holding hands. And Jason found himself reluctant to give it up.

It was an easy illusion to give into.

He squeezed Danny’s hands and he turned his head to look at him, smiling like this was a real date and not one of his odd jobs. Jason nodded towards the bumper cars and Danny’s grin turned into feral delight as he dragged him in the new direction. It was so easy to pretend Jason was just here to have fun with a friend who was maybe just a bit more.

That was something he could have had maybe. If he hadn’t been Robin. If he hadn’t died and come back wrong. If he wasn’t a former crime lord just trying to find his footing with a family he wasn’t sure wanted him and not just the dead boy he’d been.

But for just a little while he could pretend.

Until Danny turned out to actually know he was supposed to kill him, until everything crashed and burned like usual, he could allow himself a little fun.

Like ignoring every sign saying the bumper cars were not meant for driving into each other. The bored teen operator certainly didn’t care to uphold that rule. The bumper car ride was a war zone, a giant free for all and yet Jason managed to have only eyes for Danny. He was a tricky driver to catch. Jason had no idea how he managed to maneuver the car like that, it was verging on supernatural.

They were both laughing when they exited their cars after Jason had finally managed to bump into him proper instead of the earlier glancing blows.

“Remind me to call you if I ever need a getaway driver.”

Danny snorted knocking their shoulders together. “Only if I get part of the cut.”

I’ll give you more than a cut, Jason was about to say, but thankfully didn’t. Because what did that even mean? Instead he knocked his shoulder back.

They continued on towards another ride, a small rollercoaster, and as they queued Danny started telling him about how his dad’s driving was so infamous in his hometown that the local news included a segment to warn for it when he was on the roads. Because of that nobody had wanted to give Danny driving lessons and that’s why technically he didn’t have a license, but he’d once landed a space shuttle, so that should count for something. The story verged on so impossible it had to be true, but Jason was sure if a civilian had actually landed a space shuttle it would have been all over the news or at least known among superheroes - it was entertaining nonetheless.

Jason wasn’t sure when they’d started holding hands again only noted the absence when Danny left him by a bench several rides later with stern instructions to protect the princess with his life, aka the unicorn plushie.

The lights had flickered on a while ago and bathed the darkening grounds in multicolored lights. Jason leaned back relaxing against the bench. Taking in the lights and the happy atmosphere as people passed him by. There were a few people who pointed and snickered as they walked by, but clearly the unicorn plushie was just as good as Danny to convince people he was just a guy in a costume.

“It’s a pretty good costume.”

Jason turned his head to find a man with a superman shirt had stopped. He stayed silent waiting for him to elaborate. He obviously wanted to, there was something in his drawl.

“The casual look is pretty well put together while remaining recognizably Red Hood.”

“But-“ somehow there was a but- “if you were actually from Gotham you’d know that the real helmet is matte and the brow section is more slanted giving it an angrier expression.”

Jason stared incredulously at the man in the Superman shirt accusing him of not being a Gothamite. Never mind the helmet thing, that was just ridiculous but accusing him of not being a Gothamite, now that was an insult he wouldn’t be taking. Jason stood up to his full six feet and saw the way the man shrunk as he realized he might have made a mistake.

“There you are, babe,” Danny inserted himself smoothly into the situation snaking an arm around his waist and pressing close. It was distracting. “Come on let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Jason snorted as he let Danny move them forward. He didn’t need the intervention, he wouldn’t have attacked the man or anything.

He couldn’t help but pull them to a stop however as they passed him.

“Your information is outdated, this is the current helmet.” He spoke lowly and ominously only made more ominous by the voice modulation.

The man eep’ed and scrambled to get away.

They watched him go with no small bit of amusement.

“I thought we agreed to keep it on the down low.”

Jason shrugged, “he asked for it, besides you said it yourself, nobody will believe him.”

“Alright then.” Danny left the place beneath Jason’s arm, he had only a moment to feel bereft however until his hand was grabbed again and pulled in the direction of the parking lot. “Speaking of proof, do you mind me taking a selfie of us so I can prove I took you out?”

Jason frowned. “I thought you said cameras didn’t work around you.” “They don’t, I’ve had to modify it to be able to take any pictures.”

“You gonna tell me what kind of meta ability you have?”

Danny chuckled. He pulled their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to Jason’s scarred knuckles. Jason was so distracted by the action he almost didn’t hear the, “I like you Hood, but that isn’t a first date conversation.”

There was a pause in their conversation as Jason contemplated the absurd idea of there ever being a second date, the fact that this one was nearly over and how he’d actually had a lot of fun.

“So, selfie?”

“Uh sure.”

Danny juggled the white plastic bag that Jason only noticed now onehanded as he pulled out his phone. It was a broad phone with actual buttons and Jason would believe it was modified alright. Danny smiled and leaned close as he raised his hand, a small flash went off and Danny looked the picture over in satisfaction.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Huh, oh this is food. Our next stop, if you’re still willing, is the ice rink, but I figured we could take a break on the roof and eat back to back or something, what with the whole-” he indicated the helmet by waving a hand in front of his face.

So it wasn’t over yet. Not if Jason wanted to continue. It was an easy out, Jason could just chose to drive Danny to wherever he wanted to be dropped off and he could go home and still make it easily in time for patrol - or he could prolong the evening.

Jason popped open the compartment under the seat of his bike and took the warm bag of food from Danny to put in as he considered. Danny had already put on the extra helmet.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Jason could practically hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn’t see it through the opaque helmet.

“Okay,” he confirmed.

The small fist pump was kinda adorable. So first part of the date, it was getting a bit long so I cut it in two, but hey that's the only reason I could even upload it. Jason is in trouble, he's just not quite realizing it yet XD I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the story, so please continue to share <3

Subscribe to the masterpost here Next

[nevermore-lurker]

Erm

This is for some people in the nevermore fandom, not all but. You don't HAVE to leave, you know that right? Like so many fandoms out there that I know of have problematic creators, creators that have done atrocities that still have an active fanbase.

Leaving is valid, but you don't have to because there's a mass wave of people leaving. If you like Nevermore, like Nevermore, it's not a crime to still want to be an active member in the fandom, to still want to talk about Nevermore.

Madoka Magica, Hazbin Hotel/Hullva, Blue Eye Samerai, Omori, Genshin Impact, MHA, The Last of Us, IHNMAMS, the list goes on and on. Their fandoms are still thriving even with creators that have done (sometimes really) bad things. if you still want to make Nevermore content just do it, if it's a crime you gotta arrest half the people on tumblr. You can call out the creator and dislike them without having to hate the stuff they make it's been like this for years now.

[kudotsurugi]

Random Thought: Why does all "90's Anime style" fanart just look like Sailor Moon?

Okay, obviously not all fanart looks like it. But if you were to type in "90s anime style" here on Tumblr or DeviantArt at the time of this post, it at least seems to be the majority stand-in for 90s anime aesthetic, right? Especially in the characters' eyes.

Don't me wrong, this is not a knock against Sailor Moon. It is a great anime, and the collective character designs by Kazuko Tadano, Ikuko Ito, and Mari Tominaga among other staff are iconic. So iconic that Tadano was brought back as the character designer for the latest Sailor Moon movies. That is quite the staying power.

But let's be fair, there are plenty of 90s anime out there that can also be used as inspiration. So, here are the names of 11 character designers alongside some gifs of shows/projects they worked on in that role. Some you may not know but you've seen their work, and others you probably know for their distinct art style or association with a franchise.

Things worth noting: First, the years listed here with some anime may reflect when the artists' work started airing, rather than when the anime itself actually started. Some folks listed here enter their projects mid-production in other roles, while others are in the role from the start. Second, each entry will list 1 or 2 projects aired/released during the 90s, but it will be noted if the artist's role continues beyond that with certain franchises. Lastly, these artists are listed in no particular order, so no "top 11" hierarchy. With that said, here's our examples:

Hisashi Eguchi (Roujin Z[1991], Sonic the Hedgehog CD [1993])

2. Katsuyoshi Nakatsuru(Dragon Ball franchise (Z [1993-96], GT [1996], Daima [2024]), Digimon franchise [1999-2002, 2019-2023])

3. Kumiko Takahashi (Cardcaptor Sakura [1998-2000], Birdy The Mighty[1996])

4. Takahiro Yoshimatsu (Trigun[1998], Slayers franchise[1995-97])

5. Atsuko Nakajima (Ranma 1/2[1989-1992], You're Under Arrest[1996])

6. Sayuri Ichiishi (Pokémon[Pokémon design: 1996-present, human character design: 1996-2017])

7. Atsuko Ishida (Magic Knight Rayearth[1994-1995])

8. Masaya Onishi (Yu Yu Hakusho[1993-1994])

9. Toshihiro Kawamoto(Cowboy Bebop[1998-1999], Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team[1996])

10. Hiroshi Osaka(Gundam franchise[Mobile Suit Victory Gundam: 1993-1994, Mobile Fighter G-Gundam:1994-1995])

11. Yoshiyuki Sadamoto(Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water[1990-1991], Neon Genesis Evangelion franchise[1995-1997, 2007-2021])

Might've leaned a bit more on the Shonen side of things than Shojo, but I hope you can see my point😅. There are tons of 90s anime out there with their own unique feel and aesthetic. These are only 11 names that I found.

For anyone drawing 90s anime style fanart, I hope this has given you some inspiration, and I encourage anyone reading this to look up your favourite anime on Anime News Network's encyclopedia and see who's responsible for helping bring your favorite characters to life on screen and what other shows they've worked on.

[decolonize-the-everything]

Saying "I'd vote for an anti-fascist if they ran in my party and enough ppl in my party supported them, but my party supports genocide instead so we should vote for Genocide again." in 2023 is fucking wild

I genuinely can not believe that Blue Fascists are legitimately getting y'all's consent to not only commit genocide, but to give them the opportunity to do it again and y'all REFUSE to stop and think about what your ACTUAL morals and principles are anymore.

"yeah but if we don't vote blue-"

Any Democrats still using this soft threat/warning is one of two things: safe and always has been OR is safe on us soil and does not want to be treated the way other minorities are.

It's about making sure THEY are safe. Their lives are unbothered.

I've had 3 Dems tell me in the last two days "you're worried about yours. Im worried about mine." There are notes on the poll I made on Tumblr with the same exact sentiments.

Liberal gays will tell you: do you want what's happening there to happen here? Project2025 is a real threat!

And that's cuz they refuse to see it is here. They don't see natives being arrested and tear gassed on our own land the same way theyd perceive someone walking into their yard and tear gassing them out. They see it as just how natives are treated. They don't see it as inequality or unfair or something to even be addressed.

They see it as normal. A part of life that they just are so helpless about.

But listen to them cuz what they're saying is important.

Just the threat of being treated how the rest of us are and they beg and gaslight the whole planet into supporting a racist and genocidal warmonger.

Democrats are NOT a party of the people no matter how much they try to gaslight the rest of us into believing it

They are literally guilting and manipulating us to tolerate more genocide and hate crimes and war crimes cuz doing otherwise would force them to sacrifice some of their 1st world comforts.

Democrats are fucking fascists and I'm tired of everyone pretending they're not.

I'm tired of everyone pretending "lesser evil" is necessary.

Fuck you.

I'm done suffering for someone else's comfort when all they have shown me MY ENTIRE LIFE is that they would let me die if it meant they had to be uncomfortable to save me.

Fuck you, Democrats are never ever getting a vote from me or anyone I know ever again.

Give me Claudia De La Cruz or give me death

[secretpostsposts]

So sorry I made you think I was a hacker (even though I only left a comment on a post.) I have no information on you except the fact that you writing this fic. As I asked in the comments before, how would brozone react if branch went toe to toe with a dangerous wild animal and killed it in front of them? I REALLY NEED TO KNOW HOW THIS WOULD GO.

I DIDN'T SAY IT COLD!, SORRY!!!, I WAS JUST JOKING, IT WASN'T MY INTENTION THAT HE WOULD TAKE IT LIKE THAT, SORRY!!! B:[ 😭

I'm sorry if I can't reply to your comment on another post, for some reason Tumblr won't let me, I try and it tells me I can't, so yes, if you have something to say, I can read you in the comments, but maybe you can write it in the questions or in some private message, because I can't answer.

It's just that your comment took me by surprise, because it was planned in a future chapter to make Branch violent, because you can't tell me that for two those years Branch didn't kill at least 1 creature 5 times his size or more, he's a survivor, at least I think he carries a hunter's knife just for protection.

But I'll gladly answer your question!

Ok this isn't part of the story, but it's (haha) canon in it.

So the brothers go camping, John Dory's idea, as a signature to get Branch away from his friends and spend more time among brothers, of course it ends with Branch sitting bored all the time while his brothers do the rest at camp.

Branch wants to check the area and see that everything is safe, nope, that's Clay's job; Branch wants to make the food for everything, double not, that's Bruce's job; Branch wants to see if there's no predator around, don't even think about it, that's John Dory's job.

Floyd's job is to keep Branch entertained and happily minded sitting on a log, waiting for the others to finish so they can all have fun together (and if JD took photograph instead of guarding the place, it's a secret that the others will take to the grave).

So he was having lunch or dinner, it was already dark and JD thought it would be funny vs. horror story to scare Branch (but Floyd and Clay ended up scared because Branch has nerves of steel and refused to scream when Bruce jokingly scared them, although Branch did have a mini cardiac arrest because of it), They were having fun.

Of course I wasn't.

John Dory didn't check the place properly, neither did Clay, so with all the screaming and the fire and the smell of the food, he found something very big, very big.

John Dory tried to push the creature away, but failed, he kept his brothers behind him, but out of the corner of their eye the brothers only saw a blue, black and green blur pass at full speed by their side directly at the animal.

Blood, a cry of anger and pain, none of the brothers really knew what happened, but the next moment Branch is standing on the carcass of the animal, with an axe in his hand and panting from the effort.

"Are you okay!?" Branch wiped the blood off the animal, and as the brothers looked at him, astonished, frightened? Terrified? (I chewed nothing for Branch's safety, but Branch is fine just small scratch and bruises, but nothing serious)

Although Branch was more concerned about knowing if his brother was okay, each brother was having a mental breakdown, Floyd was holding Branch, a suffocating hug from which Branch could not let go, Bruce checked that his little brother was not seriously injured despite not seeing anything he was still looking with Clay who cleaned up the blood he could from Branch.

John Dory, on the other hand, stayed behind his brothers watching them take care of Branch (who was quiet trying to calm them down), just staring blankly, he felt sick, HIS LITTLE BROTHER SHOULDN'T KNOW HOW TO KILL THINGS, HE'S A BABY, HE'S INNOCENT, HE'S FRAGILE, HE'S WEAK.

John Dory can only think of how to deal with it.

[steddieasitgoes]

for a fortnight there, we were forever

Happy Birthday, @nostalgicbones !!!!

I hope you have the best day ever and enjoy this little fic about Steddie getting into Supernatural. Apologies in advance if I got the details wrong, everything I know about this show I learned from tumblr lmao.

wc: 2.1K+ | rated: T

Read on ao3

Steve’s tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in his bones. A once-in-a-lifetime trip to visit Robin in her year abroad interpreter fellowship has kept him busy the last two weeks. Adventuring all over Europe as Robin rambled in languages, Steve couldn’t even imagine learning himself. They saw art, explored kitschy tourist traps, ate so much delicious food, Steve’s pants sitting a little lighter around his middle, and managed to avoid an international incident except that one night in Italy when Robin had to translate their way out of an arrest.

It’s been some of the best two weeks of his life, but he’s ready to be home. All he wants now is to kiss Eddie hello, scrub the last six hours of travel from his body, and then curl up on the couch with lukewarm takeout and his boyfriend’s arm around him. In that exact order no matter how much protesting Eddie does. If Steve doesn’t get in the shower he’s going to start peeling his skin from his body.

He doesn’t expect Eddie to be waiting by the door for him like some devoted pet, but when he unlocks the front door and doesn’t hear footsteps, he’s slightly concerned.

This is the longest they have been apart in years and some part of him figured Eddie would be on him the minute the Uber dropped him off in the parking lot, especially after he denied Eddie’s offer to pick him up at the airport. It was a nice offer, but the last thing Steve needed after a day and a half of travel was to get into the car with a frustrated Eddie because airport traffic is the root of all evil — he learned his lesson after last fall’s teacher’s conference.

Instead, Steve toes off his shoes and pads down the hallway toward the glowing light coming from their living room. He passes the kitchen on the way in and has to stop himself from making a pitstop. Messy isn’t strong enough to describe the scene. It looks like Eddie threw a rager in the small confines of their kitchen — solo cups everywhere, dishes overflowing from the sink, a half-eaten pizza box open on the counter that surprisingly hasn’t been touched by their cat Shiloh.

Steve can feel his anxiety spiking as he takes it all in. Eddie may not be obsessively organized like he is, but he’s never been one to be this messy. What if something bad happened to him in the last day and a half he’s been traveling? It’s been hard to keep up with texts with the all-time differences and layovers. Surely someone would have called him if something bad happened — at the very least, their house would be surrounded in yellow tape by now since Dorien is a busybody who regularly sounds the alarm if they’re more than five minutes late putting out their trash cans on pick up day.

It’s comforting enough to propel Steve forward, further down the hallway, until it spills out into the living room. His eyes catch on the mess for a moment — more empty take-out boxes and half-drunken water bottles along with over two dozen balled-up pieces of paper — but then he relaxes when he spots Eddie amongst the mess.

His curls are pulled back in a messy bun, and his body is kinked in a weird position as he drapes himself over his acoustic to scribble something down in his notebook. The television is on, casting him in a cool blue-gray tone, but the volume is too low for Steve to hear what’s on.

“Eds,” Steve calls, keeping his voice soft and even so as not to startle Eddie. This isn’t the first time he’s found Eddie in a focused state like this. It’s better not to startle him out of him, a lesson Steve learned the hard way in the early days of their relationship after failing to heed Wayne’s advice. “I’m home.”

“Stevie!” Eddie leaps up from the couch, acoustic be damned as it clatters to the patterned rug. His arms are around Steve in an instant, pulling him flush with his chest and burying his face in his unusually greasy hair.

“Missed you,” Steve says, wrapping his own arms around Eddie’s warm middle. He pulls back just enough to connect their lips. It’s not exactly the welcome kiss Steve was expecting with Eddie’s unexpected stumble scratching his chin but it’s perfect all the same.

“Missed you too.” Eddie ducks his head, nuzzling into the crook of Steve’s neck for a second before pulling away. His nose scrunched up when he looks at him. “I love you, Stevie, but you smell.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as he slowly untangles his limps from Eddie. “Are you sure it’s me and not this place?” He gestures at the state of their living room and then looks up at Eddie. It’s the first time he’s gotten a chance to really take him in; too preoccupied with getting his much-deserved welcome kiss in. He looks tired, almost as bone tired as Steve does, which doesn’t make any sense since he’s been at home the last two weeks. Sure, managing the record store is a lot of work, but not enough for his eyes to look this red-rimmed and bloodshot as if he’s been smoking for days, which Steve knows isn’t the case because the house doesn’t smell. “What have you been up to?”

A grin tugs at the corner of Eddie’s lips, a smile taking over his entire face until his red-rimmed eyes are squinting and crinkling at the edges. “You know that show Erica is always talking about? Supernatural. I started watching it the day you left, and well… I finished it three hours ago.”

That explains the mess and Eddie’s exhausted state. If there’s one thing his boyfriend is known for, it’s losing all sense of time and human responsibilities for the sake of art — his own or someone else’s.

“How many seasons?”

Eddie yanks a strand of hair from his bun free to tug across his lips before dropping his head. He mumbles something, too low for Steve to register.

“Eds.”

This time Eddie sighs and picks his head up but continues to hide his sheepish smile behind the lock of hair. “15.”

“Jesus, Eddie!” It’s nearly double the last show Eddie became obsessed with, not wanting to do anything but watch episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer until the final credits rolled for the last time. He went 36 hours without sleep before Steve practically held his eyelids shut. “Have you even slept?”

“It’s really hard to sleep without you.” Steve knows Eddie didn’t mean it like that, but he can’t help the pit of guilt that sinks to the base of his stomach. “And once I started, I couldn’t stop. Supernatural demanded to be watched.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not all Steve’s fault. It’s just Eddie’s compulsive need to finish things he starts — at least the things he cares about, their half-built patio furniture, on the other hand…

“I’m never leaving you unsupervised again.”

Eddie smiles at that and reaches for Steve’s hand again. “Good, because I have to catch you up on the show!”

“It’s that good you already want to watch it again?”

“It’s that good, Stevie. And I need to revisit some scenes so I can get this love song, right.”

“Wait,” Steve says, dropping Eddie’s hand. His arms cross on instinct, head tilting to the side as he studies his boyfriend. “Love song? I thought you only wrote love songs about me.”

“The Destiel men deserve an original love ballad for all they’ve been through.”

“Destiel? Men? The show is gay?"

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head with enough force that more unruly strands break free from the worn elastic. There’s mischief in his eyes and a crooked smile pulling on his face and no matter how much trouble that look has gotten them into before, Steve can’t help but love it.

“You have so much to learn, my pet. Go shower, wash that gross plane smell off of you, and I’ll order us food. If we start right when you’re done we can probably get through half of season one tonight.”

Steve crinkles his nose at the request. It’s not that he doesn’t want to watch TV with Eddie, that was part of his plan when he got home. But he did just spend two weeks away from him, and well, he did have a few other plans in store for them after he settled in for a bit.

“Seriously? I’ve been gone for two weeks, and you want to spend our first hours reunited rewatching a show you just finished?”

“Trust me, baby, you’ll understand once we start watching,” he says, kissing Steve’s temple before patting his ass to get him moving. “I’ll even let you take one of those long, steamy showers while I get everything ready. That should be enough time for the Amazon shipment of tissues to arrive.”

“Tissues? I’m going to cry watching a show about supernatural things?”

“Excuse me,” Eddie scoffs. “You sobbed through that one episode of Buffy so do not judge me right now.”

“Will you at least warn me when something bad is going to happen so I’m prepared?”

Eddie shakes his head and mimes, locking his lips before throwing the imaginary key behind his shoulder. “At least you’ll have a shoulder to cry on. Now go, shower or else we won’t get through enough episodes tonight.”

Steve rolls his eyes but compiles, not without stealing another kiss first.

____

Steve hates to admit it, but he’s hooked from episode one. If it was up to him, he’d probably pull the same move Eddie did and binge the entire show in two weeks since he has no other summer vacation plans, but Eddie made him promise not to watch any new episodes while he’s at work. Turns out being an owner doesn’t mean he can call out for an entire month just to watch a television show, a rant Steve listens to for fifteen minutes before Eddie finally shuts up when he presses play on the remote.

It becomes a daily part of their routine right up until episode 18 of the final season. Steve knows something terrible is about to happen the minute the episode begins because Eddie won’t let go of his hand, but he’s still not prepared for the catastrophic events.

“He can’t die like that!” Steve shouts, jumping up from the couch. Eddie’s quick with the remote, passing the credits before the autoplay feature kicks in and starts the next episode. “What the fuck!”

“I know,” Eddie says, patting Steve’s shoulder in the hopes of placating the anger he knows is boiling in his blood. “I scared Shiloh with my shouting when I first watched it.”

“I don’t even want to finish it now.” He’s pouting; he knows he’s pouting, but he can’t help it.

“Aw, come on, Stevie. You have to see it through.” Steve huffs beside him, clinging to one of their stupid throw pillows as Eddie reaches for his laptop on the table. How can he go on the internet at a time like this? Steve feels like he just watched a friend die in front of him! “Besides it’s just the end for them in the show. There are tons of alternate endings online.”

“They shot more than one ending and released it? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Not the creators, they’re idiots,” Eddie says, shaking his head. His fingers fly across the laptop keys, typing something into the search bar before turning the screen so Steve can see. “But the fans take care of each other. This is an entire page of fix-it fics.”

“Fix it what nows?”

Eddie blinks at Steve as if he’s just sprouted two heads. “How have we been dating for five years, and I’ve never shown you the wonders of fix-it fics? Get ready to have your mind blown, sweetheart. Some of them even have art attached!”

“Where do you even find stuff like this?” Steve studies the page Eddie has open. An art piece of Dean driving his beloved Impala, with an arm thrown over the back seat. It’s beautiful.

“Okay, that’s it. After we finish, I’m giving you an education in the world of ao3 and Tumblr. You will be a changed man when I’m done with you, Steve Harrington.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’

“Never,” Eddie lies, not even trying to hide the mischievous smile on his face. “If you want to see Cas live, this is the way, baby.”

“Fine. But let’s finish the last two episodes first. It can’t get any worse.” Eddie bites his lip, ducking his head but he’s too slow for Steve’s quick eye. “It gets worse doesn’t it.”

“Fix it fics, Stevie. It’s all okay in the fix it fics.”

[weyrwolfen]

Caveat Emptor: Chapter 2 - Corpus Delicti

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Commanders Fox, Thorn, Thire, and Stone

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, loss of autonomy

Previous chapters can be found here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

“You’re going to let it in to see the Chancellor, but not me?” Senator Corval shouted at the Senate guard, red-faced and spitting. “Don’t you know who I am?”

The natborn guard, a lieutenant from the markings on his blue uniform, replied, “Of course, Sir, but there has been an incident, and the Chancellor’s schedule had to be cleared. Now, if you would just–” The rest of the perfectly polite, placating line of strill osik cut out as the door slid shut behind Fox.

He hadn’t been arrested on sight and dragged off for interrogation yet. So far, so good.

The CSF investigators had set up just inside the Chancellor’s front lobby, away from any awkwardly prying eyes. They took down Fox’s designation number, assessed his baseline biometrics (clone standard, but protocols were protocols), had him remove his gloves and gauntlets for full handprint scans, and then asked him to step onto a sheet of tacky flimsy to record his boot tread (also clone standard, who would have guessed). Then they handed him a pair of disposable covers for his boots, forewent the sterile gloves given his existing armor, and sent him on with terse, borderline rude instructions to not touch anything and to leave the investigation to the trained professionals.

Because of course the CSF would be all over this situation. Right up until it looked like something might go wrong or make them look bad, and then the responsibility and the blame would get dumped in Fox’s lap.

Except Fox needed Guard eyes on this investigation right from the beginning. He needed a way to guide the narrative, to protect himself and his men from the blowback he could see coming from a lightyear away.

He needed to know what he, what CC-1010, had done.

Breathe, in and out, and calm.

Without evidence, he didn’t know anything. Maybe they’d find the Chancellor sleeping off a tainted spice bender in a broom closet somewhere. That was a common enough issue around the Senate that Thorn had worked up a standard protocol for overdose clean up and cover up procedures.

Little gods, could they please find him drooling off a laced spice rip somewhere? At that moment, Fox couldn’t imagine a more ideal outcome. There was going to be a scandal no matter how this shook out, but at least that scenario would be effectively impossible to pin on the Guard.

Senate guards and the CSF were doing a pretty good job of keeping a lid on things so far. It wouldn’t last of course, especially with the way Corval was carrying on where anyone might overhear. Aides would gossip and rumors would spread until someone leaked the whispers to the press. Then someone would have to go make an official statement, and everyone would notice that the Chancellor still wasn’t in appearance.

And that was assuming the rules of Senate procedure wouldn’t force everyone’s hands even earlier. With the Chancellor missing, a timer was counting down. When it ran out, Mas Amedda would need to be sworn in, if only as a temporary guarantee of the continuation of powers. That would require justices and witnesses and a formal statement before the Senate itself.

Karking Sith-hells, today was going to be a nightmare. Maybe the CSF shabuire would welcome the extra manpower for once, instead of fighting over jurisdictional minutiae and acting like the Coruscant Guard all wanted to be here dealing with stuck up natborns instead of on the front lines, defending their brothers.

The covers barely fit over Fox’s boots; they hadn’t been designed with armor in mind. He had to lean awkwardly against the door frame to get them on correctly. Force karking forbid his armored shebs touch one of the museum pieces masquerading as ‘chairs’ in the lobby. He’d be decommed for his temerity on the spot.

Breathe. He just needed to sell the alibi Thire had prepped. Everyone was going to be on edge, given the circumstances. It was only expected that he would be too. He just needed to keep a reasonable handle on his composure, which was not too difficult a mission in the greater scheme of things.

Fox squared his shoulders, signaled one of the gloved CSF investigators to activate the door panel, and stepped into the Chancellor’s inner office.

For a moment, the only movement in the office came from the small camdroids that were scanning the opulent room to generate a three-dimensional model of the space. Fox found himself the subject of intense inspection.

Under the safety of his concealing visor, he returned the favor, scanning the space for potential threats as he made his way towards the front of the room and the expansive desk situated there.

Most of the people in the room were higher ranking CSF agents, performing tasks usually reserved for entry-level investigators and trainees. Every aspect of this case was going to be locked down for anyone without the absolute highest clearance levels. Fox noted their tension, their hostility towards him, but none of it struck him as particularly unexpected or noteworthy. This high-profile a case was going to make them even more territorial than usual.

Of more concern were the handful of Senate guards, who were watching everyone in the room with hair-triggered aggression. They also viewed the Coruscant Guard as unwanted competition and interacted with the clones only when forced. But now, something had happened to the Chancellor on their watch, and Fox would bet every credit he’d ever seen that the blame and finger-pointing was already being directed their way.

The ranking Senate guard on site looked to be Captain Axion, who appeared red-faced and furious at being pried from his cushy office by the unfolding catastrophe. Fox would need to handle this confrontation with extreme care. Axion would be looking for some third party upon whom he could saddle the blame, and as the last person on record having seen the Chancellor, Fox himself would be a very tempting target.

Even so, he was not the subject of Fox’s primary concern. The man standing in front of Captain Axion was.

From a distance, General Mace Windu looked like the very picture of Jedi composure and serenity. In closer proximity, there were lines around the man’s eyes and mouth that were hard to miss, if anyone cared to look beyond the stony expression, meticulously draped robes, and lightsaber.

Fox was usually very good at getting a read on other sentients, but he had only the most passing familiarity with the Jedi. He interacted with the Knights and Masters who liaised with the Senate regularly, but always at arm’s length. Despite his training, despite all expectations ingrained in him by the Kaminoans, he and his men had never been assigned a Jedi general. They belonged, first and foremost, to the Senate.

So Fox knew General Windu, but not well enough to get more than a cursory idea of his mental state. The Jedi’s faintly pinched expression could mean any number of things: annoyance, frustration, physical pain.

Fox just needed to remember his training, though he doubted the Kaminoans had meant for him to apply it to convincingly lie to a superior. Jedi could sense the emotional state of other sentients, and sometimes specific thoughts or intentions with focused effort, but they trained all their lives to block out that constant stream of psychic input. Fox just needed to avoid drawing enough suspicion to earn a deeper look. His primary hope was that his mental state would blend into the tense backdrop of fear and anxiety that everyone present was no-doubt leaking into the room.

Deep breath, stop two paces from the general, and salute. “CC-1010, reporting as requested, Sir.” Fox’s words, like his posture, were exactingly precise.

So much was riding on his ability to perform to perfection. All of his brothers were counting on him.

The General gave Fox a brief, assessing look, then nodded incrementally and said, “At ease, Commander… Fox, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Fox said, not letting any of the surprise he was feeling leak into his voice. He was accustomed to dealing with Senators who insisted he use his designation number and others who preferred knowing his chosen name, but he had not expected the head of the Order to actually recognize him. That would require some adjustments. He settled into a crisp parade rest and waited for his orders.

The general’s mouth twitched, almost hinting at the very beginnings of a small smile, and he said, “Commander Ponds speaks very highly of you.”

This conversation was not going how Fox had been expecting. The last time he had seen Ponds, his brother had been signing four troopers out of the Corries’ drunk tank. Fox wouldn’t have described the interaction as particularly cordial, but he wouldn’t characterize their relationship as bad, per se. Just distant, these days, and not the kind of dynamic that would come up in casual conversation with a Jedi general. “We were batchmates, Sir,” Fox replied, because he had to say something and that piece of information seemed neutral enough.

“Hmm,” the general said, giving Fox a piercing, stomach-lurching look, but then he turned to one of the nearby CSF agents and gestured for the woman to join them.

The investigator, some near-human species with translucently pale skin, magenta hair, and widely-spaced, exceedingly large eyes, rose from where she had been scanning something on the floor and handed the device off to a colleague.

“Inspector Svaryoskya has been compiling a record of the Chancellor’s known whereabouts yesterday,” General Windu said, nodding to the woman when she stepped forward to join the group. “If you could please make your report to her?”

“Of course, Sir,” Fox replied cooly, forcibly crushing down the spike in anxiety he felt at the prospect. He pivoted to face the CSF inspector. “Ma’am?”

Inspector Svaryoskya looked thoroughly put off by having to speak to him at all, but she at least made the effort to school her features into something vaguely professional and said, “If you would come with me?”

Fox followed her to a pair of temporary folding tables which had been set up to hold and organize samples and equipment. No doubt it had been done to avoid contaminating useful evidence from the pre-existing surfaces in the office. It took her a moment to set up what looked like a compact, holorecording device and synch it with a datapad while Fox waited, again assuming a meticulously correct position of parade rest.

The device beeped once and then lit up, scanning the immediate area with a wave of blue light before recognizing the two sentients standing in closest proximity to it and focusing in on their positions. Looking over the investigator’s shoulder, Fox could see a time stamp and a blinking record icon appear at the top of the datapad.

She pressed the icon and straightened, facing Fox head on and said, “Inspector Yana Svaryoskya, interviewing.” Her eyes settled somewhere on the level with Fox’s respirators, and she continued, “Please state your designation and rank for the record.”

“CC-1010, Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard,” Fox replied evenly. She did not request his name, and he did not volunteer it.

“Please explain the nature of your meeting with Chancellor Palpatine yesterday afternoon.”

Fox nodded and launched into the narrative Thire had provided for him, stitching together a few carefully crafted fabrications with as many verifiable facts as possible. “I was one of the commanders on site in the Senate yesterday, overseeing security for a scheduled press conference, when I received a report of surveillance outages affecting the security cameras in sector Thesh 16. Protocol dictates that such anomalies should be treated as intentional acts of sabotage until proven otherwise, so I transferred responsibility for the press event to a subordinate, forwarded a preliminary security alert to the Senate Guard, and went to assess the situation personally.”

So far, so good, but then everything Fox had relayed thus far had been entirely truthful. He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out the datastick Thire had pressed into his hands on the turbolift ride to the ground floor of the Guard’s compound. He held it out to the inspector, who took it gingerly and eyed it with some suspicion.

Fox clasped his hands behind his back again and continued with his report, leaning into the cooly professional tone and cadence he generally used around hostile natborns, “It rapidly became apparent that the outage was not the result of enemy action and was instead caused by an infestation of Scyvian barrow-rats in the conduits. That datastick contains a copy of the Guard’s report, detailing the steps taken to identify and mitigate the interruption, until repairs can be completed.”

And then, it was time to start in with the lies. Fortunately, Fox was a very talented liar. “I received a request for an update on the security alert.” Bless Thire, who was downstairs right now, coaching Odal on what to say if any CSF agent showed up looking for independent verification of Fox’s account, and bless Sear’s team of slicers, for seeding the Guard’s records with fabricated evidence to back up this story. Security alert confirmation requests were generally automated, so they were easy enough to falsify. His men had done the hard work, Fox just needed to trust them and do his part to drive the blade home. “The situation on site was stable, with repairs in progress and extra Guardsmen assigned to patrol the affected areas, so I was able to respond to the Chancellor’s summons immediately.”

“Are you often asked to make such trivial reports in person?” Inspector Svaryoskya asked, looking up from the datapad where she had been taking notes. Her tone hinted at disbelief and thinly veiled accusation.

“No, Ma’am, but the Chancellor does not consider security threats to the Senate to be trivial in nature,” Fox answered smoothly, which made the inspector’s fair skin flush with obvious displeasure. “May I continue?”

The inspector’s mouth thinned ominously, but she simply said, “Please do.”

Lie. Lie believingly, because more lives than his own depended on it. “The Chancellor was relieved that the outages did not represent an intentional security breach, but he was highly displeased about the infestation of vermin in a historic section of the Senate dome.” Fox could almost see it, the way the Chancellor’s mouth would turn down at the corners, the way his eyebrows would drop low over his too-cold eyes. How his voice would sound gently concerned, but also faintly disgusted. Even scornful. Mocking.

How the skin down the back of Fox’s neck would start to prickle with unease. How his heartrate would pick up and his vision would tunnel a little, instinctive reactions to a perceived threat.

Breathe. He was overreacting, as usual. This office always set him on edge on the best of days. He just needed to complete this report.

“He had specific questions about the nature and duration of the repairs. In total, the meeting lasted perhaps twenty minutes.” It had lasted twenty-three, Thire had made sure he was aware of the exact times he entered and exited the suite, but a rounded number sounded more casual, more off the cuff. More believable.

Inspector Svaryoskya tapped her stylus on the datapad, narrowed her eyes at whatever notes she had taken, and then continued her line of questioning.

Where had he gone after the meeting?

Back to Guard headquarters, to put together the report on the incident and to reorganize the day’s patrol assignments, to maintain the extra security in Thesh 16.

Had the Chancellor left the main office space, during the meeting?

No.

Had he recorded any aspect of his meeting with the Chancellor?

No, that would be a violation of Senate and Guard security procedures.

Had he seen anyone unusual or suspicious upon leaving the Chancellor’s office?

No.

Had the Chancellor seemed uncharacteristically nervous or distracted during the meeting?

No.

Can you take off your helmet?

No, that is against Guard protocols when a trooper is participating in an active, ongoing security crisis.

She peppered in questions about things Fox had already described, playing dumb in an attempt to trick him into revealing an inconsistency in his story. The strategy was a common one, and often effective, even to someone who was aware of the parameters of the game.

But Fox was very good at this. He always had been, even as a cadet.

When had his men realized the damage to the electrical conduits was not external sabotage?

What route did Fox take to get to the Chancellor’s office from Thesh 16?

How many Senate guards were stationed at the Chancellor’s door, when Fox arrived?

Fox answered them all, varying his words to make them sound less rehearsed. Not that he’d had time to rehearse anything, not with the Jedi insisting on his presence as soon as physically possible. But Thire’s foreshortened briefing had still been exceedingly thorough, and Fox had an excellent memory.

After a while, Inspector Svaryoskya started to look and sound vaguely impatient to have this interview over. Fox got the distinct impression that whatever she’d been hoping for, he hadn’t given it to her.

He did not sigh or let his shoulders droop with relief. He did not smile, even inside the privacy of his sealed bucket. He simply stood at a perfect parade rest and waited. The words which marked the end of a formal interview came fairly quickly after that.

Could he think of any other observations which might be pertinent to the investigation?

No.

Would he be available, if the CSF required any further statements from him?

Of course.

Finally he was given a comm code, to contact her if anything occurred to him at a later time, and with that, the inspector curtly tried to dismiss him.

It would be a sunny day on karking Kamino before Fox took orders from any CSF agent. He reminded her that he had been called here by General Windu, and so he would remain until he was dismissed by the ranking GAR officer on site.

The inspector had not been well pleased by that, but she also didn’t have the legal authority to kick him out of the suite. She also couldn’t demand that General Windu order him to leave, because the Jedi was currently having a very one-sided fight with Captain Axion. One-sided in that the captain was almost frothing at the mouth over something the Jedi was saying, while the general himself seemed just as sedate as ever. Perhaps a little darkly amused, if the way one corner of his mouth was twitching upwards was any indication.

Fox cooly agreed to take up a post in a very out-of-the-way corner of the room to await further orders.

He was happy to do so. The position gave him a rather good view of the space. He was very accustomed to fading into the background while standing a watch. Maybe these CSF agents believed the gossip that clones were basically droids wrapped in flesh, or maybe they just weren’t aware of his helmet’s capabilities, but it took them all of five minutes to start treating him like a piece of inconvenient furniture.

Fox just dialed up the input on his external mics, split his HUD so the left side was magnified ten times, and settled in to observe.

General Windu wanted to open the Chancellor’s desk and private quarters. Apparently he could feel something concerning coming from both places, even though his senses were being obstructed or confused for some reason. Captain Axion was of the opinion that the contents of the Chancellor’s desk, much less his personal rooms, were to be treated as state secrets. The Jedi informed the captain that he had already dispatched a representative to obtain a security release from acting Chancellor Amedda. Apparently the captain felt that this was an attempt to circumvent the Senate guard’s authority.

The two were clearly locked in a stalemate, waiting for those documents, so Fox shifted his attention elsewhere.

Two CSF agents were running samples through a very familiar field chem-analyzer. Maybe it still had all four of its supports and wasn’t propped up on one end with a broken piece of scrap floor tile, but it was functionally the same model Thorn had smuggled into Guard headquarters. Even the vials and evidence bags were the same, although these had bar-coded labels already affixed to each of them.

Apparently they weren’t finding much of anything interesting. The room was nearly spotless. They’d found a small patch of spilled liquid next to one of the chairs, but it appeared to be some kind of high-proof alcoholic beverage. There were occasional smears of mixed organics and aromatics on the desk and chairs around the room, all consistent with high-end lotions and perfumes. Interestingly, they had found a very small smear of blood on the front lip of the Chancellor’s desk, but it appeared to be weeks old and very degraded by cleaning agents, suggesting that it wasn’t relevant to anything that might have happened within the last planetary rotation. That wasn’t stopping the two investigators from speculating wildly about its source.

Two Senate guards were stationed in front of the side door, which led to the Chancellor’s private rooms. They weren’t talking and seemed just as tense and angry as the rest of their colleagues. Fox could only assume that the on-site security team had already swept the space for life signs, but to exclude it from the current investigation seemed idiotic.

Then again, he certainly didn’t want to be the officer responsible for giving the order to toss the Chancellor’s underwear drawer if he showed back up alive and well and furious about the invasion of his domain.

Another investigator was positioned just to the right of the room’s main door, doing something to the decorative sconce on the wall and muttering profanities to himself in mingled Basic and Pantoran. Fox was aware that there was a concealed exit behind that wall panel providing access to an emergency escape turbolift. It had been part of Fox’s initial security briefing back when he first arrived on Coruscant, but he’d never actually had need to enter the space.

He knew that the access button was concealed under a sliding panel, worked into the side of the decorative wall sconce. That had been part of the security briefing.

The fact that the panel tended to stick unless jiggled just the right way had not been part of that briefing. Apparently the CSF investigator did not know that. Fox had no reason to know that either.

Why did he know that?

The prickling down the nape of Fox’s neck increased, crawling down his back. A headache, the kind that never seemed to fully go away these days, sparked and flared behind his eyes, no doubt triggered by his increase in heartrate and his corresponding spike in his blood pressure. He needed to get a grip on himself.

Fox breathed slowly and deeply through his nose, as he’d been trained, but he nearly choked and coughed instead when that sent an unexpected trickle of hot, copper-tasting liquid down the back of his throat.

Blood.

Great, and now his kriffing nose was bleeding again, and there wasn’t a karking thing he could do about it with his bucket on. Hopefully it’d just stop on its own before he made too much of a mess of the inside of his helmet.

The main entrance from the lobby swished open, and a second Jedi strode into the room with a swagger like he owned the place.

Fox didn’t recognize this general, but his appearance was certainly distinctive enough that Fox shouldn’t have trouble figuring out the Jedi’s identity later. He was perhaps a shade darker complected than the average clone, with locs half-tied up to keep them out of his face, and a gold tattoo across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

The general held up a datapad as he neared General Windu and the still-incensed looking Captain Axion. “I’ve got the security release right here,” he said and then extended the ‘pad to General Windu.

General Windu turned the datapad around and briefly read its contents. “Everything seems to be in order,” he said, handing it to Axion to look over as well. He then walked around the desk as the captain looked at the document.

“I’ll get Verus to bring up the spare access keys,” Axion said, sounding very disgruntled about it.

“No need,” General Windu replied, and sure enough, there was a faint ‘snick’ sound and one of the side-drawers slid open, seemingly of its own accord.

Fox wondered if his brothers on the front lines ever got used to this kind of casual Force osik. He certainly found it uncanny as all kriff.

General Windu reached down to shift something aside with his actual hands this time and then paused, eyebrows rising slightly. “Vos, I need you to look at this,” he said, low enough that Fox’s bucket almost didn’t pick it up.

“Look at it, or touch it?” the other Jedi, Vos, asked, walking around the desk to stand next to his superior. Whatever was in the drawer earned a sharp intake of breath and a softly whispered, “Well kriff me.”

General Vos tugged off one of his gloves and reached for whatever it was that had the two Jedi so concerned.

“Now, see here…” Captain Axion started to object, but was almost immediately interrupted.

“I know the procedures,” General Vos said, hand hovering above the open drawer. “You can exclude my prints later, but this requires bare skin.” And then he reached down and grabbed… something. Fox couldn’t really see well from this angle, but whatever it was, the item was cylindrical and made of polished metals that simply screamed of extreme expense.

Fox was about to zoom in the view of his HUD further to get a better look, but General Vos gasped and, despite having just said that he was familiar with evidence collection procedures, proceeded to drop, almost throw, whatever the thing was back into the drawer.

The interaction had drawn the attention of several of the CSF investigators, a few of whom gasped out protests at the handling of… whatever it was, but neither Jedi seemed to be paying any of them the smallest bit of attention. General Vos’s head whipped up, expression shocked, and caught General Windu’s eyes. Something passed between them in silence, some understanding or communication, because General Windu just nodded and looked back at Captain Axion.

“We need to clear this space,” General Windu said in a tone like beskar.

For once, even Captain Axion seemed to recognize that arguing was probably not the best course of action. “You mean, all of us?” he asked faintly.

“Yes.”

“Into the lobby, or…”

“Out of the suite entirely.”

That did not sound promising. So much for not making an obvious scene in the public hallway outside of the Chancellor’s office. What the kriff was the problem?

For the CSF agents and Senate guards for whom General Windu’s stern gravitas didn’t quite do the trick, General Vos’s charming cajoling and occasionally unsubtle shooing got them moving. Fox hung to the back as General Vos herded the others out, until he could approach General Windu with some expectation of not being overheard.

“Sir, the Guard has specialized bomb disposal units, biological contaminant gear, sniffer massifs. Should I comm for backup?” he asked, trying to cover the most likely circumstances which might require evacuation of the entirety of the Chancellor’s suite.

He also actively tried not to think about how whatever that thing was had gotten into the Chancellor’s desk. And whether he, or rather CC-1010, had had something to do with it.

General Windu gave Fox an odd look, but he answered readily enough. “Thank you, Commander, but this will be a matter for the Council to handle. If you could set up a perimeter to isolate the rooms, that would help us greatly.”

“Of course, Sir,” Fox replied, wishing the reply had been a little less cryptic.

Seeing as how the general did not seem to be interested in leaving his current position, Fox turned to go execute his orders. However, he did spare a quick glance behind him on his way out of the room. General Windu had turned to face the wide windows behind the Chancellor’s desk, looking out over the sprawling cityscape of Coruscant. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back.

Fox palmed several pre-labeled, empty evidence bags from the supply table and slipped them into one of his belt pouches on the way out of the door.

“For kriff’s sake,” Thorn said when Fox pulled off his helmet. “You’ve just been bleeding in there, all day?”

Fox didn’t dignify that with a response. He could see exactly how bad he looked in the ‘fresher mirror without the helpful commentary. The lower half of his face, most everything below his sluggishly dripping nose, was covered in tacky, half-dried blood.

He just glowered at Thorn and held out a hand, silently demanding the cannister of pressurized armor cleaner his brother was holding.

“Fix your karking face,” Thorn said, handing him a small first aid kit instead. “I’ll clean out your bucket.”

Fox glowered at Thorn, but he wasn’t about to turn down an offer like that. He handed over his bucket and snatched the kit. His face felt sticky and itched ferociously. He dumped the kit, his gauntlets, and his gloves into a neighboring sink, and turned on the fancy faucet in front of him.

Thorn flipped Fox’s helmet over and took a look inside. Whatever he saw earned a low whistle, audible even through the vocoder. “You know, I could have grabbed you new filters if you’d told me it was this bad.”

Fox cupped his hands under the stream of water and splashed it on his face. It swirled down the drain, red-streaked and flecked with dried flakes of blood. He wet his hands again and started scrubbing at the worst patches. “Why, when I’m just going to keep bleeding into a fresh set?” Fox snapped, at the end of his rope with just about everything. He’d managed to stanch the flow a few hours back, when he took a quick fifteen count for a ration bar. It hadn’t lasted.

“Have you told Scav?” Thorn asked, shaking up the cannister and then spraying it into the interior of Fox’s helmet over one of the sinks. The internal electronics were sealed against breath condensation and other types of moisture, but there were limits, and this was going to be pushing them. Fox didn’t have the down time for a full work-over of his helmet, maybe Mags could loan him a spare. He hated the idea of wearing a shiny bucket, but it was better than a glitching HUD.

Fox opened up the medical kit and found the sterile astringent wipes inside. “And when, exactly, do you think I would have had time for that?” he growled, using one of the wipes to scrub at a patch of mostly dried blood in the bare beginnings of stubble on his chin.

“Find the time, or he’ll kill both of us and use our bodies for spare parts,” Thorn said, almost conversationally. Fox knew him too well to miss the legitimate concern riding under the dark humor.

And he also wasn’t wrong. There were all sorts of rumors around the Guard about how Scavenger had earned his name. Fox hadn’t ever bothered to confirm any of them.

Fox just grimaced. “I will, as soon as I can head back to base.”

When that might be was anyone’s guess.

It had been hours, and the Chancellor still hadn’t turned up passed out in some corner of the Senate dome.

Nor had any Separatist group claimed credit for either kidnapping the Chancellor or assassinating him, and they certainly would have if they had. It would be a massive morale boost for the CIS.

No ransom letter had arrived in the Senate’s mailroom.

No questionable stench had started wafting out of the air vents.

There had been a few developments though, not that Fox was able to put the pieces together into a coherent picture.

Several additional members of the Jedi Council presented themselves at the Chancellor’s office soon after Fox had left the suite and set up a defensive perimeter. He could not be certain, but he thought the group represented every councilmember currently on planet.

Perhaps half an hour later, three more Jedi arrived with crates on a hovercart, all emblazoned with warnings so aggressive they might as well have been overt threats.

An hour after that, acting Chancellor Mas Amedda had come to the office, with two extremely harried-looking aides, fresh off announcing his unexpected ascension to the office in front of the sitting Senate body. It was a zoo out there, but Stone was handling the security instead of Fox, because somehow that fragmentation grenade of a situation was still only the second most incendiary event currently erupting in the Senate dome.

He'd looked sour upon arriving and even more so when he left, aides straggling along behind him with two boxes overloaded with flimsi files and datapads. Fox assumed they were the confidential contents of Chancellor Palpatine’s desk.

Well, most of them. He was pretty certain the Jedi wouldn’t be turning over the mystery cylinder.

The containment crates left a few hours after that, each with two Jedi as escorts. Thorn had shown up in the middle of their departure, along with the next shift of fresh Guards. It had been as good a time as any to slip away for a quick conversation in the service ‘freshers.

At least his face was now semi-clean, even though a new streak of blood was starting to trickle out of his left nostril. He fished a few gauze pads, a tube of bacta gel, and two pain tabs out of the first aid kit. He could dab a little ointment on two scraps of gauze and stick them up each nostril. The vocoder would probably cover for the worst of the stuffiness that would cause, but at least he wouldn’t be bleeding into his filters anymore.

“Did you bring the other items I requested?” he asked, dry swallowing the pain tabs and then tearing off the first bit of gauze and rolling it into a sort of conical, plug shape.

“Yeah,” Thorn replied, eyeing Fox out of the corner of his eye. “But are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“If you’ve got a better idea, now would be the time to share it.”

There weren’t security cameras in the Senate bathrooms. Thank the little gods for natborn modesty.

Except Thorn apparently couldn’t think of a better plan.

And Fox had run out of ideas hours ago. The Jedi weren’t telling him anything, and it was only minimally comforting that he wasn’t being singled out. They weren’t briefing the CSF or the Senate guards either.

Fox made the exchange in one of the ‘fresher stalls. The sterile gloves and empty bags were hidden safely away inside one of his belt pouches.

When the CSF agents were finally allowed back into the office suite to retrieve their equipment and samples, they unknowingly left with three extra bags with intentionally incorrect labels slipped amongst their other evidence. One contained a swab with the unidentified blood from Fox’s pauldron, one held the two silver hairs they’d found on his blacks, and the last had the sample of the odd, organic residue from the bruises on his face.

[slexenskee]

okay. question. has gojo ever played No Scrubs in the MHa universe??? or do ppl just think he came up w the name from nowhere??

also PLEASE i would kill for him playing anti-hero just bc I KNOW it would blue whale twitter break tumblr and make endeavor either shove his head into an ice bucket or finally have the cardiac arrest that has been looming since he found out that gojo is alive

Its funny you bring that up because I too would love to have him don a wig and specifically sing that song. I even have a backstory for it 😂

Love the idea of T-Swift not being a singer in the MHA world but one of the first hero/vigilantes instead during the like really tumultuous era in the dawn of quirks. I see it suiting her for some reason haha I think we can all agree she likes the spotlight and likes being needed so if she ended up with a powerful quirk at that exact moment in history I could see her going that route instead. So she has this cool power that somehow relates to her voice idk, but anyway yeah she gets famous/infamous for being a hero instead and so when Satoru gets reincarnated here he's like, 'oh wow that's wild' but he's not like crazy into her music so it never occurs to him to try it at first.

But also I see him completely and utterly connecting to anti-hero because he is indeed always the problem lol. I do have a oneshot where he's just casually singing it, but I could totally see him deciding to do it on stage in drag as an encore.

As for the No Scrubs thing - haha I see that going both ways. Maybe it's a really obscure old R&B song by the time he's reincarnated so very few people ever make the connection? But even if the song doesn't exist it still makes sense as a name since calling someone a Scrub was derogatory slang long before the song (I think)

[silverstarfics]

I was so determined to write something for this week’s @thunder-pride bingo square that I literally wrote this fic while having a minor allergic reaction on a plane - in other words there are definitely mistakes in this but please pretend not to notice them oops. Anyway, this is a longer fic than I'd usually post on here, so I recommend reading it on AO3 but I know some people prefer Tumblr, so here we are :))

AO3 link

Stray glitter itched under his left eye, his flag kept getting snagged on his baldric, and he could feel sweat prickling at the base of his spine despite the temperature regulator in his suit, yet Alan had never felt more comfortable in his own skin. His cheeks physically ached from so much smiling. He didn’t think he’d stopped grinning since he’d landed Tracy One on American soil two hours earlier – and no, that wasn’t just because he’d been reunited with his boyfriend. They hadn’t intended to spend practically three months apart – which had been a difficult adjustment after sharing an apartment for the past year – but the end of Alan’s semester meant he was officially back on the IR roster for the summer… just as a busy spell of rescues struck.

Technically, he was here on Official International Rescue Business: representing them at one of the world’s largest Pride parades. Usually, Gordon would have played the role, dressed up in yellow, pink and blue with an unholy amount of glittery body spray decorating not only his skin but his uniform. This year, Alan had taken up the reins. He secretly suspected his family had conspired to give him some downtime – because summer break was supposed to be restful, especially when you were an overachiever who’d decided to double major – and a chance to hang out with Brandon. He’d been instructed to have fun. Literally, Scott had texted him so.

Scotty: Have fun and enjoy your chance to be a dumb 20-year-old.

Scotty: Not too much fun though. You’re representing IR.

Alan had replied: so, on a scale from John to Gordon how much fun can I have?

Scotty: My level of fun only minus the daredevil risks.

Scotty: Just don’t get arrested, that’s all I ask.

“Coming to you from the Pride event of the year,” a loud voice declared dangerously close to Alan’s ear, jolting him out of his thoughts, “I’m here with a bi icon AKA my boyfriend-”

“Really?” he interrupted. “That’s how you’re introducing me?”

“Oh my god, fine.” Brandon hooked an arm around Alan’s neck and dragged him within view of the camera. “I’m here with International Rescue’s one and only Alan Tracy.”

“Better,” Alan accepted, trying to repress the urge to sneeze as Brandon’s flag drifted across his face. “Are you filming or livestreaming right now?”

“Filming,” Brandon assured him. “I’ll edit stuff out later, so you can relax.”

Alan flung his arms out to let his own flag billow in the light breeze. “Oh, I am so relaxed.”

Brandon, on the other hand, looked set to launch into orbit. He’d downed nearly a litre of soda since he’d met Alan at the airport and had chased it down with cotton candy and churros; he still had cinnamon dust on his face and it looked like extra freckles. The sugar rush had hit him around the same time as his adrenaline spike when music had begun to blare from speakers up-and-down the parade. He’d already had several fans come up to him for selfies and signatures which had only added to his energy levels. Even now, he was bouncing on the spot.

“Brand,” Alan tried to hiss, then raised his voice to be heard above the clamour of music and chatter and the swell of live instruments around them. “Brandon, dude, chill.”

“I am so frickin’ chill,” Brandon announced gleefully. He grabbed Alan’s hand and laced their fingers together, rising onto his toes – he hadn’t stopped complaining since Alan had hit the growth spurt that had placed him above Gordon and Virgil – to pull him into a kiss. “See? Chill.”

“Uh huh,” Alan deadpanned. “Super chill.” He frowned at the taste of sugar. “Did you find more candy? Where? And how? I swear you haven’t left my side.”

Brandon levelled the camera with a conspiratorial look. “All geniuses have their ways.”

“I’m cutting you off.” Alan reconsidered his words. “Ew, gross. You’re making me sound responsible.”

Brandon flicked his red baldric. “I feel like responsibility and IR are a joint package.”

“You’ve seen my astroboard stunts.”

“Good point.”

The parade began with an explosion of colour that reminded Alan of the infamous occasion when Gordon had accidentally upended Virgil’s palette mid-painting session. International Rescue had been assigned to the group of NGO floats, so he wasn’t expecting many people to point him out from the crowd. Maybe he’d gotten too used to his life on campus; after the initial buzz, no one cared that The Alan Tracy of International Rescue was a part of their ranks. But to his surprise, there were easily hundreds of people cheering and waving banners directed at him – or at IR or at his family: at least two signs asked for Kayo’s phone number – as the procession marched through the streets. Brandon captured everything on camera, including Alan’s shellshocked expression which prompted several internet comparisons with various memes.

“Hey, hey, Alan, look up.” Brandon cupped Alan’s face, tilting his head to glimpse the livestream of the parade on the giant screens above them. “Better smile, dude!”

“Oh my god.” Alan’s voice pitched into a humiliating squeak. He cleared his throat and fixed a grin on his face as the cameras stayed on him. “Okay, so this- this is a thing that’s happening. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

“Breathe,” Brandon teased. He raised their linked hands into the air, prompting another chorus of cheers from the crowd. “People love us! And they really love you, so quit freaking out.”

“I am not freaking out,” Alan protested, then proceeded to do exactly that as a weight crashed into his legs from his right. He staggered and caught his balance against Brandon’s shoulder.

“Woah,” Brandon mumbled, switching off the vlog. “Hey, lil dude. Where’d you come from?”

If the fact that Brandon had turned off the camera weren’t warning enough, his sudden change in pitch from overexcited delight to soft concern would have informed Alan that the new limpet clinging to him was definitely child shaped. He glanced down to glimpse a mop of tawny hair and an adoring, toothy smile. The kid had to be around eleven, certainly no older than twelve, with rainbow face-paint and a shirt emblazoned with Thunderbird Three.

“Hey,” Alan greeted, struck by the baffled urge to laugh. He knelt down to place himself at the kid’s level – honestly, his new height just kept causing problems. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Leo.” The kid – Leo, Alan mentally corrected himself – rocked on his heels as his grin grew impossibly wider. “Sorry for… you know. Running at you and jumping onto the float and stuff. But I really wanted to say hi, ‘cos you’re, like, super cool and you’re kind of my hero, so, um, yeah.”

Brandon leaned down over Alan’s shoulder to whisper teasingly, “Aw.”

Alan elbowed him. “Shut up.” He turned back to Leo. “That’s awesome, buddy! It’s great to meet you. Are you here with someone? I don’t want them to think you’ve gone missing.”

Leo gave an emphatic nod. “My mom.” He pointed in the vague direction of the crowd. “She’s out there somewhere.”

“Oh, boy,” Brandon whistled. “I know where this is going.”

Alan tousled Leo’s hair, then stood back up. “So, I’m thinking…”

“…We should search for the kid’s mom?” Brandon concluded with a fond eyeroll. “Yeah, okay.”

After a brief discussion with the other representatives on the float, Alan made his excuses, then clambered down with Leo perched on his shoulders and Brandon close behind them. The kid kept chattering, hands anchored in Alan’s hair and his heels drumming against Alan’s chest; it brought back treasured childhood memories of the times Alan had sat on Scott’s shoulders as his brother picked paths through crowds. He was aware of Brandon sneaking photos of their silhouettes to send to the family, all dressed up in sparkles and flags and IR blues.

Leo’s mom looked suitably ruffled. Her face was flushed with a mixture of humiliation and horror beneath the shimmery sheen of glitter spray. She fretted her hands in the hem of her t-shirt – pale blue with a supportive motherly caption that made both Alan and Brandon look away – as she began to utter so many apologies that they tripped over one another.

“I am so, so sorry.” She caught Leo’s eye with a warning stare. “He didn’t mean to disturb you. I only took my eyes off him for a second- Leo, have you apologised? Say sorry right this instant. I can’t apologise enough. Thank you so much for bringing him back. It’s just that you’re his hero, you see. He’s been obsessed with the Thunderbirds since he was only so high-” She gestured at her hip. “-and when you came out… Well, you’ve been a healthy role model for him. His hero, really, and- And I should stop rambling and let you get back to the parade. Leo, get down here.”

Alan crouched down to let Leo clamber from his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how to act in the face of such praise – the word hero was tossed around frequently by civilians but it was usually addressed towards elder brothers and on rescues, not a public setting – so settled for some terrible pun outta Gordon’s handbook and laughed nervously while Brandon rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Alan offered Leo a fist bump which the kid readily returned. “He’s been no trouble.” He feigned a serious tone. “I have an important question though: which is the best Thunderbird?”

“One,” Brandon declared and instinctively jumped outta reach before Alan could kick his shins.

Leo wrinkled his nose. “Three, duh.”

“Correct answer.” Alan patted him on the head. “I just had to check.” He grinned at Leo’s wide-eyed, starstruck expression. The kid kept looking at him as if he were a dragon, although perhaps a unicorn would be a better comparison given the rainbows painted onto his baldric. “Maybe don’t run off without telling your mom next time though, okay?” He lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. “I think you scared her. You might want to say sorry.”

Leo’s face fell. “Sorry, Mom. I wasn’t thinking…”

“Clearly,” she replied dryly. “But I think we can let it slide just this once.” She straightened up, craning her neck slightly to meet Alan’s gaze – and nope, he still wasn’t used to that one, it was so weird, how did Scott and John live like this? “It’s his first Pride.”

“Oh, heck yeah,” Brandon cut in. He held up a hand. “High five, lil dude! That’s awesome!”

Leo met his high five with a resounding smack. Alan observed their interaction, fully aware that he probably had the heart-eyes that he’d been accused of on so many occasions by nosy siblings, but hey, whatever, sue him, it was a cute sight. He tugged absently at the edges of his flag as warm affection spread outwards from his chest. Cameras clicked around him as people filmed – hey, it’s the guy from International Rescue – but somehow it didn’t bother him anymore.

“Really,” he continued, forcing himself to turn back to Leo’s mom. “Leo’s a good kid. You should be proud of him. I got super overexcited at my first Pride too. It can be kind of overwhelming.”

She gave a light laugh. “It’s all he’s talked about for the last three months.” She lowered her gaze, voice softening as she hesitated, then confessed, “He was scared to come out to me. I don’t know how I ever gave him that impression – Lord knows I kick myself every day for making my baby think I wouldn’t accept him – but when you came out… He said that if you could be brave enough to tell the world, he could be brave enough to tell his mama. So, thank you, Alan. Truly.”

And-

Wow.

Okay. That was… a lot.

“You’re so emotional,” Brandon teased, prodding Alan’s bicep. “This is why Goose says you have golden retriever energy, dude.” He skimmed his thumb over Alan’s palm, a swift, inconspicuous show of support. “We should probably get back to the parade, but it was awesome to meet you.”

“Of course.” Leo’s mom snagged her son’s shirt. “Say goodbye, Leo.”

“Bye,” Leo chirped, then threw his arms around Alan’s middle. “Thanks for… everything.”

Alan let Brandon lead him through the crowd to a café. They found a quiet corner at the very back, tucked away in a shadowy alcove beside a potted plant and an old Pacman machine. Brandon briefly vanished, then returned with a glass of water and a chocolate chip cookie. He slid both across the table to Alan, then waited expectantly, all wide eyes and furrowed brow.

“Thanks,” Alan replied after a minute. He took a sip of the water, then drained it in one as he realised how dry his mouth had become. “I don’t know why that threw me so much. Like, it was a really nice thing, so why am I…?” He held up a shaky hand. “…you know?”

“’Cos it’s a big deal,” Brandon said quietly. He bumped his sneaker against Alan’s beneath the table. “You’re allowed to be rattled by it, Al. It’s a good thing, but it’s still a lot. Like, I can still remember the first time one of my viewers told me I’d inspired them. I’m pretty sure I threw up afterwards, so you’re doing better than me. Then again, I was like fifteen, so…”

Alan split the cookie. “Want some?”

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Brandon sighed, grinning as he snatched up half. “Let’s chill here for a few minutes, then we’ll head back out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Leo was right, you know?”

“What d’you mean?”

Brandon’s smile was the soft, secretive kind, usually reserved for places without the threat of cameras. Alan had gotten to see it almost daily since they’d moved in together when he’d started at MIT, but it still left him mildly breathless.

“You’re a good role model to a bunch of kids like him.”

Alan ducked his head. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Brandon corrected. “Now eat your cookie so we can get back out there.”

Much, much later, after they’d flown back to the island and washed off most of the glitter, Alan had chance to process everything. It made him happy but also nervous at the same time. Like, woah, he was someone’s role model? Kids considered him to be their hero? That was wild. He said as much, airing his thoughts aloud while Virgil clattered around the kitchen and Scott picked at the bowl of chopped pineapple that was intended for the evening’s pizzas.

“It’s just so weird,” Alan continued, drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bar stool. He’d changed into sweatpants and a hoodie that he was pretty sure he’d stolen from John at some point after his sixteenth and had subsequently grown into. There was still glitter caked onto his cheek despite the fact that he’d attacked it with a makeup wipe. “Like, me? I still feel like a kid.”

“You’re Scott’s twenty-year-old child,” Gordon joked as he sidled through the patio doors and made a beeline for the pineapple. “He’s never gonna see you as an adult. Trust me, I’d know.”

“I’m not that bad,” Scott protested half-heartedly.

Gordon patted him on the back. “Smotherhen.”

“Irresponsible guppy.”

“And I wear that title with pride.” Gordon dropped onto the stool beside Alan. “Speaking of pride, how was it? Brandon didn’t give me any of the good gossip. I need details, Allie-gator.”

Alan frowned. “Did you torture my boyfriend? Is that why I haven’t seen him all evening?”

“Nah, that’s ‘cos Penny abducted him. They’re conspiring. We should both be scared.” Gordon tossed a cube of pineapple into his mouth and shot Virgil an innocent smile when his brother heaved a grand sigh and stared pointedly at the pizza bases. “Anyway. Pride. Details. Go.”

“A little kid said Alan was his role model, so Al’s spiralling,” Kayo summarised from her perch on the opposite counter, nursing something strongly alcoholic. “Now you’re all caught up.”

“Aw.” Gordon propped his chin in his hands. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“That’s what I said,” Virgil interjected. He prodded at the bowl of cake batter in his hands, then reached for a baking tray. “Do I leave this as vanilla or add cocoa powder?”

“Add chocolate.” Alan dropped his head onto the counter with a groan. “It’s weird though. I feel… like a fraud, I guess. I don’t have my life together. I survive on pizza pockets and Red Bull.”

Scott glanced up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Only during finals. I’m mostly a functional adult the rest of the time.”

John’s hologram blinked into life above the projector. “Before you spiral any further, you should know that the internet loves you. Footage of the parade has ended up online. You’ve not just inspired one kid, but a lot of people.”

Alan tossed his hands up. “How is that supposed to make me feel any better? That’s so much more pressure.” He slumped onto the counter. “I just… You guys were my role models, right? And you did a pretty good job-”

“Thanks,” Gordon said, just as Kayo added, “Everyone apart from Gordon did a good job.”

“-so, I’m really happy to be inspiring people but also I don’t want to mess up.”

A contemplative silence settled over the kitchen.

“You’re not going to mess up,” Scott said after a moment. He slid the pineapple out of Gordon’s reach, then moved to stand beside Alan’s seat. “Hey, look at me for a second?” He placed his hands on Alan’s shoulders and offered him a reassuring smile. “All you need to do is keep being yourself. Try your best, stand up for your beliefs, and you’ll do just fine, Allie. Besides…” He tousled Alan’s hair. “You’ve been our hero for just as long as we’ve been yours.”

“Gordon’s not included in that,” Kayo called. Gordon made a crude gesture in her direction. She flung an arm at him. “See? He’s just not role model material.”

Scott ignored them. “You’re doing great, Al. I’m proud of you.”

Alan swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat, then asked, “Can I make a Pride joke?”

Scott sank onto a bar stool beside him and dropped his head onto the counter. “Wake me up when the pizza or the cake is ready, I can’t cope with the terrible puns that are about to happen.”

“Oh, but Scotty,” Alan began.

Gordon let out a wild laugh. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

[aflo]

Not me being fandom hatecrimed and passive aggressively dog piled on THE fandumb website tumblr dot com by a dumb bitch with a cowboy url and an even dumber bitchass OP with Gigi Studio Ghibli Icon and even stupider tacky shitass tungle.hel pride badge that this self proclaimed "cunt" OP of a shitty tumblruniversitycore shit post willingly put on her blog to match and you two wanna act like you're the ones who better than me for daring to vague about Hazbin Hotel on tumblr dot com on a post that was already about some dumb fandumb discourse about a tungle.hell demon show and feeling safe enough to just tag what I was talking about because I thought that I could trust an even more basic bitch than anyone, not to try to be a fucked up little snobby bitch acting like they hold some kind of higher fandumb ground than anyone else on a post where that bitch OP with a fuckass anime icon is whining about apparently dragging her musty, crusty, ugly, greasy, McMemeShitPoster skinny Leah Michelle Gleeky (since you fave poor taste enough to actually like Supernatural That Much) Funny Tumblr Girly ass to a musty crusty Supernatural Convention that was probs just dashcon (because you know you be suckin' tumblrs whole blue veiny dick when you willingly put a tumblr badge on your blog cause you're that basic), to get willingly hatecrimed by your favorite Live Action Tumblr Blorbo TM, Mr. Jensen Fucking Under House Arrest Stubbed His Toe on Rusty Nail and Died Trying to Remove His Ankle Bracelets or Whatever...

Gurl I could never have taste that mediocre I'm sorry you ether don't eat, or don't eat anything but McDonald's cause you thought that meme was so funny.

And to think I wasn't gonna put this shit on my blog or try to add anything I just knew I was gonna get some nasty, hypocritical, passive aggressive tag typing, shitty memed up response to my addition because originally my only knee jerk response in my head when I saw this was "... Not the #Supernatural Discourse, though...Be kind to yourself.... Don't even lower yourself Sweetie ... Don't look, don't even look at them ... You know Hazbin already has a much sweeter, saner, queerer, kinder, safer fandom environment than the Death by Rusty Nail CW Show.... Just don't!"

But I did... And now I guess I can say for certain that Supernatural Fans TM are just as Mean Spirited and Crusty as their Infamous Shows ending! But It was probably like your entire personality for a while there so what more could I expect? :D

Like I'm sorry your own fandumb etiquette needs an oil can and you're obvi limegreen jelly because vivziepop fans have the power of Mara Wilson, Jinkxx Monsoon, Kesha Rose, John Waters, and probz soon Lady Gaga on our side and all you have is your anime cat icon from an overrated studio and that tacky ass tumblr badge while you forgot what it was like to have your fandom be everyone else's punching bag for a hot minute and you're feeling insecure and treating me like you must've been treated, just for adding to your post about an obnoxious experience with an actor in a tumblr fandom, sharing my own obnoxious experience with an actor in a tumblr fandom. which ultimately was a harmless thing for me to share on a post on the fandumb website that means nothing ...

But it turns out having a much happier fandom experience than yours is what I get when my shows have an actually queer show runner and a bunch of queer icons doing actual queer representation, and admittedly annoying and well meaning alleys that show actual passion about their projects like I'm sorry that your taste is so poor you actually wanted to fuck Dean Wince Emotionless or were queer baited by him or whatever but I'm different, and apparently, the only Actual Cunt on this post right now is me, being brave enough to have The Nerve.

So OP, the next time you feel so holier than thou to make fun of a person on tumblr dot com talking about their experience with a show about demons, while you're also talking about your experience with a show about demons, please consider closing out the Cringe Fandumb Website we're both using right now, touch your feet to the grass, and while you're on that grass, please touch your feet to the same exact rusty nail your Precious Ankle Fuckboy did and die. :D

And if you're too lazy to do that much, at least get your little cowgirl over yonder in the tags who mumbled at me for demon fandom discoursing on your post about demon fandom discourse, to have her little Striker Helluva Boss Moment and try and track me down and assassinate me for you by feeding me cookies with rusty nails in them. Since you'd apparently like me to disappear so badly. ;)

Because I think that's the only way to get me Shut The Fuck Up Hazbin Hotel Fan TM. Us Hazbin Hotel Fans aren't gonna be shutting fuck the up anytime soon. Not sorry. ;)

Also not sorry to break it to you OP, honey.... But you know being a Supernatural fan making fun of a Hazbin Hotel fan is like you're Toby McGuire Spider-Man and I'm Tom Hardy Venom over here, right?

Same Thing. Same Concept. Almost cut from the same cloth. Only my cloth is a little bit more high quality, a little more flashy, a little more fashionable, certainly more explicitly queer fashion, and again, just a little more comfortable to be in because it's made by people who actually have a heart, soul and passion to put into their work. Too bad the people cutting your cloth didn't have a heart and neither do you or your friends now . ;) ♥ X.O

😨

[bioware-bard]

Oh, hey! Did you know I'm writing a Shega fic with @vorchagirl? No, of course you don't, because I haven't been very good at keeping up with my tumblr. I shall endeavor to change that and I'll start by sharing some backstory I wrote for Sienna and James. ^_^

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

House Arrest

“And this will be your apartment.”

The Alliance Locations officer pressed a few keys on his omni tool and the door slid open, revealing a spacious room filled with all the basic necessities she would need. Shepard’s house arrest started today. 

The junior officer -

No, she reminded herself as she glanced down to her bare chest, the dog tags no longer around her neck and pressing coldly against her skin. Instead, they had been unceremoniously dumped in a drawer somewhere after she was stripped of her rank and made to wait out her trial. She was no longer Commander Shepard, decorated war hero and savior of the Citadel; to a lot of people she was the killer of hundreds of thousands of Batarians, even though she’d tried everything she could to save them. 

“If you need anything,” the young man’s voice cut through her thoughts, “you can put in a requisition via your terminal.” He nodded at one corner of the room, where the mentioned tech’s green light blinked. “Your, um, your…”

Sienna expelled a breath through her nose, a rush of agitated air, as the junior officer struggled to find the right word. “Guard,” she supplied, pushing down the wave of annoyance that rose up within her.   

Without missing a beat, the young man continued, “-will be here in a few minutes. He will inform you of his duties and make sure you…”

Sienna rolled her eyes as she turned towards the window and said, “I don’t need a babysitter.” Upon seeing the officer’s nervous expression in the reflection, she sighed and deflated a little, telling him in a gentle tone, “Thank you, Jackson, for escorting me.”

The officer smiled hesitantly, bright blue eyes blazing from behind a pair of thin wired glasses. “You’re welcome, Com-” Jackson caught himself, swallowed the rest of the word and finished, “Miss Shepard.” He gave her a final crooked smile as he turned towards the door and punched in a code on his omni tool. The door slid open. “It was nice meeting you and just so you know,” he stopped at the threshold, “a lot of us think you did the right thing. I’m sure your trial will be done soon and you’ll be able to return to active duty.”

Her smile was wry as she looked over her shoulder at him. “I guess we’ll see,” she told him softly before Jackson stepped out and closed and locked the door behind her. 

Great, Sienna thought, turning her attention back to the view outside of the window. Vancouver stood silent in the bright midday sun, the glimmer of sleek skyscrapers reflecting back to her from a distance. It looked peaceful, as though there was no threat hanging over them in the form of ancient giant machines, programmed to destroy all intelligent life in the galaxy. 

She rubbed a hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers as she squinted out over the sunny landscape. Every fiber of her being was yelling at her to prepare, to get ready for the shit storm she knew was coming. Somehow she had managed to delay the invasion twice already, but she didn’t think they’d get lucky this time. They were running out of that precious commodity, but no one wanted to believe her. 

As she waited for her babysitter, she started slowly walking through the room, inspecting the items that she’d been given for her mandatory vacation of undetermined length. She snorted lightly at her internal dialogue as she reached the desk and extended a hand towards the blinking terminal. Her finger was almost at the button to press it and bring it back from stand-by mode when she heard the sound of electronic beeping coming from the doors before they slid open. 

Sienna leaned her hip against the edge of the desk and folded her arms in front of her stomach as someone walked in. She raked her eyes over the young man stepping through the sliding doors from head to foot, taking in all of his large muscular frame as he walked inside. He waited just over the threshold, far enough away from the doors for them to still close and waited until the final closing click to snap his legs together and saluting her. 

“Commander Shepard,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, “Lieutenant James Vega. I’ve been appointed-”

“Guard duty?” Sienna raised an eyebrow at him as he lowered his hand from his brow and relaxed his stance. “You probably shouldn’t call me that anymore, Vega.” 

Those large, muscular shoulders shifted up and down in a careless shrug and he flashed her a sudden disarming smile. “I’ve never been one for following bad orders ma’am. Especially not the stupid ones.”

Sienna bristled. “First off, Vega,” she pushed off from the desk and started walking towards him, “don’t call me that. If you need to call me anything, it’s either Sienna or Shepard.” She stopped a few feet away and placed her hands on her cocked hips. “Don’t call me ma’am.” 

She watched as genuine amusement touched his brown eyes, one corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. Something within her stirred and came back to life for the first time since she had woken up on that Cerberus station and had been remade. 

He continued looking at her with that crooked smile, nodding slightly. “Understood, Shepard.”

The instant her name passed his lips, she knew she’d made a mistake. The way his voice deepened and rumbled from his chest nearly sent her to her knees. “So,” she said, unlocking them and marveling at the fact that she remained upright, “Jackson said you’d inform me about the situation.” She walked over to the small fridge in the corner of the room and opened it, reaching in for two bottles of water. Pushing the door closed with her hip, she tossed one of them to Vega. “Inform me.”

James deftly caught the bottle with one hand, the movement flexing his well-honed muscles as he lowered it and unscrewed the cap. “Not much to tell, really,” he said nonchalantly, bringing the bottle up to his mouth but stopping before taking a sip. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you occasionally. Don’t worry, I won’t be in your way too much.” He winked at her and brought the bottle to his parted lips, gulping the liquid down to half the bottle’s contents. 

Sienna knew exactly how much he drank because her attention was on the bottle and not on the way his throat moved as he tilted his head back, stretching out and showing more of a tattoo. It peeked from beneath his skin-tight shirt and covered most of the right side of his neck, disappeared beneath the shirt and reappeared on his right bicep. She wondered how much of his skin it covered, if it was big enough that the ink reached his chest. 

Sienna had to almost shake herself physically as she stared, transfixed, while his eyes were closed. She managed to pull her hungry, lust-filled gaze away and down to her bottle.

“I thought the Alliance wanted to keep an eye on me at all times,” she said, voice steady, before tilting the bottle to her lips and taking a small sip. 

He looked at her for a second, then silently slid his eyes to various spots in the room. Vega didn’t have to say anything. 

Privacy? A commodity for her, it seemed. 

She nodded her head in silent understanding and he told her, “My barracks are close, so should you need anything -” he nodded at her omni tool, “let me know. I’ll keep you updated on news from the Council about your trial.”

Sienna breathed in deeply, the nervous energy of having to stay in one place for an undetermined amount of time already washing over her. She turned around and showed Vega her back as she stared unseeing out of the window, the thoughts in her mind moving too fast to make sense. 

“Admiral Anderson continues to advocate for you, you know,” Vega told her from behind. He sounded like he hadn’t moved. “Even though no one seems to want to listen.”

She scoffed silently and turned her head to the left, smiling slightly as she tucked an escaped strand of her red hair behind an ear. “If you see him,” she said hesitantly, unconsciously biting her lower lip, “tell him I appreciate it.”

He didn’t say anything, but she caught a small head movement in her peripheral vision. “I’ll leave you to get comfortable, then.”

She laughed and reached up to the tight bun on the top of her head, deftly undid her hair and let it tumble down to her shoulders. “Thanks, Lieutenant.” She turned back around to face him and winked. “I’ll get started on that.”

Sienna’s libido, inactive since the Lazarus project, had roared back to life at the sigh of this man in front of her, but now - as she watched him stammer and stutter his words - felt something different. His arm still flexed amazingly when he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, but it was the slight hint of a blush creeping up from his collar that caught her attention and heated up her insides. 

As she watched him retreat awkwardly out of the room, stammering something about needing to get back, she realized with both excitement and trepidation that James Vega was dangerous. To her sanity most of all if he showed up often, because she’d have a hard time not to flirt with him just to see another reaction like that. 

All she could hope for at that point, she thought as she lay down on the bed, was that James would turn out to be a dick. 

Sienna laughed softly to herself as she stared up at the ceiling, her carnally-declined-and-starving body already creating an explicit image of Vega in her mind. 

[duckdoeswords]

Change of Pace Ch.7

Summary: When a scandal breaks out after her father is arrested for Electoral fraud and Tax evasion she takes this opportunity to disappear leaving Atlas for a small town in the south where her Grandfather had a small farm that had fallen into disrepair. She arrives hoping to find a better life for herself and her daughter.

Words: 36,659

Main Relationship: Weiss Schnee/Ruby Rose

Rating: M

Notes: I'm currently working on posting links to fics I forgot about to tumblr. I'm also trying a new format for posting said links. If you want to set the mood for the fic please check out the playlist for it and you can check out my ko-fi if you want.

FIC:

‘Your destination is ahead on the right.’ Weiss glanced out of the right window, noticing the narrow gravel road. 

“That must be it.” Turning onto the road her car jerked slightly as she drove up toward a rustic two-story house with a familiar beat-up red pickup truck parked in the driveway. Pulling up next to it, she put her car in park unbuckling her seatbelt, looking over the seat at Ivory where she sat, playing with a stuffed rabbit, kicking her legs back and forth. “You ready?” 

“Yuh-uh!” Ivory chirped as she began to unbuckle herself. Turning off the engine, it made a clunking sound that didn’t fill Weiss with much confidence. 

“Oh, that didn’t sound good...” Gently she stroked the steering wheel before she grabbed her purse and stepped out into spring evening air. Slamming the door closed she moved around the front just as Ivory skipped into view. The blue sundress had definitely been the right choice. That and the white buckle sandals made her look like an entirely different child. If not for the frog purse she had insisted on bringing everywhere. Shaking her head Weiss blew some air out her nose. ‘If she’s happy that’s all that matters.’ 

Approaching the front porch, she watched Ivory jump up the stairs stumbling slightly. She waved her arms attempting to catch her balance. Weiss placed a hand on her back helping her keep herself upright. “You good?” 

“Yup!” Ivory nodded, jumping onto the final step. “Can I ring the doorbell?” 

“Sure,” Weiss said with a short laugh as she watched as Ivory reached up on her tiptoes just as barely managing to press the button. It rang out in the standard ‘Ding. Dong. Ding.’ 

Ivory beamed up at Weiss obviously very proud of her accomplishment. “I reached it.” 

“Yeah,” Weiss said, placing a hand on Ivory’s back. “You’ve gotten so big,” Weiss said, causing Ivory to throw her shoulders back, puffing her chest out. The doorknob rattle and turned, the door swinging open inwards revealing the one and only Ruby Rose. She wore a faded grey shirt that seemed to say Feldspar Track and Field around the same mid-howl wolf from the water tower. The sleeves had been cut off revealing toned along with a farmer’s tan. She leaned against the door, reaching down to adjust her pants, a pair of black gym shorts. Weiss looked down at her own outfit. A sheer white blouse with a faux ribbon attached to the collar was tucked into a blue A-line shirt. Weiss suddenly felt incredibly overdressed.

Ivory was practically bouncing in place and eventually, the excitement bubbled over as she jumped over to Ruby. “Ruby! Ruby! Ruby!”

“Ivory! Ivory! Ivory!” Ruby said easily matching Ivory’s energy as she placed her hands on her knees leaning down so she was level with Ivory who placed her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels. 

“Did you know that we’re here for dinner?” 

“What!?” Ruby exclaimed, glancing up at Weiss. “Really!?” 

“Yup! Really really!”

Continued on Ao3

[soupandflowers]

School Dance - Day 1

Made a Tumblr solely for @hongiceweek!!! This is probably all what this will Tumblr contain. I have not written for in years and this is the first that I have so? Please be kind about it. It was really difficult for what I wanted the first half, not to mention I had to cut things out from what I originally planned from my outline. But, I definitely did had an easier time around the second half. Maybe it's noticeable. Or not. Anyways this is set in nation verse. Sorry for the late submission! I'll probably get this uploaded to AO3 when I have a proper account, but please enjoy it here. Tags: Iceland, Hong Kong, Seychelles, Liechtenstein, hurt/comfort, nationverse, school dance, idk how this works Also 3,432 thousand words woops The Gang Joins In a School Dance!

As the group strolls their way down the dusk streets of London, damp lawns are dotted with blooming flowerheads and the clouds reflect the skies’ gradient sunset colors above as if the neighborhood matched the group’s enthusiasm. The friends excitedly babble amongst themselves chatting about the evening that awaits them.

Well, save for Iceland. 

As the sounds of muffled music, dancing, and obnoxious teenagers grow near, Iceland doubts swell and he shoots one more look at Hong Kong, who coolly keeps a steady stroll. Now, Iceland trusts Hong Kong, that’s for sure, but what he isn’t sure about is this boy’s ability to abide by the law and not risk himself getting arrested for it, nevertheless to add his friends to the equation.

And added to the equation that Iceland himself has been unfortunately added to. When Hong Kong called and invited Iceland to a questionable plan, he shot down the idea. Determined to change his mind, Hong Kong had spent the next 10 minutes trying to persuade his best friend to go- in which proved to be ultimately ineffective. However, to his dismay, the rest of his Nordic brothers overheard the conversation and, sold by Hong Kong's idea, they too collectively pestered Iceland to go. Outnumbered, he reluctantly agreed.

Fast forward to now, his reluctance still hasn't changed. Iceland, who once again is wondering if this is the best way to spend his little free time, glances warily ahead at the chirpy other three, who are now all flaunting in their best attire. 

“Lili! Let me help you out with your bow!”, exclaims Seychelles as she trots behind a flustered Liechtenstein . Hong Kong chuckles in their direction as he strolls alongside them. Hong Kong is sporting one of his best suits from England, while Seychelles nearly trips over her glittery blue long-dress, Liechtenstein fiddles with her rose colored and frilly outfit and as for Iceland… he opted for his world meeting attire.

As they near the high school building, Iceland slows to a halt. At his pause- the rest of the group turns back to look at him in confusion.

"Okay, Leon, are you actually sure about this?", stresses Iceland. "Because getting me to come here is one thing, but do you have any idea how we're actually going to enter?"

Hong Kong only returns a puzzled look.

"I mean, surely these people would realize we’re not actually students, right? That they realize who we actually are and we’re not supposed to be here."

"Yeah and? That's fine.” Hong Kong turns and continues walking.  “The worst that happens is that we get turned away. We'll just find some other way to crash."

“What the hell do you mean “crash!?” Iceland catches up next to him with the girls following right behind them.  “If we get caught, our bosses are going to give us hell for intruding amongst humans, especially in a private event!”

“Um, he’s got a point..”, Liechtenstein timidly adds. Hong Kong shrugs and passes Iceland,  striding forward to the gym entrance.

"No- You can’t just waltz right in...” And then Hong Kong proceeds to waltz right in.

Iceland’s face scrunches in disbelief. He watches his best friend disappear into the crowd.

Seychelles, not wanting to miss out, takes Liechtenstein's wrist and brushes past Iceland, eagerly following Hong Kong’s lead.

Iceland was left dumbstruck and he stood there for a solid minute. 

Through the entrance, colored spotlights flash accompanied by blaring party music, as voices of mingling students contribute to the racket.

Iceland cringes warily at the immense atmosphere. He heaves a frustrated sigh and subsides into the crowd to find the others.

—

As Iceland navigates his way through the gym, the music is blaring in his ears and already he feels suffocated by the swarm of people around him. Not even too long into the event and he already feels like all the noise and lights is trying to burst his head open. Hoping to find a familiar face soon, he scans the room as he struggles his way through the crowd. Fortunately, he didn’t need to take very long.

To his left, he spots Liechtenstein in the corner- who is hovering by the food stand and warily looking amongst the party around her.

He pushes his way through the crowd and upon approach, Liechtenstein’s shoulders lowers in his presence. Iceland returns with a polite gesture and glances around Liechtenstein.

He raises an eyebrow, “Where’s Jaqueline? Weren’t you with her?” 

Liechtenstein blinks. “Oh, Jaqueline? We were together, but she got caught up in the crowd.. And then I couldn’t find her.”

“Really? I know she wanders off easily, but I didn’t think she would leave you behind like that.”

“I don’t think she meant to do so.”, she sighs. “But regardless I tried looking for her and I cannot find her…” Iceland places a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Ah geez. Well, at the very least we can look for her together. In which.. have you seen Leon as well?” “Uhh..”, before she could begin her sentence their conversation is immediately interrupted by Seychelles bursting from the crowd, waving her hand up high and smiling and running up to the pair.

“Lili! Lili, Lili, Lili!”, smiles Seychelles. She runs up to her and takes both of her hands, holding it and starts apologizing profusely. “I am sososososooooo sorry for leaving you behind like that! I tried to find you but I got swept away and I was like freaking out because we got separated and I tried to asking others for help but there was this really mean group of boys who were so rude for no reason and then these girls came along and-” “Yo, Jaque!!”, shouts an unfamiliar voice. A teenage girl in a seafoam dress also emerges as well with 4 other girls trailing behind her. “Where did you go, and-”, Seafoam glances behind Seychelles. ”Oh my gosh, is this your friend who you were talking about? Oh my god she is so adorable!!”

Liechtenstein smiles nervously and blushes, as the other girls surround her and start showering her with compliments and questions about herself and her attire, as Seychelles looks proudly at her best friend. 

Meanwhile, Iceland is to the side watching the girls’ shenanigans unfold, unsure what to say, especially not when he didn’t understand the social manners of the opposite gender. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but seeing the girls interact and socialize with ease makes Iceland a little bit envious. People is something that Iceland has yet to figure out completely. 

“Oh!” Seychelles looks past the girls and finally notices Iceland. “I didn’t even notice you were there!” “Oh, uh- don’t worry about it, it’s fine”, shrugs Iceland, trying to play it off. Seychelles steers off from the group and trots towards Iceland. 

“I didn’t actually think you would come join.” “Well, I don’t know”, Iceland’s brow furrows. “I’m only here because I got dragged to it in the first place, alright? Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what else to do with my time.”

Seychelles grins and places a hand on Iceland’s shoulder. “Well, I’m sure happy that you decided to come along, Emil! It’s not very often that we get to hang out, do we?” “I guess so, but I’m still not very sure of this.” “About getting caught? I don’t think it’s been an issue so far.” “No, not that- well, yes, actually you’re not wrong about that but like”- he puts his hand on his chin. “I’m not used to events like these, especially with a lot of people at once.”

“Hm? But there’s always the world meetings and you’ve never had any issues with that?”

“That’s because I’m with my brothers. Outside of you, Lili, and Leon, the only people that I’ve interacted with were out of diplomacy- not for getting to know them.”

“Well…”, Seychelles smiles widen and her eyes meets Iceland’s. “Then why don’t we try helping you with that?”

“What?” Suddenly, Seychelles turns out and cups her mouth with her hands.

“HEY GUYS!!”, Seychelles calls out to her new profound friends who were exchanging accessories amongst each other. “COME MEET MY OTHER BEST FRIEND!!”

Iceland falters back and his face flushes in surprise. It also does not help that Seychelles sudden shouting has also drawn the attention of the other students. The group of girls run over and greet him enthusiastically.

Seychelles steps aside and proudly introduces him. “Like I said, this is my other best friend, Emil! He knows a lot about poetry, can read maps pretty well, and knows super awesome Norse stuff!” As the girls nod in response, Seychelles’ comments pique the interest of a girl in a yellow dress. “Ohhh, really? I study European history too! What do you know?”

Iceland rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, uh- for starters…”

The girls introduce themselves to Iceland and he exchanges the gesture in return. For a while, conversation and different topics ended up being thrown around in exchange, with Liechtenstein and Seychelles tuning in to the group. For someone not used to being surrounded by those unfamiliar to him, especially not all at once, Iceland finds himself starting to think that maybe it was not such a bad idea to come along after all. Although he can’t quite put his finger on it, there seems to be something missing.

Suddenly, the familiar tunes of obnoxious electronic beats and hip-hop come onto the speakers that Iceland and God knows that only one person can enjoy. He looks up to the far end of the gym.

Hong Kong has taken over the DJ System at the front of the stage. He has upped the blaring stage lights to flicker faster and has turned the volume to full max and is furiously headbanging to the terrible rap music that he has put on. He grabs a mic and fist-pumps it into the air. “LET'S HEAR IT FOR GROVELAND HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHHHH!!”

The audience uproars in response and their partying immenses. Seychelles and Liechtenstein beams and cheers at Hong Kong’s sudden takeover while Iceland stands there agape at what he is witnessing. 

What the genuine fuck??? wonders Iceland.

Hong Kong spots him in the crowd. They make eye contact. As Iceland's puzzled gaze meets him- Hong Kong only returns with a smirk.

Hong Kong points to Iceland in the crowd. “This next one goes out to my one and only man, Emil!!” 

And then Hong Kong proceeds to play a popular track from an Icelandic band. 

Hong Kong beams brightly at him from the stand, but Iceland can’t help but feel like a deer in headlights. As the other students turn to look at him, some staring and some giggling, Iceland can only stand there dumbfoundedly in embarrassment at the sudden turn of events against him. Nevermind that he was willing to give socializing a chance; he’s just been singled out with all eyes on him. 

Suddenly, Iceland nearly trips over himself as Seychelles drags him and Liechtenstein to the dancefloor, with the newly befriended teenagers joining in. As Iceland regains his balance, Seychelles takes Liechtenstein by the hands and they start dancing together. Liechtenstein is taken by surprise and her footing is off, but Seychelles guides her pacing and soon enough; they’re frolicking and laughing on the dancefloor. 

Iceland just blinks, who is once again unsure what to do next. As if the prom wasn’t overwhelming enough, being in the center of it only amplified it. His head is starting to throb. The music is blaring and it's a racket to his ears. The flickering of the lights have only grown more colorful and intensified. As everyone is jumping up and down around him, it’s already making him weary. He tries to exit the crowd, but someone shoves into him. They snarl at him. He apologizes, but he can barely hear himself over the noise.  

With this many things to process all at once, he is already weary. He hasn’t been here for that long, but Iceland feels so pathetic for getting so overwhelmed in a short amount of time. To give reaching out a chance, it’s something that he is no longer sure he’ll ever be able to figure out. Sure, that thought sounds irrational, but it’s a feeling he is unfortunately familiar with by now.

Then, he feels a familiar presence appear right beside him. 

“You okay?”, asks Hong Kong.

“Huh?”, Iceland slightly falters back and faces Hong Kong. The boy is giving him a concerned look. Realizing that Hong Kong was just on the stage only a couple of moments ago, he turns and squints up at the stage to see the former DJ handling the booth again. His look is frustrated as he figures out how to restore the original playlist. The DJ presses something and all of a sudden, the music amplifies even louder, causing Iceland to wince. From the look of the DJ, it is safe to assume it was an accident.

“I said, are you okay?!”, shouts Hong Kong. Iceland turns back to meet Hong Kong’s gaze and not wanting to look meek in front of his best friend, only responds with a weary nod and squeezes his eyes shut. Hong Kong shoots him a concerned look and grabs his hand, leading him through the crowd.

As Hong Kong navigates him, Iceland’s eyes are still squeezed shut and he presses his palm to his forehead. He squeezes Hong Kong’s hand and feels himself shuffling in between the party goers as they exit the crowd. As Iceland keeps his head down, he thinks about how stuffy the gym is and the mere embarrassment of his social progress only coming up short handed.

The noise gradually grows distant and he hears the opening of a door and shutting behind them. He opens his eyes and much to his relief, they’re back outside with the party now merely muffled behind him. The sun is long gone and it’s already dark. “Thanks”, mutters Iceland. At the warmth of the evening, he removes his coat. Hong Kong clasps his shoulder and steers them to a nearby bench under a tree. They both sit down. 

For a moment, it’s still between the two of them. Trying to pull himself back together, Iceland looks amongst the warm lights emitting from the windows of the neighborhood. The warm May breeze parts his hair. The only thing he hears is a distant family arriving home and the bare noise of the school gym.

Other than that, all is quiet, but it’s a pleasant contrast compared to where he was before. Iceland sags forward and rests his head on his fist. He glances over to Hong Kong who is studying him. He watches the street lamps turn on behind him. “Hey.” “Hm?” “Sorry about earlier.” “Ah. It’s alright.”

“Not really? Given the look on your face earlier.” “Well I mean, yeah, of course I wouldn’t enjoy being singled out like that.”, uncomfortable, Iceland looks the opposite way. “But it’s fine.” “Mmm..”, unsure what to say either, Hong Kong leans back against the bench. A moment of awkward silence sits between them.

Hong Kong breathes in. “I’m also really sorry for forcing you into this.” Iceland sighs. “No really, don’t worry about it. But, I’d think I’d rather just stay out here. Don’t you have a party to go back to?” “Sure, I guess, but what’s the point if you’re not even there?” “Huh?” Iceland looks back at Hong Kong, whose arms are now sprawled on the top part of the bench and his eyes are apathetically staring ahead. “Like, I wanted to hang out with you again. Lili and Jaque are easy to pull in, but it’s been a couple of months since I’ve last seen you. Excluding the calls,” Hong Kong nudges Iceland’s arm with the back of his hand. “I’ve missed you, man.” Iceland’s brow furrows. Great. Now he feels like a jerk for even complaining in the first place. 

Socializing has never been his forte, but for the past few months, he’s brought himself further away from the rest of the world, secluding himself to the Nordics and the occasional foreign nation for diplomacy, but besides that, he never realized it and it was for reasons he was unsure why.  Now, he is dealing with the pang of guilt of realizing that upon his negligence, his friends have been missing him.

Iceland was unsure how to respond, but Hong Kong seems to have already read his mind. “I thought sneaking into some high school prom would help get you back out there. After all it’s just a bunch of teenagers, who are like, waaaay less serious than adults. In which you have been spending all your time around with.”, Hong Kong jokes, but returns back to his concerned demeanor. “But I guess I thought wrong and it upset you. It didn’t work out.”, Hong Kong sighs. “I apologize.” “No..”, Iceland glances back. “You did your best. I can tell you at the very least, you’ve gotten some success.” Iceland gives his friend a lighthearted grin, who returns with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “Watcha mean?” “I mean, more like Seychelles had more success. Have you seen her? I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to befriend like 5 or so people within like 15 minutes.” Iceland chuckles. “Suddenly, her friends were swarming Lili and then she redirected them towards me, all of them asking about Iceland and history and stuff like a swarm of Puffins and a Herring!” Hong Kong’s grin widens. “Really? I thought I was irrational, but I’m starting to think she is like, way more impulsive than me.” Iceland gives him a light punch on the shoulder. “You still called me out and played fucking Icelandic rock. What the hell is wrong with you, man?” “Hey, I’m still sorry about that.” “Even then, how the hell did you even get up there? I swear to God, there was some guy before and he was not you.” “Gift from Alfred to Matthew to me, the guy’s got like serious fireworks.” “You brought fireworks!?” “Ehhh, just a small one. Got the guy distracted long enough for me to take over.” “You’re so fucking stupid.” “I know.” They both grin at each other and they burst out laughing. As the crickets begin to overtake the grasses and early birds residents dim their lights off for the night, the laughter of two, flawful boys fill their air. Maybe Iceland can’t get around to understanding people just yet, but even then, as Iceland watches Hong Kong’s smile grow, he at least realizes how much people would be willing to try to understand him. Ironically, for that alone, is all that needs his knows to willingly take the first step in reconnecting again. And Hong Kong seems to be his first step. Iceland couldn’t imagine any better option. Abruptly in the distance, a door slams open and the boys whirl their direction back towards the school. They see Seychelles and Liechtenstein bolting out of the gym with a group of teachers sprinting after them. Back at the gym entrance, the students are gathered and the peaceful night air is interrupted by collective howling and cheering for the girls.

“RUN!!! RUN!! THEY’VE FOUND US OUT!!!”, Seychelles screams at the two and the girls run past them. The boys immediately got up and started sprinting after the girls. “Nevermind, I think Jaque is more stupid!!”, shouts Iceland. They both crack a smile and they both burst into another round of laughter as Seychelles yell at the both of them. Despite currently being chased, Iceland feels everyone’s spirits high and he laughs louder with Hong Kong beside him. Then, they run off into the night.

[ocprompts]

pardon my language but FUCK i wish i found this blog earlier. these are the minor details that i NEED for my ocs. i see your inbox is open to ranting so I'm going to take the chance to talk if that's okay.

now this alone may out myself to my friends on the off chance that they find this blog and that this is posted but i have over 500 ocs and counting because my brain wont stop generating new characters. id love to make a piece that includes ALL of them somehow but i really don't think my tablet or my sanity can handle doing that but its a nice thought

anyway out of those 500 only a good handful have some kind of storyline to them and somehow the one with the most normal life managed to become a fan (friends) favorite. he's a "short" white British guy who didn't realize he was bi until he hit college and it only happened bc he started to like his dormmate. he used to be ginger and my friends called him a leprechaun. the worst that happened to him is that he's had a shitty love life. even so i love him and my friend's oc aka his former dormmate aka his current bf. i draw them together all the time bc i think their dynamic is great and ngl my friend's oc is very pretty. like. very. but that's a box to unpack later

another oc i cherish is my first dnd oc which I'm not too worried about sharing bc I'm 95% sure the people I'm worried about finding this oc in particular don't use tumblr or at least arent on this side of tumblr. anyway she's a high elf wizard and shes so COOL even if her appearance is so different compared to the standard high elf. i gave her bright blue hair and bright green eyes when i was like 8 and I've kept them like that (but made the colors much duller). she has a large scar that branches out from the middle of her back to look like lightning bc she did a witch bolt on like 3 health and killed the boss and I'm still not over that and i dont care that that scar doesn't make much sense. her best friends are a halfling who thinks nearly getting killed every adventure is fun and a goblin the halfling and her met on their first adventure together. the halfling makes fun of the goblin 70% of the time but its okay bc they're all friends who work under a magic school and its great

like i said i have 500+ more but i think these are some highlights. honorable mentions include a girl who was arrested by her own gf and then broke out with her friends' help, a superhero oc i made when i was like 6 or 7 that has fire wings and her dad was originally manray from Spongebob somehow, a werewolf lady who is a walking red flag, a guy (gender neutral) who got high once and began being followed around by a demon right after it kicked in, and all of the ocs i made on roblox.

thank you sm if you read this I'm sorry this went on for so long i just cant be quiet about my own characters

no need to apologize EVER, if i didn't want people to ramble in my inbox, i'd close it!

[nokingsonlyfooles]

“It’s my hope, Mr. President, that you listen to us, that you choose democracy over tyranny.” - Abdullah Hammoud, Dearborn Mayor and Voter

YES! I can't fuckin' believe the media accurately reported this as a protest and printed/publicized the words of the voters explaining why they did it. AND NOBODY HAD TO ATTEMPT SUICIDE! This is big and it could get even bigger! But it's a qualified bigness, because...

Walz, a major supporter of Biden’s reelection campaign, said Michigan’s “uncommitted” results were a healthy demonstration of democracy. “I think they feel passionate, as they should, about an issue we all care about,” Walz said, adding that he expected most protest voters would eventually return to Biden’s side in a likely November rematch with former President Donald Trump, who himself has struggled with college-educated voters and suburbanites in his ongoing Republican primary against former U.N. Ambassador Nikki Haley. “I’m much more convinced there’s a chance bringing those folks home is much greater than bringing the ‘Never Trump’ folks back home,” Walz said.

Yeah. I know this song and dance. I've seen it happen in person, at protests, in reatime. They come out to "do voter outreach" and they're all smiles to start. "Yes! Please do continue to act upon your freedom of speech in a way I, an advocate for the status quo, find nonthreatening. Your feelings are valid, ha-ha! I expect nothing to change, and indeed I will act to change nothing, but good for you!" A few folks always believe the message has been received and quiet down, that's why they do it. But wait and see what happens to that smile when a few people start interrupting and yelling, "THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"

At least this guy's willing to suggest Biden would pick up more votes by moving left than moving right, although I doubt he actually expects anything radical. A few more forgiven student loans or somewhat cheaper drugs aren't much of a problem, and that's leftist too! So we don't really have to worry about the ongoing genocide.

The thing is, if/when this picks up momentum and the DNC starts to think they might have to change something or lose, it will become something other than a positive demonstration of free speech. It'll be childish tantrum-throwing, pointless, uncivil, attention-whoring, astroturfed, counterproductive foreign interference, and whatever else sounds bad. If any of you out there in internet-land already feel threatened by it, you're probably saying that right now. (Go ahead and comment, you'll boost this with other people who think like you, and I might change some minds.)

And, if you are comfortable with it and want voters to do it instead of threatening to withhold votes from Biden in the general, check your privilege. Not every state offers this. Unless something changes real fast (at least, I THINK it hasn't changed, it's hard to do a search when "uncommitted" brings up SO MANY news articles about Michigan 😁), mine won't. I can't do this. I can't vote in a third party primary either. It'd be all blue or nothing. And neither of those things will get me any press, so I gotta keep talking. Maybe I'll motivate someone who can vote uncommitted! Or scare a politician! I still think I'm doing more good by staying alive, and I'm a bit distant from any property I might meaningfully damage (although I am open to suggestions that won't get me arrested and silenced), so this is the only thing I got that won't injure a human being.

Tumblr, no matter how you actually intend to vote, if you're not up for living in a two-party system where both parties think they can do a little genocide and stay in power, you have ways of making yourself heard. There are options beyond falling in line behind the lesser evil. Don't let anyone tell you there aren't. And when you start hearing "stop!" or "you can't!" that means you have something they want. A cessation of hostilities! Well, now you might be in a position to negotiate terms! Don't give up!

Please, please, please don't give up. There is so much to be done.