#betcha i can describe it

[the-helper-house]

yea lets all go snitch

anyways can we get a description of whats going on pretty please

Oh, right you all — Uuuh finding Narrator’s room right now . Which is. difficult to find somehow >

That’s not an unreasonable assumption, actually. Hm… Okay. what im about to do cannot be described so. don’t even ask >

.. yuhhuh, anyway — >

[immortalmuses]

The fact that Logan (Okay, James Howlett) and Hercules are lovers in X-Treme X-Men / Earth-12025...

And then Marvel does a whole Wolverine & Hercules Crossover in Earth-616, and gives us scenes LIKE THIS...

...I mean, the Audacity. JUST FUCKIN KISS ALREADY!!

[cytser]

maybe im old fashioned but i dont think you should take a word from a language you dont speak and arent familiar with when the english word works perfectly fine in its place... our culture isnt there for you to pick and choose from.

[the-dixon-effect]

Just a Girl

requested by: @dixonsgirl93 which you can find here -> masterlist

A/N: thank you so much for the request my love!! i love this concept so much that it had me up at 4am writing it after recovering from a long-haul flight, so so sorry that this took so long for a little drabble xx

It was too tempting.

Not after years of stumbling around in dirty rags and a single pair of worn combat boots. Not after fighting for your life every single day, were you going to pass this up. Today, you were safe. And right in front of you, in this completely empty mall, were a pair of pristine black stilettos.

You held one in each hand as you admired them, a treasure of a world lost in time. You felt like a different person just clutching them.

"Hey, Maggie!" you are unable to control the wide smile cast across your lips. "Look what I found!" the girl glanced in your direction from the entrance of the store, scoffing at your excitement.

"Whatcha gonna do with those?" she asked, chuckling, as she jogged up to the display table coated in a thick layer of dust.

"I don't know. Walk around. Dance. Put 'em on a table and forbid anyone from touching them," you said quietly, smiling as you palmed at the crisp black leather. "They could be a symbol. Y'know, Lord of the Flies style," you joked, meeting the farmgirl's eyes. Strangely enough, the ghost of a boutique was relatively empty apart from these shoes, a few scraps of useless clothes scattered around and many plastic hangers adorning the white-tiled floor.

"Alright, fine. But ya' have to bring that little black dress back, too," she teased, in that familiar Southern drawl. Pointing to a rack of clothes on the other side of the store, you spotted a lone black dress threatening to fall off the flimsy hanger. It was no surprise that when the remaining survivors came through these parts, rummaging through stores and kitchens and bunkers, a pair of high heels and a mini dress didn't make the cut for the survivalist supply list. It had been a couple years by now, and indeed no one back at the prison would care if you indulged in a bit of fun. Besides, you're just a girl. And a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get by.

~

Most evenings were spent in the foyer swapping stories and enjoying the ever-expanding group's company, now that everyone was feeling more comfortable in the prison. Daryl was perched on the second step of the cool, steel staircase fletching some bolts for his crossbow, after the fairly uneventful run earlier. One thought did linger in his mind, however - as he tuned out to the rest of the conversations engaging in his midst. You had briefly shown him what you managed to pick up back at the abandoned mall, some scraps of food, some comics for Carl, and... what could only be described as an image from one of his wildest dreams. Or worst nightmares. What the hell would he do with himself if you suddenly appeared in that dress? And those heels? Probably run, and hide someplace where nobody would notice his reaction. And just when he was imagining what you would look like in that outfit from earlier, he heard a voice call out from upstairs.

"Hershel! You better believe these things are harder to walk in than a peg leg!"

The foyer erupted in chuckles as conversations ceased while everybody looked up at you on the balcony, held up firmly by Maggie who couldn't control her laughter either.

"Come on down, Y/N. Betcha can't do it!" the grey-haired man exclaimed as the rest of the group watched you stumble to the top of the staircase.

Oh God. She's so popular. And beautiful - were the thoughts swirling around in Daryl's head as he turned a swift 180 and looked up at your perfect figure. You looked so pretty when you laughed like that; a face that lit up the room - lit up this rotten world - when the sweet sound that even a siren couldn't mimic echoed over the walls of the dismal building. And that outfit; the smooth black dress that clung to your thighs so perfectly with a neckline that revealed just enough to make him go insane. Those heels. Daryl always had a thing for girls with nice legs, but he was always too embarrassed to mention it. It may have slipped out in front of his older brother once upon a time, and for the years to come he never shut up about it. Humiliating Daryl whenever a gorgeous girl like you walked past. Daryl never denied it, though, that you and that perfect body of yours were gonna be the death of him someday. And that felt like right now.

"Maggie, don't you dare let that girl fall!" Michonne shouted, laughing as she kicked her feet up on the cafeteria table and leaned back.

"Daryl, I swear to God, if you don't catch me I'll kill you," you began, addressing the archer that was gawking up at you, the one slightly obstructing your wobbly path down the staircase. Everybody in that cell block watched the poor man snap out of his daydreams as he shot up and grabbed your hand as your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. Maggie let go of her tight grip on your shoulders and erupted into giggles, as though she were playing Cupid.

"Thank you, Daryl," you said sweetly, not realising that Daryl is physically suffocating as you clutched Daryl's calloused palm. You took the opportunity to steady yourself on both feet and do a little twirl, lifting Daryl's arm up over your head as you spun around as gracefully as you could manage. A couple of cheers escaped from your audience, making you smile deeply. You hadn't felt this pretty in a long time.

"Whatcha doin' playin' dress-up anyway?" Daryl drawled, quietly.

"Well, I'm just a girl."

taglist: @alldevilsarehere90 @poisonmenegan @radcollectivesoul @emilykolchivans @pinchoftheoutsiders guys the taglist is looking a little lonely!!

[inbetweenknacksandnooks]

You! Yes! You! If it isn't too much trouble, could you write what you think all of the characters (except the platonic-only characters) might smell like? Thank you in advance!

Also, could I be🔺️ Anon? I see that you've started a new blog, so I wanted to catch you while the iron's hot!

You betcha!

Also, yes you can be 🔺️Anon! Welcome to here!

You didn't specify if you wanted me to have HSR or ZZZ Characters, so I'll be splitting them into their own posts. Also, since there's a TON of HSR Characters, and I want to go in depth with each of them, I'll be additionally splitting this post into multiple parts, with a link on here to the other parts once I get them done, so look forward to that!

Part 2 (Kafka, Firefly, Topaz & Jade)

What HSR Girls Smell Like Pt. 1 UTC {ft. Asta, Himeko, March, & Stelle}

Asta:

Depending on the day, or the time, her smell tends to fluctuate.

During the earlier hours, around 7:30 when she gets up in the morning, she smells like her bed, which is a gentle and fruity smell of her fluffy asf blankets.

If she applies perfume that morning, it has a more flowery, but not overwhelming fragrance. Like lavender after a humid-rain, or apples her smell is very tampered down, since she doesn't want to stand out with it.

During her huge working shift on Herta's Station (or if she's in a hurry and hasn't applied any perfume), her smell erodes away during the day, and she begins to smell like the sterile environment she lingers in. It's not like a hand-sanitizer-type sterile, it's just... nothing, but a little bit of her smell might linger.

And during the night, when she's out looking at stars, the only way I could describe her aroma is cold rain-covered roses. This is probably the most-similar to what she naturally smells like, though she smells much colder due to being outside or in a colder environment while stargazing.

Himeko

Hydraulic machinery and oil if you catch her right after she's done doing repairs on the express.

She usually doesn't wash her whole body after said-repairs, unless it's nighttime and she's relatively energized. She'll try to wash off her face, hands, arms, but not everything, so it'll be lingering around.

If she's not smelling like grease (so... usually), she smells kind of... spicy?

Like you know those aroma therapy candles?

Yeah, baby-girl be smellin' like those apple-cinnamon, pumpkin spice ones, except the sharpness is at a level 5 Minecraft enchantment.

If she ends up bathing with you, though (especially if it's at night), she prefers much more comforting smells, like lavender, milk-and-honey fragrances, etc...

And the COFFEE! Who could forget the COFFEE (It's me, I forgot about it until I was writing for Jade -_-). She constantly has a coffee smell, though rather than sweet, it's somehow bitter-smelling even though black coffee doesn't smell bitter at all! (She did something hardcore to make her coffee be the way it is)

March 7th

Little dork is the kind of gal that finds an expensive/fancy-sounding perfume, gets hyped and buys the bottle without smell-checking with the scratch-and-sniff, and gets an insta-headache after she conks out from the strong and concentrated liquid.

She learns her lesson after maybe the 4th time, but the impulse to get an expensive perfume on her is a strong one.

Like, Marcher wants to be NOTICED and COMPLEMENTED on how good she smells! So very typically-girly ones, and fruity ones, but especially the flowery ones!

Too bad she can't stand the headache of the stronger ones :{

Stelle

Little Russle-Tussle definitely has all sorts of different colognes. Most are incredibly cheap ones, she's not wasting credits on something so expensive. Her deodorants are also 100% for men. "... This one smells like nothing, has aluminum, is for girls and costs 6,000 credits..." "And this one lasts for 48 hours, smells cold, has no aluminum, prevents sweat, is for boys and costs 2,000 credits..." *Insta-buys*

Her natural scent is a much more musky one, and depending on her current path, her smell can differ, but the musky smell is always an underlying one. Destruction - Minty. Not minty-fresh, more like dried, stale mint.

Preservation - Smoky, sweaty and musky. Wielding a heavy asf, blazing lance easily makes her sweat. She blazes through everything with a flaming lance, hence the more smoky smell.

Harmony - Old cologne, a dusty old library and a leather chair. This mostly comes from the old felt hat, and using the power of the Imaginary Stelle can completely hide the musky-ness of her smell.

If you and Stelle are dating, she's absolutely self-conscious of her less-feminine smell, and almost obsessively tries her best to smell ✨snazzy✨ for you, so won't even hop into bed if she doesn't have something hiding it. If you tell her that you don't mind it, and that she really don't need to be covering up her smell 24/7, she'll calm down a bit, and while she'll still put on cologne (especially for a date or something), she won't be coating all over her body with it.

That's all for this post, see you in the next one!

[wolfjackle-creates]

Two Ghost Motel Chapter 2

Summary:

Danny is tired. Endless ghost fights with too many responsibilities and too little time; he barely passed sophomore year. When Ember visits town for a bit of fun, she mentions the Two Ghost Motel, a place of peace and refuge for restless ghosts who aren't ready to cross over. “I’m fine, Ember.” Danny’s got a home and friends. He’s fine, really. But when his parents begin experimenting with electricity to destabilize ghosts, it’s too much for Danny. Unfortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker can host him for the night and he’s left wandering in the night, alone. Then he sees it: The Two Ghost Motel. He checks in. “Welcome.”

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Minor Original Character Death

Fandom: DPxDC (though no knowledge of DC is necessary for this fic.)

AO3, Chapter 1

-----

The next morning, he woke up to pale sunlight shining through the blinds. Danny groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. He didn’t want to go home.

Something shifted next to him, and Danny jumped out of the bed, taking a defensive stance in the air above the bed. Only to relax when he saw Jay blinking blearily at him.

Danny laughed self-consciously as he set down on the floor.

“Your mask makes that sound so creepy,” said Jay through a yawn.

“Makes what sound creepy?”

“You laughing. I wish my mask did that.”

Danny cocked his head. “You don’t have a mask.”

“Yes I do.”

“Why aren’t you wearing it?”

Jay shrugged and rolled over so he was facing away from Danny. “Dunno. I don’t remember what it looked like, so I can’t wear it. Did you forget a lot of things when you died? I wasn’t like this in life. I know that much.”

Danny chewed the inside of his lip as he stared at his companion. “No,” he said eventually. “But my death was a bit weird. I wouldn’t recommend using me as an example of normal.”

That got Jay to turn around and look at him again. “Weird how?”

Danny just shrugged. “Just weird. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Something passed over Jay’s face and he nodded before getting out of bed. “Come on, it’s daytime. Let’s go outside. There’s a basketball hoop out back.”

Danny shook his head. “I should be getting back home. My parents will be expecting me.”

“There’s someone waiting for me, too. I can’t stay here long.”

Danny landed on the floor and began stuffing his few belongings back into his backpack. “Who do you want to get back to?”

Jay paused with his hand on the door handle. “I need to tell him it wasn’t his fault.”

Danny tossed his backpack onto his shoulders and threw and arm over Jay’s. “Well then, let’s check out. Where’re you from? I got here through Amity Park in Illinois.” He led them out of the room to the walkway.

“I’m from a Park, too. But I don’t remember more than that. We never called it Park, though. I think it was an alley? It was near the ocean.”

“You know, I’ve never seen the ocean. What’s it like?”

Danny felt more than saw Jay’s shrug. “It’s impossible to describe. Unimaginably big, though. When you’re on a boat and can’t see land anymore…” he trailed off and Danny didn’t force him to continue. None of the other ghosts he’d met seemed to have Jay’s issues with memories. But then, most of them weren’t as fixated on their past lives, either.

At the bottom of the stairs, one of the boys he’d met last night was still playing jacks, but his friend was no where to be seen.

“Hey, Matt. Where’s Alan this morning,” asked Danny.

It took a moment, but Matt eventually looked at him with a blank expression. “Alan?”

“Isn’t that your friend’s name? I thought it was. The boy you were playing with last night?”

Matt blinked at him. “I don’t have any friends. I play by myself.”

Danny and Jay exchanged a look and Jay walked over to sit opposite Matt. “I know how to play,” he said. “And jacks is way more fun with two players. Want to start over with me?”

A slight smile flashed across Matt’s face, though it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Fine. I go first.”

Jay shrugged. “Betcha I can beat you anyway.”

Danny joined them on the ground. “Mind explaining the rules to me as you go? I always wanted to learn.”

“Sure,” said Jay. “We’re gonna start with the onesies round. Matt, start whenever you’re ready.”

Matt tossed the jacks on the ground and tossed up a bouncy ball. It’d bounce once, he’d pick up a jack and catch the ball, then repeat the process. Jay explained the rules as they went.

Once Matt collected all the jacks, he spread them out again and handed the ball to Jay who began the process again.

“So how long have you been here, Matt?” asked Danny.

Matt shook his head. “Dunno. Ma’ll get me when it’s time to go home.” He was entirely focused on Jay’s hands and the ball.

“Are you afraid Jay’ll cheat?”

“You always cheat if you can get away with it. He’d be stupid not to.”

Danny laughed, “Got it. An unspoken rule?”

Jay picked up the last jack and caught the ball. “Not one I’ve heard.” He tossed the ball over to Matt. “Your turn, squirt.”

It was hard to get Matt to talk and even harder to get him to talk about anything other than the game. But Danny did manage to learn that he was born in New York City in the fifties and that he was waiting at the motel for his parents.

He didn’t seem to know he was dead, and he didn’t remember anything about Alan.

Jay won the first round and Matt was setting up another game before they could protest. This time, Matt won. When he set up the third game, Danny joined in. He failed miserably. His complete incompetence made Matt smile again, though, so he considered it a win and was happy to go for a fourth game.

By the time they finished, the sun was much higher in the sky.

“Oh, shit. I need to get home,” Danny said, once he noticed. He looked around and saw more ghosts were wandering around now that it was day.

Two men in suits were leaning against the wall smoking cigarettes, a woman in a floral dress was walking a dog. And leaning against a railing, looking over the drained pool, was Tom.

“Wait, I met that man last night. I’m gonna go say hi. I’ll check out after I talk to him.”

Jay waved him off as he set up another game with Matt.

Danny ran over to Tom and took up a space next to him. “What are you looking at, Mr. Tom.” The cement of the pool was cracked and ghostly plants like the ones in the parking lot grew through them.

“Doesn’t the water look nice? I remember swimming before. With a child? A boy, I think. And a woman. We had fun.”

Danny looked up at Tom sharply. “What are you talking about? The pool’s been drained. It’s just a cement hole right now.”

“They want me to join them.”

“Who wants you to join them? There’s no one there!”

But Tom merely stepped forward through the fence. Danny reached out to grab his arm, only for his hand to pass right through it. “What?” He’d never had a hard time grabbing a ghost before. “Tom! Wait, there’s nothing there.”

Tom ignored him and kept walking. Danny rushed after him, but the delay meant he was still several steps back when Tom lifted his hands and dove off the side of the pool into the empty hole.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Danny’s ghost sense lessened. He ran to the edge and looked down into an empty pool.

“What just happened?” he asked himself. Something about the pool made him uneasy and he backed away from the ledge. Tom must’ve turned intangible and dived below ground. Or invisible and was playing a prank on him.

His back hit the metal fence hard and he winced. He hadn’t realized how quickly he’d been moving. With a mental shake, he turned intangible and walked through it back to Jay and Matt.

“Jay,” said Danny.

His friend ignored him as he bounced the ball once more.

“Birdie!” Danny half-shouted this time.

Jay missed catching the ball and let out a curse. “What’d you do that for?” he demanded. “I was doing well!”

“I think there’s something strange about this place,” said Danny. “Tom— he just, he just disappeared.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “We’re all just here for a short rest before returning to where we came from. He probably just went home.”

“He thought the pool was filled with water and dove right into it. Said something about someone calling him to join them. And then I stopped sensing him!”

The panic in Danny’s voice was enough to get Jay standing. He placed a comforting hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Hey, Phantom. It’s okay. I’m sure he’s fine. Why don’t we ask the receptionist which room he’s in and see if he went back there?”

“I… Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.” He looked down at Matt. “Want to join us, Matt? See more of the motel?”

He shook his head. “Mom told me to wait. She’ll come for me.”

Danny and Jay exchanged a look, but Danny just nodded. “All right, kiddo. But you come find me if you need anything, okay? I’m in room 214. And Jay’s in 215. Either one of us will help you if you need it.”

But Matt was back to ignoring them as he tossed the bouncy ball in the air and resumed his game.

Jay grabbed Danny’s hand and pulled him to the front office. “Come on, we’ll go find out what happened to Tom.”

The office didn’t look much different by light of day. The women on the couch had gone, replaced with a man and a boy. Both were dressed formally; the man was reading a newspaper while the boy had a comic book. Danny thought he recognized Spiderman on the cover, though it was hard to see with how the kid was holding it.

The same receptionist from the night before sat behind the desk and Jay hurried them through until they were standing opposite her.

She didn’t so much as twitch.

“Hey, lady,” demanded Jay, “we’ve a question for you.”

“Jay!” protested Danny. “Don’t be rude.” To the woman, he said, “I’m so sorry for my friend. I had a concern about another guest and I wanted to find out which room he was staying in so I could check on him. Can you give me that information?”

But she still sat there frozen as if she were a mannequin rather than a person or even a ghost.

Jay leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of her face. When she still didn’t react, he shrugged and reached down to grab the log book from under her hand.

That, however, did cause a reaction.

The receptionist’s hand transformed into claws that wrapped around Jay’s wrist. As she stood, she grew until she was towering above them. Her hair transformed into flames that framed her face. The lights flickered and the shadows deepened.

Jay screamed in pain and Danny rushed forward. He shot an ectoblast at the receptionist, then another. She didn’t let go.

She let out a breath of fire. “Motel records are private!” she screeched.

With one hand, Danny threw up a shield to block the flames while he used his other hand to grab an ectoknife he had in a pocket in his suit. Maintaining the shield, he sliced at her arm. It got her to loosen her grip just enough for him to yank Jay free and get between them.

“We’re sorry!” he yelled. “We didn’t realize! We were just trying to find someone’s room number because I was worried about him.” He grit his teeth and braced himself against her attack. He felt himself pushed back a foot, but managed to keep the shield going.

The flames continued for another moment and Danny’s arm began shaking. But then she stopped. He lowered his arm, but remained ready to jump back into the fight at the slightest provocation.

She stood, so tall she had to stoop or her head would be through the ceiling. Her hair glowed fire red-yellow as it licked around her chin and shoulders. Her eyes were black and teeth pointed at she glared at them. Her injured hand to her chest was clutched to her chest, but the other one was poised protectively over the log book.

“Motel records are private,” she repeated.

“I understand,” said Danny. “We didn’t realize. Would you be able to tell me which room Tom is staying in? He was in the office last night when I checked in. We were talking this morning and he disappeared. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

She seemed to shrink in on herself slightly, though her hair remained flames and her fingers claws. But she was no longer taller than the room. Danny felt Jay shift behind him and froze his feet to the floor to hopefully keep him from making things worse again. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

He ignored the whispered, “Hey!”

The receptionist lifted up her logbook and flipped through a few pages. “No Tom is currently a guest at the Motel.”

“Did he check out? Because I spoke to him just ten minutes ago. Actually, how do we check out? You didn’t react when we first came in and tried to talk to you. Only reason we touched the logbook to begin with.”

And suddenly she was back to looking like a normal, human woman. “Is something not to your liking?” she asked with her slight Southern accent. “Is the television not working? Do we not have your preferred snacks in the vending machine? We have coffee, as well. The pot is over there.” She pointed at a table that had two coffee pots and some mugs. Danny hadn’t noticed it last night—was it new?

“I— no. Everything has been great,” said Danny. It was only his experience with Dora’s and the Lunch Lady’s mood swings that kept him from taking a step back.

Behind him, he heard Jay let out a whispered, “The fuck?”

“I am glad to hear it! If you need more towels or anything, there is a tag you can put on your door handle—”

“It’s not that!” interrupted Danny. “I just want to know about Tom. You said there’s no Tom staying here, what about a Thomas? I��m afraid I never got to know his last name.” He was tense and ready to throw up another shield at a moment’s notice, though his hand shook. He felt exhausted already and he’d barely done anything. What was going on? He bit his cheek and locked his knees.

The receptionist just smiled at him. “No one by the name of Tom or Thomas is currently staying here as a guest.”

Danny hesitated and asked, “What about Alan? Or Matt?”

She flipped through her log again. “There is no Alan here, either. However a Matt has been assigned room 117.”

Danny nodded and smiled only to remember he was still in his ghost form and had the full mask. He bowed his head in acknowledgment of her information. “Thank you for your assistance. Just wanted to confirm, when is checkout due by? I need to leave today, but want to try and find Tom and Alan before I do.”

The woman smiled sweetly at him. “We do not have a checkout policy. And we have no guests named Tom or Alan at this time.”

“So I can checkout whenever? Great.”

She repeated herself. “We do not have a checkout policy.”

Jay snorted behind him. In a near-whisper he said, “I don’t trust her.”

Danny kicked his ankle to try and get him to shut up. “Oh, and one last question. How long has the pool been out of order?” Could Tom be from another time? If he was existing in a time when the pool was open, it could explain why he saw things Danny didn’t. Might also be the reason Danny couldn’t touch him.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, however the pool is out of commission at this time. We will inform guests as soon as it is operational.”

“I know it’s out of order, how long has it been out of order?”

All she did was repeat the same apology as before.

Danny let out a grunt of frustration. Behind him, Jay shifted and asked, “What else is off-limits to guests?”

“Guests have access to their rooms and all public areas. Public areas include the walkways to the rooms, the parking lot, the pool area, the basketball hoops, and the paved area behind the motel. The areas behind this desk, the door behind me, and any service areas such as the electrical and boiler rooms are off-limits. No guest is allowed to view any motel records or documents.”

“Good to know,” said Danny. “You’ve been very helpful, thank you for your assistance.”

“Of course. Please come to me with any questions you may have.” Then the woman settled back in her chair and froze in the position Danny had seen her in each time he’d entered.

Only now, there was a thin slice on her one wrist. It didn’t bleed, but the skin was damaged and a thin wisp of gray smoke seemed to rise from the wound.

Danny backed away, and grabbed Jay’s wrist. Only to let it go when his friend hissed in pain. “Sorry! Forgot you were injured there. Let’s get outside and I’ll take a look.” With a thought, the ice covering Jay’s feet disappeared.

“How’d you do that?” asked Jay as they exited the office.

Danny didn’t answer, just led them further from the door. Now that the danger appeared to be over, he felt the ache in his core that indicated he’d over-exerted himself. Which shouldn’t have been possible. He’d had much tougher fights than that one.

But his legs shook with every step and he gave up walking and sat down on the asphalt in the middle of the parking lot rather than near the sign like he’d been planning.

Jay sat across from him. “You okay?”

Danny waved off his concern. “Just a bit tired. She was stronger than she looked. Let me see your wrist.”

Jay held out his arm and Danny could see burn marks where the receptionist’s claws had grasped him.

Danny looked around, even kneeling to check under the cars, and confirmed no one was near them. He reached up and unclasped the mask of his hazmat suit, revealing his face to his new friend.

“Holy shit! You’re just a kid!”

Danny snorted. “Oh, come on. You look like you’re about my age, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m used to being the youngest. Thought you were older than me. Especially since you can do so much more than I can. Speaking of, how did you fight her off? Could I do that?”

“I’m sixteen. How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Danny nodded as he breathed in deeply. Then he blew out, freezing his breath into frost as he did so in a technique Frostbite taught him. The frost coated Jay’s burned wrist, soothing the angry burn and causing the other boy to sigh in relief.

“Damn, wish I could do that.”

“I’ve got an ice core. Means I can control ice and snow. My doctor taught me that trick. If you have an ice core, you could do it as well. But you should be able to make an ectoshield and shoot ectoblasts and stuff. Those are powers all ghosts have.”

“I’ve never seen anyone here do anything like that. Sometimes they’ll walk through walls or objects, but never anything more than that.”

“Huh, weird.”

“You’ll teach me, right?”

Danny shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Never had to teach someone before, so don’t blame me if I’m bad at it, though. But I want to focus on finding Tom and Alan.”

“Obviously.”

Danny couldn’t help but look back towards the motel. Only this time, instead of welcoming, all he could feel was foreboding. “Something’s wrong about this place.”

Jay looked over, too, but shrugged. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

“What movie did we watch last night?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You came to my room and we watched a movie. Your favorite. You told me all about it as we watched it and we fell asleep at some point which is why you were still in my room this morning. What movie was it?”

Jay looked down and scuffed his foot on the pavement. One of the plants tried to bite at it, but his shoe kept it from hurting him. “I… We did watch a movie, didn’t we. Why don’t I remember?”

Danny chewed his lip and wished he could soften his voice. “Birdie, how long have you been here?”

Jay frowned. “Just a night or two.”

The foreboding feeling grew at that response and Danny shook his head. “I’ve been here for one night. It’s mid-morning now. You are much more familiar with this place and the people here than I am.”

“No I’m not. No one has ever acknowledged me before. Not like Matt did when we played with him.”

“Matt and Alan. There were two of them, remember?”

Jay reached up and rubbed at his face before nodding. “Two, right.”

“Now, please answer the question: how long have you been here?”

“I—” Jay scowled as he glared at a crack in the pavement. “I don’t remember. I remember sleeping in my room more than once, though.”

“And once in mine. Jay, I think this place is messing with our heads. I can’t remember last night’s movie. It was new-to-me, but you were so excited about it. I remember you talking about it, I remember pausing it so you could go on rants. But I can’t remember what those rants were or what movie it was.”

Jay shook his head. “I need to go back; they’re waiting for me.”

“Who, Jay? Who’s waiting?”

Jay jumped to his feet and kicked a rock. “I don’t remember! They need me though!” He punched the air before squatting down and burying his face in his knees.

Danny moved so they were side-by-side and put an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll figure this out and get you home. But we can’t leave just yet. I won’t leave until I know what happened to Tom and Alan and can make sure Matt is safe.”

“His mom isn’t coming, is she?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“I don’t think my mom was any good.”

“My parents try, but they’re too focused on their work to notice when my sister or I need anything.”

“Why do you want to go back? Can you remember?” Jay looked over at him and Danny pretended he didn’t notice the wetness on his cheeks.

“Yeah, I can.” Danny tilted his head back until he was looking up at the sky, it was overcast, a uniform gray that stretched from horizon to horizon. “I’m… needed back home. If I don’t go back, people will get hurt. Ghosts, too. I stop them from hurting each other. As much as I can as a high school kid.”

Jay hummed. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he asked, as if he understood. With a grunt, he pushed himself up and held out a hand to Danny. “Well, what do you say? Let’s see if anyone knows Alan or Tom. We’ll save some people, then get the hell outta Dodge.”

Danny grinned at him and took his hand. “Yeah. Let’s do it.” Once on his feet, Danny reattached his mask.

“Why do you wear that, anyway? Is that normal clothing where you come from?”

Danny looked at his glove-covered hands and shrugged. “Of course not. But it’s what I died in. Been wearing it ever since.”

Jay shuddered. “I’m glad I’m not stuck in the clothes I died in.”

Danny gave a wry smile Jay couldn’t see and shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m used to it by now.”

“So how do I know if I have an ice core or whatever?” asked Jay as they began walking back to the motel.

He was still tired, but the short rest had helped a little and he didn’t feel like he was going to fall over as he walked. “I’ve never tried to describe it before. Can you feel for your core?”

Jay’s brow furrowed. “How do I do that?”

“Ghosts really only have one organ and that’s their core. Think of it as, like, your soul. It’s your brain and heart in one. As long as their core is intact, a ghost can survive anything that happens to them. The body you have around it is just ectoplasm given shape by your own expectations and perception of yourself.”

Jay hummed. “Okay, so you want me to try and mentally connect to my core?”

“Yeah. That’s where ghosts get our powers from. If you have the strength and there’s enough ectoplasm around, you can shape it and use it in interesting ways. And that’s on top of the flight, invisibility, and intangibility that any ghost can do.”

“You’ll have to show me how to do that, too.”

“Frostbite—my doctor,” he clarified at Jay’s confused look. “He made it sound like this was instinctive for most ghosts.”

Jay shrugged. “Well it’s not for me. How do I know if I’ve connected to my core?”

Danny threw up his hands. “I don’t know! Mine feels like a ball of cold ice in my chest, only comforting. When I’m afraid, I feel it jolt. When I push myself too hard, it aches. When I’m happy, it pulses.”

Jay bit his lip and seemed to consider Danny’s words. Silence stretched between them as they walked. By unspoken agreement, the two avoided the main office and instead made their way towards one of the far ends of the motel.

A woman in a patched coat and skirts was sitting on a bench there with a sketch pad on her lap.

Right before they were about to reach her, Jay said, “I had magic when I was alive, you know.”

Danny’s steps faltered. “Humans don’t have magic.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Some do. Look at the Justice League. But that’s not what I meant. I had a type of magic. Something that made me more than just a regular human. But I can’t remember what it was or how I got it. I wonder if that’s why I can’t find my core.”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t know. It could have to do with your memory issues, too. I don’t think most ghosts have problems like that.”

“All here do,” said the woman on the bench.

“Do you know what is going on here?” asked Danny.

She said nothing, just kept drawing on her sketchbook.

“What are you working on?” asked Jay.

She set her pencil down on the bench next to her and turned the notebook around. On the page was a swirling black mass, far too reminiscent of the portal in his basement.

But then he realized it wasn’t just a dark circle. Ghosts were drawn on top of ghosts. The ones on the edges, he could make out some features—a face or a hat. He thought he recognized the women from the office the night he’d checked in. But at the center, so many figures had been drawn on top of each other that no details could be made out and it looked like a solid drawing.

Instinctively, Danny took a step back. Jay, however, stepped closer.

“Is that me?” he asked, pointing to a figure near the edge. His face was clear, with only the faintest lines from other figures crossing it.

“It is all of us,” she replied. She pulled the book back and picked up her pencil once more to resume her work.

“You’re really talented,” said Jay. “It looks just like me.”

Like the rest of the people they’d met, she didn’t react to his statement. Jay didn’t seem to care, though, and moved until he was standing behind her and could watch what she was doing. Danny hesitated, but joined his friend when he was waved over.

They watched as she started adding a new figure to the mess. It wasn’t long before Danny’s core sunk in fear.

“Dude, I think that’s you,” said Jay.

Danny swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. The more detail she added, the more obvious it was.

“Why are you drawing me?” he asked.

“You’re here, now. One of us,” she said absently.

“I’m leaving. Once I find out what happened to Tom and Alan, I’m leaving.”

“No one leaves,” she said as she continued to draw.

Danny bit his lip, then asked, “Do you know a ghost by the name of Tom? Or Alan? I can’t find them and the receptionist said there weren’t any guests here by that name. But I met them, I know I did.”

“No one leaves,” she repeated.

“I’m gonna leave!” protested Jay. “There are people waiting for me.”

But it appeared the woman was done replying. She just kept drawing Danny, at the edge of the vortex of ghosts, one of his arms extended as if trying to escape. Then, once every detail was finished, she drew a crown over his head.

Danny’s brow furrowed. “Why’d you give me a crown?”

When they got no response, Danny and Jay exchanged glances.

“You’re definitely not wearing a crown,” said Jay with a shrug.

On the page, however, it was the clearest part of her drawing. Nothing crossed the path of the crown.

“Look, lets just go,” said Danny when it was clear the artist wasn’t going to say anything else. “Maybe one of the other ghosts can tell us something.” Danny grabbed Jay’s upper arm and led him away.

-----

Chapter 3

And this marks the halfway point of the fic! Hope you enjoy.

Couldn't resist the little nod at the end there to Ghost King Danny. And it's a trope @i-think-in-metaphors (my artist) likes, so I didn't even try.

[hey-august]

Gonna try my luck and pick Nr. 10: Land (as for weather I pick snow) and Buggy. Quote: „I’m full of surprises“ as said by reader and „This is nice.“ as said by buggy.

Ooooh, snow was a good choice! That made this really fun, thank you so much for this prompt!! 🩷

Prompts: Land (snow), "I'm full of surprises." "This is nice." Teaser: "You didn’t know his round nose could scrunch up so much. It was absolutely adorable, but you wouldn’t tell him that." Warnings: SFW, established relationship (ish?), 2 dumb puns. Word count: ~1.5k

A/N: I was going to hold this until tomorrow, but I'm impatient and way too excited. 🫠Sorry for any typos, lmk if you see anything that needs to be fixed!

Check out my 250 Follower Prompt Event and see fulfilled prompts here.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

In the hour that passed since Buggy left to get more wine, the snow had nearly doubled in height. The frozen water was making a steady climb, intent on reaching the knee-high amount promised. Worry about the captain trudging back to the ship with the wine (and any other purchases he deemed necessary during a snowstorm) traveled on the icy wind.

Your rescue mission began with an ungraceful slide down the gangplank. Surprisingly, you kept your balance and arrived on the dock, standing on both feet and shaky knees. Pulling down your wool hat and holding the thick green coat closer to your body, you followed divots where old footsteps had been covered in fresh snow and ventured towards town.

The liquor shop wasn’t difficult to find, since it was one of the few places able to pull in successful business in this weather. Buggy, however, remained difficult to find. Questioning the owner and patrons about the boisterous blue-haired pirate resulted in zero leads.

No one recalled seeing such a colorful visitor, nor had anyone asked for the specific sweet red wine he was supposed to purchase. One resident suggested you head across the street. The food shop was another popular destination on poor weather days and maybe someone there could help.

The oily scent of fried food wafted through the air outside - a mix of savory goods with an undercurrent of sweet baked sugar. Definitely the type of siren’s call that Buggy would fall prey to. The heated interior worked fast to thaw the numbness in your cheeks. Two clerks stood behind the counter, hiding pity behind professionalism. They looked toasty and not at all interested in getting anywhere near the outside world.

“Hey…Hi, how are you?” You started the conversation breathlessly as your lungs struggled with the weight of the warm air.

“Good, thank you for asking. What can I get you today?” One worker stepped forwards with a practiced smile while the other went back to wiping down the counter.

“I, uh, need help. I’m looking for someone.”

You began describing Buggy when the quiet clerk smacked the counter excitedly. Her open palm slap halted the rest of your words and she jumped in to fill the space. “Oh, oh! I saw him! I saw him earlier!! Blue hair, big hat, red no-”

“So, he was here?” You cut her off, hoping to avoid the inevitable question that came up whenever Buggy’s nose was mentioned.

“Uh, not exactly. I saw him through the window. He was walking down the street like this-” She crossed her arms, hunched forwards, and started stomping in place.

Your knowing smile was all the shop workers needed to relax and giggle through the story.

“He practically ran into Sapling, who started scolding him. It was hilarious, because Sapling is this tall, so he really had to look up, like this.” Craning her head back, she wagged her finger at the ceiling. 

Oh no. Buggy doesn’t do well when someone - especially a stranger - talks to him like that.

Reading the worry on your face, the worker rushed into the rest of her story. “I think they worked it out. The guy you’re looking for took one of Saplings’ bags and they walked away together. I betcha he wanted to help Sapling get home as an apology.”

You nodded quietly, keeping your disagreement about Buggy’s motives silent. Knowing your captain, he might be trying to rob that unfortunate townie. What was supposed to be a rescue mission for your captain, could be turning into a rescue mission for the town.

You restarted the snowy journey armed with three cups of complimentary hot chocolate and very specific directions - turn left and walk until the house with a mustard yellow door (not daffodil yellow) and take another left. Don’t go down the street that goes left but at a diagonal, but the one that goes left-left. Then go past the black oak tree, the stone fence and the post-and-rail fence, until you get to the house with a picket fence.

Any doubts you had about finding the correct house were blown away by the wind carrying Buggy’s voice. He was shouting. You were familiar with his different tones and this sounded more like annoyance than anger or murderous rage. As you approached the house, you saw Buggy kicking aggressively and sending bits of snow flying.

“You need to clear a path if you’re going to make people walk you home! This is so fucking danger-ah!” Buggy’s last word crescendoed into a screech. 

The pirate lost his footing and slipped backwards. Although he was able to keep his torso afloat, his bottom half was less successful and his rump fell into the snow. 

“Mm, I see what you mean,” said an amused voice from the front door. That must be Sapling.

Although the chilly blow to his ego was enough to subdue his tirade, Buggy flipped off the commentator before patting the snow off his pants.

“Hello, boys!” you called out, finally announcing your arrival. “I have hot chocolate!”

Buggy’s head - just his head - whipped around, wondering if you might be a weather apparition. “Wha- How did you get here?”

“I walked,” you replied simply. You gave the two a quick smile before focusing on your feet and shuffling forwards. 

Buggy was right, continuing to compact the snow would be dangerous. Rather than adding to the icy path that was already forming, you chose to help clear a path. It only took a few minutes for your trail to connect with Buggy’s. You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cold cheek, ignoring the heat gathering under your winter gear. It must be from physical exertion. At least, that’s what you told yourself. And Buggy’s red face was probably from being exposed to the elements.

Clearing his throat, your captain introduced you to Sapling - a small old man with wispy hair that put the snow to shame and a cheerful drawl. He held a cane that was more of a branch than a walking device. Although there was a slight tremor when you handed over the hot drink, Sapling did not seem like a frail person. Only a few minutes after meeting him and you understood how this man easily got on Buggy’s good side.

“I’ll be honest, sir, you weren’t what I was expecting when they mentioned Sapling,” you commented.

“Right? He’s a bit of beech…a pain in the ash…” Buggy muttered against the lip of his cup before taking a sip of the sweet drink. “Oh, this is nice!”

Sapling tutted and shook head with a smile. “I guarantee you’d have a different opinion if you visited with the blossoms. This area is a sure sight in fairer weather. Not to brag, but many say I have the best garden they've ever laid eyes on.”

The glimmer of pride in Sapling’s eyes was similar to the glint Buggy wore when talking about his circus. These two were definitely kindred spirits.

You looked around the yard and stared at how the white blanket rose and fell, covering plants that must be hibernating until winter. “Do you have any spare fertilizer? We could spread some on the walkway and it might melt the ice.”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea!” Sapling said brightly, tapping his cane on the ground. “Follow me, Captain.” The man turned without waiting for a response.

“How do you know that?” Buggy hissed as he lurched forwards. 

“I’m full of surprises, you know.” Faced with a glare, you couldn’t hold back a smile that came with the reply. 

You handed him your half-full cup as an apology for an answer you knew he found unsatisfactory. Buggy accepted and drained it in two gulps.

The two men came back with a small bag of fertilizer, which you offered to spread out after seeing the way Buggy’s face crinkled. You didn’t know his round nose could scrunch up so much. It was absolutely adorable, but you wouldn’t tell him that. A quick peck on your forehead was Buggy’s way of saying he’ll see you back on the ship. He went back to the liquor store and you took care of the ice path.

With enough fertilizer left in the bag to put down another layer tomorrow, you rolled the bag and went to put it next to the front door for easy access. Sapling was waiting for you with a wicker basket full of small packets.

“You and that captain of your’s did good. It’s a blessing to come across people like you.” His words were warm and genuine, like a summer day. The name made sense, now. “Here, take a few seeds. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

When you tried to decline, Sapling pushed the basket towards you again, his balance wobbling with the movement. It was a ploy to make you feel bad and choose some plants and it worked. You rifled through the packets, the paper and seeds whispering for you to choose wisely. As someone who wasn’t much of a gardener, you considered picking a few at random when three envelopes called to you directly. They were flower seeds.

Thanking Sapling profusely and promising to come back another time, you tucked the gardenia seeds into your pocket. Once again, you felt unexpected heat pooling across your body, making your palms slick, settling into your armpits, and burning your cheeks. The flower seeds reminded you of Buggy and you wondered if he’d like them as well.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 35 - HUMOR

Little Heroes Kindergarten by peppypear

Pairing: Steve/Tony, minor Tony/Strange Rating: T Words: 112,408 Tags: Fluff and Crack, No Powers AU, Kindergarten

Summary: “Dad, I don’t like Mr Thanos. He’s an alien.” Peter insisted. “He’s not an alien.” Tony sighed, turning the car into the road leading to Little Heroes Kindergarten. “I know what you’re trying to say, but you can’t keep shouting things like that in public, especially in this political climate-”-- A collection of oneshots and short arcs in an AU where Thanos is Peter's kindergarten teacher. 75% crack, 25% plot. Betcha never read a Stony CACW Fixit fic like this one before!

Reasons why I love it: I don't even know how to describe this fic. It's one of the most hilarious concepts ever, transforming canon into a kindergarten setting where somehow the characters, the canon plot points, even the fucking canon dialogue make an appearance in a completely natural way. Did I say natural? I meant to say batshit insane, completely off the rails, cuckoo for cocoa puffs shenanigans. It's stuffed to the brim with crack, anime lingo and inside jokes, and it's the most entertaining thing I've read in a very long time. Definitely check this one out if you like weird shit, and I mean that as the highest compliment I can give.

[preservationofnormalcy]

Questions for those working in the office ( or the representatives of said office ):

1: What is your name?

2: What is your favorite color?

3: Describe yourself, please?

4: Can you tell goldenheimer to PLEASE reopen the portal, it’s goddamn freezing in medieval Russia, I absolutely hate temporal realities.

5: How would you, on a scale of one to ten, rate yourself on a friendliness level?

6: If you were to go any place at any time, where would it be?

7: If you were in a forest, what would you do?

Lotsa questions! Hope it keeps the people on break occupied enough to not question why you keep trying to hide the sentient cats from the public.

Wasn't sure how to answer this for a little - given the Office's new....outreach program is only weeks old, we're still sorting out best practices. I'll answer these myself!

Call me Norm.

Purple has a nice shine to it!

I can't be too specific about this.

I sent that to Amanda in Relativistic Scheduling. Her response: "Ah jeez! We closed that? Goldenheimer, god love ya hun, but let's get on that yesterday. We'll have been opening that in just a jiffy, you betcha, sorry hun!"

Me? 100% I have to be. Well, 95%. I have some wiggle room.

Kind of anywhere. I can't get out much. The beach sounds nice.

Just sit there. I'd like to enjoy the air.

Thanks for the questions! No one's ever...let me answer about myself before.

[milkymoon2483]

Tension | episode 2 - The perks of the job.

Series Masterlist

Previous | Next

Pairing: Francisco Morales x female reader

WC: ~4200

Summary: Frankie has to see you again, so he comes for another massage. Heavy flirting ensues as the tension between you two rises. 

Disclaimer: Same as the last time basically; I’m not a massage therapist. The thoughts and actions described in this one are, as the title says, unprofessional. I do not mean to sexualise the job massage therapists do. I only mean to oil Frankie up in order to eventually serve you all with some deep-fried filthy smut, like you deserve.

*There are edible massage oils. Google says so.

Rating: E. for all episodes. MINORS DNI.

Warnings: heavy flirting, curse words, detailed description of massage, very unprofessional thoughts, descriptions of masturbation, SMUT (but it’s a fantasy), sex toys. 

The perks of the job.

Frankie was nervous again.

The weak orgasm he forced out of himself in a rush barely helped, but it was still better than nothing. He feared that when you lay your hands on him, his body might betray him. 

The clock showed 17:25, after taking too long in the shower he barely had time to get dressed before making the thirty minute drive.

He knocked on your door, heart pounding slightly faster than he'd like, hoping you would forgive him for being a few minutes late.

There he was, tall and scruffy and soft. 

He smiled wider this time, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. It made your heart skip a beat. 

"Frankie! Come on in" you chimed, smiling back. 

His gentle gaze scanned you up and down, resting on your breasts for a fraction of a second too long. Was your cleavage a little deeper than last time? You betcha. Did you swap the sports bra for a push up? Yes ma'am, you sure did.

Good job, boobs. You’re doing great. You smirked to yourself as you led him after you to the treatment room.

You wondered if he'd received your text, and why he chose to ignore it, and maybe it didn't matter. After all, he did show up. 

“Can I check on your shoulder before we begin?” You asked, with the intention of getting him reacquainted with your touch. 

“Sure” he nodded as he sat on the bed. 

Frankie could swear your fingers conducted electricity and he fought the urge to flinch, keeping perfectly still, trying to steady his breath. You prodded deeper into the muscle, humming in approval when you noted the knot was almost gone. You stood a bit closer this time, and you could smell his shampoo from his still-damp hair, reminding yourself that soon you’ll be able to run your fingers through it.  

“I can see your shoulder much better, how are you feeling? Anything you’d like me to focus on today?”

Tell me what you want, Frankie.

“It is actually much better. I’m just a little stressed out. So do your worst” He chuckled at his own response, hoping that it didn’t sound too much like ‘I just desperately wanted you to touch me again’.

You bit your lip and smirked, thankful he could not see the mischief in your eyes.

Careful what you wish for now…

“Okay then, I’ll let you get settled”

********

Your hands tingled with excitement as you entered the room again. The image of you rubbing them together in anticipation like an anxious little fly crossed your mind, and you stifled a giggle with a cough. 

Frankie’s fingers and toes wiggled, the buzz of expectancy intensifying throughout his body with every passing moment. Your’e so eager this is embarrassing. He told himself off. 

He let out a little purr of relief as soon as you laid your hands on him.

You smoothed your palms over the sheet that covered him, grounding him into the mattress, helping the nervous little buzz dissolve. You squeezed him gently, on his back, and along his arms and legs. The weight of your hands drew his nerve endings closer to the surface of his skin. He wanted more, greedy and impatient, he wanted all of you on top of him, pressing against him. He almost melted into the mattress right there and then.

You rolled the sheet down and scanned the broad expanse of him, as if reading a battle map, clocking all of the vulnerable spots that begged for your hands. He seemed even more touch-starved for some reason, or maybe it was just your own wishful thinking, like you could heal something deep within him, something more than sore muscles.

As you began tucking the sheet into his boxers you couldn't help but notice, tiny cartoon helicopters were scattered on the navy blue fabric. This time your giggle came too fast for you to stop.

“Well, aren’t those just adorable” you said, very much amused.

“huh?” he huffed, and then it dawned on him. “I wore the helicopter boxers, didn’t I?” He scrunched his face in an embarrassed smile.

“You sure did. I like them, they’re cute.”

“I was in such a hurry I didn’t really notice what I grabbed. They were a gift, a joke really, cause I’m a helicopter pilot..”

"Get in the choppa!" You attempted your most ridiculous Schwarzenegger imitation, earning a burst of laughter from Frankie. 

“Did Joel get them for you? I know you work together” 

“Nope, nooo, that would be weird. Actually, my ex did. I’m glad you like them.” He replied shyly.

Ex, Interesting.

“I really do” You added, giggling softly yet again

“Hey! Stop laughing at my silly boxers, everybody’s got a pair of ridiculous underwear. I bet you do too.”

Frankie’s tone was amused but he almost bit his tongue off, hoping to god he didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. This wasn't like him, to be so talkative. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know” You replied flirtatiously, cocking a brow. Cool as a cucumber.

He chuckled and swallowed hard. So hard you could see his jaw clench.

He fucking would like to know. 

You burst in laughter again and he joined you in a full blown giggle fit. His laugh was lovely, all scrunched eyes and soft cheeks, and that dimple that was calling your name. 

It took you a few moments to settle, and you felt your chest swell with affection. You wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his hug.  

The hot drizzle of oil was heavenly, like a magical light dripping from your fingers, illuminating and warming him up from within. He almost knew what to expect now and it only made him more sensitive. 

You began with his back, spreading the warmth along his spine, applying pressure that brought immediate relief with each stroke of your palms. 

You marveled at his skin, scattred with little marks and freckles, soft and tender under your fingers. You could not compartmentalize his body, divide it into skin and muscle and tendons and bones. It was him, and you wanted to touch him and bring him pleasure and revel in his every reaction.

Frankie obliged your unspoken wish. He purred constantly now, not attempting to hide it anymore, rewarding you for every single motion. 

He wished he could look at you while you worked. He imagined the deft and elegant movements of your hands, in the flow of a dance you have performed a thousand times before. He always thought that watching someone in their element was incredibly sexy.

You moved to his side, draping his arm over the edge of the bed. You began with his deltoids and biceps, kneading from the edge of his shoulder and down his upper arm, sliding and pushing into the slightly taut muscle until it yielded. 

After dripping hot oil onto the pulse point on his wrist, you ran gentle circles and slid up towards the elbow to spread the oil. You proceeded to press both thumbs down and slide towards his palm, earning yourself an especially sweet purr, bordering on a moan. He never imagined how tense his arms were and the slide of your fingers felt divine. But when your fingers moved towards his palm, that's when he was really stunned. 

You reached his large hand, stretching it between your two smaller ones, running spheres with your thumbs on his palm and pressing into the small muscles. Tingles danced across his body, on the crown of his head, between his ears, down the small of his back. He was silent now, solely focused on the sensation that made his breath hitch. You laced your fingers with his, pushing on his knuckles to deepen the stretch, and then pulled on each finger from base to tip. Dirty thoughts swirled in his mind, progressively worsening with each digit you pulled. He wanted to feel your mouth on them, wondered if your little pussy would squeeze his cock just as tightly when you came.

Jesus christ, she’s trying to kill me. 

Frankie's eyes rolled back in pleasure, the tingles reached his jaw and ran along his limbs, a sensation both gentle and overwhelming, the likes of which he never felt before. 

"ah...just like that" 

It came out as a whisper, under his breath, but you both knew you heard every single word. 

You bit your lip as a soft breathy chuckle escaped your nose.

"I'll take that as a compliment" you whispered back. 

Frankies ears burned, Oh, fuck it…

"You should" he replied, with a soft unmistakable drawl to his voice. 

“I will” Your breath caught in your throat. 

Frankie was pleased with himself when he heard you exhale sharply. 

“Good”.

It was your turn to swallow hard.

He got you downright flustered as fuck. Heart racing, heat pooling in the apex of your thighs, belly full of knots and butterflies and nervous little flies rubbing their hands together.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself. Two can play this game.

When you began working on his other arm you watched his reactions closely. Your fingers spread wider now, reaching further, touching him as teasingly as you could without compromising the actual technique of the massage.

Frankie’s face remained infuriatingly calm. Eyes closed, soft purrs emanating from his parted lips, but nothing that betrayed his composure. 

When you reached his other hand, however, he seemed to struggle to keep his features poised.

His brows furrowed and he bit his bottom lip, muttering a tiny barely whispered “fuck”.

Frankie was struggling. What with? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but a good answer would be “everything”. To keep his composure, to keep his mouth shut, to refrain from babbling about how your touch made his skin ache with pleasure. 

Why the fuck does this have to feel so..fuck..so good. Dontstopdontstop… Please don't stop…Jesus.

The tingles were back, even stronger this time, sending tentacles down his spine and straight into his cock. He tried thinking about Joel, about work, about gray concrete and dirt and traffic jams, but each slide of your fingers on his hand sent a new wave of delight through him, and all he could think of was you.

You showed him no mercy. You made sure you had plenty of oil, pulling each digit, sliding back up the finger and pulling yet again, watching his expression turn almost pained.  

Poor baby, I’m just getting started.

When your hands left his, a part of him felt relieved. Thankfully he was able to fend off the impending boner just in time. Another minute of your ministrations and he would be done for.

You moved to massage his legs, unveiling the right one from beneath the sheet. Frankie was equal parts nervous and excited at this point, wondering what sensations you’ll pull from him and how affected his cock will be. 

His legs were lanky and muscular. You could see the long elegant line of his gastrocnemius under the taut skin of his calves. You poured the oil onto the sensitive spot at the back of Frankie's knee, knowing the heat will spread gently towards his groin. 

Your hands spread the oil downward and began the slow climb back up his calf, running over the muscle repeatedly and slowly building up the pressure. Frankie’s purr was accompanied with a little groan. 

“Hurts?” you asked.

“Yeah..s’good though” He replied through gritted teeth. You knew the sharp sting he was referring to all too well. 

“Want me to keep going?” 

“Yeah..mhmmm” 

“Look at you being so brave” Your tone was more amused now.

“You mock my pain” 

“Mhm, One of the perks of the job” 

You couldn’t help but tease him, it was just too much fun, he was just too sweet, too cooperative. 

Your hands reached the back of his knee now, and you began scaling them up his thigh, making sure to avoid his inner thigh as much as possible, only granting him a small little swipe towards the end. Just a little taste.

You could feel him clench immediately at the delicate touch, to your absolute delight.

So sensitive. 

When you asked Frankie to turn around after you finished his other leg, he prayed to Jesus, Mary and all the saints that his insubordinate dick will remain calm. Mercifully it decided to respect his authority. 

Frankie smiled at you softly, before closing his eyes again. If he’d kept looking at you he would have to reach out and pull you closer, he’d lick his lips and cradle the nape of your neck, before kissing you slowly, languidly. It would simply be inevitable. As he was laying defenseless before you, closing his eyes was the only possible way for him to avoid doing that.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself.

“Are you going to crack my neck again?” He asked, sounding a little apprehensive.

“I was actually planning on something else, but I can do that, since you seemed to enjoy it so much last time”

Frankie chuckled, “Yeah, it almost gave me a heart attack, t’was unforgettable.”

“Glad to hear I had such a lasting impression on you”

I just can’t help myself with this one, can I?

“You definitely did”

“I'm that bad, huh?” You said playfully as your hands began to slide on his upper pecs, kneading below his clavicles and towards his armpit. 

“Even worse” 

You hummed in satisfaction, sliding fingers up his long neck and behind his ears.

You proceeded to gently pinch his earlobes between your thumb and index, rubbing softly from lobe to helix and down again.

Frankies breath was heavier and sharper now, brows a little furrowed as wave after wave of goosebumps crashed into him, running down his spine.

Just to put the final proverbial nail in his coffin, your fingers laced through this hair, scratching his scalp and pulling on his strands ever so gently. 

This wasn’t a massage technique per-se, but you could admit that the temptation of seeing his blissed out expression again was too great to avoid. 

Frankie delivered spectacularly. Even from your angle above him you could see it, every crease in his face smoothed, every muscle relaxed, lips parted, jaw slacked.

"How are you feeling?" You asked softly as you ran a few final strokes on his arms.

"Great, yeah" he replied quietly, his eyes still closed.

He couldn’t quite put into words the feeling of being both turned on and fucked out.

"Ok then, take your time, I'll wait outside." 

Frankie was left alone, a mixture of conflicting emotions that he could not decipher flooded him all at once. Your touch did things to him that he couldn’t explain. It was all new to him. And it seemed like you were perfectly comfortable flirting with him, but under these circumstances it might as well be just some friendly banter. 

While he was still inside the treatment room, your mind was running a mile a minute. You desperately didn't want him to leave. 

He finally came out ,even scruffier and softer looking than before, the decision seemed easier.

"So…you were my last appointment for today, and I'm going to make myself some tea, would you like some?"

You tried to remain calm but your heart was beating violently. 

He might not even get the painfully obvious message, men are dumb like that, just see what he says… 

"Hmmm yeah, sure, I'd love some" Frankie replied, smiling widely and scratching the back of his neck.

He hated tea, but he got the message. 

"Earl Grey, Camomile, or Jasmin?" 

You asked, suddenly feeling too shy to talk about anything other than said tea. 

"I'll have whatever you're having" he replied.

It all tastes like dirt water anyway.

He watched you silently as you prepared the tea. You reached for the mugs (he wished they'd be on a higher shelf so you would need his help) as he was free to admire the curve of your ass in your white work pants, imagining you wearing a very delicate, flesh toned lacy thong, so it wouldn't be visible through the light material.

You placed the camomile-mint tea bags into the mugs and poured the boiling water, stirring a little bit of honey into both cups.

Frankie couldn't help but chuckle at his mug. It had drawings of several colorful tit birds. "Nice Tits" was written in black cursive. 

He took a careful sip but almost choked and sprayed the tea through his nostrils when you placed your mug next to his. It looked like the Pizza Hut logo, but said "Pizza Slut". 

He laughed uncontrollably and you joined him. "It's a complete sentence" he was barely able to speak. "Nice tits, pizza slut" you continued, giggling so hard that tears began to form in your eyes. 

"I like mugs with sexual puns, theyr'e ideal ice breakers" you explained, still very much giggly. 

"Sure seems to work" 

Frankie took another sip, noting that the tea was better than he expected. 

"I like this tea" 

"I'm glad you do. I like your dimple" You hoped that was obvious enough, in case the tea invitation didn't get the message across. 

"I bet you say that to all dimples"

"I do, they're great"

You bit your bottom lip, looking at him shyly through your lashes. 

"This is why my dimple has trust issues"

Frankie smirked, he could do this all day. When your hands weren't on him, bewitching him, he was back to being his old calm and patient self.

"I bet you see nice looking dimples every day" 

"I do, but I've got my favorites" 

"I'll take it as a compliment" 

"You should"

You definitely should, Frankie. 

"I will"

"Good" 

You both chuckled simultaneously now. 

"I have to get going, thanks for the tea, and the massage of course" 

He said softly, laying a large palm on your shoulder. 

"You're very welcome" you replied, focused solely on how warm and heavy his hand feels.

You walked him to the door silently, dragging your feet with every step. 

The air was thick and heavy as you stood by the door, much closer to each other now. Your skin buzzed with the need to be touched.

He held your chin gently, lifting your face towards him, his coffee brown eyes were slightly hooded, lips parted. 

You swallowed thickly.

Kiss me already.

"Bye, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and soft. His lips were so close to yours now, you could feel the ghost of his warm breath on your face. 

He tilted your head slightly to the side, laying a tender, lingering kiss on your cheek, dragging the tip of his nose ever so gently on your flesh. 

Motherfucker.

You blinked at him slowly, shocked at the audacity of this man, as he closed the door behind him, and left you just…standing there, breathless and desperate for a kiss that never came. 

Frankie was many things, but impatient wasn’t one of them. 

*******

It took you a while to erase the shocked and frustrated expression from your face. 

The self doubt came shortly after. You felt doomed to overanalyze your exchange, caught in a vicious cycle of being so fucking turned on by his composure and self control, to questioning if he was interested in the first place.

Your continuous flirting left little room for misunderstandings, yet there he stood, in that little room, awfully pleased with himself.

When you were finally in bed you allowed your thoughts to wander, and wander they did. 

To that smug, charming, soft, tall asshole. 

Fuck. You wanted to kiss him. Those soft lips, gentle creased puppy dog eyes, that dimple, the large warm hands… The more you kept thinking about him, the longer that list got.

And that fucking kiss on the cheek… A fucking kiss on the cheek. It was laced with so much potential and promise it almost felt like a whisper of all the dirty things he’d like to do to you. That tender little drag of his nose at the end… goddamn it. You groaned and slapped an open palm on your bed in frustration. 

You needed to remind yourself that he was practically a stranger, you only saw him twice. Surely, the massage created a false sense of intimacy, but maybe it was all in your head? Maybe your mind was so clouded by this affect he has on you, that you were willing to risk your reputation and professionalism for a chance to fuck him..? 

Treating him again would be a bad idea. 

Touching yourself was the next logical step, otherwise you wouldn't be able to sleep, being so wound up. You pushed the button and pressed the tip of the vibrator just under your clit, moving it gently against your folds, the buzz rippled through you, causing warmth to pool at your belly. It’s been a while since you turned to porn, but tonight you just wanted a quick release that will help you sleep. Scrolling through thumbnail after thumbnail of cocks and pussies and breasts and blowjobs, absolutely nothing made you want to press play. You huffed and tossed your phone aside.  Now you were attempting to pull a trusty fantasy from your mind, one that always did the trick, the one involving your highschool science teacher bending you over his desk, calling you a ‘good girl’. It all seemed blurry and patchy, like a cassette tape that’s been played and rewinded far too many times.

Fine.

I give up.

You leave me no choice, Francisco.

He’s laying on the massage bed, relaxed and warm and pliant as you lay on top of him. Your hips straddle his and you can feel his hard length through the thin material of his boxers.

You grind on him and he moans into your mouth. His lips are soft, so soft, and he tastes like the camomile-mint tea you made for him. 

He kisses you languidly, unhurried, tasting you, tongue gently swiping against yours. His long arms surround you, warm calloused palms roaming over your smaller frame, they finally rest on the swell of your ass, tips of his fingers brush ever so gently between the cheeks, causing a surge of arousal. 

You pull yourself up, pressing your core against him, he holds your hips and guides your movements. “Can you feel how hard you're making me baby? Fuck you’re so pretty” He looks up at you reverently. Mesmerized, blissed out, his eyes are almost black. 

You bucked your hips at the toy as you felt the heat pool between your folds.

You take his hands into your own, they are heavy and warm. You turn them so the palms are facing upwards. Reaching for the oil bottle, you pump some into his hands. He rubs them together, warming up the oil, and then lays them on your bare chest. His fingers brush gently against your nipples that stiffen at the touch. Your skin glows as he spreads the oil on the valley between your breasts and continues to massage the plump flesh that peeks and spills between his large fingers. 

You move lower, and pull his boxers down, revealing his heavy cock, stiff and dripping with precum. You pump some oil into your palm and spread it gently on his length. His eyes roll back in pleasure, he moans louder now, biting his bottom lip. His hips buck upwards into your fist. His grunts are desperate and breathy, god he sounds gorgeous. 

You're were so wet, practically dripping as you slotted the toy into your entrance, pushing the blunt tip in and out, gently fucking it into yourself. 

His breath hitches as you lean in and  place his throbbing length between your breasts, the softness gently envelops him, he reaches and pushes them together, so he can slot himself between them, the oil makes the slide of his cock deliciously smooth. "Fuck baby…fuuuuuck, your'e so fucking soft. Just like that, please baby, just like that" he cries out, lost in bliss, fucking himself in between your oiled up tits. 

Each time the fat tip comes up between them, you take it into your mouth, mixing your spit with the oil, making the slide wetter, messier. The wet squelch of his thrusts, his moans and grunts and curses, your little whimpers on his cock, it all sounds so filthy and debauched.

He looks down at you, fucked out and dumb with lust, and watches as his cock disappears between your breasts only to be swallowed by your warm mouth. “Gonna cum all over your perfect tits..fuck baby” He begins to burst, grunting lowdly,  coating you in thick hot ropes of creamy white. 

The thought of him falling apart pushed you over the edge so swiftly it almost caught you off guard, as if you were kicked off the edge of a cliff.  Wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you. You whimpered as your body was flooded with warm bliss. 

The orgazm's aftershocks subsided, but then you were flooded again, with a need more desperate than the one you started out with. It only made you hungrier, only emphasized what didn’t happen. What am I gonna do with you, Frankie? 

Your eyelids felt incredibly heavy as they inevitably draped over your exhausted eyes. Sleep enveloped you within a minute, pulling you into a dreamless slumber. 

Fin.

Thank you so much again.

@romanarose @hbc8 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @astroboots @welcometostayingawake @damnyoupedro @kirsteng42 @jump-over-my-fence

[curator-on-ao3]

Prev anon here (feel free to remove or edit this if you don't want to share, but just thought I'd mention in case you were curious), the last response was really interesting and thought provoking. I've sent a few questions and found you often come at questions with an angle I wouldn't expect, which is fun (and something I've noticed with your writing as well). Anyway, thanks for giving it the thought you do :)

Now to ask another, shamelessly stolen from the Truth or Dare going around: share a head canon from one of your favourite ships or pairings.

Awww, thank you, anon! ❤️ I appreciate your questions and am deeply honored that you like my takes, even if they’re unexpected. 🙈💕

For headcanons, I’m kind of a pain about those because I usually have multiple, conflicting headcanons about any character or pairing. (Do Chris and Una have a romantic past the way the actors have described? Sure. Do they have no romantic past but want a romantic present or future? Yup. Is their romantic past or lack of a romantic past absolutely key or totally immaterial to their romantic present or future? You betcha, all of the above. How can these mutually exclusive headcanons co-exist? Because I love the multiverse.)

But in terms of consistent headcanons:

Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris understand each other on a cellular level of “Admiral Daddy, look at me! Look at me, Admiral Daddy!”

Una Chin-Riley is fully aware of the blushy, pleased-from-the-bottoms-of-his-toes-to-the-tippy-top-of-his-pompadour effect that praise has on Christopher Pike and that’s why she so often busts his chops … because praising him can lead to, um, complicated feelings.

Seven of Nine runs her partners’ names through Borg nomenclature and it’s totally not a zodiac thing so don’t judge her if you’re not into that — even though decoding the alphanumeric characters suggests the most probable outcome every time.

Deanna Troi does a Jean-Luc Picard imitation so good that it has made Will Riker fall out of bed laughing.

Oops, you said to share a headcanon from just one ship.

Thank you again for asking, anon! ❤️

[jgmartin]

THE KNOCK

[Short Horror][Twist Ending]

KNOCK.

That’s how it begins. A single knock.

It isn’t frightening. Not at first. It seems perfectly run-of-the-mill, closer to annoying than terrifying.

Knock. Knock.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you,” I say, crossing the apartment to look through the sightglass.

There’s nobody there.

I twist the doorknob and glance down a vacant hallway. There's nothing. No one. It’s just peeling wallpaper and stained carpet as far as the eye can see.

“Huh,” I mutter, scratching my head. “Could’ve sworn....”

Back inside. I fall onto the couch, cozy up with a blanket and unmute the TV. There’s a news program on. Something local. It’s about a boy that fell into a well, some kid named Timothy, who survived thanks to the efforts of a barking dog and some passing hikers. The reporter is calling it a miracle. She’s calling it a Hollywood movie come to life.

Knock. Knock.

“Hello?”

I sit up. Wait for a response.

“Who's there?” I ask.

Knock.

My feet slap against the hardwood. I’m jogging across the apartment, flinging the door open to catch the prankster in the act, but there’s no prankster. There’s no act. There’s nothing but the smell of TV dinners creeping out from behind a dozen closed apartment doors.

I frown. Think it over. Maybe this is me hearing things, maybe this is a lack of sleep finally catching up to me. “Yeah,” I mumble, stifling a yawn. “That’s probably it.”

I head back inside, curl up on the couch. I’ve been having nightmares since moving in, nightmares that my therapist calls a side-effect of a new environment. She says they’re part of an adjustment period. They’ll pass, but only if I can maintain a positive outlook.

So I turn up the volume. The feel-good news story fills my apartment, fills my ears. Right now, the reporter is describing the boy’s rescue, explaining that the hikers were drawn to the well by the barking dog, but that when they arrived the dog bolted into the trees. Now she’s interviewing the boy.

“I would’ve liked to meet him,” Timothy is saying, shivering in a Channel 7 blanket. “The dog I mean. I wish he didn’t run off because now I can’t say thank you for helping me.”

The reporter pays the camera a knowing wink. “Well, just hold tight, Timothy. We’ve got a team searching the woods right now, and once we find that pup, we’ll be sure to introduce you two.”

The boy’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“You betcha–”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Oh, fuck off!”

I don’t even realize it but I’m clenching my fists. I’m standing in my living room, dressed in my bathrobe and underwear, and I’m clenching my fists and I’m shaking. This isn’t like me. It hasn’t been like me for a long time.

Deep breath, Quinn.

Relax.

I close my eyes, go through my mental checklist. It’s six items long. It helps me to focus, to ground myself in the present and escape my frustrations. The next time I speak, my voice is measured. Controlled.

“Look,” I say, “I don’t know who you are but I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. I’ve had a long week, and I’d rather not deal with this right now. Got it?”

I say the words to my apartment door. It doesn’t respond.

Whatever. Back to the couch. Back to the drip-feed of positivity about the dog and the hikers and the boy who lived. The reporter's standing next to an older man now. His eyes are hollow, his cheekbones sunken and there’s a patch of hair missing from the front of his scalp.

“I’m here with Timothy’s father,” the reporter says. “What do you think about your son’s rescue, Mr. Koates?”

The man grunts. His eyes swivel left and right, his tongue lashing out across lips chapped and trembling. “Tough to believe,” he mutters. “Tough to believe anybody could survive that, but then Timothy’s always had a blessed life. An easy life. He hasn’t dealt with the sort of horror that–”

Knock.

Somebody’s out there. They’re messing with me, screwing with me and turning me into their own little joke. It isn’t nice of them. They have no idea what I’ve been through, no idea at all. I gnaw my lip. It’s a nervous habit I picked up in childhood, one that the doctors could never quite beat out of me.

Knock. Knock.

I can’t stop myself. My feet start moving on their own. I’m taking a step toward the door, then I’m taking another. I’m walking slowly enough, softly enough that my feet don’t make a sound as they cross the floorboards.

The doorknob’s cold to the touch. So is the deadbolt. My hands wrap around both and I wait like that for my moment to strike. This time I’m going to catch them.

This time I’m going to make them wish they’d left me alone.

Knock.

I throw the lock. Twist the knob. In the space of a second I’m standing in the hallway, hunched over like an animal searching for its prey. My teeth are bared. My hands are pumping in and out of fists. I’m spinning around like a hurricane, back and forth, forth and back, and my heart is slamming out of my chest.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” I holler.

Nothing answers. There isn’t so much as a curious shuffle of movement in the surrounding suites. It’s just empty, awful silence. I’m shouting into what feels like a void, some anomalous abyss in the shape of a hallway, and it doesn’t make any sense.

Somebody’s here. They have to be.

My nose itches. I bring a finger to the tip, and I touch something wet, something warm. My nose is bleeding. I wonder if it’s from the stress, or the dry air, or if it’s another relic from my childhood, a side-effect of their endless experiments and the–

“Everything okay?”

I wheel around. There’s a man in the hall. He’s dressed in sweatpants and he’s blinking at me like he just woke up.

“I heard shouting,” he mumbles. Then he squints, rubs his jaw in dawning realization. “Hang on… I know you, don’t I? You’re next door. Apartment 408, right?”

I swallow. Interacting with others has never been my strong suit. “Yeah,” I say, pulling my mouth into a smile. “Sorry… Sorry about the noise, I’ve just been getting harassed by somebody knocking on my door and…uh…they keep running off and… ” I chuckle, unsure how to end the conversation.

The guy lifts an eyebrow. Frowns. “Right. Well, I can’t say I’ve heard anybody knocking on your door, and I haven’t heard anybody running around for that matter either.” He looks back to me, and this time he’s eying my bathrobe and my underwear, my bloody nose and the bags under my eyes and he says, “You on drugs, buddy?”

A muscle twitches near my eye. “No. Why would I–”

“You look like you’re on drugs.”

“I’m not on drugs,” I say, incredulous.

“Whatever, just keep it down. I’ve got a shift in a few hours and I’m trying to sleep.” He shoots me a glare, shakes his head. “Not that you’d know what work is.”

“Hey–”

He slams the door in my face. Something boils inside of me. My knuckles crack as my hands become fists, and all at once I want nothing more than to break down that door, want nothing more than to tear it off its hinges and–

Knock.

My heart hits my ribs.

Knock. Knock.

I grind my teeth.

There it is again. That damn knocking! I wonder if it’s the neighbor, if he’s knocking on the other side of his door, or the wall, just to mess with me and make me– hold on. I swivel my gaze. The fire escape.

That’s it.

That’s their base of operations. I charge down the hall, shoulder-check the fire escape door and barrel down the steps. One floor. Two. I keep running in mad circles until I’m at the bottom and my head is spinning and I’m twisting and turning and finally I find–

Nothing.

There’s nothing down there but dusty concrete. No suspects. No culprits. Just a fluttering moth, one trying to end its life against a flickering bulb.

Christ, I think, falling onto the steps. Maybe he’s right.

My neighbor, I mean.

Maybe he’s right and there really isn’t anybody, and there never was. Maybe all along I’ve just been hearing the echoes of my own neurosis. The symphony of a broken mind.

My teeth clamp my lip. The thought is making me tense. It’s making me shake with self-loathing, and it’s the sort of thing my therapist would call a triggerpoint. Something I can latch onto. Something I can spiral with.

I sprint back upstairs, lock my door. I go to the bathroom and run the water until it's colder than ice, then I splash it across my face. I’ve gotta shock my system. Wake myself up. I’ve gotta shake this mood before it sinks its teeth in. I start by cleaning the blood from my nose, and it’s a mistake because it means looking at my own reflection.

There’s a man in the mirror. He’s a stranger that I hardly know, and I hate everything about him. His face is a valley of lines. He’s twenty-two going on ninety, and for somebody like him, everyday feels harder than the last. His skin is cracked, practically leather, and his eyes are…

No.

I bring a cloth to my cheek.

When did that start?

Bleeding. My eyes are bleeding.

This isn’t right, this shouldn’t be happening. The medication was supposed to prevent this, it was supposed to make me feel better, to keep the side-effects at bay, but now here I am bleeding from my eyes and my nose. Here I am hearing things that don’t exist.

Why?

Why?

It’s a question I’ve asked my entire life, and never once have I gotten an answer worth hearing. Only lies. Excuses. My bathroom mirror cracks, a fissure running through the glass.

It’s funny, isn’t it? People tell you that monsters are make-belief– that boogeymen don’t exist, but they’re wrong. The real myth of our world is honesty. It’s truth.

The lights of the bathroom begin to snap and pop. There’s a sizzle of electricity, of wires short-circuiting and that’s when I know I’ve gone too far, that I’ve begun indulging the wrong thoughts. Positivity. That’s what I need. Something to pull me out of this funk before things get worse.

So it’s back to the couch. It’s back to the television and the feel-good news story about the boy and the dog and the hikers and the murderous well. I take a shuddering breath. The newscaster is right where I left her, standing beside the well, but she’s lost her smile.

Where did her smile go?

“To the viewers at home, I don’t know what to say…” she stammers, and her voice is quaking with the magnitude of an earthquake. Her eyes are red. Mascara is running down her cheeks.

Something is wrong.

She brings a hand to her face, wipes a streak of make-up with the back of her sleeve. “We… Oh god, we had no idea that would happen. Jesus! I swear to you that–”

The television flickers.

There’s a kaleidoscope of colors, of grating static, and when the image returns I see the newscaster standing silent. Her eyes are closed. Her finger is pressed to the side of her head, to the earpiece, and she’s nodding along. Listening. The next time she speaks, it’s with the calculated coldness of a producer sitting in a boardroom a thousand miles away.

“We here at Channel 7 reject any and all allegations of wrongdoing,” she says, forcing the words out through a choking sob. “The meet and greet between Timothy and the rescue dog was meant to showcase the potential of love, and hope, and…”

Her voice breaks. “And we had no idea the dog was infected with rabies. None. Timothy’s death is a tragedy, but–”

A vein throbs near my temple.

This is it. This is me feeding the negativity. The screen flickers as I move through channel after channel, desperate to find something something more uplifting, something that’s a better influence on my mood, but it’s all war and genocide and hatred and death and–

Knock.

You son of a–

No.

Deep breath, Quinn. There’s nobody there. It’s all in my head. I tell myself to ignore the knocking, to let it go because if I don’t then bad things will happen. They’ve happened before.

Drip.

Drip.

Something’s dripping onto my lap.

It’s falling from my beard. I bring my hand to my face, and I feel fresh blood leaking from my nose, from my eyes. How? This isn’t happening to me. It can’t be because–

KREEEE

I hear the screech of a car losing control, the metallic crunch of a vehicle crumpling against solid concrete. It’s coming from outside. Just beneath my apartment.

Screams.

The night is full of screams.

Knock.

My chest pounds. I pick up my phone, frantic, scroll through all four of my contacts and find my therapist. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend. I’ve known her my entire life, and if anybody can help me right now, it’s her.

I hit dial. It rings. It rings some more, and keeps ringing, and the entire time I’m biting my nails and–

BEEEEEP

“Hello,”

“Dr. Wilkins! I need to–”

“You’ve reached Dr. Theodora Wilkins at Lockheed’s Advanced Development Division. I’m not in right now. My office hours are–”

I hurl my phone, hurl it hard enough that it dents the wall. I’m shaking with rage, with anger that I can’t seem to bury no matter how hard I try.

Voices.

There are voices in the street below, panicked and frightened, and they’re clawing their way through the glass of my window.

“... is it bad–”

“...he’s decapitated–”

Knock.

“... the woman can still make it–”

“... she’s lost too much blood–”

Knock.

“... where’s her arm–”

Knock.

“... has anybody seen her arm–”

My television fuzzes. The screen begins to splinter, begins to crack along the center as the image dies. The lamp’s next. My apartment plunges into darkness. It’s just me, me and the bad thoughts and the pain and–

“... needs an ambulance–”

“... my phone’s dead–”

“... somebody call an ambulance!”

Ambulance.

I can still help. I can still fix things. I stagger to my feet, stumble across my living room and find my phone laying on the floor. There’s a face on the display. A woman's.

“Hello?” the speaker is saying. “Quinn? Are you there?”

I scramble, bringing the phone to my ear. “Dr. Wilkins?”

“Yes, it’s me, Quinn. I’m sorry I missed your call.”

“There’s been an accident!” I say, panicked. ”Outside my apartment. I think a car crashed and they need an ambulance!”

“Shh,” she soothes. “I’m contacting emergency services right now. They’ll arrive shortly. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Breathing. I’m breathing again. “Thank you,” I tell her.

“That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

Her voice is magic. It’s easing my tension, my anxiety. It’s comforting to speak to another human that doesn’t think you’re a drug addict or a psychopath.

“You sound distressed, Quinn.”

“I am,” I say quickly. “I’ve been hearing things all night long, and I think I'm losing my mind.”

“What kind of things? Voices?”

“No,” I reply. “Not voices. Knocking. I keep hearing somebody knocking on my door, but every time I check there’s never anybody there, and my neighbor said he doesn’t hear it, but I think that–”

“Slow down, Quinn. You’re spiraling. I can tell. Did you do your breathing exercises, the ones that we practiced?”

“Yes.”

“Your affirmations?”

“I’ve tried everything,” I sputter. “Nothing’s helped. I’m still hearing the knocking, and the nosebleeds have come back, and now my eyes are bleeding too, a-and…” My voice breaks. “I don’t feel like myself, doctor.”

Footsteps. Dr. Wilkin's heels click as she moves across her office and shuts the door. “Have you hurt anybody tonight?” she asks in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “Maybe… I mean, there was that accident outside.”

“Accidents happen, Quinn. We’ve been over this. You can’t blame yourself for every bit of doom and gloom in the world.” She takes a breath. “I’m asking if you’ve hurt anybody intentionally.”

“No. God! I’d never, I mean at least n-not again.”

“That’s good,” she says. “How’s your sleep? Has it improved since we last spoke?”

“... No.”

“You’re still having the nightmares then?”

“...Yes.”

“I see.” There’s a pause. Dr. Wilkins' next words come slowly, carefully. “What do you think about exploring other forms of treatment, Quinn? Regrouping. Reassessing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… Well maybe living on your own might be causing you more stress than you can handle right now.”

“So what?” I say, defensively. “You want me to go back?”

“I want you to be happy, Quinn, and if the lab can help you get there…”

“No. There’s no way,” I say, my teeth clenched.

“Quinn–”

“No!” I snap. “What is it with you and that damn lab? I’ve told you I’m not going back– never going back– and I fucking mean it. Why won’t you listen?”

There’s a moment of dead air, a crackle of static as Dr. Wilkins shifts the phone to her other ear. “I am listening. I know full-well you have no love for that place, but I’ve been watching the news, and it’s been making me concerned. There’s a lot of pain out there. A lot of suffering. Much more than usual.”

“Yeah but …” My voice trembles. It’s shaking beneath the weight of a decade of guilt. “I’m trying to do better, I really am, but it’s so…”

“Hard,” she says. “I know that. Okay. If not the lab, then tell me what I can do to help.”

The question does something to me. It’s spinning up a hurricane inside of my chest, a storm of repressed memories and unanswered questions. “What you can do to help…”

“That’s right,” she says. “Talk to me, Quinn. Communication is key here.”

I shouldn’t ask.

I shouldn’t.

It’s the sort of question that never leads anywhere good, the sort that has a body count, but my resolve is crumbling. I’m on the edge like I’ve never been before. I’m grinding my teeth and fuming with rage that–

“Quinn?”

“The experiments…” I mutter, eyes unfocused in the dark of my apartment. “Why did you put me through all those experiments?”

Dr. Wilkins clears her throat. This isn’t what she was expecting when she offered to talk. “Ah,” she says. “I see you’ve been ruminating on the past again. That explains… a lot. That’s not a problem, though. We can work with that.”

“Why did you do it?” I press. “I deserve answers for the things you did to me.”

“Of course you do,” she says with diplomatic concern. “And I agree with you. However, we’ve talked about this, and it isn't productive to discuss that subject as it can make you very upset.”

“Maybe I’m upset because we haven’t discussed the damn subject!” I erupt, slamming my fist down on the coffee table. “Maybe I’m upset because I’ve buried a lifetime of trauma instead of confronting it! Did you ever think of that?”

“Your feelings are valid–”

“Then validate them with an explanation!”

Dr. Wilkins gets quiet. I hear a drawer open, the sound of cork popping and the glug glug of liquid being poured into a glass. “Alright,” she says, heaving a sigh. “Why not? Let’s discuss the experiments, if you think that’ll make you feel better. What would you like to know?”

“Let’s start with why,” I say. “Why did you do it? Why put me through all of that suffering?”

“I’ve told you before. We wanted to make a better world.”

“Bullshit!”

Another clink of glass. Another drink. “It’s the truth, Quinn. It is. And we still can, but it requires a shift in your mindset, a harnessing of positive stimuli. Your depression has presented a roadblock, of course. Antidepressants don’t work well with your unique biology but–”

“My unique biology?” I seethe. “You mean how you grew me in a petri dish, how you raised me in and out of test tubes?”

“No. What I mean is–”

“Do you know I still haven’t made a friend? Not one. I’ve got no family. No connections. Thanks to you, I didn’t even see the outside world until–”

“You were nine,” Dr. Wilkins finishes. There’s a thunk of a glass hitting the table, then more liquor hitting the glass. “I know. I was there. If you want the truth, Quinn, it’s that I regret everything about your upbringing, I do, but you need to understand that we did the best we could with the information we had. Your gift is powerful beyond compare.”

“Gift?” I say, laughing in disbelief. “You must mean curse. Gifts don’t rip people to pieces and leave you standing in their entrails at nine-years-old.”

There's a half-beat of silence. “Your gifts are difficult to control,” Dr. Wilkins says carefully, “I acknowledge that, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use them to help people. Your gifts could save lives. Billions.”

“You want to know how many lives my ‘gift’ saved today?”

“Quinn–”

“Do you?”

“I know you're frustrated–”

“Let’s see,” I say, counting off my fingers. “First, I helped a little boy die after giving a dog rabies and making it tear out his throat.”

“This isn’t productive–”

“Next, I made a car lose control and slam into a brick wall. A man's head was sheared off, and a woman's arm is missing somewhere on the pavement.”

“That’s enough!”

“I wonder who my gifts will help tomorrow, doctor? Maybe they’ll–”

KNOCK.

I grip my hair. Stifle a scream.

KNOCK.

Christ!

Why won’t this FUCKING knocking leave me alone?

KNOCK.

“SHUT UP!” I roar.

“Quinn!”

“I know!” I gasp. “I know! I’m trying to block it out, I am but–”

“I said that's enough!” Dr. Wilkins snaps.

My breath catches. Her shift in tone, her sudden temper catches me off-guard. She’s never snapped at me before, not once.

“I’m sorry,” she sputters. “God. That was… It was wrong of me to lose my temper at you. It's just that I need a second to think, okay? I need to get my head in order.”

Another unexpected curveball, but I've waited this long for answers. I can wait another couple minutes. “Fine,” I tell her. “Whatever you need.”

“Cheers,” she says joylessly.

I hear her pour herself another drink. Then another. She keeps going like that until I hear her throw the bottle, until I hear it shatter it against the office wall. Then she’s mumbling. Talking to herself. Her voice is full of frustration and grief.

“Are you finished yet?”

“In a minute,” she tells me.

I give her the space she needs. I sit there, knees pressed to my chest and phone pressed to my ear and I don’t say a word just like I've been taught. Obey.

Obey. Obey. Obey. It's the most important part about being me, so I listen to her and I obey. I wait and I wait, and I wonder what’s taking her so long.

Silence. It’s my greatest enemy. What they don’t tell you about ‘peace and quiet' is that it's a breeding ground for repressed memories, and right now, I’m beating my memories back with a stick. Except they won’t stay down. They keep clawing their way back into the spotlight, again and again.

The laboratory.

The experiments.

They’re all I can think about. The doctors, and the pills, and the seventy-two syringes they’d plunge into my spine night after night. How many hours did I spend on that operating table? How many years did I spend screaming and crying, begging them to stop?

How many did I kill to make it happen?

KNOCK.

“... our contingency plan?”

“What?” I say, blinking. “Sorry, I missed what you said.”

“I’m asking if you remember our contingency plan,” Dr. Wilkins says, and her voice is urgent and clipped. “The pill I gave you. The big one with the yellow ribbon around the center. Do you still have it?”

KNOCK. KNOCK.

My stomach twists. It pulls itself into a knot that’s making me grimace. “Yeah. I do.”

“Thank god,” she says, heaving a sigh. “I need you to take it right now, okay?”

“Now? But why?”

“Like I said, it’ll help with the…” She gives a drunken hiccup. “... Sorry. It’ll help with the nightmares, Quinn. All that knocking is keeping you up, and that’s not good cause you need your sleep and… Well, this will make sure you have a nice long sleep.”

There’s something in her words, some passenger that’s making my skin crawl. It’s a combination of false cheer, fake empathy and…

“Did you take it yet?” she asks.“You have to hurry and take the pill, Quinn.”

There it is. Unmistakable, naked and obvious. It's fear. Her voice is dripping with fear.

“You’re lying,” I mutter.

KNOCK.

“I’m not–”

“There you go again,” I shout. “Stop it! Stop lying to me!”

KNOCK.

The pill.

The fucking pill.

She gave it to me a lifetime ago. It was right after they pulled me from the wreckage of the lab, right after they shampooed the blood from my hair and promised they wouldn’t hurt me ever again. No more needles. Not now that they knew what I could do to them if they tried.

Dr. Wilkins was waiting for me then, she was standing in the rubble with her medical-grade smile. “I have something for you, Quinn. It’s a pill and it’s very special. If the bad thoughts ever come back, I need you to take this pill, okay? It’ll make them go away forever. But taking it will hurt a whole bunch, so only take it if you absolutely need to, understand?”

“Okay,” I told her. “I understand.”

And at the time, I thought I did. I thought Dr. Wilkins was looking out for me, that the pill was actually some kind of failsafe that would help ease the pain, but now… Now I’m old enough to connect the dots. I’m old enough to see the pill for what it really is.

It’s closer to cyanide than advil.

KNOCK.

She wants to kill me.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

She wants me to kill myself.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

There’s a gasp from the other side of the phone. A wheeze.

“Quinn…” Dr. Wilkins rasps. “You’ve gotta control your thoughts…”

She’s having trouble breathing. It’s a taste of her own medicine, a bit of comeuppance for the suffering she put me through as a child.

More gasping. More sputtering. She’s having a real hard time of it now, and I think I hear her stumble to the floor, think I hear that clatter of a chair and the desperate clawing of finger-nails against her throat. This is better than she deserves. It’s better than any of them deserve…

I bite my fist, clench my eyes.

Damnit.

This isn’t me. I’m not a bad person, I’m not, and I won’t let them turn me into one either. My mind latches onto a more positive thought, and a moment later I hear Dr. Wilkins breathing again.

“Thank you…” she sputters. “.. always knew you were a g-good person, Quinn. Always.”

Yes, I think. That’s why you gave me a pill to destroy myself.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

“Tell me the truth,” I snarl, my patience exhausted. “All of it. Right now, or I swear I’ll–”

“I will,” she says quickly. “I will, and I won’t lie. Not anymore.”

“I’ll know if you do.”

And just like that, she’s talking. It starts off obvious, starts off with details I could already guess based on what I’d suffered through, but then it gets interesting. My ears prick up. I lean forward, gnawing my lip in anticipation.

“It was the Cold War,” she tells me, voice slurred from the drink. “That’s when it really began, the idea of you. Back then we were on the brink of – whole world was, I mean– nuclear war. People were afraid. And people do… Well, they do erratic things when they’re afraid, Quinn.”

I shake my head. “What do I have to do with any of that?”

“Everything,” she says. “You… You were conceived as an antidote to humanity's fear. A bulwark against it.”

“You're drunk. This is nonsense.”

“Of course it isn’t,” she says. “Your gifts can extinguish fear, they can unite the world and usher in a paradise. This has always been true.”

“My gifts hurt people.”

“No,” she groans. “No they –hyuck– don’t, Quinn. Your gifts do whatever you want them to. They always have. They let you reshape reality, alter the very fabric of our existence…” A pause. I hear Dr. Wilkins being sick into her garbage can.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that?” I press. “You never described my abilities to me before, never told me what I was doing or how I was doing it. You just kept me in the dark! Do you have any idea how terrifying that was? Having things happen around you, scary things, and being told you're the reason but not why or how?”

“Telling you wasn't possible. Not when you were younger. We needed to make sure you were sound of mind first, that you wouldn't take the knowledge of your abilities and use them to harm others. That takes time. Assessment. It was further impacted by your design, which was –hyuck– sorely imperfect.”

KNOCK.

Pressure.

There’s pressure in my skull. It’s building between my temples and feels like somebody’s pushing my eyes out of their sockets. It's stress like I've never felt before.

“Imperfect design?” I say, wincing through the pain. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Dr. Wilkins is quiet. “How do I say this? You're much more than a collection of cells cultivated in a petri dish. The experiments… They went well beyond science, Quinn.”

KNOCK.

My head pounds. There's a ringing in my ears, a guttural shriek like a banshee's dying breath. I’m having trouble focusing, having trouble following the conversation. The words are coming in fragments.

“... digsite in Iraq—”

“... unearthed an artifact—”

“... clay tablet—”

“… Sumerian in origin—”

“... occult runes—”

“... excavation team dead—”

“... primeval cult—”

KNOCK.

My teeth are rattling. I’m losing time. My whole body is shaking as I stagger to the sink, pour myself a cup of water. It spills across the counter. I pour another. So thirsty. I'm so thirsty.

“... remarkable properties—”

“... unlike anything we'd ever seen—”

“... carved the runes onto your bones—”

“... infused your DNA—”

KNOCK.

Fire. There’s fire in my veins, inside of my mind. It's too much. I'm writhing, tensing in agony and my cup shatters in my fist. Ceramic shards pierce my palm. Dozens. I’m bleeding. There's my blood all over the kitchen tile and it belongs to me, and it's blacker than empty space.

“... meant to be our savior, Quinn—”

“... but you’re falling apart—”

“... reality is crumbling—”

“... people will die—”

“... take the pill—”

“... hurry—”

My head splits. All at once, I'm screaming and crying and my eyes are bulging out of my skull. There's acid in my veins. It's pumping through me like radioactive waste, making me shriveled and weak and nauseous and–

Alarm.

There's an alarm ringing, a fire alarm. It's sounding from the hallway and there's a stampede of movement as the apartment begins to evacuate.

I take a breath. Stagger upright.

It's gone.

The pain, I mean. The pain and the pressure, the acid in my veins, the dying of thirst and the burning from the inside-out is all gone. I'm me again.

Oh god, I’m me again.

My apartment is a crumpled heap. It's a mess of splintered wood and snapping livewires, of broken pipes and…

And crying.

Somebody's crying. Their voice is coming from the rubble of my collapsed ceiling, and I wonder who I've added to my list of murders as I fall onto my hands and knees and start to dig.

“Why?” I shout, tossing debris out of the way. “Why is this happening to me?”

And there it is. The source of the whimpering, the source of the tears. My phone. Dr. Wilkins is sobbing into the speaker.

“I’ve been trying to tell you why, Quinn…,” she says, her voice thick with grief. “For the last twenty minutes I’ve been trying to tell you…”

“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I was… I was having some kind of episode, I think, but it’s over now. I’m better. Everything’s fine and–”

“No,” she tells me. “You aren’t better, and nothing's fine.”

KNOCK. KNOCK.

My heart sinks like a stone.

This isn't like her. She's always told me to be positive, that I could do great things if I put my mind to it. Now, she sounds certain of my failure.

“Hold on,” I say, doing my best to ignore the pit in my gut. “You said I could make the world a better place, didn't you? Well, now that I know what I’m capable of I can do that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she sobs. “Nothing matters anymore. It’s too late for you, for me, for every last soul on this planet. It’s too late, Quinn. I'm sorry.”

I shake my head. “No. You're… You’re just drunk.”

“It's more than that. I can hear it.”

KNOCK.

“Hear what?” I ask, wishing she'd say something to reassure me. Anything at all to reassure me.

KNOCK.

“I’ve heard it all night,” she says, “ever since you called.”

KNOCK.

“It isn’t an artifact of your imagination.”

KNOCK.

“It’s real.”

KNOCK.

“The truth is, we put more than drugs inside of you.”

KNOCK.

“Much more.”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I stumble back against what’s left of my kitchen counter. I’m hyperventilating. It’s my chest. There’s something inside of it, some tightness. It’s beating against my ribs, pounding and thundering and it’s so loud, loud enough that it almost sounds like…

Knock. Knock.

No.

“We thought it’d remain dormant. We really did.”

KNOCK.

No. Please no… Anything but this.

“We didn’t even think it’d work. At least, I didn’t.”

KNOCK.

“I mean, the thing with the tablet, and the ritual, and the virgin sacrifice?”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“It seemed like nonsense…”

KNOCK.

“....but we started seeing mutations in your DNA, and your gifts began to manifest…”

KNOCK. KNOCK.

She's lying.

This is what she does, isn't it? Always. She lies and she lies and she–

I keel over, gasping. Pressure. There's a pounding pressure in my chest like fists on a drum.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“... last year we translated the other half of the tablet. The one from Sumeria. The things it spoke about… God help us, they were terrifying, Quinn…”

Fingernails. I feel fingernails against my ribs. I feel something raking, clawing at my skin like it's trying to get out.

“... It spoke about a new genesis, an extinction of all that is…”

Blood. There’s blood pooling down my chest, and I think I see something in the wound. A finger. It’s digging up through my flesh, carving its way out of me. Oh god, it’s trying to get out.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Screaming. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, writhing on the floor as I feel my mind begin to fade, feel my consciousness begin to die as something makes my corpse its vessel.

“We put that inside of you,” Dr Wilkins sobs, ignoring my screaming, ignoring my agony. “I'm sorry, Quinn. I'm so fucking sorry!”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“We thought we were creating a messiah.”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“We were wrong.”

[kingwuko]

7, 11, 13, 27, 43, 50, 79 for the fanfic asks!

YAY of course!!! I'll put them under a cut

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

“Guess not. But if the swamp showed you a vision of her…,” Korra said carefully. “The swamp is strange. It sort of shows you what you need to see. The visions aren’t always right, but whatever the swamp showed you probably has some deeper meaning…” Korra wasn’t sure what the Earth Queen might have done or said to Wu, but whatever it was, it had really rattled him. Of course, that wasn't saying much. Wu wasn’t exactly the most cool and collected person she had ever met. Still, Korra got the sense that whatever Wu had seen was intense. “What I need to see…” Wu said thoughtfully. “I… I don’t know. The things she-I mean, the things the vision said to me…” “What did she say in the vision?” Wu’s posture became uneasy and his eyes darted away for a moment. He was being cagey, which wasn’t like Wu at all. Normally he was over eager to share. The vision must have really freaked him out, if he didn’t want to talk about it.

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

OOOhh good question. I actually try to write in order! There is a fic author from a different fandom who posts (amateur) fic writing tutorials. She's got a great track record with longfics and wrote a tutorial explaining her methods. One important point she made was that she always writes in order, because it helps her get through the not-fun parts if she has the fun parts waiting for her; just like it's enjoyable as a reader to experience a build-up to the big moments, it's enjoyable as a writer too! I followed this advice and I think it worked REALLY well for me. I managed to finish Secret and Windswept is coming along really nicely. That's not to say I've never written anything out of order, but if I have a scene in my head that's further down the line and I don't want to forget something I've thought of, I put it in my outline rather than directly into a document. Tricks my brain into thinking that I haven't really written it yet, because it's just part of the outline.

13. Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

I do! Well I try to, anyway. If I'm sitting down to write after the kids are in bed, you betcha. But I also do a lot of little micro writing throughout the day as ideas come to me or I have a few moments to myself. in that case I don't listen to anything. I have playlists for my fic and I like to listen on my work commute which is some of my daydream time where I think of fic ideas. Here's my playlist for Windswept:

27. What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

oh boy you're going to make me compliment myself??? I have imposter syndrome big time this is difficult 🤣 I think I'm pretty strong in the sort of inner-monologue-stream-of-consciousness area. I really love getting into the character's heads and portraying their inner thoughts, and capturing their inner voices throughout it. And I think I do a pretty good job!

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

I REALLY want to write something about Wuko from Bolin's perspective. Every time I write Bolin I have SOOO much fun I really want to get in that guy's head!!!

50. How would you describe your writing style?

Maybe introspective? I try to keep the story moving but every time something happens, I always make the POV character think about it. I really like writing what's going on in the characters heads.

79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

Get a beta reader for your fanfics!!! Seriously. If your beta reader is just someone you send your completed drafts to and they provide suggestions and edits, that already will elevate your writing miles above what you started with. If it's someone who can also be there to help bounce ideas off of, outline, brainstorm, keep you on track with writing by encouraging you etc. Even better! Also. Don't be embarrassed about writing smut. Whatever. It's just sex. If you're writing it, you probably like reading it. Just write it and don't feel weird about sending it to a beta reader (as long as they've agreed beforehand that they're okay with smut!), don't feel weird about posting it. Lets unlearn shame together and all that. If you're writing outside your experience, try to get the perspective of someone from that experience. If you can't actually talk to someone about it, google and try to find info. For example I'm writing m/m when I don't ID as a man. I so I talk to men (especially mlm) and read accounts from men about certain things, so there's less chance that I'm being offensive or disrespectful or just plain wrong about something.

[masschase]

i’m really interested to see what Casey and Carlos relationship was like when he was alive. he’s such a fascinating character to think about purely because of how tragically his story ends and i wonder how that affected Casey too.

btw i hope you’re doing well :)

Phew sorry this took a while I dozed off at one point and all sorts 😅

Two SR characters ask meme

I occasionally worry about posting about these two because he's such a like... younger brother innocent bby type character for so many people including myself. But that's not how I wrote Casey and he's not particularly younger than her, maybe a year or so, so here goes.

Carlos was really the first person Casey had romantic feelings for (Shaundi was a little later during the sr2/3 gap). But she dealt with it about as well as you'd expect an awkward 16-year old who'd been thrown into the body of a 21-year old on a angst-filled power trip to react.

"Ugh, your aim's shit, let me help." (his aim was fine) "Hey, hey Carlos, betcha can't pick me up." (she was skinny *before* the coma, I think at this point a light breeze could pick her up) And the particularly egregious: *flirts in Spanish then asks what it means* (she's semi-fluent and worse, he knows that🤦🏼)

In terms of writing I wove this into her backstory fairly subtly because by the time we actually see her 5-13 years later I feel like she has got so used to her "love is dangerous" attitude that she doesn't really trace it back to Carlos. If anything she traces it back to Aisha's death, because she sees the way Johnny changes more than she sees any change in herself.

We see in chapter 7 her biggest fear is something she's not comfortable to admit. In chapter 10 we see that this fear is losing someone she cares about again. This could be about any one of the friends she's lost but the fact she says it in reference to protecting Matt suggests she lost someone she had feelings for. In chapter 15 she thinks about the fact she would comfort Johnny about Aisha and he would comfort her about Carlos, rather than just them grieving together, suggesting some sort of mirror between the two losses and that Carlos meant something different to Casey than Johnny.

In chapter 21 Matt asks her in 2021 if she's aromantic. Her thoughts on this are "She hadn't gone as far as falling in love, she’d never let herself get that close. But she’d had the feeling of starting to fall. Being just on the edge. Holding on by her fingertips and clawing herself right back. It was so terrifying that she avoided the precipice completely now.". This could mean Shaundi, and it does, but it also applies to Carlos, and he's the reason she classifies it as "terrifying". And although this is late on, it doesn't really spoil the plot, so; in chapter 32 when Johnny is (very accurately) calling Casey out on not being able to talk about her feelings, he asks her if she ever told Carlos how much she liked him.

She points out that is not cool rather than give an actual answer, but the answer is that no, she didn't. In fact the artwork I did of them together that I've not yet been able to fix enough for my liking... well I can describe it here actually.

Carlos is standing slightly behind long purple haired (main SR2 look) Casey, smiling and tapping/poking her on the shoulder while she turns her head and smiles back. Their faces are kind of close. A gradient starts around their shoulders that fades down to very dark grey where we see the words "I'll tell him tomorrow.". Then below the words, we see the barely visible black silhouette of their hands clasped together as per Red Asphalt.

Those words really sum up Casey's feelings around Carlos. Thing is though, it's not some really poetic or contrived thing where she thought it for the first time and that tomorrow was the day she had to mercy kill him. She thought it for a while. There were a lot of tomorrows. Yet still she didn't speak her mind, much as Johnny recognises 12 years later.

And because she likes to find meaning in all the shitty events she's witnessed in her life, her regret about that gives way to a belief that she may have actually made the right choice That's where her abandonment issues and fear of commitment tip over into a conscious choice to avoid relationships, into stuffing down those feelings deeper and deeper even as they grow stronger.

Obviously her highly "logical" views are complete bullshit when it comes to emotions. But if she didn't have those views, she wouldn't be her, and if they weren't bullshit, I wouldn't have a story. So at least that's something, right? 🙂

[madara-fate]

Hi I finally can log in I was the person that asked you this question https://www.tumblr.com/madara-fate/712697900416761856/if-you-dont-want-people-to-see-who-asked-the?source=share sorry about that I like your takes and I was hoping that you would change my view of the manga.

Although you tell me to stop checking Boruto for Sakura, I don't agree with your statement because each passing month I check if she's included only to realize that she's still neglected and ignored. It's normal that I feel like this because all we see recently is the main characters needing medical attention but we never get to see that medical attention or Sakura, like the most recent chapter with Konohamaru telling Boruto to go to the hospital. I really hoped I was gonna see her do something, at least show her head around. But nah it was terrible.

She might be a side character now, but she's the most side character or side characters, she's irrelevant!! A stark contrast with her self in novels she's not a protagonist of. Even Shikamaru Hiden gave her a more prominent role than what Boruto is doing and she's the only healer around.

How's Sakura not trusted when she's the most proficient plant and herb scientist in the village? She made an antidote for Sasori but she can't make a drug for Boruto's eye? How's Shikamaru trusting the guy that put a collar on his son's neck? Why is Naruto trusting him even? Why not trust Sakura, why not putting Sakura to use? Ino and Sai have been given good jobs but how is it possible that Ikemoto can't find anything for Sakura? He doesn't have to think too much she's been a medic since shippuden.

I don't understand how removing her from the political influence is a baseless statement. She used to go to Gokage meetings for goodness sake, who is she now? Is she even in Konoha? She was there as a teen when the Akatsuki with Tsunade, participating in the Itachi pursuit planning, etc. She doesn't even support Naruto anymore, she doesn't support anybody she needs the support now with her friends saying her husband abandons her. It's sickening to be very honest.

A convenient healer is all she is now and not anymore recently. In 2019 the Boruto Ninja Directory described her as "a housewife that works in the medical frontline" that's the biggest downgrade in history. From being the best medical-nin to a housewife that works in the medical frontline? What frontline? Medical care is neglected. Where are all those titles from the anime? Head of the Medical Department, director of the hospital, teacher and the leader doctor. I have the feeling she's jobless not gonna lie.

Sakura has been sidelined and Ibiki/Ino have been more prominent not only in this plot, but since Amado debuted. When Amado put a collar on Shikadai? Ino. When Isshiki went to Naruto's house? Ino. When Isshiki invaded? Ino. When Konoha needed to evacuate? Ino. When Delta debuted? Ino. When Kawaki escaped? Ino. When Code invaded? Ino. In Momoshiki's memories? Ino. And Ibiki is next to Sai all the time so that's more screentime. From the beginning Sakura has been sidelined.

Isn't she the most intelligent after Shikamaru? I can think of perfect writings for her just like Ikemoto and Kodachi inserted Ino in the Barrier Team. Lack of creativity Sakura is so versatile in intelligence, fight and medicine they have three specialties to choose from and none is brought up. Betcha Sakura will never summon Katsuyu when Konoha is destroyed.

Although you tell me to stop checking Boruto for Sakura, I don't agree with your statement because each passing month I check if she's included only to realize that she's still neglected and ignored. It's normal that I feel like this because all we see recently is the main characters needing medical attention but we never get to see that medical attention or Sakura, like the most recent chapter with Konohamaru telling Boruto to go to the hospital. I really hoped I was gonna see her do something, at least show her head around. But nah it was terrible.

My comment wasn't something you should "agree" with or not, it was advice. So I'll repeat what I said before - If you're following Boruto solely for Sakura, then you're following it for completely the wrong reasons, and I'd advise you to stop because I don't even see what the point of continuing is if you're not even interested in the actual story. You instead just want to see if a side character will show up, and will seemingly always be disappointed and frustrated when she doesn't. So I don't see the point in continuing to anger yourself.

She might be a side character now, but she's the most side character or side characters, she's irrelevant!! A stark contrast with her self in novels she's not a protagonist of. Even Shikamaru Hiden gave her a more prominent role than what Boruto is doing and she's the only healer around.

Sakura is not irrelevant. It's these kinds of statements that frustrate me because yes, they're baseless. Just because Sakura isn't featured as much as you'd like her to be in this current arc, does not make her irrelevant to the village, or the story.

How's Sakura not trusted when she's the most proficient plant and herb scientist in the village? She made an antidote for Sasori but she can't make a drug for Boruto's eye? How's Shikamaru trusting the guy that put a collar on his son's neck? Why is Naruto trusting him even? Why not trust Sakura, why not putting Sakura to use? Ino and Sai have been given good jobs but how is it possible that Ikemoto can't find anything for Sakura? He doesn't have to think too much she's been a medic since shippuden.

I'll repeat - No one said that Sakura is not trusted. That is another baseless statement.

I don't understand how removing her from the political influence is a baseless statement. She used to go to Gokage meetings for goodness sake, who is she now? Is she even in Konoha? She was there as a teen when the Akatsuki with Tsunade, participating in the Itachi pursuit planning, etc.

I'll tell you how it's a baseless statement - Because Sakura was not shown or even remotely implied to have lost any of her status within the village. Her not being featured in the arc, is not the same thing as her losing all relevance that she has in the village, and I really wish that people would stop jumping to these absurd conclusions. Just call it like it is - Sakura being featured a disappointingly low number of times in the arc. That's what this is, there are no other underlying implications of what her absence means. You mention the things she used to do back in the main manga, as if she's still a main character.

Furthermore...

She doesn't even support Naruto anymore, she doesn't support anybody she needs the support now with her friends saying her husband abandons her.

Sorry but that's just a preposterous comment, seriously. You really think that Sakura doesn't support anybody? You really think her friends said that her husband abandons her? No, that's just complete and utter false nonsense. Goodness gracious.

A convenient healer is all she is now and not anymore recently. In 2019 the Boruto Ninja Directory described her as "a housewife that works in the medical frontline" that's the biggest downgrade in history. From being the best medical-nin to a housewife that works in the medical frontline? What frontline? Medical care is neglected. Where are all those titles from the anime? Head of the Medical Department, director of the hospital, teacher and the leader doctor. I have the feeling she's jobless not gonna lie.

Who the hell cares what the "2019 the Boruto Ninja Directory" described Sakura as? I've never even heard of that before. Why don't you stick to what Sakura is actually described as in the manga and anime? That's what matters, not what some obscure source in the corner of the internet chose to describe her as. Sakura is clearly not jobless, and she still has her titles and prestige, so if you think that Sakura is apparently jobless now, then that's on you and your own frustration clouding your judgement, nothing else needs to be said.

Sakura has been sidelined and Ibiki/Ino have been more prominent not only in this plot, but since Amado debuted. When Amado put a collar on Shikadai? Ino. When Isshiki went to Naruto's house? Ino. When Isshiki invaded? Ino. When Konoha needed to evacuate? Ino. When Delta debuted? Ino. When Kawaki escaped? Ino. When Code invaded? Ino. In Momoshiki's memories? Ino. And Ibiki is next to Sai all the time so that's more screentime. From the beginning Sakura has been sidelined.

Not from the beginning, but I'll repeat not only that her lack of panel times doesn't somehow mean that she's now "irrelevant", or "jobless", or has been "removed from political influence" etc, but I'll also repeat that if Sakura is all you're following this for, and you couldn't care less about what's actually happening in the story, then stop following it, it's as simple as that. Honestly, my empathy for people who complain about a series when they're only following it for the ships or a single character, is slim to none. So I'm sorry, but I'm lacking the empathy to speak with any form of tact here.

Isn't she the most intelligent after Shikamaru? I can think of perfect writings for her just like Ikemoto and Kodachi inserted Ino in the Barrier Team. Lack of creativity Sakura is so versatile in intelligence, fight and medicine they have three specialties to choose from and none is brought up. Betcha Sakura will never summon Katsuyu when Konoha is destroyed.

Look, I've already told you that while I share your disappointment in Sakura not being as involved in the plot as I'd want her to be, her perpetual involvement is not a requirement for my enjoyment of the series. Ultimately, I'm enjoying Boruto while you're not, and there's no point in trying to change your view if your entire view not only hinges on Sakura's involvement, but it's also already skewed to the point of you believing that Sakura is apparently now irrelevant, and that her friends tell her that Sasuke abandons her, there really is no point.

[ifanfictiondreamerworld]

The Ultimate Story the Beginnings Chapter 7-Victory is At Hand

Later on, Razorbeard receives a special guest: a man who is more than willing to sell a robotic killing machine to Razorbeard. After much describing, Razorbeard accepted the offer and pays the guy in full. At that time, Rayman and his friends arrive on the ship. They go through an excruciatingly, complicated entrance way through the ship. It was a major headache to get through and the Lums were extremely difficult, if not, nearly impossible to reach without the girls' help. Buttercup: "You've got to be kidding me! How ridiculously, long is this entire place?" Misty: "Betcha Razorbeard loses a lot of men while they try to make it through here." Maggie: "Hm…me thinks they have a secret entrance to this place." Buttercup: "If there is one, I would like to know where it is!"

They made it through and reached a large chamber. Misty: "Phew, we finally made it out of there." Bubbles: "Now what do we do?"

Rayman thought for a moment. Rayman: ["We have to reach Razorbeard."] Girls: "What?" Peach: "Rayman, are you sure about this?" Rayman: ["I'm positive, I know it's a long shot, but if we defeat him, we could put a permanent end to all of this. Plus, I have been looking forward to get my revenge on that jerk for what he did to me."] Misty: "Sounds good to me." Buttercup: "I say let's go for it!" Bubbles: "Yeah, let's do it!" Lisa: "Now, hold on for a second. We don't know what this Razorbeard is truly capable of. We need to access the situation very carefully." Buttercup: "Blah, blah, blah! We need to kick butt! That's what we need to do!" Rayman: ["For once, I'm with Buttercup on this. Let's go kick that robo-fiend's butt!"] Buttercup: "Alright! Now you're speaking my language!" Bubbles: "Um…I doubt that highly." Buttercup: "I didn't mean literally, Bubbles." Blossom: "Enough talk. Let's get out of here." Bubbles, Buttercup: "Right." Misty: "But where do we go from here?"

Rayman thought for a moment. He looked over and saw a walking shell. Rayman: ["Maybe that can guide us."]

He ran over to it. Peach: "Rayman, wait!"

He stopped in front of it. Rayman: ["Come on, Peach, let's go."]

After she caught up with him, he grabbed on to her, they both got on the shell and it flew off. Rayman: ["Whoa! I didn't know this thing could fly!"]

The girls eventually caught up with them and they kept flying on.

At that time, Razorbeard's informant went to tell him that Rayman and the girls have all 4 Masks and are on board the ship. Outraged, Razorbeard ordered his informant to jump in a pool of molten lava while he takes care of Rayman himself and he knows exactly how to lure Rayman out. He got into his new mecha and powered it up. He aimed his new weapon at Globox, who was dangling upside down. Rayman came busting into the scene. Rayman: ["Leave my friend alone!"] Razorbeard: ["Rayman, I knew you would show up and I see you brought the girls with you."] Bubbles: "It's over, Razorbeard!" Blossom: "We'll see to it that you will never enslave another person again!" Buttercup: "Enough talk, let's pulverize him!"

He then shot at them, nearly knocking them off. Misty idled in the air as she watched the others go after Globox. Razorbeard: ["The girl!"]

Rayman looked down at his friend, who was still hanging upside down. Rayman: ["Are you OK, Globox?"] Globox: ["I'm fine, just go!"]

Just then, he heard Misty screaming. He looked over and saw that Razorbeard has grabbed her. Rayman: ["Misty, no!"]

The girls attempted to fight Razorbeard's huge mecha and free Misty, but it was no use. He shot all of them back. Buttercup: "Whoa, he's tougher than I thought." Bubbles: "What are we going to do? Misty's in trouble!" Rayman: ["Let me handle this, he's mine. You girls go help Globox and free all of the slaves."] Bubbles: "But…" Rayman: ["Just do as I say!"]

The girls hesitated at first, but then they left. Rayman: ["Peach, you get out of here, too."] Peach: "But what about you?" Rayman: ["Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."] Peach: "Oh, OK"

She then left with the girls. Rayman looked back at Razorbeard. Rayman: ["Alright, pirate, it's payback time!"]

Rayman fought the huge mecha. It made every attempt on him but he kept fighting back. In the middle of the fight, Rayman stopped for a brief moment. Rayman: ["Give me back my friend!"] Razorbeard: ["Never!"]

They continued fighting on. Razorbeard: ["She's mine, do you hear me? She and every single sole on this ship are mine. Soon, you will all be mine!"] Rayman: ["Forget it! I'd rather die!"] Razorbeard: ["So be it! Say goodbye to your friends, Rayman!"]

He jumped up really high and then crashed right through the floor. Rayman ran over and looked down. Rayman: [“MISTY!”]

The floor then collapsed under his feet and he began to fall. He then heard a voice. Ly: "Don't be afraid, Rayman, your friends are here for you."

At that moment, she called upon Lisa. Ly: "Lisa. Hurry! Rayman needs you." Lisa: "Yes, Ly, I'm on my way."

She then disappeared. She reappeared and used her psychic powers to lift up Rayman. He then heard Ly's voice in his head. Ly: "Rayman, thanks to you and the girls, hope has returned to the hearts of everyone. The girls have broken all of chains and freed all of the slaves. On land, Polokus has destroyed all of the robots. Defeat Razorbeard and our victory will be complete. Lisa, help him out however you can." Lisa: "I will, Ly. Don't you worry."

Lisa and Rayman looked at each other. Lisa: "Are you ready for this, Rayman?" Rayman: ["Are you kidding? I was born ready."]

They both looked behind them and saw that Razorbeard was still holding on to Misty and for dear life. It was on now.

With the assistance of Lisa, Rayman fought Razorbeard head on. She created a magical floor for him and increased his power tenfold. With that, he was able to have enough power to knock down Razorbeard, in the heat of the battle, Rayman sought a chance to free Misty from Razorbeard's grasp. And with that, Misty gladly helped Rayman out with defeating Razorbeard. They fought until they permanently disabled the mecha and sent Razorbeard on his way, but not before he unleashed 1 last surprise. He sent the mecha to self-destruct and with that, the entire prison ship blew up.

Back in Polokus' realm, everyone mourned the supposed loss of Rayman. The Powerpuff Girls, Peach and Maggie had tears for supposedly losing Misty and Lisa as well. Just then, there was a large flash of light. Before anyone knew it, Misty, Lisa and Rayman appeared before them. Everybody rejoiced. Bubbles flew over to Misty. Blossom, Buttercup and Maggie flew over to Lisa and Peach ran over to Rayman with tears in her eyes. Peach: "Oh, Rayman! I thought I would never see you again!” Rayman: ["I'm sorry, Peach, I didn't mean to worry you too much."] Bubbles: "Misty! Thank goodness you're OK I was so worried when I saw that nasty pirate had you!" Misty: "It's alright, Bubbles, thanks to Lisa and Rayman, I made it out of there OK."

The girls were too busy huddling with Lisa. Lisa: "Now, now, was there any doubt that I wouldn't make it out of there alive?" Blossom: "Well, you were weakened by the heart of the world being in a thousand pieces." Buttercup: "It's too bad we were only 1 lum shy." Lisa: "Oh, I don't think so."

Lisa then pulled out the last Lum. Buttercup: "Is that…?" Lisa: "The last Lum." Blossom: "But how did you come across it?" Lisa: "Razorbeard coughed it up before he retreated like the coward that he is. It just so happened to fly right into my possession. The heart of this world should be able to restore itself now."

The 1000 Lums then came together and formed 1 huge Lum. Misty: "We did it; we restored the heart of the world!"

The Teenzies then intervened and took the Heart of the World. Teenzie: ["Allow us to take this back to where it belongs."] Lisa: "Go ahead. Be sure that it stays together."

They left with the Lum. Just then, Ly approached them. Ly: "With the Heart of the World restored, my powers have been restored as well. I cannot thank you enough." Misty: "It was our pleasure, Ly." Ly: "Now that I have all the power I need, I can now finally awaken your fairy powers."

Ly then created another Gold Lum and gave it to Misty. The energy then surrounds her, filling her with energy. Misty: "I can't believe it…my powers…I have them!" Ly: "You are a fairy now, Misty. Congratulations." Rayman then walked up to her. Rayman: ["How does it feel to have all of your powers, Misty?"] Misty: "It feels great, I can't believe that I'm a…wait! I can understand you?" Ly: "Yes, you can understand all languages now that you have your telepathy." Misty: "Wow, this is amazing! I can understand everyone now! ALRIGHT! What else can I do?" Ly: "There are plenty more that you can accomplish. You will learn what they are when the time comes, that I promise you."

Misty smiled on. She looked around as everyone began to surround her with big smiles on their faces. They all couldn't be happier.