#black clock beetle

[hellsitegenetics]

I got a pet pac-man frog recently and for the life of me I cannot come up with a good name for them, so I'm gonna roll the BLAST dice and see what comes up from this :D

Their too young to sex for now, and they're a coffee morph (Which means their much more brown and less green than normal), and I love them dearly already

They're still pretty small, so they're in a small little plastic container for now until they grow big enough to be in the 20 gallon-long tank I have

String identified: gt a t ac-a g ct a t cat c t a g a t, ' ga t AT c a at c t : T t g t , a t' a c (c a t c a g ta a), a t a aa T' t tt a, t' a a tt atc cta t t g g g t t ga-g ta a

Closest match: Pterostichus madidus genome assembly, chromosome: 8 Common name: Black Clock Beetle

(image source)

[gummi-stims]

This board is probably mostly just for me, but recently remembered an old favorite neopets game and just had to make it. Web of Vernax stimboard!

🕷-🕸-🕷

🐞- x -🐞

🕷-🕸-🕷

[siriusleee]

beating, twice

↳ 3.8k words

↳ simon has a new heart

↳ author's note: this has been sitting in my google docs since december of last year. so i'm posting it now because i've become stuck and can't figure anything else out with it

The mountains had never appealed to Simon; he preferred the asphalt jungle of London; the glittering beetle eye concrete of New York City. Easier to disappear into, the pulsating feel of the crowds giving him a sense of anonymity. But at discharge, the doctor's told him to take it easy - to enjoy retirement. 

"You're not exactly a young man anymore Mr. Riley," the military doctor said, a silver wedding ring glittering on the back of her clipboard. "You're being medically discharged - you need a plan to keep yourself healthy."

A new identity. A retirement account. A generous do-over to a life filled with one time only regrets. His heart had been grafted over with a piece from a soldier who died in the same blast that nearly killed Simon. He'd told the doctor when he woke up that he could feel it squeezing his heart, but the doctor told Simon that it was just psychosomatic - he knew there was a new piece to his heart and so he felt it. 

It took a year of rehab before they finally got tired of him, and another six of bureaucratic hell before the paperwork was finally processed. 

The relocation specialists asked him where he wanted to live - Simon didn't know what to say. He'd been all over the world, and yet the name of a singular town couldn't crawl towards his lips. 

"You can just point at the map," the specialists had said, fingers twirling a pen. "Some guys do that." So that's what he did - the clock ticking in his ears growing louder and louder as he stood, stupidly, staring at the map on the wall. He tried to count the seconds. How many had passed? Two minutes? Three? His eyes scanned the map, looking for places that he hadn't been to before, places that didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. 

And then he spotted it - a little dot on the map nestled in the Black Hills. No where he'd even been before, or nowhere he had a memory of. But that graft on his heart squeezed when he saw the name, and before he could think, he was tapping the map with his fingernail. 

"Alright - I'll have you a place in a week."

The compulsion to walk starts the moment the last box is moved in; the pile of boxes pathetically small in the little house the military bought for him. Or maybe it was once a safe house - Simon didn't know and he didn't care. The walls are faded and the porch sagging, but it's a fresh coat of paint on the water stains that have plagued him. Simon can sense the neighbors peering out at him from behind their curtains; they twitch back into place when Simon steps out onto the porch, the wood moaning beneath the weight of his boots. The sky threatens to spit snow onto him; the first snowfall of the year comin' soon the movers had quipped to him. Simon hadn't replied, just grunted as he passed over the two hundred dollars he owed for moving everything in.

The air bites at his exposed face. When was the last time he was exposed like this? When was the last time he was allowed to show his face like this? Something like self-consciousness presses against him, making it hard to breathe until he tugs his hood over his head and he can breathe again.

The grass crunches beneath his feet, curled brown to protect itself from the oncoming storm. He doesn't look at where he's going, just lets his feet take him where they want to go as the sun slips beneath the treetops. The town falls to sleep around him as his boots carve patterns into the concrete. 

The music stops him short. It's entirely out of place on the starlit street - the notes tripping over one another to spill out onto the asphalt with a gentleness that rolls through the darkness. It makes him sick to his stomach with something he can't place, some feeling on the edge of his tongue that he hasn't felt since Johnny's funeral, since he heard gunshots and saw the way Price's hand shook as he shook the hand of Johnny's mother. The absence of something he refuses to name. He's sure he's never heard it before, but it pulls him back to sand beneath his boots and to the hum of Blackhawks above him.

The street is devoid of life; light spills out of the windows and onto the streets, little jewels that hang onto the rough and cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The music is faint- a radio turned down so a conversation can be heard. The entire street is frozen with him, the little flurries that were attempting to collect on the street cracks hang heavy in the air, breathing with him. 

Simon doesn't know how long he stands there, hands in the pocket of his jacket and letting the music wash over him. But it stops eventually, and the entire street lets go of the breath it's been holding; the flurries start to fall again, faster to make up for their pause with Simon. 

It suddenly occurs to him that he must look like a fucking freak, standing there on the sidewalk, David beneath Michelangelo's hands. It takes every bit of strength in his body to keep his boots moving, moving away from the last notes that linger and swirl around him.

He walks all night, finally falling into the bed with no sheets when the sun starts to peak back out.

He gets a job as a mechanic. His references - names all made up and cell phone numbers that lead forgotten CIA workers whose only job is to answer and read a script- give him the best recommendations, and the old man running the garage doesn't really need Simon to know how to do anything other than change spark plugs and change the oil. The man looks Simon up and down, and Simon catches the POW-MIA embroidered on the man's hat, and that's that. There's something that passes between the two of them that neither of them speak about, but they recognize it in each other's eyes. He starts the next Monday. 

He doesn't need the money. Between all the years of hazard pay that wasn't eaten away at by daycare fees or wedding bands, he has a small fortune to practice spending, but he needs the distraction from the walls that should be holding up his military honors, but instead hold blank emptiness. He hasn't been able to unpack anything. He just digs through each box when he needs something, slicing his hands against the knives and sharpened memories. 

He walks his path ad nauseum. Each night there's a new symphony that washes over the little town. He tried, more than once, to not be a fucking creep and stand in the middle of the street listening for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. But even across town he could still hear the music creeping its way through the buildings and beneath the cars. 

It stalked him beneath the street lamps until he was pulled back towards the street, trying to figure out which house the sound was coming from. 

The snow is thick on the ground, being pounded flat each night by his boots by the time he discovers which house it's coming from. The curtains are pulled back, light spilling further out onto the street than usual. The window is pushed open and the music doesn't pour out, but rushes over itself angrily. He finds himself drifting towards the open window - the music is a siren song to him. He knows it. He knows.

He knows this song. He doesn't know how he knows it, he just knows that it pulls on his grafted heart in a way that's painful.

She plays with the kind of look a person has after years of practice. Simon recognizes it as the same one he has when he cleans his gun - the look you have when you don't need to fully pay attention to what you're doing because your body knows it by memory. The song ends abruptly - the last note wrong. It stops Simon in his tracks - 15 yards from her window. He suddenly panics, thinking she's going to look at and see him standing there. She must have stopped playing because she finally caught the stalker who's been standing on her street each night. 

But she doesn't.

Instead she stands, and reaches across to slam the window shut. The house shutters from her anger, and she pulls the curtains closed. A moment later the sliver of light that was left is extinguished and Simon knows then, he needs to move. 

He's getting too comfortable. He spends too many nights outside her house listening to her play - too many nights getting closer to the window until he's found that he can stand right on the sidewalk and see her through her curtain when it's closed. 

He learns the pattern of each song by heart until one night when he passes by and the street is silent. There's no light in her windows - he immediately thinks the worst. The gun at his waist feels a thousand pounds; he reaches back to grab it as he walks up her steps.

The front door is cracked open, and his heart jumps to his throat.

Each room is empty - nothing seemingly misplaced. When he clears the final room, his shoulders sag, his gun finds its place back in its holster. He suddenly feels like creep being alone in her house.

Her.

He doesn't even know her name, and he's standing in her living room. A decrepit calico cat meows angrily when he walks by the couch, and then bounds out from its hiding spot beneath the couch to rub against his leg - completely unafraid of Simon. 

The place is empty - almost depressingly so. It mirrors his own house, no relics of family or friends. The only thing that looks used regularly is the piano. He runs his hands across the top, and it spooks him. 

He leaves, making sure the cat is left sleeping on the couch and the front door is shut tight. 

He finally figures out her name when he sees her standing in her driveway, kicking the shit out of the passenger side of her car. 

Hands tucked tightly in his pocket, he stops a respectable distance away before speaking. 

"Car trouble?"

She jumps, swinging around to face him. Her face is closed, guarded from him as she takes in his face and he wishes he had his mask back - wishes it wasn't strange to wear a mask out in the civilian word, wishes -

"Yeah it won't start; the piece of shit."

Simon keeps his spot on the sidewalk as he speaks, worried that if he moves towards her, she'll move away. 

"I work at the shop in town if you want me to give it a look."

She's shrewd; she looks at him like she's waiting on him to say something else, and he knows she's used to men hitting on her. But he can also tell she's desperate, and he can see the argument inside herself as she debates letting him look at her car. 

"I'd like that."

Her starter is completely fried, and he tells her that. She kicks the tire, but this time all the fight is removed from it, and it's a pathetic kick. 

"Thank you for telling me," she says as if the words are bitter on her tongue. 

"I can fix it for you this weekend if you want."

"I can't afford it. And I'm not sleeping with you to pay for it."

Simon snorts in spite of himself. 

"I'll get a recycled part - don't worry about it."

The argument inside herself is written all over her face, and even when she reaches out to shake his grease stained hand and tells him her name, the fight is still written across the wrinkles in her face. 

It's still there when she hands her phone to him, tells him to put his number in and to text her when he's on his way back over. 

"I can't afford this, you know."

Simon can barely hear her as she speaks over the engine, her words crawling between the houses and housing of the innards of her car to reach straight up to him. 

"You can pay me later."

"I just told you I can't afford this."

Simon's mind lingers on the emptiness of her house that he'd seen the week before - he knew better than he wanted to how little she had at the moment. But he can't let her know that, can't let her know that he's traced the inside of her house while she was gone.

When he's satisfied with the noise of the engine, he slams the hood shut. She's leaning against the driver door, her breath fogging around her - it crosses Simon's mind that he could corner her right here, tell her what repayment he wants. but he's not a fucking freak.

He's not. 

So instead he wipes the grease and dirt from his hands onto his jeans where it mixes with the grease and dirt from work and mirrors her lean. 

"Cook me dinner?"

The hint of a smile starts to creep on her face, but she bites it back. She picks at an invisible piece of lint on the sleeve of her sweater before she answers. 

"You want me to cook dinner for you? How do you know I can cook?"

"I'll take my chances."

She chews on her chapped lips before sighing, boots kicking at her tire. 

"Come by tonight, alright."

He doesn't own anything fucking nice. He's pushed all his clothes around - in the back corner his dress blues hang sadly, and everything else has a grease stain on it. 

"This is ridiculous," he growls to himself, annoyed with everything all of a sudden. He reaches into his back pocket to his phone. He's just going to fucking cancel. This is fucking stupid. This is-

She's sent a picture. He doesn't know what he's going to see when he unlocks his phone, but a little piece of him has some hopes. It's a chicken in the oven, surrounded by oranges like something out of a magazine his mother would have flipped through in the grocery line. 

Hope this is enough to repay you :)

"Fuck," he says to his pants that hang limply, and they say nothing back to him. 

He chooses the jeans with the least amount of stains. 

She's wearing a skirt with a slit dangerously high when she opens the door. 

You shouldn't wear that around the wrong men, he wants to tell her, but he is the wrong man, and he knows that, but she doesn't. He doesn't want to be the first person to tell her that about him.

His repaired heart knows the curves of her - somehow he knows that if he were to run his hand up the part of her thigh the slit is showing, there's going to be a scar there, he knows - 

"Are you alright?"

"'Course. The smell stopped me."

"That bad, huh?"

"Terrible."

She wears a hint of a smile as she steps to the side to let him in; he catches a whiff of her perfume, vanilla and tobacco and whiskey, and he's got the sudden urge to lick the base of her neck. He holds himself back, hands held behind his back as he follows her through the living room, past the piano, and into the kitchen. 

The scruffy cat comes out of the shadows to intertwine around his ankles like they're old friends. A pot boils on the stove and the chicken is on the side, steam pouring off the golden skin. 

It scares Simon how at ease he feels in her kitchen, how the kitchen table's chair is so comfortable to him. She's tense - he can read it in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way she taps her nails against the counter. 

Simon's heart beats too fast watching her flash around the kitchen and nearly jumps out of him when she places a plate in front of him. 

It feels familiar in a way that terrifies him. 

He's like a stray dog - she fed him once, and he keeps coming back. She only complains once. 

"I'm a teacher, you know. I don't make enough money to keep feeding a big man like you."

Simon buys her groceries after that, his own refrigerator growing empty as he spends more dinners at her house. He knows they both feel it - they both feel how fucking weird it is that they can orbit each other so easily despite knowing nothing about each other. 

He reads in the evenings. She doesn't have much, but she has more books than one person should, and she plays the piano and he pretends not to know the pieces. He pretends that he hasn't stood outside her house night after night committing each song to memory.

If she finds it suspicious that he hums along too fast, picks up the melody too fast, she doesn't mention it. 

"I was married once," she says, like it's a dirty secret. She taps her fingers against the glass of her beer, a sharp staccato that increases in speed like it's her heart. 

Simon doesn't say anything, just takes a drink of his own beer to quell the storm that's conjured in his chest. Married once? He doesn't know what he's supposed to feel, but it can't be this, can't be this anger that suddenly starts beating against the architecture of himself, the anger that unhooks something in his blood. 

"It wasn't very long," she continues, the rhythm of her ring getting faster, "We only were married for a year before we divorced."

Simon's beer hits the countertop with a little too much force.

"Why'd you divorce?" He doesn't mean for it to sound so eager, so fucking needy, but if she hears the edge to his voice she doesn't say. He needs to know what led to the destruction of her first marriage, so he doesn't make the same mistake with her. 

"We were kids, you know. We shouldn't have gotten married to begin with, but neither of us had anyone else. And there was no one there to tell us it was a bad idea."

"Where's he at now?"

"He's dead."

Her ring stops tapping.

"He died in a bomb blast almost two years ago. He was in the army, and he was deployed. There was nothing left of him for them to ship back to me. I didn't even know that he listed me as his family."

Simon's mouth is suddenly dry, and he feels like he's going to choke. She's still not looking at him, her eyes are still trained on the red neon sign behind the bar, so she misses the way he presses his hands into the bar to keep them from shaking. 

"I just thought I should tell you," she says, half turning in her chair to finally look at him.

The ground beneath him has shifted, he's off tilt and he doesn't know what to say. I might have his heart in my fucking chest and that's why I feel this way about you. 

"Can you take me home, please?"

There's a million things he wants to say, a million ways he wants to take that request. He swishes them around in his mouth with the last of his beer.

"'Course, love."

The two beers are nothing to him, but she's a different story. She stumbles on the ice in the parking lot, and steadies herself on his elbow. She doesn't let go until he opens the passenger door of his truck for her and he helps her climb in. Her foot bounces as he pulls out of the parking lot. It's a three minute drive back to her place, four for him to put the truck into park. 

He expects her to unbuckle, to climb out. But her hands don't inch towards the buckle. She seems to steel herself for what she's going to say next, and he's waiting on her to tell him that she noticed how weird he's been - she doesn't want him to come back. 

"Do you want to fuck?" She asks suddenly, and the abruptness of it takes Simon off guard. 

"What?"

"Do you want to fuck?"

Simon's hands grip the steering wheel so hard he's surprised it doesn't shatter beneath his grip. He waits just a moment too long, and she scoffs, unbuckles the seatbelt and has her hand in the door handle before he can react. 

He reaches across to grab the handle from her, keeping her from opening the door. She won't look him in the eye, instead pushing roughly on the door to try and shake it loose from his grip. 

"I didn't say no." The gentleness in his voice shocks him, but it's not enough to get her to look at him. 

"You didn't say yes either."

She breaks the door from his grip and slides out, her skirt hiking up high enough that he catches the edge of her curves.

His stolen heart beats, trying to escape his chest as she disappears inside - to get the fuck out from behind the steering wheel, to knock on her door and explain that his timing is bad, he doesn't know what to say and when he's supposed to say it. He tells himself he's going to leave when the light from her bedroom turns off - he just wants to make sure that she's safely asleep before he leaves. 

But the light doesn't go out.

His watch creeps past midnight before the front door opens again. The nightgown she has on makes his hands sweat - it peeks out below the heavy jacket she's thrown on top. She veers towards the passenger door and when she climbs in, Simon's hands start to shake at the amount of thigh that flashes him.

"Why don't you leave?"

"I wanted to make sure you were safely asleep."

"You saw me walk into my house."

"You never know."

And she doesn't ever know. She doesn't know what kind of horrors could be around each door. Simon wants to explain that to her - explain what he's seen to her, but he doesn't know how to do that. He doesn't even know how to broach the subject of the million things that he should be telling her. 

"Why didn't you want to have sex with me?" She asks in a small voice that Simon hates, and he hates himself for being the reason she sounds like that. 

"I didn't say I didn't want to."

"Then why didn't you say yes?"

"I don't want to just fuck you."

Her knee bounces nervously.

"Alright. We can do the other stuff."

He almost tells her, more than once, about the heart that beats in his chest. Once, when he had her folded over the piano, and again, when she tangled their legs together in her bed and the ancient cat was purring on his chest. 

He's too cowardly.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜 & 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎 - 𝙿𝚝. 𝟷

【ａ／ｎ】： I had to write some soft stuff for my guy after making him a dominating sex master in the last few fics.  Especially in light of the most recent episode – he really is just a big softie 🥹❤️ Also songs give me a lot of inspiration, if formatting fanfics this way is lame tho please let me know! ALSO also I don’t remember exactly what happened after Mark’s fight with his dad so don’t come for me about any and all inaccuracies.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【ＰＡＩＲＩ��Ｇ】： Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＧＥＮＲＥ】：Tragedy & romance

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】： Mentions of blood & death [based on series lore]

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】： “Forrest Gump” by Frank Ocean

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

♫♪ I know you, Forrest I know you wouldn't hurt a beetle But you're so buff and so strong ♪♫

You had never been a particularly emotional person, but seeing Mark that night broke your heart.  You worked your usual shift at the Moonlight All Night Diner, clocking in a little before noon and staying until just past 8pm.  It was a busy day at the restaurant, not really giving you a chance to check your phone until the end of your shift.  As you pulled your phone from your apron pocket you overheard it be said on the news, “Hundreds suspected dead in the wake of the battle between Omni-Man and Invincible.”

“What a tragedy…” the cook Marlon murmured from the window behind you.  You felt your blood run cold now noticing the seven missed calls from Mark.

“Oh my God.” The words came out of your mouth in a slur while you tore your serving book from your apron and tossed it next to the register. “Marlon, I need you to tell Stacy to finish my last table, I have to go.”  You didn’t wait for a response and headed straight out the door to your car.  The streets were all but empty, no doubt due to the catastrophe that had unfolded just earlier in the evening.  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth you didn’t dwell on the thought of why and just remained grateful that you could get to Mark’s house in 10 minutes flat.

The lights all seemed to be off inside, and you contemplated knocking but the image of Debbie crying in the dark stopped you.  She would need this time to process her feelings on her own, and you didn’t want to be an intruder in that moment.  Instead, you opted to head straight for the backyard and found Mark sat on his roof, knees brought halfway to his chest and head hung low.  He was still dressed in his suit, which was torn in countless places and so bloodied you could barely make out its true color pattern.  Even from the distance you stood, his massive black eye was evident.  The sight made you want to cry.

“Hey,” you said with no intention in elevating your voice.  You were sure he knew you were there before you’d even rounded the corner.  You waited a moment, and when he didn’t give a sign of acknowledgment you added, “I’m sorry I missed your calls…”  Mark lifted his head to look down at you now.

“Don’t worry about it…”  You clenched your jaw at his words, trying to swallow the hurt you felt at his immediate forgiveness.  Even in his own torment he still was the sweetest guy you’d ever known.

“I’d love to join you up there.”  He slid himself down to the roofs edge, as if he was just going to slip right off, but instead gingerly floated down to be right in front of you.  His eyes were bloodshot, and the crimson across his cheeks had streaks running down to his chin.  You didn’t want to imagine how hard his sobs had been, especially with the knowledge that he’d tried to reach you, but you weren’t there.  Draping your arms around his shoulders and closing them around his neck, he held you back in a tight hug.  You could feel the pain radiating from his body and all you could think was how badly you wished you could take it from him.  You both stood there like that for an unmeasured amount of time, and as far as you were concerned it could have lasted on forever.

But eventually he squeezed you tighter, just for a second, and turned his face down to rub his eyes over your hair to try and hide his tears.  You felt yourself lose footing as he drifted you both upward until you were back on his roof.  Still, you didn’t let go of one another as he sat down and placed you into his lap, your body slightly angled to the side to fit comfortably between his muscled legs.  “I am so sorry Mark.”

“I just don’t understand—it’s like my entire life has been a lie.”  For the first time you considered the fact that you knew no details about what had transpired, or why.  You didn’t even know if Mark’s father was still here.  There was so much you needed to be filled in on, but at the same time didn’t think pressing him for answers was the best thing to do right then.  He would tell you everything you needed to know when he was ready.  “What if I hurt people…?”  Still wrapped in an embrace you reached your hand up to cradle the back of his head.

“I know you, Mark.  You would never intentionally hurt an innocent person.  I mean hell, even the bad guys I think you take it too easy on.”  He huffed through his nose in response, and it was unclear to you if that was in laughter or annoyance.  “You are so strong, and I know that has to come with so much pressure and a sense of forced responsibility.  But you’ve got to remember you literally just graduated high school, and still have so much left to learn and figure out in life!”

You pulled back from him now so you could see his face.  His expression was… empty, broken.  Your heart ached horribly in your chest.  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No, not right now… Can we just lay down?”  He asked, looking at through his lashes at you with vulnerable puppy eyes.

“Of course.”  You leaned forward and kissed him softly, being very mindful of his fat busted lip.   You could feel the smallest amount of tension release from his body, and you were grateful.  You both stood up and crawled back in through his bedroom window before settling into his bed.  Most nights Mark would assume the role of “big spoon” and curl himself behind you, and without thought tried to assume that position again.  You stopped him though, and gently urged him to roll away from you as you molded yourself perfectly against his broad back.  Your slender arm rested over the dip in his waist as you placed kisses between his shoulder blades.  And although he made no noise, you could feel the way his body jumped slightly from his cries.   All you could do was hold him tighter, until you both fell asleep.

♫♪ You run my mind, boy Running on my mind, boy ♪♫

[fanaticsnail]

Grand Line Playgroup

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Adoptive parents have all taken the initiative to join together with their children to form: Grand Line Playgroup. This is the way it usually goes at playgroup: filled with shenanigans, support, and most importantly love for their children. 

Themes: the adoptive parents of one piece, all children are all relatively aged 3 to 7, but Robin is 10, au they all live, modern au, platonic, not an “x reader” fic, parenting drabble, fluff, nonsense. 

Parents: Mihawk, Rosinante (Corazon), Bellemere, Dadan, Zeff, Uncle Beckman, Shanks, Garp, and Smoker.

Children: Perona, Zoro, Law(rence), Nojiko, Nami, Uta, Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Sanji, Uta, Koby, Helmeppo, Robin, and Tashigi.

Notes: A small drabble about what it would be like if the one-piece characters were adoptive parents to an assortment of their toddler counterparts. This silly brain-worm was brought to you by several conversations with @feral-artistry & @writingmysanity, and the bestest aunties @since-im-already-here & @sordidmusings. This worm got to me and I needed to get it out. Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff, @gingernut1314, @vespidphoenix, @i-am-vita

Dracule Mihawk arrives at Grand Line Playgroup ten minutes early every single Tuesday. He has a personalized gothic embroidered bag for both of his children filled with snacks, changes of clothes, water bottles, first aid kits, and a book for him to read while his two children play.

He wears matching nail polish with his daughter, Perona: today, she chose pink with black accents. He has parenting down to a fine art, everything always perfectly planned for any circumstances. Zoro takes out a collection of sporting equipment and begins kicking around a soccer ball as he waits for his friends to join him. 

The next to arrive is Donquixote Rosinante. He always attempts to get there early: set up his variety of bags to ensure his son, Lawrence, has everything he needs to enjoy his time at playgroup. His hair is a blonde, fluffy mess of mopped curls, his clothes disheveled and askew, but his smile is always cheerful despite his constant exhausted exasperated state. 

Law is a quiet child, not really engaging with Perona as she sets up a mock tea-party, nor Zoro as he kicks the ball against the wall. He, instead, opts to sit quietly alone and read a picture book in comfortable silence. 

Mihawk offers Rosinante a moist towelette, gesturing wordlessly to his lips, cheeks and right eye where Law graffitied art with permanent marker on his face as he slept. Rosinante gives him a gratuitous smile, huffing his laughter as he scrubs at his face with the towelette. 

The next to arrive is Rosinante’s old work colleague, Bellemere, with her two daughters in tow. Nami and Nojiko were walking arm in arm before rushing off to join Perona in her tea party. Bellemere gives Rosinante a clap on his shoulder, nodding her acknowledgement to Mihawk before taking her elected seat. 

As the clock ticks over to 10am: a small bundle of nervous, chaotic energy bounces inside the door and over the walls. This flash of black hair was followed immediately by a small blonde child that stares, unblinkingly, at Law. Dadan is exasperated as she carries an older and asleep Ace in her arms, attempting to catch up with Luffy to rein him in and set up. 

Rosinante springs into action, offering to ferry Luffy towards his regular playmate, Zoro. As Luffy nearly joins Zoro, he is instead drawn to the sticker book Law is holding containing bugs, beetles and arachnids. Luffy becomes entranced by the stickers: and he and Law begin cataloging them by shape, size and type over pages of lined paper. 

Dadan sighs, already exhausted although her day has barely begun. Rosinante smiles and fawns over the two dark-haired boys before resuming his seat beside Bellemere, talking about the latest gossip at his old workplace and the shenanigans his colleagues' love lives.

As if on queue, Ace wakes up and immediately springs out of Dadan’s arms, hurrying over to Zoro and joining him by kicking the ball against the wall. Sabo backs into the corner of the room and glares with his pale, blue eyes at Perona’s tea-party with intrigue. 

After Dadan, in comes Benn Beckman with his niece, Uta. Uta bounces on her heels as she runs over to Sabo, doing all in her power to make the small blonde smile instead of glare. She has a cheery disposition, guaranteed to always get a smile out of the quiet boy the longer she sings and pulls faces at him.

Zeff is the next, his young son, Sanji, sprinting towards the soccer ball and easily stealing it away from Zoro. They immediately get into a heated fistfight: legs and limbs flying as they butt heads as to who's turn it is to kick the ball next. Mihawk sighs, immediately rising to his feet to play referee to the match as Beckman places Uta's bag beside Perona's. 

Arriving late, and with his two adoptive sons Koby and Helmeppo, strolls Garp. Dadan glares at him, up turning her lip in a snarl as Garp shepherds his boys into the room. The tension is thick between these two due to Garp's history of dropping off children at Dadan's and not returning to raise them himself. She refuses to help with the latest two additions to his family, although she cares for them greatly. Sabo nods at Koby, Helmeppo scoffs at Uta. 

Another late arrival is a larger gentleman with his quiet and older daughter, Robin. Sir Crocodile is dripping in luxury brands, gold rings and smells of expensive colognes. Robin immediately humors Perona, Nami and Nojiko by playing mother in their tea party adventure. 

“Mihawk,” the larger man gruffy nods in acknowledgement. 

“Crocodile,” Mihawk mirrors his tone, gesturing with his chin to take a seat beside him. Sir Crocodile takes his seat before unrolling the newspaper tucked beneath his arm and beginning to read. 

As the children interact together, the more talkative parents swap parenting advice amongst one another. 

Rosinante asks for support with Law's current food aversion. How does he get this child to eat grained carbohydrates without him gagging about the fact it's bread? Dadan is a seasoned expert in parenting at this stage, still ignoring Garp as Garp speaks to Mihawk about his blonde son’s latest interest in kendo. 

Bellemere joins in the conversation, Mihawk leaving as the topic changes to work and joining beside Beckman who is silently brooding on the chair beside Crocodile. 

“No Shanks today?” Mihawk quips at the larger man. 

“No Shanks today,” Beckman parrotted in return with a disgruntled and gruff growl. 

As if the mere mention of his name summoned his presence, in comes the red-haired Shanks in a lazy and cheerful stupor. His socks are raised to his knees, tucked into some comfortable sandals on his feet. His cargo shorts are tied loosely on his hips by a brown belt, and his patterned shirt is open to expose his bare chest. 

Glasses are lying lazily on his head as he extends an enthusiastic smile at the children before acknowledging the adults. An enthusiastic chorus of “Uncle Shanks!” echoes throughout the playspace, a flash of small bodies immediately moving to tackle and engulf the redhead in a warm embrace. 

Shanks falls on his ass, holding high his coffee cup as he laughs at Luffy, Uta, Ace and Sabo as they enthusiastically clutch at him with grabby hands. Their faces all shine with the utmost adoration at the redhead, who shoots Beckman and Dadan a wink while mouthing: “I'm still the favorite.”

Beckman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Dadan rolls her eyes at him. 

The adults are finally all gathered for their children’s weekly playgroup, the kids settle into playing amongst themselves once again. Shanks offers Beckman a smile before offering him the half-drunk coffee cup. The taller man takes a sip, choking on the liquid as the surprising burn of warmed alcohol scorches his throat so early in the morning. 

As their meeting draws to a soft close, a knock at the door interrupts their close knit conversation. 

“I heard there was a playgroup in here?” a gruff voice rumbled at the door. White hair and the scent of tobacco immediately sprung through the hallway. In arrived a large gentleman, another common associate of Garp, Bellemere and Rosinante who immediately sprung up to greet him. 

Smoker presented ushered a quiet child into the room, her uncertainty was one the children knew well. Immediately, Luffy sprang up from his arachnid archiving with Law and went to introduce himself to the girl. Smoker smiled at the interaction, nodding to Tashigi as an indicator for her to go ahead and play, before joining Bellemere and Rosinante. 

“Finally decided to foster, Smoker?” Bellemere smiled, embracing him into her warm and welcoming arms. Smoker returns her gesture, tapping her on the shoulder and releasing her from the embrace. 

“Foster? Not a chance,” he smirked, pulling away and smiling at the purple-haired woman, “Adopting.”

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

WHEN THE RIGHT ONE COMES ALONG

A/N: Based on the tv show Nashville. I had this idea sitting in my WIPs for years now. I grew up listening to country music so I absolutely loved watching the show. I wrote this as a way to escape conflicts happening at home, so it's kind of sad. But in height of Cowboy Carter and Marvel Cinematic Universe coming back, I thought I'd share this.

Warnings: Implied abuse

Bucky x Black! Reader

One Way Ticket (Because I Can) - LeAnn Rimes I'm in a Hurry (And I Don't Know Why) - Alabama

PREFACE

The sun shone down upon the open road and luscious green fields. The cool air from the atmosphere created heatwaves which hovered over the pavement like rippling water. A light blue vintage Volkswagen Beetle drove down the highway at great speeds along the white dotted lines. Inside the small vehicle sat a young woman with rich brown skin the colour of dark umber. The front windows of her car were rolled down, loud winds rushing in and out of the car whipping her long black ringlets around. The air smelled of sea salt from the Gulf of Mexico. It was the peak of summer and the humidity made it difficult to breathe despite the cool breeze circulating the car. 

The young woman pulled on her white tee shirt that clung to her dewy skin. The state of Alabama was under extreme heat warning and several radio stations warned its listeners to stay cool and listed the extended times public pool would stay open to accommodate citizens. She was finally free. Free from the shackles of her past. Bright topaz-coloured eyes glanced down at the dashboard clock, 11:10am. She had been driving for approximately six and a half hours. She was running on adrenaline and couldn’t believe she did it. She finally left home. The weight of her past fell off shoulders and she felt herself beginning to relax but not quite. 

…It’s all your fault!

Her fingers ghosted over her neck, throat tightening reflexively. The voice rang in her head echoing around her. She swallowed thickly, tears glistening in her eyes and placed her hand back on the steering wheel, tightening her grip on the hard leather. Her eyes quickly darted to the passengers seat where a road map lay sprawled across the tan leather being held down by her house keys. The map was colour coded with each colour symbolizing a different route and according to it she would be in Birmingham, Alabama in the next twenty minutes.

Reaching for the dial she turned the volume up to drown out the circling thoughts in her head, a breath falling from her lips. She silently made a vow: She will never go back again. 

[clockways]

After undergrad, I was done living with people. People didn’t turn off alarm clocks or clean up their messes or, perhaps, people even blamed you for their mental breakdown. I had had enough of people.

But I couldn’t live alone.

Luckily, I knew the perfect solution. See, other than the semesters of undergrad, I had always lived with cats. There were also dogs and hamsters and reptiles, but cats were the constant. It was a noble line going all the way back to Yoda, whom my mother got to be her cat in college.

It was only the start of summer, and I was already surreptitiously walking past the adoption area of the pet store. It was a good thing I did.

There in the cage, the only animal in the whole adoption area, was a tiny kitten. As soon as he saw me, he started to meow and kneed and reach through the bars. It was probably as close to love at first sight as I will ever get.

After finding out when adoption was and leaving and coming back at what was the wrong time and talking to the kitten through the glass—I finally was able to hold him.

He was perfect.

This little kitten with brown so deep it was black and a white underside and a very pink nose settled right into my arms and purred up a storm. I adopted him then and there.

Depressingly, with this adoption center, the little boy had to go back to get sniped before I could take him home. I often joked that the poor guy never had a lick of testosterone in his body with how early it all happened. (That didn’t stop in from growing into quite a tall, long cat, mind you.)

While he came home without his balls, he also came home with a kitten cold. My poor little perfect boy was sick to the point that he could die. Cats, if you didn’t know, don’t eat if they can’t smell. Stinky food was bought, force feeding was attempted, and in the end it was some Vick’s in hot water that cleared his sinuses up enough to eat.

Now that he was well, it was finally time to find the right name. Name is a process in my family. In rather reverse fae rules, by giving the pets the right name, they are cemented as family. My mother even adds them to the family bible.

This boy took two tries.

His first name was Underwood as you see, once he got is energy back, he was constantly walking across my lap and the laptop that had a pretty permanent place in it. My friends swiftly got used to getting ‘kitten messages’ sent to them. Annoyingly, some of the same friends wouldn’t stop calling him Carrie, even after I asked them not to, and I decided that I wasn’t going to put up with that for the next fourteen plus years.

As he was my ‘squirmy worm’ for his lack of desire to be held and ability to pop right out of a hold due to his silky fur, I combined the two and, finally, he found his right name of Wormwood. (This also, unbeknownst at the time, started the naming convention for my next two cats.)

Wormwood and I went off to graduate school not much later. The old but passable apartment I was in had a (rather shoddily) screened in porch. It became Worm’s favorite spot to sit, even in the middle of Texas heat.

Paper balls were discovered to be his favorite thing, followed by very tiny pompoms. If I was ignoring him, he’d knock my remote off my table to play. Even with that playing, I often joked that Worm was my semi mobile throw pillow. He loved to lounge and nap to the extreme, even for a cat.

Worm never wanted other cats in his life, though he managed to accept Bugsy—my Siamese mutt—into our home in time, though Worm never ceded the foot of the bed to him. Together, we three moved back in with my parents (to total a too many five cats) until I could afford my own place. Worm had to suffer through another new brother, Beetle, about three years ago. Then not quite two years ago we moved to a new state.

All three boys did wonderful on the very long drive, and I like to think that it was worth it because of the fabulous sunroom in the new house. All of them had their favorite spots to sit out there and soak up the sun.

This winter, Worm took a turn. He dropped some weight while I was gone on a trip. I got him a heated bed that became his very favorite thing in the whole house. He would just melt into it.

Then it got worse.

I took him to the vet, and he had gone from about fifteen pounds down to five and a half. Blood work was clean though, so we increased his food and changed some things around.

Tueaday he was quite ill.

Wednesday was the first time there was a moment where he wasn’t there mentally. It felt like it was going to be time.

Thursday, today, I found him laying in a sunbeam. He didn’t even ask for food. At eleven today I took him to the vet. For about an hour before I held him, resting against my chest, and the two of us sat in the sun, listening to the birds.

I think he was ready to rest. He hardly moved at the vet during the shot and then… then he was gone.

And I had to leave him.

For sixteen years, nearly half my life, he has been my family and one of my best friends. I would have been so lost without him. I’m so sad to have to say goodbye, but I’m glad that he can rest now.

I’m glad that it was a pretty day and that we got to sit in the sun together and listen to the birds.

[djangari]

Tattoo AU (Part 1/?)

I don't know the word punctuality, so here you got the first part [kinda unedited sorry] - 1650 words

Bez controls his station once again, ensuring everything he will need is prepared, sterile and in the correct position. Then he spins his stool towards the clock, looking at the larger pointer and realises that not even five minutes have passed since the last time he has done this.  

“Have you not taken your medication today, or what is going on with you?“ Vale sticks his head through the door, staring very annoyed at him. “No, of course I have taken it!“, Bez protests. He surely hasn’t forgotten to take his medication- Has he? He notices his foot tapping along to the tact of Last Christmas. - Did Luca leave on his bad Christmas playlist once again? They talked about that!- No, No, he can remember eating and then taking the pills with tap water, because he was too late to go in the kitchen and get a glass. It was important to be on time today. His regulars know he tends to be late for a few minutes and they don’t care so he hasn’t had to change yet but today is special. Today he has his appointment.  

Bez nearly sighs, as he remembers the beautiful brown curls, the soft looking plumb but thin lips, the brown eyes he could lose himself in for hours... 

Vale snaps in front of his eyes to get his attention back. Embarrassed, Bez stares up to him, eyes narrowing as he sees the smug grin on the other man's face. This doesn‘t means anything good- “Why don‘t you hang up the Christmas decorations? I want it to look nice here in time for the first of December and you don‘t have any clients for the next half hour. I checked with Luca.“ Hesitant, Bez glimpses over to the big stencil. He still needs to check if the print was successful and if every other of the three spare prints is good as well. “Your client surely will love it, when he comes in and everything already looks great.“ Sold.  

Energetic he stands up and goes on search for the storage boxes. “Migno has already brought the ladder into the waiting room.“, Vale calls after him. Bez is already too focussed on his new task to answer in any other way than simply giving him a thumbs up, while speeding towards the entry.  

----- 

Half an hour later, the plastic tree stands in the corner of the waiting room, overloaded with fairy lights and neoncolored Christmas baubles, the paper stars hang in the glass front of the store and Bez balances on the ladder, fighting with the quite ugly pine garland. It just doesn’t want to stay on the nails, where it belongs during winter times. With another frustrated snort, Bez stretches a little more, hopefully just enough to finally reach the last nail...  

“Just move the ladder”, Luca comments from behind the counter, where he stood the last five minutes and watched him struggle after saying goodbye to his last client of the day.  

“Or you could maybe help me instead of laughing, just a suggestion.” Bez bites back and goes onto his toes. Yeah, nearly there... 

The entry door swings wide open, and the bell Bez just hung up five minutes ago rings. “Oh, there you are”, Luca greets the new arrival. “I think you have to wait a minute, you see Bez is a bit busy right now.”  

Bez attention shifts when he hears his name, and he risks a glimpse down.  

There he stands... Those perfect curls, lurking out from under the red hat, nose and cheeks coloured in bright pink due to the cold outside, his slightly bitten lips hidden beneath the big matching red scarf.  

Bez loses balance and crashes down the short ladder, tearing down the garland with him. He lands onto his back, limps in the air, like a helpless beetle, and for a short moment the world blurs before his eyes. Black points dance in his field of view and cover most of it.  

He blinks once, twice, and then the world shifts back to normal, luckily without seeing double.  

Pecco- No, Francesco, he corrects himself- is only centimetres away from his face, examining him, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Bez wonders how a human can look so pretty. Maybe he is no human. Maybe he is an angel, send from heaven to save him.  

Only after a few seconds of losing himself in those big lovely brown eyes, does he realize that he is in fact talking to him. “Can you follow my finger with your eyes?”, the angel asks him and moves said finger to the left and the right. Marco follows his instructions very willingly. “Okay, I think he might have a concussion.”, the angel says to a person standing on their right side. The giant sighs and grabs his head. “Of course he would manage to do that. Should we get him to the hospital?” His angel shrugs. “Would be best. Didn’t wanted to see my boss again before next week, but I could clock in for overtime and examine him. Quickest way to get in and out and additionally get the good drugs.” As his angel mentions it, Bez feels his head aching and pounding. “Why does the world turn?”, he mutters and moves closer to his angel until his head rests in his very comfortable lap.  

“Yeah, that definitely seems like a concussion. Do you help me to get him up?” Wait, what.  

Marco notices how his feet suddenly dangle in the air, without touching any ground. Confused he turns his head to look at Luca, who holds him close to his chest and moves towards the door. “Wait, no, we can’t go without the angel.” Laughing is audible, both from Luca and from behind him. Blushing, he realises Francesco stood behind him and supports his head, well now he also pets his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll come with you. Someone needs to drive.” Luca still won’t stop laughing. So, Bez raises his hand and slaps him on the shoulder. “This is all your fault. If you would have helped me, I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place!”, he hisses, his head now a lot clearer. “If you hit me again, I’ll drop you.”, Luca warns him yet giggling between words. Marco pulls back to pout.  

They stop before the door, facing a problem none of them had considered. How they should open the inward-swinging door to walk through. And then lock it up. Migno said goodbye over an hour ago and Vale also excused himself a few minutes after talking with Bez to ‘pick up a friend’. Everyone who knows Vale knows that that is basically a code for ‘Marc just sent me a message, I need to pay him attention’. But nothing of this solves their problem in any way, because the point is, they aren’t here. Luca exchanges a look with Pecco, holding a silent discussion with the result that it is best for them when he hands over Bez and get the keys.  

Before he realises what is going on, Bez gets passed over like an oversized toddler. However, any protest dies as he leans his head onto Francescos shoulder and stares into his wonderful eyes. “Angel”, he whispers and holds a bit closer onto him. Francesco chuckles and grins at him as if he just found out a secret.  

All of a sudden, Bez remembers something. “We have to reschedule. Your tattoo. I prepared everything, but I can’t tattoo you like this.” “This was kind of obvious. And it's not a problem. I can certainly free up some time in my calendar soon.”, Francesco calms him down with his beautiful smirk.  

“Ok, I got the keys and I messaged Vale, can you two now postpone flirting until later and we get going? I have another client in about two hours, would be great if I would be back.” Luca closes in from behind and effectively manages to disrupt the conversation.

Francesco looks away, like he has been caught being naughty, just the slightest touch of red on his cheeks, while Bez wishes he could murder Luca with his glare. But sadly, the younger man doesn’t care, he walks right past them, holds the door open so Pecco can carefully carry Bez outside and then he turns the open sign, locks up the store, before he sits down in the driver seat of his car and waits until Francesco has arranged a surprisingly now very flustered Bez in the back seat and got in himself. He adjusts the rearview mirror, grins happily, starts the car and the radio begins to play.

Bez groans. How could he forget this. “Let's make a trip to the hospital.”, Luca says and parks out, all while the Jonas brothers da-dom-dom-dom away.  

I can’t deny what I’m feeling inside 

Nothin’ fake about the way you bring me to life 

You make every day feel like it’s Christmas 

Every day that I’m with you 

[fastlikealambo]

the scratch letters: an agathario au fic

Summary: Even with all her powers as a modern witch, cancer takes Agatha’s little boy. One lonely night, a grief stricken Agatha writes a letter to Death.

One year later, Death writes back.

I wrote this listening to the bridge of that’s so true by gracie abrams nonstop, do with that information what you will.

Trigger warnings for cancer, death of a child, grief, wound description.

This is something I’m not sure about yet so let me know what you think!

Chapter One: Letter No.1

Agatha Harkness measured her son’s death in numbers.

135 visits from Jen.

Armed with potions and tinctures she eased his pain and brought referrals to the best doctors in and out of Westview.

123 times Lilia told Agatha her boy was “young and strong.”

Agatha believed the words but not the cards Lilia shuffled and cut, again and again.

87 flower bouquets and tuna noodle casseroles from Sharon Davis.

1 time Alice took them straight to the hospital in the back of her squad car to cut through traffic because Nicholas was scared of ambulances at the end.

When there was nothing, magic or medical to be done, Agatha Harkness tucked her son into her bed, the one in which he came into this world, and rocked him in her arms. In his final moments he heard his mother’s lullaby of whispered spells and pleas to those above and below, mortal and infernal, to save her baby.

All of Westview heard when Nicholas Scratch left the mortal plane.

In the silence that followed after his funeral and daily check-ins from her coven and nervous neighbors, Agatha held a bottle in one hand and her grimoire in the other.

When neither brought her comfort, grief dressed Agatha head to toe in rage and when one moment led to another, Nicky’s baby box ended up in the fireplace.

No longer afraid of pain, Agatha retrieved what was left, blistered and blackened hands cradled a charred teddy bear with the weight and tenderness of a newborn babe.

Through tears, Agatha put pen to paper, an amalgamation of ink, gin, and peeling skin poured out of her to compose the following letter:

Dear Death,

Fuck you.

-Agatha Harkness

Either too drunk or too sad, Agatha did not notice the letter vanish from existence and completely forgot about it when her coven got her off the living floor and helped her begin again, one foot in front of the other.

Approximately one year later, the clock in Agatha’s house struck midnight, waking the snoring witch from her place sprawled on the couch.

Agatha had all but shut her eyes when a soft plop made her sit straight up and hastily flip the light switch, light flooding the living room.

In the middle of the unlit fireplace sat a black envelope.

Agatha lazily snapped her fingers and lit the fireplace to destroy the unwanted and unknown piece of mail, eager to go back to her dreams where Nicholas resided.

Yet beneath the soot and smoke the letter was still there, completed unharmed.

“Fuck it, this better not be about my car’s extended warranty.” Agatha grumbled, snatching back the blanket tangled around her legs and haphazardly plucked the envelope from the ashes. With all the delicacy of a cat presented with a plump mouse, she ripped the envelope open, dead flower petals and beetle wings spilling to the ground.

On black paper in bottle green ink, the letter read as follows:

Dear Agatha,

That’s rude.

Yours,

R.V.

As Agatha turned over the letter to see if there was more, she noticed that the ever present burn scars that littered her hands were now nowhere to be found.

It would appear that Agatha Harkness had a penpal.

[justice4billy]

That's what you get for waking up in Vegas

Chapter four

It had been several blissful days since Hannah crossed paths with Billy. The pair had managed to get a court date set up for the end of the week much to their delight.

Hannah had been crashing at Heather's apartment until she got back on her feet, she liked living with her friend but needed her own space. Hopefully with this divorce she could have half the money and get a decent place for herself.

She sighed to herself, feeling like a pig for still laying in bed at ten am. She wasn't due back at work till next week and with Heather at work all day she felt bored. She looked at the ring on her finger, the one from the person she had truly wanted to marry. Heather thought it was odd she kept Jason's ring but deep down she hoped he would call and tell her it had been a mistake. So far nothing.

"You really are pathetic" she grumbled to herself as she twirled the ring on her finger.

Her phone rang jolting her out of her little pity party. She got up scrambling towards her dresser and picking up the receiver.

"Hello" she stated politely

"Hello Miss Jones this is Malcolm" her lawyer stated.

"Oh, hi what's wrong?" She asked panic filling her veins. What if Billy had changed his mind? She didn't know how to deal with that.

"The judge wants to bring your date forward" he stated. "For tomorrow" he finished.

Hannah furrowed her brows. "Tomorrow? I thought it wasn't till Friday" she stated hating how she had four awful days to wait.

"Something happened with one of his cases" he stated giving no room to explain. "The judge would like you and Mr Hargrove to report to the courthouse at ten am" he stated.

Hannha paused realising she never even knew Billy's last name. "I can be there" she stated.

"Great, I'll consult with Mr Hargroves representative to see if he is available" he stated before bidding her a goodbye.

Hannah hung up the phone hoping Billy would pull through.

.............  .......................  ................

Hannah was awake bright and early the next day. She could hardly sleep the night before, and woke up early to ensure she looked presentable for today.

She chose to go with a simple white blouse and a mid length skirt that showcased her curves, whilst pairing the outfit with some black heels. She needed the judge to take her serious.

Her nerves had worked themselves up as they pulled up to the courthouse in Heather's beat up beetle. Her legs shaking as she got out of the vehicle and stepped onto the sidewalk.

"There they are" Heather nudged her.

Hannah turned her head, her eyes narrowing as she took in Billy's attire. A red shirt which was unbuttoned slightly, denim jeans and boots completed his luck. Was he serious?

"I'm going to murder him" Hannah swore as the pair approached them.

Tommy whistled. "Ladies, looking good" he stated sending a wink to Heather who rolled her eyes.

"Are you serious?" Hannah hissed sending a glare to Billy.

Billy raised a brow. "About what?" He asked.

"Your attire" Hannah stated. "Do you really think the judge will take us seriously?" She asked. She knew how important first impressions were.

Billy rolled his eyes. "Jesus christ, always going on the attack" he grumbled.

Hannah folded her arms. "Poor baby" she cooed sarcastic.

Billy narrowed his eyes. "Can't wait to be free of you" he spat

"Feelings mutual" Hannah spat back.

"Guys, come on" Tommy urged nodding to the tower clock. 9.55. It was now or never they thought.

The pair entered the courtroom. Hannah spotted Malcolm and came to stand by his side, her eyes focused on the judge.

"All rise for Judge Mathers" the police stared as the they all stood.

"You may be seated" the judge stares as he approached the bench.

"Case number 235 states both plantiffs are seeking a quick divorce, am I correct?" He addressed both representatives.

Malcolm stood. "That is correct sir" he stated.

Billy's lawyers stood. "Yes sir that is correct" he replied.

"May I ask each plaintiff the reason why?" The judge asked his head turning to Hannah.

Hannah stood up shakily. "We got married unintentionally" she stated.

The judge eyed her. "Um hum" he hummed. "What about you Mr Hargrove? Do you agree?" He asked.

Billy stood. "Yes sir, the marriage was undertaken by mistake" he stated making Hannah cringe at his use of language.

The judge raised his brows. "A mistake?" He asked.

Billy nodded. "We were drinking" he stated scratching the back of his head.

"Drinking?" The judge hummed signalling for Billy to sit down. "So you don't understand the importance of marriage?" He asked the pair before shaking his head and leaning forward.

"I'll be real with you two" the judge stared. "I've been married for neatly fourty years, and sometimes my wife can drive me crazy" he stated. "But you know I wouldn't change being married for the world, when I took those vows I took them seriously and I've been there in sickness and in health" he stated before pausing. "And personally i think you two should learn a lesson in the importance of marriage" he stated with a smile.

Hannah widened her eyes. Oh shit.

"I understand there is also money that needs to be divided" the judge addressed Malcom.

"Yes sir and my client intends to share and split this equally with Mr Hargrove during the divorce process" he stated.

The judge smirked. "Oh there won't be a divorce today" he stated.

"What?" Hannah whispered to herself.

"In fact, I think you two lovebirds should learn the importance of marriage" he started. "I'm setting out the conditions that you both live together for six months, whilst also seeing a therapist chosen by the court" he started. "If you guys can make it work then you can choose to split the money and even get a divorce, but if someone breaks the sanctity of the marriage vows then the other person takes all the money" he stated. "The money will be locked up in bonds for six months and then we will meet back here again" he finished.

"Fucking bullshit" Billy swore under his breath.

Hannah couldn't believe her ears. All she could hear was the roar of her heart.

"I feel sick" she muttered to Malcolm.

"Now, I assume you have a place to stay" he directed at Hannah.

Hannah swallowed. "I'm living with my friend" she answered.

"What about you Mr Hargrove?" He addressed Billy.

"I have a one bed apartment" Billy answered glumly.

"Great, miss Jones can live with you until further notice" he mused. "Case dismissed" the judge banged his gravel and got up to exit the room.

"He can't do this surely" Hannah begged turning towards Malcolm.

"He can" Malcolm stated. "The judges rule is final I'm afraid" he stared.

Hannah looked over, noting Billy staring at the table his fists clenched. How the hell would she survive?

[red-n-ded]

Little Red Corvette (Ft. The Beatles) Part One

Benjamin O’Brien lives in Brighton Falls, California, trying to escape the trauma from a protest that caused him to lose his voice.

When an old friend visits and signs him up for a street race for his 18th birthday, he buys a beautiful Chevrolet Corvette unaware that under all its pain lies a stubborn but gentle Autobot from outer space with no memory and shared love for 80’s music.

Or

Reverse Roles of AU of Bee and Charlie meeting and giving each other their named through the magic of music and insect posters.

(And yes, Bee is a fan of the Beatles bc I said so)

Next (Coming Soon)

Ao3 Sneak Peek and Link Below

Benjamin O’Brien has a normal life, or at least tries to.

Every morning he wakes up, eats his breakfast, takes painkillers for his damaged vocal cords, goes to community college for his auto shop classes, and goes to work at the beach boardwalk. It gets boring after a few months doing the same thing over and over again but it’s not the worst. He’s finally getting a proper education and now lives near the beaches of California, something younger Ben could only dream of doing.

It’s not the racing life but better than dying on the frontlines.

Tomorrow is his birthday and Ben wanted to treat himself. Days and weeks of a domestic life, he deserved for a bit of an adventure. A while back, he saw posters for a movie marathon at the local drive-in and Ben is a sucker for 80’s movies (His copy of the Breakfast Club is worn out from his 50th rewatch). He would go but the poor guy doesn’t have a car except a yellow Volkswagen Beetle that doesn’t even work. Who in their right mind goes to drive in without a car? Only the insane in his opinion.

Not too far from his host home is the local junkyard. Ben sometimes works there for extra cash or when he just wants to get his hands dirty working on cars again. For the past few days, he has been getting parts to repair the Beetle, using half of his wages to buy the parts he needed but so far his work has been in vain. Maybe on the day before his birthday, he’ll get some luck.

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

His head buried under pillows and blankets, the tired 17-year-old slams his fist onto his alarm clock, silently cursing in annoyance at the dreaded box yet forces himself to sit up, blinking his blurry vision to adjust to the sunlight. Hoping to wake himself up, Ben leans over to his bedside table, puts on his black bluetooth headphones and presses play on his phone.

“Desmond has a barrow in the marketplace, Molly is the singer in a band. Desmond says to Molly, “Girl, I like your face” and Molly says this as she takes him by the hand Ob-la-di, ob-la-da! Life goes on, brah! La-la, how their life goes on. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da! Life goes on, brah! La-la, how their life goes on! Ob-la-di, ob-la-da! Life goes on, brah! La-la, how their life goes on!”

Ben mouths the upbeat lyrics as he changes out of his pajamas, slipping on a white tank top and slightly-used navy jeans from the carpet. He goes to brush his teeth and his head naturally begins to beat, the tiredness and annoyance from before already fading away. The teen cleans himself up and goes to the kitchen to eat breakfast, turning up the music on his headphones to dance on his way to the cabinets. Thank god no one is home. He opens the cabinet door to grab the last box of cereal but a knock in the door interrupts.

Ben slides his phones down to his neck. Who could possibly be up this early? The teen turns off his music and makes his way to the door, putting down the cereal box to turn the handle. The door swings open and his eyes immediately catch the hot pink color of hair.

“Hey, I-“

OH HELL NO!

SLAM!

The house nearly shakes at how fast Bee slammed the door on his old friend. Ben doesn’t let her answer, grumbling angrily at his visitor and ignoring the desperate knocks from the other side.

It’s too fucking early for this.

“Bee, please.” She begs between her knocks, “I just want to talk!”

The blonde teen freezes. Bee? Geez, I haven't heard that nickname in years.

Arcee, the hot-pink-haired biker outside his door, keeps knocking, her requests to let her inside fading into white noise in Ben’s ears. Hearing her voice again, just as panicked as he last heard her, hurts more than he thought it would.

Ben stays silent, which is all he can ever do. His hand trails up to his neck where a faded scar across his Adam's apple, his fingertips tracing the indents of the jagged shape. He wanted to put his old life in New York behind him, a life of fighting and protesting against a corrupt system. It wasn't supposed to be violent. Optimus promised that they wouldn't try to resort to force but the Decepticon mafia attacked first and that protest became a riot, one that cost him his voice.

Don't do it Ben. Don’t do it. It’s been almost a year. You can’t get hurt anymore.

Arcee was there at the protest but wasn’t there when Sergent Blitzwing ripped out his vocal cords. She doesn’t know his pain and the trauma that riot caused. Yet, his heart longed for a friend. Living alone has taken a toll that Ben isn’t willing to accept.

Maybe for a moment, just a moment. Then she can leave and never come back.

Ben shaking hands goes to unlock the door. The wooden barrier swings open and he stares blue to brown eyes at Arcee, who’s relieved at the open door. She smiles awkwardly but tries to put up a comforting face.

“Hey Bee,” she mumbles. A beat passes and the two just stand there. Bee looks at the clock and sees the minute hand inching closer to the 9.

Gah! I’m late!

The teen quickly types into his phone, “Do. You. Know. Sign. Language. ”

The biker perks up, surprised by his form of communication but doesn’t make a show of it. “Yes, I do.”

Bee tucks his phone into his pocket and steps aside, giving Arcee the permission to enter his home before he rushes to the kitchen to eat his unmade breakfast. Arcee nodded in appreciation and walked in, shuffling her feet onto the black floor mat before taking off her boots. She looks around, in awe of where his old crewmate has been staying for the past year. It’s surprisingly big for a teenager living alone and not to mention so close to the beach.

“A nice place you got here,” Arcee compliments, earning a humble buzz as Bee pours out his breakfast, briskly walking back and forth from his bowl and the fridge, “How’d you get it?”

“Host family.” Ben signed after putting away his milk, “Currently on vacation.”

As far as Bee remembers, the raceway in New York has always been his family. He was homeschooled in the pits and learned to drive before he could hit puberty. His origins are a complete mystery and for a while, he didn’t mind until he left. It was at that moment that Bee realized that he had no one. No one on the team was biologically related to him and there are no records of his birth. Bee might as well be non-existent.

The O’Briens are nice. Their son Dylan warmed up to him very quickly and his parents treated him like any other decent person would, even indulging in his odd taste for 80’s pop culture and music. Staying with them was a great idea but Ben knows he’ll never be part of their family and that’s okay. He wasn’t even offended when the family didn’t bring him along to their pre-paid vacation. He’s only living with them and that’s a fact that Ben is willing to accept.

Seeing his true family again and standing under the same roof as someone he considered as an older sister is odd. Arcee looked different since he last saw her. Her hair is shaved and cut up to her chin, her outfit consists of way more leather and black, and her wedding ring is missing.

Did something happen to her and Cliffjumper? Hopefully they didn’t end on bad terms.

Arcee remains quiet, looking around the O’Brien’s house with curiosity. It has only been a year but Bee has changed a lot. Bee has definitely taken the time to relax and act like an actual teen. He looks a bit more round and chubby, especially around the face, but his muscles remained firm, emphasized by his tank top while not too obvious. The biker laughs to herself remembering how much a skinny stick Bee was. The headphones are a new addition and so is his attire. Arcee realized that he had never seen Bee in jeans before, always found running around without the restriction of the denim.

Bee grows annoyed at the silence and stops eating to knock on the table, grabbing Arcee’s attention. “What are you doing here?” He signs as milk and crumbs drip from the corners of his lips.

Arcee leans back on her seat and smiles warmly, “Is it bad for an old friend to visit?” She joked, walking towards the dinner table where Bee is sitting. Bee frowns, an annoyed buzz escaping his throat which annoyed him even further.

I hate it when it does that.

Her grin fades into concern, curious and worried about the lack of the upbeat voice she once remembered, “What happened to your voice?”

“None of your business.” Bee gulps down the last of his cereal and dumps his empty bowl into the sink. Bee walks in long strides, speeding his pace to get out of the house as quickly as possible but Arcee isn’t so keen to see her old friend leave so soon, not when she just got him back.

“Bee, can we just talk?” Arcee sighs, exasperated by her old friend’s stubbornness but there’s a hint of begging in her voice.

There’s no denying that the base hasn’t been the same since Bee disappeared. They all thought he died but Orion knew he wasn’t. The biker didn’t know how he knew or why her leader never pushed to find his surrogate son but Arcee isn’t the type to let go of someone close to her so quickly. Not after…

Cliff.

With a red and yellow plaid button-up in his hand, Bee pauses at the soft desperation. It hurts to hear but before he could open his mouth, any and all words that could comfort her, reassure his friend that he misses her just as much, die from his lips, even if he can talk. He doesn’t look at her and taps on the doorway in morse code, “I have to go to work.”

The pink-haired biker remained frozen in her seat as the door slammed shut.

The rest of the day went by like a blur filled with crowds on the boardwalk and bullies from his classes dumping lemonade or making his job not worth the $20 an hour. It’s almost pathetic. The blonde knows any and every way possible he could run star wrestler, Shelby “Shatter” Bassett, into the ground without breaking a sweat. Maybe a punch in the face or a scratch on her boyfriend’s (admittedly stunning) royal blue AMC Javelin could also get him to shut up.

But he’s not B-127 the Freedom Racer anymore.

He’s just Benjamin the Hot Dog on a Stick cashier.

After a thorough wash to get all the lemon pulp out of his hair, Bee made a pit stop at the junkyard. With his birthday coming up in a few hours, the young teen hoped that he could get the Beetle up and running. He grabs his red toolkit from the back of the motorized bike he rides on, voicelessly greets the owner and rushes into the piles of the cars in the lot, taking apart the pieces he wants. Grime and oil gets on his button-up and skin and the metallic stench of rust seeps into his nostrils but the blonde doesn’t mind, remembering the similar smell back in New York except missing the sound of race cars zooming in the background.

“Can’t catch me, Bee!”

“Fat chance!”

“Go faster, papa! Faster!”

“If you say so, little one!”

“Tell me where your friends are hiding!”

Wait.

“I’ll never talk!”

Stop.

“Is that right?”

Stop it!

SHING!

“Then let’s make it official.”

NO!

[writing-with-rain]

"Firsts"

Bluepulse Week 2023; Day 1

Dec. 10, 2023

"Young Justice"

Summary: Bart is more than excited for the night ahead, practically vibrating through the floor with every passing second – very slow seconds, he unfortunately laments. This evening, at 5 on the dot, Bart is expecting a knock on the door from his favorite hero in Blue. Sure, his feelings had been conflicting when he had first arrived, Jaime was cute, but Bart had a mission, one that centered around blue and black clad hero he stuck so close to, but dangers had since past, and Bart had found it harder to ignore that gnawing thought. And finally, finally, Bart was going to be going on his first date, both in general and with Jaime. 

Time moves quicker than his own internal clock. 

Bart knows this. Every speedster knows this. Even Don and Dawn, in all this small toddler minded glory, are grasping at the concept that time just moves differently for them. After all, super speed was never just that. 

But this was getting ridiculous. It was as if the world had caught a whiff of his excitement for the night and personally pulled on the reins of time to slow it to less than a trickle. He had been staring at this clock for the last two hours (it had been 2 minutes), and still he seemed no closer to the hour hand landing on the 5 as it was supposed to. 

Jay, who had been all too amused with the situation, had left the doorway he had been standing in – so when Bart let out another over exaggerated sigh there was nothing but a laugh from the older man two rooms over. 

“The clock isn’t gonna get to 5 any faster.” 

Bart’s face scrunched at the comment. “It will if I move the hand.” 

“Don’t you dare, besides,” Jay chimed as he entered Bart’s line of sight once more, “it won’t make Jaime get here earlier.” 

Bart didn’t give more than another annoyed huff, rolling over on his bed and facing the wall. 

“You’ll mess your hair up, Bart,” Jay called, walking back to the kitchen. “Again!” 

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, sitting up and glancing in a mirror to run a hand through his hair once more in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. As unruly as it could be, he did want to look presentable for his first date. Especially when that date was supposed to be with Jaime. 

It was a lulling thought for the moment, a flash flood of memories and emotions in quick succession. 

Too skinny Bart Allen had managed to get to the past, with the sole mission of stopping the Reach apocalypse at any cost. And then he had been face-to-face with The Blue Beetle and hadn’t even realized it at first. His one-track mind had been faster than he was and soon enough Bart had been spending as much time with one Jaime Reyes as he could. But then things had gotten a little complicated – Bart had never let himself become too comfortable with the past, not until he was sure it was fixed, but that hadn’t stopped those little budding feelings from taking root in his brain, deeper and deeper, every time he was around Jaime. 

Small things he did, the way he laughed or the way he rolled his eyes and looked away to hide his smile every time Bart cracked a particularly bad joke were imprinted in his head. And then the speedster caught himself doing it on purpose, just to try and get one more smile or one more laugh out of his friend. 

Surprisingly, the first time he had caught himself calling Jaime his friend, the realization didn’t set him on edge. It had felt completely normal. All of it did, along with those little nudges of protectiveness that he embraced in full force. 

It the Reach was going to take Jaime from him, or even Khaji Da, they were going to have to take Bart out kicking and screaming first. 

And nobody could say that the speedster hadn’t stuck to his guns the moment he decided he was going to pour everything into protecting Jaime – throwing those (now not so reasonable) alternatives to the wind. 

He had. 

He had given every bit of himself to making sure he brought Jaime home. And Jaime had been there for him just as much when Bart was left reeling at the sacrifices it cost. That the Reach had cost them. 

That was how things had stayed for a time. With everyone just figuring out how to heal, and how to navigate a new kind of normal. 

But caught up in his own world and stretched like a starfish across his bed, Bart hadn’t realized that father time had finally gotten around to granting his wish, with the hour hand finally ticking gently over the 5. His mind was still a mile away before he was jolted back to the present by a swift knock on the front door. 

Jay hadn’t even moved from his spot to answer it, knowing Bart would be there faster than a heartbeat. And he was, swinging the door open with a smile bright enough to put the sun to shame. 

For what it was worth, Jaime returned the look with upmost adoration, taking a moment to just look at Bart before the speedster was nudging them out the door; he knew full and well Jay was going to try getting photos for Iris, Bart had heard the conversation earlier over the phone. 

Thankfully Jaime let Bart drag him along without a fuss, following in quick step next to the younger of the pair. “You look good.” 

“Don’t I always?” 

Jaime could only roll his eyes and scoff, “let me compliment you, chiquito.” 

Bart shrugged, looking away as the two made their way down the street and headed further into the city. “It just feels a bit different now, you know?” When he glanced back over to Jaime it wasn’t hard to miss the soft smile on his face. 

“I get it,” he cast a lazy glance over at Bart, meeting his eyes for the first time. “I spent two hours picking my clothes before Mils started making fun of me for worrying.” 

That was an easy scene to picture, Milagro sticking her head into Jaime’s room or sitting on the bed and poking fun at him before he chased her out of the room, or his mom can up to collect her. It was endearing either way it would have played out. 

“I would have thought you looked good either way?” 

“Sure, but you dressed up for our date,” Jaime chimed, knocking shoulders with him for the moment. 

“I had Iris to worry about.” Instead of pulling away, Bart slips his hand into Jaime’s to intertwine their fingers. 

“You’re doing it again.” 

“What?” Bart asks, genuinely puzzled. 

Jaime swings their hands absentmindedly as they continue, taking the lead. “Your nose is scrunched up again, you’re overthinking.” 

Bart hums in acknowledgment. “I’ve been thinking about it since you asked me out -” 

“Since you almost jumped me about it,” Jaime corrects with a sly grin. 

“Since you asked me.” He huffs. “But are things going to change between us? Like, a lot - because what we have is pretty crash.” 

Jaime was quiet for a moment, tugging Bart closer until he was tucked comfortably against his side. “I don’t think it’s going to change as much as you’re worried about.” 

“Good, because I like us.” 

Jaime couldn’t help but smile once again, his hand slipping from Bart’s to tighten around his waist as he dragged him forward for their date. “I like us too.” 

[cielettosa]

Levi's monologue when he was beating the shit out of eren

I can't believe it. I mean, really, can you? It's like a twisted, messed-up joke that humanity's last hope is pinned on a group of bumbling, power-hungry, so-called leaders. These guys couldn't even lead a donkey to water without getting lost in the desert...

And don't get me started on the Yeager brat. Ugly as a Titan's backside, but they want to barbecue him like he's the main course at a Titan buffet. The poor brat is scared out of his mind, stuttering like a broken record, begging for his life every few seconds. Newsflash, brat: nobody understands you when you're gagged. It's like trying to have a deep philosophical debate with a brick wall.

Nile Dok, the shining beacon of all that is pig-headed and self-important. Head of the Military Police, they call him. But from where I'm standing, he's the grand poobah of all things nonsensical. And let's not forget Nick, the Minister Shitface, holding the prestigious title of vice-judge. It's like a match made in heaven – two peas in a pod of bureaucratic incompetence.

Erwin, on the other hand, well, he's got his own history with Dok. Something about stealing Erwin's girl, Marie, way back when. The details aren't clear, but you can bet your boots that it's a festering wound that still stings. You see, Eyebrows may look as calm as a tranquil lake, but beneath that serene exterior, there's a storm brewing.

Minister Nick and his never-ending religious sermons. He's all about that Walls mumbo-jumbo, but honestly, I've got more important things to do, like keeping your sorry butts alive in this Titan-infested world. If I did give a damn about religion, I'd want a better spokesperson than this guy. I mean, really, it's like having a dung beetle as your life coach. Nick's "inspirational" speeches would put even the most dedicated insomniac to sleep. But hey, maybe that's the secret to his survival – bore the Titans to tears. While he's preaching about the great beyond, I'm out here in the real world, making sure you have a future to even worry about.

If there's a heaven, hell, or purgatory, I hope they've got better entertainment than this holy bore. Dok's playing puppet master to Zackly, and it's a damn puppet show I'm not willing to watch any longer. The clock's ticking, and I can't let this charade continue. The jury needs a reality check before Dok's nonsense becomes law.

Erwin, my partner in crime, gives me that unspoken signal, and it's like we share the same damn brain. Twins, they call us, and they might be right. But let's get one thing straight – I got the looks, and I've got the, well, length, if you catch my drift.

It's time to step up, cut through the crap, and bring some order to this chaotic world. Because if there's one thing we don't need, it's more clowns in this circus of despair. It's time for the Survey Corps to do what we do best – kick some Titan ass and take names.

It's a damn shame that I have to resort to beating the living daylights out of Eren Yeager to make a point. But let me tell you, it's like a twisted kind of therapy for me. The kid's got a hair-trigger temper, and it doesn't take much to set him off. I mean, everything makes him lose his marbles.

You'd think we were living in a world where Titans are the least of our worries, with the way Eren goes ballistic over the smallest things. It's like he's got a personal grudge against serenity. But hey, if my fists can knock some sense into him, then I'll gladly be the bad guy. In this world, losing your cool can get you killed, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep this circus from turning into a bloody tragedy.

Mikasa, the black-haired girl, can't seem to stop gushing over "Ereh!" like she's some kind of Titan-slaying goddess. The way she clings to that Titan-spitface is almost comical. Kid's got herself a full-blown crush on Mr. Yeager.

And sure, I've heard it before, that Mikasa Ackerman looks a bit like me, despite us having zero ties. But let's get one thing straight – I'd rather be related to a sack of potatoes than be associated with a brat who's obsessed with Eren.

I'm not one to toot my own horn, but between her and me, I'm the hotter one in this messed-up circus. Beauty might not save the world, but it sure beats being infatuated with a Titan-transforming teenager.

It's not the stench of their porky existence that gets to me, although that's a close second. No, it's the fear that I feed on, thrive on, and let me tell you, it's a feast.

Dok and Minister Nick are probably soaking their pants, and also shitting right about now, knowing that in my mind's eye, I'm picturing them in Yeager's shoes. There's something satisfying about watching them squirm, knowing that their day of judgment might be just around the corner. It's like a sweet symphony, and I'm the conductor, orchestrating their fear, one crescendo at a time. This world is a savage playground, and I'm the merciless player.

Wait shit, was that a spit and blood covered tooth? Holy hell, it doesn't matter. I need to pull back. Just one more kick.

Okay, maybe one more for good measure. Can't leave things unfinished, right?

And one last one, just to make sure things are nice and tidy. It's not often I get to let loose like this, so might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Another kick for the sake of, well, cleanliness.

TLDR: Shipping between Levi and Eren won't be tolerated, it's disgusting.

[whenimgoodandready]

A wise rabbit once said, “Interfering with events can have serious consequences”. You’ve heard of this many times in movies and tv shows where there’s time traveling involved and how the main characters will try to change the future by going back, but of course, it doesn’t always end well. One small change can change the whole future all together. This is what’s called “The Butterfly Effect”. Butterfly? Like the miraculous that Bugnoir lost? Which then was found by one of Marinettes/Ladybugs worst enemies and then suddenly a mysterious blue light happened that we don’t know what came next? Yeah, that. This one butterfly effect, unlike the butterflies itself, was not pretty.

Miraculous World

*London:At the Edge of Time-You know how the Season 5 finale ended with Gabe making his wish and then BOOM! Instant happy scenario with our heroes happily dating, hanging out with their friends and Paris becoming a green utopia. Well, it had a rocky start actually. This special takes place immediately after Gabe made his wish. We first get a preview of Bunnyx playing three dimensional chess with herself (literally. Her adult and Senior Citizen self. Damn!) then suddenly her two older selves slowly fade from existence (which they’re cool with🤨. Huh, guess they saw this coming if they know the outcome will be okay) and she checks the many portals to see what happened in her Burrow. Apparently, just after Marinette/Bugnoir got back from her big adventure in London, the apocalypse was happening! Again! Don! Don! Don! Bunnyx saves Marinette just seconds away from nothingness and tells her someone must’ve found out about her identity as Ladybug and stole both the Ladybug/Black Cat Miraculous to make a wish that resulted in reshaping the whole entire universe! Don! Don! Don! WHO!? You’ll see:

Pros:

•Bunnyx Forever-Seems like Alix here is following in the footsteps of Master Fu and expanding her time with her miraculous if she’s going on all the way into her 70’s! Does this mean the others will be heroes in their old age too? Starting off as teen heroes then a justice league esque like United Heroez and finally, a grand council of legendary heroes! That’d be insane! Can you imagine if Adrienette got married, had kids and grew old and they’d STILL not know their identities at that point! Oh that’ll be rich!😂

•Chronobug-Despite its “flashy” look, I loved that they were referencing that ladybugs can come in other colors like yellow (the 16 or 22 spotted ladybug). It was yellow cuz Marinette was wearing a life saver vest in that color that combined it with her Ladybug Miraculous (which she took from her past self when she renounced her title as Ladybug (“Origins Part 1:Ladybug and Cat Noir”)) and it was for Bunnyx to tell which Marinette was which from the time traveling they were doing. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen the ladybug suit look different. Shadybug had a black one with red spots (pine ladybird) and I hope this means we’ll see it in other colors, like ✨pink!✨ (pink spotted lady beetle). (Squee).

•Spectral Looter/Timestalker-It was Lila! No! Wait! Cerise? (or is it Iris?) Whatever, but it was her that was causing the apocalypse! No surprise since we saw in the Season 5 finale she took the Butterfly Miraculous! Duh! She is clever alright. 10 times smarter than Gabe/Monarch ever was. It was cuz of that Chronobug kept struggling to catch and defeat her. As Spectral Looter, she appeared as a clocked and masked phantom like villainess, much like Troublemaker, who can turn things ghostly like herself with a tap of her fingers to steal. Unlike with Troublemaker, Chronobug couldn’t stop her due to her ghostly phasing powers (which were always and not temporary) which is how she got away with both the Ladybug/Black Cat Miraculous to make her wish (this was her Plan B actually). As Timestalker, she appeared in a full body/face covered time traveling villainess suit (with a stop watch logo on her forehead. Lol!) that was a better dodger than Chronobug and writing down every secret she hears about in a notebook (this was how she found out about Bugnoirs identity) since she was akumatizing herself and thus would forget her actions when she transforms back to normal (evil f*cking genius!). She even had these gadget watches that allowed her to transport her back into her secret underground lair (where did she get those!? (whispers) It wasn’t part of the akumatization. Seriously! Who is this b*tch!?). In both these akumatized forms, she also kept quiet to conceal her identity of who she really was from Chronobug and Bunnyx . A++ villainy there😈. I like her Timestalker look best cuz I got a Deadpool vibe out of it (the expressions on the eye part of the mask did it). Spectral Looter was a bit too scary for my taste since it was so effective, it brought about the end of the world!😱Yeah! Bad enough it’s a ghost, but it made Dooms Day too!

Cons:

•Bugnoirs Lie-The thing Marinette/Bugnoir hates the most and whom the person she hates the most does, she does it herself! Bugnoir tells Adrien (and all of the world) this c*ckabull story about how “Gabe was a hero who sacrificed himself to stop Monarch and save the world” and that he and Tomoe were “forced into working with Monarch with their alliance rings or he’d hurt their loved ones” nonsense just to spare Adrien’s feelings that his own father this whole time was his (Cat Noirs in secret) own arch enemy. Poor guy was heartbroken despite the cruel upbringing he had with him, but at the end of the day, he still lost a father! First his mom, now his dad! He’s orphaned! He was pissed at Bugnoir too for not trying to do anything. It gets worse when we find out that despite Kagami’s mother being Gabe/Monarchs accomplice, she gets off Scot free! She’s still evil! This is not gonna be good for Marinette/Ladybug when this comes back to bite her in the a** next season. Especially when Lila/Cerise knows the truth! She’s the new Butterfly Holder! She can use this as her secret weapon! Good luck, Liarbug🙄

•No Miss Rose-We were told Miss Rose (which was gonna be like a back door pilot to this special) was gonna be featured in this one and guess what? She wasn’t. Yup, she wasn’t. How do you like that? The magical superspy girl didn’t get her screen time here. I mean, it was all planned out. This special took place (partially) in London and that’s where Miss Rose’s show takes place, so yeah, and yet, it.didn’t.happen…….Guess our Ladybug isn’t the only one over here lying. WHEN THE F*CK ARE THEY GONNA GET THAT SHOW ALREADY! For that matter, WHAT ABOUT ALL THOSE OTHER SHOWS ZAG PROMISED TO US!? HUH!? “PIXIE GIRL”! “SUPERSTARS”! “MELODY”!? (that last one’s a movie). They gave us “Zak Storm” and “Ghost Force”! Where’s the rest of the good stuff!? How ‘bout “Fairyon”!? That fairytale/superhero genre that was also talked about? Is that just another prank for us to walk into only to have them pull the rug under us? I’m doubting these show will see the light of day honestly. Might as well just rename the company “Zag Miraculous” instead of “Zagtoon”. Humph!😤

As you can see, “When you're trying to solve a problem, don't go and cause more problems”. Even if your intentions are good, you still don’t know if this will all end well. It could get worse if you don’t see what’s coming next. Think Marty McFly in the sequel when he tried the ultimate “get-rich-quick” scheme only for that to fall into the wrong hands and have a nightmare of a world. Yeah! This was like that! Least in this case, Chronobug did one smart move and prevented her identity from being discovered and thus saving the entire universe cuz of it. Bunnyx surprisingly goes on not just into adulthood as the Rabbit Holder, but as an elder too! Wow! You know, it’s probably just Bunnyx that’s gonna stay as the Rabbit Miraculous holder cuz we don’t know if the others, like the dynamic duo, are still gonna be senior citizens in their super lives. Maybe it’ll just be her and the two? But I hope to God that they don’t keep their secret identities from each other that long! That would seriously drive the fans nuts! I really do hope we get more colored ladybug suits in future episodes cuz there’s a lot more to go through such as gray (ashy gray lady beetle), orange (orange ladybug) and blue! (steelblue ladybird). Lila (or Cerise) is our cunning new Butterfly Miraculous holder now. We saw how she got it from here and now she’s gonna cause a whole new reign of terror on Paris. What was it exactly that she was wishing for with the Ladybug/Black Cat Miraculous? To reshape the entirety of the whole universe for all to be centered on her as the almighty? 🤷‍♀️. We know how attention seeking she is, but what is her endgame? She was soooooooo pissed af about failing even after her brilliant attempts. So much so that she did this:(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻😂. Let’s see if she can do better as a power bestower instead to others. She “half won” in this case cuz Chronobug still failed to retrieve the Butterfly Miraculous (poor Nooroo. Again). This also means with a new villain, Ladybug and Cat Noir still can’t know about their identities😔. Look, I know a lot of people despise how Bugnoir had to tell the biggest, fattest lie ever, but she wasn’t so cool with it either, she was a zombie (dead inside). She had to witness her arch enemy/boyfriend’s father kill himself, so yeah! She’d be broken about it! Let’s also break down why this was “the best” idea to lie:1. In spite of Gabe being “Worlds Worst Dad”, he used his wish to not bring back Emilie, but to join her! (so that was Amélie we saw in the Season 5 finale) By giving up his life, he restored Natalie’s so Adrien can still have a parental figure and not be even more miserable and alone. Nat wanted to turn herself in for aiding Gabe/Monarch, but Bugnoir said she’s needed for Adrien. 2. Tomoe got away with being involved with Gabe/Monarch in evil because if they did arrest her, she’d blab about the truth and it would hurt both Adrien and leave Kagami without a parent. Good luck redeeming your mom Kagami (betcha that’ll be one hell of an episode). 3. If Gabe/Monarch hadn’t made a wish, Bugnoir would’ve and even if she did, she’d wish for herself to be sacrificed, but that still wouldn’t have helped anyone. 4. If Adrien knew, HE’D GO BALLISTIC! We’ve seen what happens when he’s upset! (as Cat Noir!) *cough*”CatBlanc”*cough*. Zagtoon is going through a bunch of changes now, so I guess it would take it much longer for them to get those new shows ready in time, but I really hope we get “Miss Rose”, “Pixie Girl”, “Superstars” and “Melody” quickly. That and “Fairyon”. Patience. Apologies that this review of the special took forever (especially with Season 6 quickly approaching), but I heard it got taken down due to an early link and then there was that Disney+ wait. Also, I got caught up with the holidays, was enjoying my vacation days off, catching up with my other shows and trying to find the right scheduling dates to watch and review this (and also, cuz I was lazy 😒). I’ll see you all when proper production order of the next seasons eps air (with its new animation I’ll mention) and you’ll see my reviews.

[awellboiledicicle]

I love looking back on old obscure series I got onto while unmedicated bc they're often silly and fun.

And then the Hm. Moments jump out at me looking at it with a clearer head and like. Knowing more things.

Which is a shame bc so much media is perfectly fine and then BAM the yikes you didn't notice before smacks you in the face. And then you're stuck looking at the rest of it like "welp"

Its frustrating too bc I'll half remember a series and be five exclamation points into sharing it with someone and then for a half second the fog clears and I go "well shit" and then its awkward while i then devote my energy to picking the rest of the thing apart like I'm looking for fleas on a black cat just in case it hides further bullshit I didn't clock bc I was just sitting there in a haze going "hehehe enrichment of thing to look at".

Basically I'm shaking the ol box of media I've consumed and not liking the amount of beetles falling out the bottom of the box

[just-some-teag]

The Fallen Angel's Guardian Demon: Chapter 1

Thanks to @oculianilluvinial here on AO3 and @onemoregayapollokid on Tumblr for beta reading this. Please note that neither the emails nor the phone numbers for the characters work.

Please note this, as it will come up in later chapters: Angels and those descended from angels will have elf ears rather than none, and elf ears are prehensile like cat ears.

Word count: 2.9k

================================================

A few days after the most recent Extermination, a moose demon sits at a desk in her quiet office while she sorts through a stack of torn papers. Once she pairs two pieces together, she sadly sighs and writes down the name of the dead Sinner. The torn contracts are the usual for post-Extermination bookkeeping. Under the name of the lost soul, she adds some bullet points of the Sinners who should know of this soul's death. As always, the list includes the names of the souls she controls at the top and the names of the demons under the control of other Overlords so that she can write letters to their Overlords.

The office is fairly large, with more chairs than one would think is needed for a solitary Overlord. All of her furniture is made of Hell's version of mountain mahogany, with the chairs and loveseat upholstered with wool. A television from the 1950s sits in the back corner of the office, almost directly mirroring the cathedral radio on a shelf near the desk. A black, gold, white, and red Turkish rug lays underneath the majority of the furniture. It was a gift to the Overlord from one of her owned souls for keeping him safe from his abuser. An analogue clock hangs on the walnut panelling of the wall, ticking a soft reminder to the moose of the interview she wanted to watch: the Princess of Hell promoting something on 666 News.

The office isn’t the only room on this floor; a smaller conference room sits further down the hallway, with magical alarms that sit at odd intervals between the two doors. The sigils were laid by an old friend of the Overlords and made to trigger when an unfamiliar soul signature crosses over them without one of the staff with them. A useful gift that the moose is still trying to repay–even if the sigil maker has refused all repayment other than taking the souls that land in his territory that he knows she should have. It's an odd gesture, but it’s always welcomed. 

The Overlord’s eyes slide over to the analogue clock on her wall before heading over to the 1950s-style television and turning it on. It’s all she can do to hope the Princess can handle dealing with Katie Killjoy without being humiliated. The news broadcast intro music, and the program's name floats into view of the screen before fading to the blonde praying mantis and gas mask Sinners. A shorter blonde woman with bright red circles on her cheeks sits nervously in the interviewee's chair with her attention on a camera.

“Welcome back!” The shrill voice of the head news anchor cuts through the previous silence, causing the moose’s ears to pin themselves back to protect against it. “We’re here with the daughter of Hell’s head honcho, Charlotte Morningstar!” The shorter blonde woman on the screen seems to shrink into herself a little as she attempts to correct Katie Killjoy, but she is ignored. “Charlotte, tell us about this new passion project that you’ve been incessantly pestering our new station about!” The crazed look on her face doesn’t hide her inner thoughts, ‘ We’ve only accepted because you’ll bring more publicity and money to us .’

“Well,” Princess Morningstar takes a deep breath, bracing her hands on the newsdesk before speaking, “as most of you know, I was born here in Hell. Growing up, I always tried to see the good in everything around me, even during the darkest times.” A beetle crawls across the desk in front of the newswoman, who takes her pen and stabs it. The moose-demon’s eyes look towards her television as she hears the thunk of the pen, her eyes following the trajectory of the beetle guts to where it lands on the princess’ face and, for a moment, she hopes that the princess puts the insolent newswoman in her place.

Instead, she wipes it off with a mildly disgusted look and the tips of her ears becoming hidden in her hair due to her ears laying flat against her head before continuing, “Hell is my home, a-and you are my people. We… just went through another Extermination; we lost so many souls, and it breaks my heart to see my people slaughtered every year.” The princess’ face hardens as she says her next sentence, not even noticing that Killjoy has fallen asleep next to her, “No one is even given a chance!” She slams her hands on the desk with frustration written across her face, and her ears become visible again. The short look of shock at being woken up flashes across the newscaster’s face. She quickly dons a look of confusion as Princess Morningstar gets up in the middle of her speech and walks around the studio audience.

“So I’ve been thinking, isn’t there a more humane way to hinder the overpopulation of Hell? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to change souls through… redemption?” A camera follows the princess as she moves about the audience, and a small split-screen on the television shows the news reporters and the princess as she slides an arm across a Sinner's shoulders. “Well, I think yes! So, that’s what this project aims to achieve!” The camera follows her as she heads back to the news desk.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, I’m opening the first of its kind, a hotel that rehabilitates Sinners!” She looks so proud of her idea but gets no reaction from the Sinners in the studio. The moose demon hums thoughtfully at her desk as she thinks it over before nodding, grabbing a blank piece of paper, and starting to write.

“I can think of a couple of my souls who would want to get rehabilitated, and others, including them, who don’t deserve to be down here,” Ameillia says as she gets to writing a letter to the princess to offer her help with protection and new patrons. She keeps an ear trained in the direction of the television, waiting for what the Princess of Hell says next. When nothing except a small sigh comes from the television, the moose looks up. The princess looks self-conscious while no one says anything, losing what little confidence she had when proposing her idea.

“Y’know? ‘Cause hotels are for people passing through…” Running out of even more steam, she looks defeated, and the tips of her ears lower enough to be visible as they pass through the curtain of her hair, “temporarily…” The princess seems increasingly uncomfortable as she tries another time to get a reaction other than judging silence from the audience, “I think it’ll serve a purpose… a place to work toward redemption… yay..!” Another demon’s voice comes through the television speakers, but it’s unintelligible right before the camera shakes and almost falls to the ground.

The moose winces at the now quiet voice of the Princess of Hell, finishing up the letter to her and calling the Overlord’s fastest messenger to take the letter to the princess and her associates. She returns to going through the stack of torn contracts and continues writing. When the princess’ singing voice and the piano sound come through the television speakers, the Overlord’s ears pin themselves to her head in secondhand embarrassment for the heir to the throne.

“Oh dear… you’ve chosen public ridicule for your advertisement, eh?” Her voice is soft as the messenger comes in and takes the proffered letter, “Take this to Station 666, hand it to either the Princess of Hell herself or an associate of hers. Hurry, they might be leaving the studio soon.” The messenger nods and takes off, the feathers on their wings making little noise as they rush out of the room to their launching pad. The princess’ song is still going as the moose heads over to the television to turn it off and then to her cathedral radio to switch it to the jazz channel to have something to listen to while she works. A short look of melancholy fills her face as she looks at the red and gold radio, her mind automatically going to her friend, the Radio Demon.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

An owl Sinner arrives at Station 666 as the Princess of Hell and her companion exit the building. They land in front of the two women and wait for the white-haired woman to be calmed by the Princess. The owl appears unphased by the sudden angelic spear at their throat, and they just hold up the letter from their Overlord.

“Vaggie, don’t! They have something to give us!” The princess nudges down the other woman's spear and steps before her, “I’m so sorry. Were you looking to join my hotel?” The Sinner looks briefly panicked before shaking their head, continuing to try to hand the letter to the princess.

“Princess Morningstar, my Sovereign Overlord, the Guardian Demon, would like to offer her financial support and guardianship of your hotel,” the owl speaks softly, moving forward a step as the princess’ limousine pulls up behind them. “Please read over her letter and respond to her post-haste. She’s over in the gated territory inside the Radio Demons district. No one will harm you, although, if you wish for more protection as you head to her territory, please contact the number enclosed in the letter to request her to send someone to escort you.” The owl bows deeply as they finish speaking, moving to the side as a small goat-like Hellborn goes to open one of the doors into the back of the limo.

“Uh—” the princess looks shocked to hear the Sinner speak to her so politely as she takes the letter from them. “Thank you for delivering this to me. Would you like a ride back to your overlord’s territory to get a small respite for your wings?” The owl smiles as they shake their head, looking fairly grateful for the offer.

“Apologies, Your Highness, I need to get back to my overlord as soon as I can,” they bow their head as the princess and her companion duck into the vehicle, “because I’ll need to deliver more letters to other overlords for her. Again, please try to contact her as soon as possible, Your Highness.” The owl Sinners’ wings open wide and take to the sky; the only indication they’ve taken off is the sudden gust of air rushing into the limousine. Vaggie watches as they fly away, a shimmer of sadness in her eyes that barely shows. The flying owl takes note of this as they fly away, making sure that they remember to tell their overlord.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As the moose demon catalogues who she lost in the Extermination, the Princess of Hell, her girlfriend, and their one patron arrive at the Happy Hotel. The rundown hotel looks like a mishmash of different eras and buildings. Half of a pirate ship sticks out of the building near the bottom, and the crow's nest is connected to a whole mast that sticks up from the ship's deck. A carousel sits on the opposite roof; it passively runs with no music emanating from it. The trio slinks into the building. The white-haired woman slumps onto a nearly broken couch that faces a very clearly collapsed fireplace while the spider demon slinks to a fridge in the back of the entry hall. He digs around and pulls out a partially melted popsicle box.

“Eh, it’s probably a good idea to get some actual food in this joint,” the man speaks in a New York accent with a sarcastic tone as he waves a popsicle about, gesturing to the empty and rundown lobby. “Y’know, to feed all of th’ wayward souls ya got in here!” He forces a chuckle to try to make light of his hurtful statement, wanting to apologize as soon as he says it because of the princess’s face. He watches dejectedly as she leaves the room, knowing he messed up by saying that. “Angel Dust! What the fuck was that!” Vaggie angrily says from the couch, going onto her knees and turning around to face him, “You’ve already done enough to hurt her today. Why the fuck would you even try to joke about that? You participated in a territory war; thankfully, you didn’t actually kill anyone, and it was evident through the feed we had in the studio that you had taken drugs beforehand!” Angel has the grace to look chagrined at the scolding and moves to the other end of the couch.

“I know we went over this in the limo, but come on Angel,” she sounds exasperated as he sits near her, and she continues. “You’re here to at least try to get redeemed. If you continue to join territory wars, abuse drugs, and participate in porn, you might not be able to be redeemed. Charlie wants you to be happy, and you’re not! We can both tell that you’re not happy whenever you have to go to work, and you almost always return depressed.” The spider shrinks in on himself as she continues to lecture him. He goes to speak when the front door opens and closes again, a quiet thump coming from that direction.

“Charlie, sweetheart? Is everything-” Vaggie’s concerned question is drowned from Charlie’s hearing as a haunting knock in the rhythm of ‘shave and a haircut, two bits’ sounds from the door behind her. She startles away from the door she’s leaning on and turns to it, barely able to see the outline of the person behind it.

She cautiously opens the door, freezing at the red fabric filling her vision when she looks behind it. Slowly, she moves her head upwards to look the person in the face. Her eyes move past the white-lined red lapels of a blazer over a blood-red dress shirt, leading to a black bowtie with a scarlet oval-shaped gem in the centre. The princess’ eyes continue upwards, where she sees a sharp and yellowed grin before making eye contact with the crimson eyes of the person in front of her. A low static comes from him, becoming louder each second as she stares without saying anything.

“It is quite rude to stare, my dear!” because she’s staring terrified into the demon's eyes. Charlie doesn’t see his mouth move as he speaks, “Hello! It-” She closes the door quickly and retreats back to where her partner and Angel Dust sit.

“Vaggie, the Radio Demon-” she mimes the demon's large smile before continuing with her sentence, “-is at the door!” She groans with her hands dragging down her face before speaking again while sounding distressed, “What should I do?” Her girlfriend looks terrified while their one resident just looks confused.

“Th’who now?” The protests of Vaggie drown out his question.

“Well, don’t let him in! Who knows why he’s here?” she shouts, a tone of fear in her voice, and she’s clearly worried about what the demon outside has planned for the inhabitants of the Happy Hotel. “Why don’t we send Razzle or Dazzle to go get the Guardian Demon? She did offer to protect the hotel, and this would be the perfect time to ask for her protection. I know you don’t like fighting, and I don’t think Angel and I could subdue the Radio Demon if he’s here to hurt us.” Charlie looks like she’s considering it as a shadow seems to spread across the floor, taking up residence in the fireplace.

“Wait, wait, wait- the Guardian Demon approached ya two broads in th’flesh to offer protection of this place?” Angel Dust’s confusion switches to shock as he puts his hands in a T while he speaks, “She doesn’t leave her territory except for th’Overlord meetin’s or ta protect her people! How th’fuck did your broadcast manage to pull her from there?”

“Well, not in the flesh… But she did send one of her people to deliver a letter to me…” The princess pulls out the letter delivered to her by the owl earlier and opens it. The letter's length momentarily takes her aback, a bit shorter than what she expected, but she quickly skims over it. Her face brightens, and she smiles happily at what the Overlord wrote.

As Charlie takes out her phone and starts dialling the number on the letter with the extension, the Radio Demon sends out another of his Shades to go and invite his old friend to join him at the hotel. He’s barely paying attention to what the princess says on the phone, only noticing when the Shade inside the hotel alerts him to her moving back towards the front door after hanging up. He widens his smile as the door opens again to show the Princess of Hell.

“May I speak now?” He asks her, prepared to put on a show until his old friend arrives.

================================================

[1]: Dear Princess Charlie Morningstar of Hell, heir to the throne,

I’m known as the Guardian Demon and the Overlord of the Abused, so you can imagine that your project intrigues me in terms of what it can accomplish. I have many souls that don’t deserve to be down here, their only sin being that they killed someone in defence of themselves or others. I am willing to come to your hotel with these people as long as I’m able to participate in their rehabilitation and protection. I’m also willing to provide financial support for whatever charges my souls incur on you.

I look forward to hearing from you concerning this.

Sincerely, Ameillia Azaadi The Guardian Demon Overlord of the Abused (Signature: A . A)

Email: Guard.Abused.825@pridemail.hell Landline: +666 (632) 555-6958, ext. 825