#farty replies

[lotusfartstwice]

Happy birthday day!!!

Hope you've had a wonderful day!!!

Thank you, Anon. I had a lovely day.

[lotusfartstwice]

Aipom followed him home after he shared some yummy foods.

You can choose the starter/partner Pokemon for your fav naruto character. Which Pokemon do you choose?

[scrollonso]

Before — 1 (out of 3? maybe)

Sick. That's how Bez felt. Whether it was from the ridiculous amount of alcohol he'd had since he crashed out - since Marc Marquez made him crash - or because of the anger bubbling under the surface he wasn't sure.

All he knew was that as soon as that microphone was in his hand all he wanted to do was bitch and moan about his shitty race.

The room was crowded, full of people celebrating as he shouted slurred words into the microphone by his lips.

"We're here..." He started, done talking to Digi's daughter. Now was his chance "I just wanted to say one thing today. Marquez made me crash." He stated plainly, pointing his finger at the camera in front of his face

"He wanted to say it" The man behind him slightly laughed as he spoke, it wasn't a joke. This was all Marc Marquez's fault.

"I wanted to say it." He echoed before moving on, unaware of just how much this comment was going to shape his night.

The broadcast eventually came to an end after ten minutes of Bez's rambling. He wasn't sure when he came to this conclusion but he decided he was going to confront Marquez.

He was stumbling, not because that dickhead hurt him, he's too strong to be hurt by such a pathetic rider. Maybe he was just a little too drunk to do anything straight.

He pounded on the door of the Spaniards motorhome, ready to tear into him as soon as his door swung open. What he wasn't ready for was for the shorter man to be in nothing but a white towel hanging loosely around his waist.

Bez's anger flared even more at the sight of Marc looking so unbothered, so relaxed, as if nothing had happened. The Spaniard raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Bezzecchi, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Marc's tone was mocking, his eyes glinting with amusement as his lips curled up into a Cheshire cat smile.

"You think this is funny?" Bez slurred, his fists clenching at his sides. "Vai a farti fottere. You made me crash!"

Marc leaned against the doorframe, his smirk widening. "Is that what you came here to tell me? You know, blaming others won't make you a better rider, Marco."

Bez took a step forward, his vision blurring slightly. "Shut up! You did it on purpose. You wanted me out of the race! Your race ended a few laps later as karma for you being a reckless dickhead."

Marc shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe you should focus more on your own skills rather than finding excuses."

The words cut deep, and Bez's anger turned into a fierce determination. He pushed Marc back into the motorhome, causing the Spaniard to stumble slightly. Marc's smirk faltered as he realized Bez wasn't just drunk — he was furious.

"You think you can just ruin my race with nk consequences?" Bez shouted, his voice loud, echoing off the walls of the small structure. "Mi stai sul cazzo."

Marc straightened up, his expression hardening. "You're drunk, Bez. Go sleep it off before you do something you'll regret."

But Bez was beyond reason. He swung a punch at Marc and missed, embarrassingly enough. The two men stood there, the tension between them palpable, neither of them felt like they could breathe in the small space.

"Do something I'll regret?" Bez barked. "The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner."

He lunged forward again, but this time Marc didn't move. Instead, he grabbed Bez's arms and held him in place, their faces inches apart, Marc controlling him as if he was some mutt the Spaniard had trained. Bez's breath was hot and heavy, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with anger and something else neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Marc whispered, his voice low, warning the pup.

"Maybe I don't," Bez replied, his voice equally low, a stark change from the volume he had just seconds before. "But I know what I want."

Without thinking, he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Marc's in a rough, angry kiss. Marc resisted for a second, but then he was kissing Bez back just as fiercely, their mutual hatred and frustration pouring into the kiss.

It was a battle for dominance, their hands gripping each other's arms tightly, neither willing to give an inch. It was messy, all teeth and tongues and pent-up aggression. It could hardly be called a kiss, not in any romantic sense. It was at once filthy and violating, no teasing or buildup. Not altogether unpleasant, Marc noted once he recovered from the shock of the turn this interaction had taken, but still unwelcome. And so, in response, he took the first opportunity he had to bite down hard on Bez's bottom lip, blood bursting across his tongue just before the Italian jerked away.

He didn’t appear angry, though, not even as he spat excess blood and saliva on the floor. He laughed instead, his eye darker than Marc had ever seen it and glittering with the manic hunger he got before a race. He brought his hand up to Marc's throat then to his jaw, swiping his thumb across his lips and smearing the blood Marc had drawn across them. “Just when I thought I’d found a better use for that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Marc slapped his hand away. “I’m glad we can agree at least one of us is pretty,” he grumbled, incapable of letting this end without getting one last jab in. He flicked out his tongue and still could taste copper at the corner of his mouth, and it was impossible to miss the way Bez followed the movement. “Although,” Marc continued in spite of his better judgment, watching as a trail of blood trickled from Bez's mouth down his chin, one valiant drop even climbing further down, outlining the column of his throat before disappearing into the collar of his shirt, “I think I’m starting to see the appeal.”

Later, Marc could rationalize this whole incident down to him being overworked and sorely needing a break, one that Bez had so conveniently stopped him fron having. But in truth, there was no rational explanation for why he proceeded to tangle his fingers in Bez's hair, or why Bez even allowed him to, before forcefully reeling him back in. Purely hindbrain base instinct, he mused, swiping his tongue across the impressions of his teeth cut into Bez’s lip, unadulterated desire, and the thrill of chasing something dangerous. A heady and addictive feeling he’d become more and more accustomed to as of late.

It was less making out than it was a battle on a smaller, intimate scale. All clashing tongues and teeth as each of them fought to set the pace to their preferences, resulting in something messy and frantic and not enough - not nearly enough - to satisfy.

Bez’s hand fumbled across Marc's chest, seeking out the towel still around his waist, and trying to focus on anything else besides the taste of metal and Marquez's spit in his mouth proved to be too much of a hassle, he brought his knee up to graze against Marc's groin, urging him to hasten things along. Almost immediately, he caught on and forced his leg back down, fingers digging deep into the meat of his thigh, just on the edge of being painful. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he laughed, pulling back to Bez's dismay. “Never thought I’d have to remind you to use your words. You were so eager to run your mouth and now you're ashamed?”

“Just get on with it!” Bez snapped, more on edge than he’d ever admit to.

Marc strolled casually to the side, putting on a show of untucking the towel from itsself and holding a corner away from his body, still covered. “Get on with what?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I’m sure you can use context clues.” Bez gestured between the two of them. At Marc's lack of reaction, he sighed, “Or maybe not. Maybe media literacy really is dead, you poor, pathetic idiot.”

Without warning, Marc was grabbed once again, Bez manhandling the Spaniard on top of him as he sat on the sofa placed in the corner of the room until he had them right where he wanted: Marc, astride his lap with his knees bracketing Bez's hips, making use of the slim space available between the armrests. Marc wanted to gloat - his needling had been successful after all - but he was all too aware of the precarious position he was now in, no longer being towered over but instead spread open as the towel atop of his olive skin risked slipping down. And the only thing keeping him steady was Bez's firm grip on his ass.

“The only thing pathetic around here is your pride getting in the way of asking for what you want. Is this,” Marc forced himself closer, grinding his hips against Bez's, “better?”

“Cazzo,” was all Bez could think to say as he lurched backwards with the motion and shut his eyes tight. “Fuck, fine, sì. Just don’t stop.”

Marc only laughed and rolled their hips against each other again. Bez bore down, chasing the friction he needed. Marc's mouth found his skin again, this time latching onto the bolt of his jaw before moving lower, biting and sucking along his throat and leaving harsh bruises that he would have no way of hiding over the next few days. He was sure he’d care about that later, but there were more pressing matters. Pressing insistently against the front of his jeans, in fact.

“If Valentino could see you now, his pet panting like a feral dog,” Marc remarked, bringing one hand around to pull at the collar of Bez's shirt to give him more access to unmarked skin.

“You want to know something - quit that, you’re going to stretch it out - something funny?” Marc made a curious noise as he nipped hard at Bez's collarbone. Bez inhaled sharply but took that as his cue to continue. “I don’t actually care all that much about his attention.”

Marc stilled, and Bez just barely refrained from whining. He pulled back, lips spit slick and quirked in an odd grin, as he let his hand wander, falling torturously slow down the length of Bez's torso. “Is that so?”

Bez moved his hands to grip on Marc's shoulders, refusing to squirm even as the Spaniards hand trailed past his abdomen, fingers teasing along the waistband of his jeans. He leaned in so his nose brushed against Marc's ear. “But I really enjoy how it gets under your skin.”

He felt the button of his jeans pop and Marc's knuckles graze the straining front of his boxers as he dragged the zipper down. “Looks like we’re even in that respect.”

“Not if you don’t…fucking…do something,” Bez panted into his neck as Marc cupped him through the fabric.

“Are you going to ask me, or should I use context clues again?” Marc teased, increasing the pressure slightly for the briefest of moments, just enough to leave Bez aching for more.

“Just touch me, Che cazzo!”

“Vague. And rude. But I’ll take it.” Wasting no more time, Marc freed his already leaking cock and grasped him firmly in his hand. The first few strokes were too rough and dry in his calloused hands by any measure, but the instant relief at just having anything sent waves of pleasure prickling up his spine. A low moan rattled free from somewhere deep in Bez's chest, and he bit down into the meat of Marc's shoulder to muffle it.

“None of that,” Marc said, bringing his other hand up to yank Bez back by his hair. “You’ve been very vocal; you don’t get to stop now.” Marc focused his attention on the tip, pressing his thumb into the slit and gathering the precum that had already started collecting to ease the glide back down.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Bez spluttered as Marc settled into a steady rhythm.

Marc laughed and flicked his wrist just so, sending Bez crying out. “La poesía.”

Bez thrusted shallowly into his fist, trying and failing to match the pace with what little leverage he had in this position. Marc released his grip on his hair and went back to rocking his hips until finally their uneven back and forth fell into sync.

“Asshole- you- ah..- merda- Motherfuck- God!” Speaking, at least coherently, became increasingly difficult as Marc worked him over almost mechanically, as if every weak point of his was somehow preprogrammed into his movements, and Bez hated it as much as he never wanted it to end.

“Go on,” Marc urged him. “Let’s see if we can make them hear you through that door. You wanted attention, right?” Another twist of his hand, and something strangled and pitiful clawed its way out of Bez's throat. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy now? I’d love for them to hear you scream.”

“Someone’s - hah - a little overconfident in their abilities, don’t you think?” Bez managed in between gasps.

“Oh, I’m sure I could figure it out,” Marc said, voice low and liquid smooth in a way that settled deep in the pooling warmth that had begun gathering in Bez's core. He suppressed a shiver. “With a little time, I bet I could have you on your knees and begging.” At that, Bez snatched Marc's wrist, stopping him mid-pump even as his dick throbbed in response. “Didn’t like that idea, huh?”

“On my knees, I can do,” Bez huffed, gathering himself. “But I have no intention of begging.”

“No one does,” Marc shot back cheekily. “But I’ll bite. What do you have in mind to keep yourself quiet?” Marc loosened his hold, allowing Bez to slip out from under hum, his legs tingling from bloodflow rushing back into them as Marc turned to sit facing the Italian. Ignoring the minor pain, he continued sinking further down, situating himself between Marc's thighs as he knelt on the floor. “I like where this is going,” He chuckled, moving things along by taking out his own cock - with far less teasing and ceremony he had subjected him to before, Bez noted with embarrassment - already hard and leaking.

Pausing only to meet Marc's eyes - watching hungrily from above, cast in shadow by the glow of the dim lights haloing his damp hair - before taking him in his mouth, drawing a groan from Marc's. He moved slowly at first, with short bobs of his head as he progressively took in inch after inch, using his hand to cover what he hadn’t yet with his mouth, adjusting to the weight on his tongue and swallowing down the salty, bitter taste of precome. Marc's hand found its way into his hair, mockingly tender. “You know,” he said, “from this angle, you’re actually not too bad.”

In place of the cutting response Bez would have given in any other circumstance, he dove his head down the furthest he’d done yet, then flattened his tongue against the underside of Marc's erection, bringing it to a point as he dragged it up to the head. “Mierda!” Marc cried out, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. The fingers threaded through Bez's curls tightened sharply as he continued teasing at the tip, and that was the only warning he got before his head was forced forward again, then pulled back.

Apart from a muffled noise of surprise, Bez didn’t fight against it, focusing instead on relaxing his throat so he wouldn’t give Marc the satisfaction of gagging and paving the way for more snide, derogatory remarks he was in no position to argue. Besides, he still had his hand, and much like Marc had before, he moved and twisted it just so at the base of his cock, picking up a momentum that could eventually tear Marc to pieces. Judging from his flushed face, his panting breaths, and his condescension growing more and more disjointed, Bez felt he was somewhere on the right track.

“Yes, like that. Fucking- Dios! It’s like you were made for this. If I had known this was all it took to shut you up…” Marc trailed off, laughing. His eye distractedly followed the drool running down Bez's chin before snapping back up to meet his gaze with a wicked grin. “Why don’t you go on and touch yourself, Marco? I think I’d like to see you fall apart wrapped around my cock.”

Tempting as that was, his arousal flushed and heavy between his legs, Bez instead reached back to tug at Marc's hand on his head. He sighed, disappointed, but released him anyway. Still, Bez took his time retreating, tracing a vein with his tongue and swirling it around the head before sliding off with a wet pop that had Marc gripping the armrests of the sofa dangerously. “If that’s what you’re after,” Bez told him, wiping at his chin with his sleeve, “you’re going to have to work a little harder for it.”

Marc leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, so that their faces were nearly level, hot breaths mingling in the scarce air between them. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I don’t believe I did. But glad to know you’ve finally figured out how to read between the lines.”

Marc's hand shot out to twist in Bez's shirt as he stood, dragging him to his feet along with him. “You are fucking terrible at saying anything actually important.”

“To you, maybe. We just happen to have different priorities.” Bez could only watch confhsed as Marc swiped his free arm across a desk in the corner of the room, sending everything in the workspace - the mouse, keyboard, documents and checklists, various caffeinated beverages - clattering to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

In response, Marc practically threw him against the desk. “Priorities,” he scoffed.

“Let me guess, you sit at the top of that list while us younger riders hover somewhere in the low hundreds.”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Marco.”

With sheer brute strength, Bez spun Marc around and forced him face down on the desk, braced by his elbows. He leaned over, covering Marc with his own body and bringing his mouth just behind Marc's ear. He could feel every armored edge of the Italians jeans rough against his bare skin, and more than that, Bez's erection jutting against the line of his ass through them.

“Impressive,” Marc praised sarcastically. “I’d say you have me pegged, but you forgot one thing.”

“Ugh,” Bez groaned at the tasteless choice in wording, “and what’s that?”

“Right now, I’d say one of my highest priorities is finding out exactly what kind of idiotic nonsense runs out of your mouth when you’re strung out and fucked senseless,” Marc replied, nipping briefly at the shell of Bez's ear before pulling away. “Any objections?” Without waiting for a reply, he yanked Bez's jeans down to his knees, exposing him fully to the open air.

“Do you think I’d even be in this position if I had any?”

Marc sighed. “Is a simple, one word answer too much to ask from you?”

“Maybe.”

Marc didn’t get a chance to retort before Bez finger pressed against his entrance, sinking in to the first knuckle. Marc bit his lip against a reedy noise in the back of his throat that came dangerously close to a whine as he acclimated to the intrusion before Bez pulled out again, catching on the rim, then pushed back in further. By the time Marc had adjusted his breathing to the rhythm of Bez'a finger pumping in and out, he introduced another. He couldn’t repress a shout at the initial sting of two fingers working him over, but the pain faded over time into a toe-curling stretch.

“Taking you- ngh- your time, I see,” Marc goaded, even as he rocked back to meet the thrust of Bez's hand. “Do you not wanna make me scream, Marco?”

“Don’t worry, that’s definitely still on the table.” To prove his point, Bez angled his fingers just so on the next push, nailing Marc's prostate and causing every nerve in his body to light up like fireworks. He didn’t scream, thank you very much, but it was a near thing, the sound scraping his throat raw and fighting to break past his gritted teeth. “But you’ll have to forgive me for assuming that you wished to retain your ability to walk tomorrow.”

“How considerate of you- oh.” A third finger joined the others, creating a delicious kind of burn as they dragged against his walls over and over until at last Bez was satisfied.

“That should do it,” he appraised, drawing his hand back. Marc swallowed a whimper at the sudden emptiness he was left with and took the opportunity to remove his glasses and sweep his now sweat-drenched chair out of his eyes in the brief calm before the storm.

For once, Bez didn’t leave him in anticipation, and a moment later Marc felt the blunt head of his cock lining up at his entrance before pushing in with a blissed out groan, filling Marc up inch by heavy inch with each movement of his hips, until there was scarcely enough room in him for the air in his lungs. The pleasure resided intimately by the pain, each providing kindling for the other until his own body became an echo chamber of conflicting desires: to lean into the sensation or to escape it, to tense against the feeling or relax around it. His head spun so much that he didn’t realize at first when Bez bottomed out, only noticing after a while that he had gone still apart from the labored rise and fall of his chest.

Tears pricked at the corners of Marc's eyes at the sheer fullness of it, the inescapable heat pressing against him. He felt spread too thin, a rubber band pulled to its limit before snapping, and still, after several seconds passed in this high-strung state, Bez did not offer him release. “Fucking…move already!” he choked out.

“Just enjoying the view,” Bez remarked, as coolly as if he were watching a sunset rather than buried to the hilt inside another person, if a little breathless. He did move, then, with extreme prejudice, gripping Marc's hips with bruising force as he pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back in, punching a rattling moan from Marc's chest.

He repeated this several more times, shifting slightly every few thrusts, some going deeper than others but no less forcefully, until Marc's arms shook and threatened to give out from the strain of holding himself up against the onslaught. Finally, Bez entered at an angle that grazed Marc's prostate again, sending him keening uncontrollably. Another adjustment, and he proceeded to hit that bundle of nerves near every time.

There weren’t words to describe the sensation. Marc was a walking encyclopedia, always having something smart-assy to say, yet all he could come up with were endless refrains of “more,” “harder,” “faster,” along with several obscenities that would embarrass a sailor. Distantly, he was aware of Bez behind him, growling something along the lines of, “Yes, fuck, so tight. Keep talking, tell me how much you need this.”

“Marco…” he began, but he wasn’t sure how to continue, even if his pride would let him. He was so close, teetering just at the edge but not pushed over just yet, and his scattered mind was useless in helping him figure out how to get there. He met Bez's thrusts, the lewd slap of skin against skin echoing in the room as he chased futilely after one final spark.

Then Bez moved one hand to reach around Marc's front and fist over his dick again, timing his movements there perfectly to that of his hips, and that was all it took. For several blissful seconds, Marc was suspended in ecstasy before his orgasm slammed into him with the force of an explosion, molten heat flooding out from his core to white out every other sensation, every other thought as he spilled over Bez's fingers and onto the floor.

Bez kept up the pace through Marc's release and beyond it, chasing furiously after his own. That feeling of not enough that had prevailed earlier suddenly switched to too much, wrung out and overstimulated as he was. Marc rested his head against the cool surface of the desk, burying broken moans against his fist, riding out the shuddering aftershocks dancing up his spine and letting the sparks skittering across his tired nerves wash over him.

With a grunt and a final stutter of his hips, Nez finished deep inside, bending over to cover Marc again as he moved them together to work him to the last drop. They stayed like that for a stretched out moment, breathing in the heady air thick with sweat and sex and satisfaction, before Marc pulled out, hiking his jeans and boxers back up immediately after. Grimacing, Marc forced himself to stand in spite of his shaky legs. By the time he turned back around, though, Bez had already tucked himself back in and started walking to the door.

He looked over his shoulder, voice still husky and breath short. “You might want to clean that up.”

“Asshole,” Marc hissed when he was gone, adjusting himself back to something semi-presentable. Pushing himself off the desk to force his body into motion, he made it one step, then two, then collapsed bonelessly onto his sofa, wincing as he landed. That was only going to become more unpleasant later, especially with the mess slowly creeping down his leg and drying there. He would clean everything up in a minute - just a minute - after settling in the afterglow and allowing himself to recover before his girlfriend made her way back. Before he had to sleep in the same bed as her knowing just how stretched out he was by his coworker just now. Before he pretended this never happened.

(next part)

[beevean]

tfw il tuo gioco è così bullshit che la pubblicità stessa mostra la gente che si incazza giocandoci

Reply: ehi non puoi lamentarti della pubblicità ingannevole :P

Mi sembra quasi l’antenato di quelle pubblicità per giochini sul telefono dove le persone sbagliano appositamente per farti incazzare e voler provare tu

[im-an-anxious-wreck]

Hold Out Your Hand And I'll Reach For You Too

Chapter Nine • Janus

Word Count: 1,319

HOYHAIRFYT chapter collection

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Old Friends And Battered Pasts

-

It was Virgil.

Somehow, after these past several years, he'd found Janus, had he been looking for Janus long? How had he escaped G? How… why—

Janus just blinked at Virgil, trying to take it all in when he belatedly noticed that Remus' brother was with him. "Ah, um. Good afternoon. I— do please come in." It was a bit hard to get his feet to move from where they'd been practically frozen to the carpet, but he managed, moving out of the way and closing the door behind their unexpected guests.

"Who 'wis it, Mr. man the planet stan?" Remus called from upstairs.

"Your brother," Janus replied, still in a bit of shock as he guided The Prince and Virgil to sit down, although he was starting to pull himself together.

Remus predictably came bounding down the stairs. "Stinky cheese man!"

The Prince rolled his eyes in affection. "If anyone would be stinky, it'd be you, but yes, hello, Duke."

Remus giggled as he vaulted over the back of his armchair and sat down. "Ooh, hello? Who are you! Can I have your name?"

"Hello, and no, you may certainly not. But you can call me…"

"Charcuterie board? shark coochie board! Board da ban?" Remus asked, rapidly firing joke nicknames with no time for Virgil to answer. "Bingo bongo? Shits and—" 

Janus cut him off. "Tsk, tsk, is this any way to treat our guest? Let him answer."

The Prince and Janus may understand that Remus was just being silly, and also trying to vent his 'meeting a new person' anxiety, but Virgil, who also dealt with new person anxiety, might not take it so well.

"Sorry, oh most farty guest." At a look from Janus, he quickly amended it to: "Uh, I mean, most… party guest… yeah."

"Well, you can call me… um—"

"Um! What a great nickname!! I can't believe I've never used that one before! I—"

"Duke—" The Prince began to no doubt tell him that it came off as mocking but stopped as Virgil began to laugh.

"Yes, because I totally meant for 'Um' to be my nickname, not that I still can't think of a good one."

"Well, good. Because I'm calling you 'Um' for the rest of time! So, I knew it! Um is a brilliant nickname. I'm a genius."

"To be fair this has happened before," Roman said.

Janus raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't tell."

"Well, considering he told me to call him Chrysanthemum and then was like 'no, wait—', and then he said 'twig' so I'd say that this is almost a habit, or at least close to a pattern."

Remus laughed. "Oh man, I sure wouldn't want to be an author who had to keep typing Chrysanthemum over and over again! Like Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum. That'd be so difficult. How many times do you think a dyslexic author would have to struggle through that?"

"I... Well, that was a very specific example…" The Prince just stared at his brother for a moment  before continuing, clearly used to Remus' antics, "Anyway, so," —he glanced from Janus to Virgil a few times— "You two know each other?"

"Yeah," Virgil quietly admitted, and Janus couldn't help but wonder what he must think of him.

How cruel he was, how horrible it'd been of him to just leave like that.

Oh, how he must resent Janus.

"We do. This is, um, this is my friend that I was telling you about, Princey."

The Prince's eyes widened in as much concern as shock. "What! This— but you— your friend was my brother's partner this whole entire time?"

"Whoah," Remus said. "Trippy! Welp, you know what they always say, 'the world's a small dick'."

"I guarantee you they don't."

"Yeah, well… I do sooo…"

"Yes, but you say a lot of things. Ach, wait, we're getting off topic. So, er, weren't there some things you wanted to ask him?"

Virgil took a small sharp breath in and Janus wouldn't have been able to tell if he hadn't already been watching Virgil closely for any reactions.

"Um, yeah, I—, well, yes, I guess so."

"I'm listening," Janus said, quiet, almost too quiet but he knew Virgil had heard him by the way he tried to hide the extra panic Janus' words had brought.

"Right, well, I…"

The Prince seemed to see something there too because he stood and said, "Come on, Duke. Let's go outside, see your garden, and let them… catch up." He looked at Virgil before he left, however. "We'll just be right out the back door right here, okay?" At Virgil's hesitant nod, The Prince continued, "Let me know if you need anything."

After the twins had left, Janus leaned forward in his chair slightly and looked at Virgil, trying to mask his concern with curiosity. "You have questions for me?"

"What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well… it just, kinda seems like you started to resent me… and you never…" Virgil's eyes cast to his lap as his breath stuttered, he continued though, voice soft, "You never visited me."

Janus paused a moment to collect his thoughts. "There was a clause that I didn't think too much of at the time, but it said that I couldn't come within fifty feet of G's property after my work contract was up… and since he didn't… so with you never leaving except to go to these high society events that I certainly wasn't invited to. I'm so sorry, Virgil. I should've, I should've done more somehow. I—"

"But then why did you just leave without telling me? Wh— what did I do wrong?" Virgil sniffed and wiped under an eye. "I just don't understand what I did wrong."

"No! I— you didn't— oh, Virgil." Janus took a steading breath. "You didn't do anything wrong. I was… young and stupid. I was trying to get you to like me less so it wouldn't hurt as bad when I had to leave. I even tried to get you out in exchange for more work with less benefits… not that they were great to begin with. But I wasn't able to— I just eventually gave up, and that was so wrong, and I'll never forgive myself for that. I just. I know this'll never be enough but I'm so sorry."

Virgil hesitated, seeming to be carefully picking his words. "I... need time, but… I think someday I'll be able to forgive you. It's just— a lot."

"Of course! That's more than I could ever hope for." Janus wanted to jump up and sit on the couch next to Virgil, but he also didn't want to startle or scare him, so Janus said, "I'm going to get you a cup of water." 

Virgil was still trying to settle into an even breathing pattern but nodded. "Okay, th— thank you."

While Janus busied himself with getting a glass and filling it at the sink, he considered everything that'd happened. Today had been wild, he'd never expected to get to see Virgil again, let alone talk things out with him —although Janus highly doubted that they were anywhere near done with that—, but nothing about them, how they had met, or their situation they'd found themselves for all those years was normal.

Not being able to help, let alone save Virgil, had weighed guiltily on Janus' mind for far too long, but now that he was free, Janus would make sure that nothing would ever hurt him again. Maybe The Prince had a plan to take down G.

And he knew, even as briefly as he'd seen The Prince and Virgil interact, that by The Prince's loving expressions and the air of soft care that he had around Virgil, that The Prince also wouldn't let G harm Virgil.

He definitely needed to have a chat with The Prince tonight.

It would be dealt with. They would make sure of it.

-

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[lotusfartstwice]

Kishimoto literally picked a random marker for this illustration, according to him.

Okay so I know for a fact that Tenten used to wear a blue shirt BUT I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME find an image of it even though I know I've seen it- If anyone has an image and could be troubled to show me I'D BE ETERNALLY GRATEFUL

[lotusfartstwice]

Please draw Tsuchikage!Metal for fun. I would love to see that!

Ahhhh I like how it turned out 😊

[janiedean]

Not going to reply? That's ok it must be hard when you realise the hot popular boy is never going to love you back

.... lioness, honestly, what the fuck happened to you in high school? did the hot guy you were into go off with the ugly duckling because when you put a move on him he told you she had a better personality? like, I don’t even want to begin to unpack the amount of your issues - and believe me, I’ve been known to read online people I’ve never met irl after talking to them in private for half an hour about their issues, sometimes I think I’d have been a damn good therapist if only I didn’t let that affect me as much as it does -, and ngl I have no interest in doing that with you, but like, are you seriously still thinking that this is my goddamn problem? I’ve had legit hot people hit on me and I can assure you I’ve fucked legit hot people without a damned problem after I got over the phase where I thought anyone hitting on me was joking, and believe me I am entirely confident that the day I run into the right guy in the right circumstances he will absolutely love me back because I listen to people, I don’t want to fuck my genderbent version, I’m a generally very nice person who tends to not be a controlling asshole and who at this point in her life could actually have a healthy relationship - which I couldn’t have had previously, since hey, guess what, I had issues and I got help for them, differently from you. ah, wait, since we’re here, I can also assure you that I’m pretty hilarious to be around unless you hate not politically correct humor, I’m a fairly good conversationalist, I don’t judge people’s worth on what they can do for me, I actually get very easily attuned to other people’s needs and I’m told I’m not too bad a fuck either, and on top of that I even solved most of my issues in the sense that if I ran into some guy that treated me like shit I wouldn’t settle for it - I know I deserve to not settle and I know that the moment I meet the right person they won’t be settling for it either, because thank you very much but I’m a pretty damn good option.

are you? because really, if you’re finding it necessary to leave me anons that show exactly how much you don’t understand about abusive relationships then I have a feeling I know exactly why you feel the need to bring out this high school bullshit up. as in: that no one will think you’re a pretty damn good option because you’re an asshole.

also, ‘the hot popular boy’? mate, I’m into men, not boys, do you think I stayed in hs like you? I grew up, fyi. how old are you, fourteen? I don’t care for the hot popular boy, I never cared about the hot popular boy in high school either. the day I run into a *man* I’m compatible with that *I* find hot and who finds me attractive back I’ll go for it and I’m pretty damn sure he will love me back. until then, I’m not settling for anything. meanwhile, if that’s what you’d want - because bro you’re wildly projecting here - I’d advise you to seek psychological help as soon as possible because with these premises I highly doubt that any human being with a shred of self-esteem or who isn’t into being stockholm-syndromed will ever want you.

and sincerely, from your resident oh-so-ugly person, because you honestly did enough to deserve it:

also, given what bullshit you were going about today with that anon of yours calling ugly both me and tumblr user @fleurdulys with you admitting in the tags that you laughed at the fact that the anon called us like that you can save it and avoid trying to pretend you never sent this one anon because this smells like you the way king’s landing’s streets smell like shit. ;)

[martsonmars]

24-30

.

.

HAHAHA 😈 J/K! my real ones are 19, 20, and 21!

Really evil. Thanks for asking hahaha!

19. Any new fics to start next year.

Oh dear, my to-be-written spreadsheet is going to hit 100 ideas soon, so this question is dangerous.

But I can say this: I am going to TRY to write two fics for @erotic-grope-fest, medieval porn and Maneskin inspired porn. And I have a Divine Comedy AU in mind if @carryonthroughtheages is happening in 2022 too. Everything else is a mystery! I need to continue and finish my WIPs (poor goblin!Baz, specky!Baz and my Shepfest fic), write sequels to voglio farti vedere le stelle, Left Wing, sapore di sale... And I have so many ideas, as I said. (Ratatouille AU! Rapunzel AU! Reality TV friends to fake boyfriends to lovers! More Daphne stuff!) We'll see where creativity takes me.

20. Number of comments you haven't read.

Right now it's 0! I finished replying to all the comments on my last fics like an hour ago.

I usually never have "unread" comments, because I check comments every day (more than once if I've just published something), but sometimes it takes me days or weeks to reply, because replying to comments intimidates me. (People usually congratulate me on my beautiful writing and then when I have to reply to comments I forget words and grammar and I feel such a scam hahaha.) (But reading comments is really the highlight of my days.)

21. Most memorable comment/review.

SO. The first comment that left a mark was @dragoneggo's comment on my first fic - it was one of those comments with quotes from the fic copied and pasted and it made me super happy.

Your comments are probably the best I've ever received. So much passion in them! I'll be forever grateful.

And review - it's probably @captain-aralias including me in her fic recs list, or @facewithoutheart reblogging some of my posts with paragraphs of good words about them. Amazing.

Mention to @sillyunicorn too because she always hypes everything I write up.

But I cherish and appreciate each comment, even when it's just a word or an emoji, and every reblog to my fic posts. They make me feel good <3

[lotusfartstwice]

Sure thing! First you gotta draw a lil amongus guy and-

Couldn’t resist. In reality…

And I hope this it’s helpful but I noticed you kinda had a base for your chibis so…

At any rate I hope this was helpful ish? Maybe draw out all the versions you have in mind until something finally clicks? Change eyebrow size, eye size and whatnot?

Good luck and draw all the Rock Lees!

Rock Lee artists out there PLEASE teach me how to draw his silly little face in a chibi version I can’t pick a design I like and I’m loosing my mind

[fbfh]

thankful for my (found) family - demisquad + reader thanksgiving special

2.4k

platonic everyone + reader, implied future/potential leo x reader if you look real close, thalia has a girlfriend that I had to make up bc they never mention hunters of artemis but go off rick, calypso is not included bc she acts more like an antagonist imo, gif doesn’t have anything to do with it besides nostalgia lmao

happy thanksgiving <33

You and Leo are cooking in the kitchen 

You have been all day

The doorbell rings, and Annabeth goes to answer, binder full of travel plans in hand

“That should be-”

Clarisse enters with a loud greeting and a hug to everyone in arms reach

Percy’s loud cheers echo from the living room as he calls out the new score of the football game he’s keeping everyone updated on

She drops her bag, hopping over the back of the couch to watch with Percy

“Woah woah, catch me up Jackson! What'd I miss?”

Hazel is helping Rachel make cute diy table settings and party favors 

Rachel, as with most art projects she takes on, is very focused on making it Martha Stewart levels of cute and amazing 

Frank and Piper are keeping everyone updated on the parade 

Frank pops down the stairs, calling out, “The last performance just ended, the dog show starts in 5!”

Hazel drops what she's doing and exclaims, “THERE’S A DOG SHOW?!” 

She runs upstairs to watch with Frank, her yellow dress swishing behind her

You chuckle, calling over to Annabeth as you mix batter in a bowl, " Hey Annabeth, how are the travel plans looking?"

She shuffles through some papers in her binder

"Magnus and Alex had another layover, but they should still be able to make it in time. Thalia and her hunter friend will be here in 10, and Travis's flight got delayed because of a sudden snow storm."

"Really?" You reply, "This time of year? That's pretty ironic for a son of Hermes..."

"I know, I'm looking at some shuttle services to see if that would be faster…" Annabeth replies

Nico enters, stealing a couple appetizers, "This is so stupid, I could just go get him."

Will, right behind him, eats the appetizer Nico hands him and replies, "No you can't. Doctors orders."

Nico starts to protest 

Will shoots him a look 

"Boyfriend's orders."

Nico tries in vain to stare him down,  "… Va’ a farti fottere." he says, cracking a smile

"Love you too," Will counters 

You and Leo shoo them out of the kitchen before they steal more of your recipes

Jason and Grover walk by with a bunch of pillows and blankets, setting up guest rooms. 

Grover calls through the pile of fluff he's carrying, "Hey, we're gonna need a few more pillows-"

Jason, over his pile of bedding, corrects, "A lot more!" And Annabeth runs over to help carry some of the blankets he's about to drop

"-A lot more pillows…"

You grab your keys

"okay uh… Grover, do you want to head to the store to get some more pillows-"

Leo, vigorously sautéing something adds over his shoulder, "And basil! And, uh… red wine vinegar, olive oil, and potatoes."

You rip a piece of paper off the notepad on the fridge and scribble a quick list 

You're probably going to need some more ice, too 

Tyson, very distressed, holds up an empty container of mellowcream pumpkins, declaring, "THERE'S NO MORE BABY PUMPKINS!" :(

you loudly add candy pumpkins to the list

Rachel approaches. 

"Are you going to the store?"

"Yeah," you reply, "how's crafting going? You need anything? "

"We're almost out of glitter and mod podge. It's not looking good. We could use some more fake leaves, warm toned glitter, and rhinestones - the nice ones."

Grover looks slightly lost 

You narrate as you add to the list, "Fancy rhinestones, mod podge, fake leaves, red, yellow, orange, and brown glitter…"

Tyson, still distressed, yells, "AND BABY PUMPKINS!"

:(

You hold up the paper, "Already on the list, bud, Grover's gonna get them!"

"What if he gets the wrong kind?" Tyson asks 

You, turn to Grover quietly, "Grover, can you take Tyson?"

Grover nods

"Hey Tyson, Grover has a lot of stuff to get, could you go be his shopping buddy? That way you can pick out the right baby pumpkins."

He doesn't look convinced

He wants to keep working on a secret project he’s been doing out by the garage

"And…" you add, sweetening the deal, "you can get two candies for the way home."

He agrees

You turn to Grover; "I'll call you guys an uber-"

"I'll drive."

You all turn around, shocked to see Reyna awake. 

You thought she was still passed out 

She showed up at 9am and immediately fell asleep from traveling all night 

"Reyna, hi! Are you sure-"

"We'll be fine, I need to stretch my legs a little." She proves by rolling her shoulders

"Okay, as long as you're sure," you hand her the paper, re-entering the kitchen

She takes the paper from your hand as you shut off the beeping timer and grab a pair of oven mitts from the drawer

Reyna examines the paper, "...This is a weird list. Where are we supposed to get all this?"

Leo moves to the side as you pull out the rolls from the oven, using tongs to set them on a wire cooling rack, "Maybe target?"

Leo, still very focused on cooking, announces, "If you get me generic brand spices I will burn this place to the ground."

"O-kay," you turn back to Reyna, laughing, "there's a Wegmans and a Joanne's right next to the TJ Maxx, you can probably find everything there."

"We'll be back within the hour." She states, taking your keys. 

Rachel meets her at the door. "Here, use my card. Also, make sure you get the flat backed swarovski crystals. And please pick some glitter with a nice color shift!"

You remind them to call or text with any questions and be safe

Heading back into the kitchen, you fill up a big bowl with carrots, celery, cucumbers, and mushrooms

You grab two cutting boards, knives, peelers, and a plastic bag for the peels, tips, and tails

You set it all down on the coffee table in front Percy and Clarisse

“Can you guys get the relish tray started?” 

They agree, and immediately return to yelling at the referee

You shake your head laughing, and head back to the kitchen

“How we looking, Sparky?”

“Stuffing cups just went up in the oven, pie crust dough is chilling, and the green beans are almost done sauteeing. Rolls are cooling - could you stir the cranberry sauce? - and… the turkey is going up as soon as the stuffing is out.”

You stir the sauce as you continue talking

“Great! We’re making good time so far. Oh, I found a recipe for brown sugar pie, which Frank requested - apparently it’s a Canadian Thanksgiving thing - so I figured if you’re doing turkey I can handle the pies.” 

He pours some cooking wine into the pan, and shakes it as the alcohol burns off

“Sounds like a plan, babycakes.” 

You laugh at the nickname, and grab butter, salt, some herbs, and a stick blender to finish the potatoes

A few minutes later, you hear the door open 

Reyna and the boys are back already? That was quick

You wonder if they need help bringing groceries in

“Eeeey get over here you knucklehead!” 

Bags drop, and you hear Jason laughing in protest

You poke your head out of the kitchen, and see Thalia with Jason in a headlock

In spite of the fact that he’s about half a foot taller than her, she’s still noogie-ing him, pretending she can’t hear him objecting through his laughs

She finally lets him go, greeting everyone as he adjusts his glasses

She bear hugs Annabeth, punches Percy in the arm, and high fives and hugs pretty much everyone else

You run up the stairs to the guest room Grover was setting up before he left

You finish making the bed head back down, meeting Frank and Hazel on the way 

"Oh, Hazel, what did you think of the dog show?"

"It blew my wig!" She says giddily 

A confused smile settles on your face

"It was awesome and she loved it," Frank translates smoothly

He and Will are understandably best at deciphering 40s slang

Thalia is introducing everyone to Amber, a girl she’d met on the hunt and become really close with

You greet her, and turn to Thalia

“Your room is all set up if you wanna get settled in,” you turn to Amber, “and yours will be ready soon,” 

They share a look

“Oh,” Thalia starts grabbing their bags, “that’s fine, we can share a room. We share a tent on the hunt all the time, right Ambie?”

"Oh,”

And then it clicks

“yeah, however you’re comfortable.”

You grab one of the bags, and help them upstairs

“Why don’t you guys take a while to settle in, I’ll tell the others you’re resting.”

They thank you, and you start to leave

“By the way,” you poke your head back in, “you two seem really cute together. Welcome to the family, Amber.” 

She blushes and Thalia gives you an appreciative look

You nod and head back down

You let the others know they’re going to nap for a little while, and not to wake them up

“Hey, any travel updates?” You ask Annabeth, on your way back into the kitchen

“Alex just texted, she and Magnus are finally on their way, should be here in the next few hours. As for Travis���” 

She holds out her phone, showing you Travis’s tiktok

He’s filming the mirror in the airport bathroom

“So uh, my flight’s delayed, I’m bored, I’m gonna fuck with some people,” he holds out a hand full of stickers that look like outlets

He records himself putting them around the airport, then gets people’s reactions when they try to use them

He ends the video asking for more prank ideas

You look back up at Annabeth, holding back a laugh, “Seems like he’s doing okay,” 

“Oh,” she replies, “that’s not all.”

She scrolls up, showing the next prank video where Travis goes around the airport having fake phone conversations to get people’s reactions

Conversation topics including ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but slept with your grandma’, ‘hey bro I can’t come to the party, also turns out I’m going to be your stepdad’, ‘hey dude remember that old lady we used to cat sit for? Well, I found out I got chlamydia from her, so…’, and ‘yeah man, I’m so excited for the poetry slam. Also, it turns out my jazz fever is actually syphilis.’. 

Your hand flies over your mouth, trying not to laugh loudly enough to wake Thalia and Amber

“Yeah,” Annabeth says, fighting her own laughter, “he’s doing okay.”

You start putting together ingredients for pie filling

“That is the most in character thing I could have imagined,” you laugh, and Annabeth shows Leo the videos

“There’s a bunch more, too,” she adds, “Around making tiktoks, he found a bus heading this way. He’ll be here in a few hours.” 

“Cutting it close,” you muse, filling pies, “I’m glad he’s not stuck at the airport though. How about Connor?” 

“Haven’t heard much from him, but he said he'll be here in time for dinner."

A little while later, Thalia and Amber re enter, joining Percy and Clarisse in the living room 

The door opens shortly after, and Tyson enters, arms full of containers of candy pumpkins 

Reyna and Grover are right behind him

You take Grover's bags, announcing that Thalia got here a little while ago

He bleats excitedly and runs to hug her, Reyna right on his heels

Piper and Tyson bring in the rest of the groceries

Tyson sets down the last bags in the kitchen, looks out the window, yells, "IT'S ALMOST SUNSET!", and runs back out into the back yard, presumably to finish his mystery project 

Everyone eventually makes their way to the living room, nibbling on appetizers and watching classic Thanksgiving specials 

The food is almost done, all that's left is decorating the pies and a little tidying up 

You walk over to Leo, placing your hand on his shoulder 

He looks up at you

"Why don't you go take a quick shower and change before dinner," you muse, knowing the hoodie and jeans he's been cooking in all day isn't the outfit he'd picked out, "I'll wrap things up in here,"

He thanks you, dramatically presses a kiss to your forehead, and exits the kitchen 

You decorate the pies distractedly, catching the doorbell right before the second ring 

You smile at the people about to enter

"Annabeth," you call, "Magnus and Alex are here!" 

She drops what she's doing, and runs over to greet them 

Leo is back down stairs a short while later 

His brick red hoodie replaced with a burgundy one - his fancy hoodie as he calls it - a heavy flannel layered on top, and a beanie pulled over his almost dry hair

His pyrokinesis makes you forget how cold he gets sometimes 

You're about to go upstairs to change out of your cooking clothes when Tyson enters dramatically 

"The surprise is done!"

Everyone files outside to see what Tyson made as he leads you all out to the garage 

Perfectly attached to the side, is a very small horse stable 

"Wow!" Percy starts, "Great job, dude!"

Tyson is beaming as he's showered with confused praise 

"So uh," Percy ventures, "what did you build it for?"

"Maybe something like this?!" Descending voices declare in unicen 

Travis and Connor land in front of you on no other than Blackjack

Everyone erupts into cheers

“I thought you were stuck at the airport! What about those tiktoks?”

“Saved in my drafts, baby!” Travis laughs

Percy greets Blackjack and everyone else heads back inside with Travis and Connor 

You run upstairs to shower quickly and change, and are back downstairs just in time for appetizers and drinks 

You're about to take a sip of coffee when the door opens 

An irregular set of footsteps echoes into the room, along with a familiar voice 

"Ah, children, I hope there's room for one more," 

Everyone turns in surprise as Chiron enters the room 

After lots of warm excited greetings and making sure he has a warm cup of tea, he settles in to chat for a while

"I was on my way to meet with my more, ah, rambunctious cousins, but I couldn't let a day like today pass without stopping by."

After two cups of tea and lovely conversations, Chiron heads out to meet up with the other party ponies 

Thalia, Percy, and Will get all the food on the dining room table while Rachel makes the finishing touches to the centerpieces 

Everyone finds their seat, and you make the first toast

"I think I can speak for everyone when I say I'm thankful for you guys - my found family."

Every glass is raised

You can all drink to that. 

[gumnut-logic]

Interview with a Fic Writer Meme

Thank you to @tsarinatorment  for the tag ::hugs you:: Sorry for the delay in reply.

1. Your favourite fic that you’ve written (or the one you want to give a shout out to)

We’ll Be Home For Christmas, mainly because of how much fun I had writing it and the new friend I found and the Kermadecs are an amazing place and that fic changed how I write Thunderbirds fic forever because I now know Tracy Island’s place in the world and its ecosystem and yeah, I am such a geek.

Also, VT Green, cos smart!Virg :D

2. Your favourite fic title that you’ve come up with

No idea. But because I’m old and live in a popular culture that peeps twenty years younger than me probably don’t, you might want to check out the chapter titles of We’ll Be Home For Christmas and the theme song to Gilligan’s Island. In my total cluelessness, I didn’t realise how unobvious they were to peeps who aren’t as ancient as I am and didn’t grow up with sixties TV on loop through the eighties.

3. How do you get inspiration to write?

You name it, it hits me. I currently have several fics, including Wire, currently inspired by the fact I park my car in front of a farm every morning when dropping off my daughter to school. If I’m feeling down, Virg will either be whumped or end up in some hilarious situation (it’s weird, I’ve written some of my funniest stuff while feeling my worst). Sometimes I will be desperate to reach out to the natural world and can’t – that’s when Virg ends up on some beach and gets all arty-farty so I can reach out through him.

Often an initial scene will spark something bigger and I’ll be writing for weeks, desperately trying to keep a plotline straight and find an ending.

But my best stories happen from a solid idea of something that I don’t think has been done in the fandom before and is something I would like to explore – Sotto Voce, VT Green, We’ll Be Home For Christmas (which was a prompt but I actually developed and planned it before writing), Callisto, Gentle Rain – these have coherence, and while they may have wobbled crazily on their path, they mostly had a plan.

4. Your favourite genre/subgenre of fic to write?

I’m a whump girl, but I love a good plotline to go along with it. This often requires brain power, not something I always have. I also like a challenge and to try new things, which is why we have a romance, a boat trip and a space voyage in my stash.

5. Do you have other hobbies?

I have far, far too many hobbies. I rotate through them and obsess at times – anything in the art spectrum from traditional through to graphic design and a multitude of crafts, geology, botany, ecology, marine life, genealogy…lots of ology in the science spectrum, but the closer you get to the physics end, the less I understand due to my brain’s inability to process certain concepts. Oh and a variety of history, both local, and world-wide human, and definitely palaeontology. But yeah, lots of lovely knowledge and things to play with :D

6. A fun fact about you that a lot of people may not know

I’m a synesthete.

7. Pick one character to self project onto

Sorry Virgil :D

8. Favourite genre of music

Whatever my brain needs at the time, usually in concert with whatever I am doing. Lots of film soundtracks through to popular music. Very picky and suck at finding new stuff to listen to. Will listen on loop until both brain and track is fried.

9. Your favourite singer/band

I rarely know the singer or the band. Though Nick and Ben Foster are pretty cool :D

10. How have your experience in fandom been?

I have been properly active in about three fandoms over the years, though I have read in many more and even written in a few others. One was a big one, the other two were small.

The big one was good with the occasional odd encounter, but I kept to my little corner. The first small one was very small and was going very well until I had a falling out with another fan. Being a small fandom, it was very difficult for everyone involved. I also, at the time, was at a very hard spot in my life and that, in part, led to my withdrawal from fandom (though I eventually had kids so that really yanked me out of everything). Ten years later I found Thunderbirds and everything has been absolutely lovely. If I wasn’t enjoying myself, there wouldn’t be 200 fics to show for it :D (yes, I’m going to repeat that number repeatedly cos I’m quite happy I’ve been so productive :D)

Thunderfam rocks! :D

I’m tagging @onereyofstarlight @scribbles97 @godsliltippy @vegetacide

[raffinit]

for ur sylvaina prompt ask if ur still doing it: as a sign of good faith during peace negotiations, jaina invents a few spells (w/ her brother as a willing test subject) for sylvanas and the forsaken. spells to help improve taste, for example. little things to help an undead get through the day a little easier, things that only the forsaken or those who lived with them would know about. basically jaina helps with forsaken accessibility and sylvanas not knowing what to do with that

thank you to everyone who bought me ko-fis

bc of you i can actually put a read more cut on this with my VERY OWN COMPUTER SOBS

back to regular updates soon i promise, i just have all these beautiful prompts

-------

It began, like most things, curiously. Or rather — with curiosity. It was a trait of hers that drew mixed results at times; more in her vibrant youth than in her middle age. Her mother once told her that she had enough curiosity to kill ten cats, and Jaina had worn it then with pride.

She learned, with time, to contain her curiosities. To apply them scientifically; because science allowed for more curiosity than she knew what to do with. Science was her excuse for setting the curtains on fire when she was nine.

Science was her excuse for portalling abruptly into the war room and landing on the table during a council meeting.

Science was why she stared so intently at Sylvanas Windrunner.

Or perhaps, more accurately — it was purely curiosity at that point. The Banshee Queen was an unreadable figure, an inscrutable force that left Jaina all but reeling with each passing day the Horde and Alliance drew closer and closer to sealing a peace treaty.

She never thought she'd live to see the day.

What she still couldn't quite put her finger on was — ironically — Sylvanas.

The Warchief did many things that were incomprehensible for one reason or another. But to Raise Derek — what could Sylvanas have possibly gained, short of perhaps tormenting them with the knowledge that she simply could?

Her reunion with Derek had been a tearful one; rife with things that neither of them could fully comprehend. Clutching her brother close, clinging to him tight, she caught the figure of the Warchief in her periphery; caught the strange melancholy on Sylvanas' face.

It was there for only an instant. Sylvanas' ear flicked, then her burning eyes flashed to meet Jaina's.

Jaina blinked and the Warchief was gone.

Reconnecting with her brother came in stages. Baby steps. They had become vastly different people — too changed to reminisce without sorrow in its wake.

Still, beneath it all, beneath his Undeath — Derek was still Derek.

Derek, who teased her fondly about all that he could. He who boldly tested the limitations of his Undead form in ways that brought back memories of a childhood spent clambering over tree branches and diving off cliffs.

"What does it feel like?" she asked one day, when her curiosity became too much.

Derek paused, lifting his head to stare off into the horizon. “It feels like…living behind a curtain, honestly,” he confessed. “I feel present…but my presence feels…” he shrugged. “Muted, almost. As if I exist on only a fragment of this plane. I’m stronger than I ever was; I can do things I couldn’t even imagine.”

Jaina ducked her head to meet his eyes encouragingly. It was still unsettling, in some way, to look into her brother’s face and see the burning unnatural shade of his gaze. “But…?”

“But I do miss it,” he sighed, a wistful look on his face. “Eating, drinking. Sleeping. I’m never tired, but sleeping’s never just been about being tired, has it? I’d like the privilege of choosing whether or not I want to rest.”

Jaina felt that deeply.

She blinked then, head tilting curiously. “Do you not taste things anymore? I’ve read some things about that, but I thought Forsaken could eat. And sleep. There were inns in the Undercity.”

“I understand about as much as you. Perhaps even less so,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. He gave her a soft, self-deprecating little smile. “But here I am, lamenting the things I’ve lost when I should be grateful to even be here to begin with.”

She smiled at him faintly, though her mind was already reeling with thought. With the myriad of ways that she could — that she should — help.

“…what if you could do those things again?” she asked.

Derek paused and turned to stare at her curiously. Whatever it was that he saw there on her face made a knowing smile spread across his lips. “I know that look,” he said. “That’s a science look.”

Jaina smiled slowly. “Are you up for an experiment?”

“Always,” he said gamely. “Anything for science.”

-----

They tried spells first. Little experiments of magic that Jaina imbued her brother with in slow, gentle touches. The Light burned, but too much arcane made Derek sway like a sailor drowning in his cups. Some spells rekindled too much of Derek’s living form; made him inescapably aware of the damage his body had borne. 

The agony on her brother’s face made for many sleepless nights and haunted dreams.

“This one makes everything smell,” he said one today.

Jaina brightened hopefully. “Good smells?”

“Like eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Farty eggs. Like kippers in the morning.”

Jaina huffed and waved her hands briskly to recall the spell. “Maybe a potion instead.”

It took her another few weeks to pull together a functioning elixir. Nights spent hunched over her desk, sleeping with her cheek pressed to page after page of notes from ancient tomes and books helpfully “borrowed” from the vast library of Stormwind City.

Derek watched her some days, peering over her shoulder like a curious child at the window of a bakery. She indulged him as much as her patience would allow; until eventually his persistent questions and hovering made her all too aware of the cramped space of her temporary rooms in the Keep.

“How about you sit,” she said, jerking her chin at the plush armchair by the fireplace. “Tell me about what it’s been like since you’ve...Risen.”

Derek peered at her wordlessly but obliged, settling himself comfortably into the armchair. “What exactly do you want to know?”

Jaina shrugged. “Anything, I suppose. Everything? The Forsaken are an enigma to us. The Warchief most of all.”

“I don’t have anything to report,” he drawled. “She never spoke of plans to double-cross the Alliance, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I just meant as a person,” she replied in exasperation. “What was the Warchief like...up close?”

Derek blinked and sat back into the armchair, staring for a few thoughtful moments into the fireplace. At length, he said, “She’s a lot kinder than you would think. When I first...Awoke...she was there. She wouldn’t leave me until she was sure I could manage it on my own.”

“Manage what?”

“Existing, I suppose.” He twisted around in the armchair and peered at her over the back. “Did you know; she said I led her to my body?”

Jaina blinked. “What?”

“My soul, that is. She said she could hear it. She could hear all of us.” Derek’s voice softened with thought, and something like pity. “All of the souls lost at sea. The ones who never made peace with it. The ones who refused to rest.”

Incredulous, she asked, “She can do that?”

Derek nodded sagely. “So it seems.”

“Hmm.”

Eventually, she held out a vial of something that looked like it was made of something between the aether and sewage water. “Here.”

He took it in hand, tilting the vial this way and that and swirling it gently. “Couldn’t it have looked like a pint of mead or something? Why do all potions have to look like bog water?”

“Derek.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed, bringing the vial to his lips —

“Just a sip, first,” she warned, eyes wide with apprehension. “Hold it on your tongue for a moment and let it coat your mouth before you swallow.”

He complied with a slight nod and Jaina watched as Derek’s jaw moved in a slow flex; as if he were considering a particular vintage of port. His glowing eyes blinked in surprise and he pulled the vial away to stare down at it thoughtfully. “Doesn’t taste as awful as it looks.”

Jaina’s eyes lit up eagerly. “So you can taste?”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, then winced hard. “Yes,” he croaked, glaring down at the vial in betrayal. “Farty eggs and kippers.” He stuck out his tongue and tried to scrape the taste off it with his teeth.

“Are you sure you’re not just confused with the smell of the sea?”

He gave her an exasperated look and corked the vial. “I think I’d know what the sea smells like.”

Jaina sighed, reaching up to run a hand through the already-tousled mess of her hair. “Back to the drawing board.”

Their success plateaued for a time; there was nothing more that Jaina could do that yielded any further result, and the frustration was building. She took to wandering the stress of Stormwind, watching the Forsaken as they bustled about. They were wary still — all of them, but the Forsaken moved with darting glances over their shoulders and the reflexive flinch of beings long-accustomed to violence.

Some mornings, she dared to test her tongue at Gutterspeak; pulling what little Derek had managed to teach her. They stared at her at first, eyeing her with open distrust and hostility that made her wonder if the words her brother had taught her weren’t inflammatory somehow.

Still, she persevered, walking among the Horde by herself when she could. Most meetings between the Alliance and Horde ran long, and there were some evenings when she would catch the glimpse of rich purple and feathered armour around the bend when she walked.

Sometimes, she would catch the Warchief’s eye as she passed. Sylvanas’ eyes gleamed at her brightly, watching as a cat would at a passing flicker of light before nodding once in greeting.

For how distant she was from the Banshee Queen, Derek seemed to have no qualms with approaching Sylvanas.

At times, she saw them talking — in quiet asides that halted abruptly the moment any other individual came within earshot, and it prodded at Jaina’s curiosity once more.

“I never thought I’d see you so friendly with the Warchief,” she remarked one day.

Derek shrugged. “She brought me back. For whatever reason. And despite what anyone might think...she...cares.”

“Cares?”

“Ask her yourself,” he replied, nudging her in the shoulder.

She didn’t, only kept her efforts of mingling with the Forsaken. Most were wary of her still, barely acknowledging her words or pointedly ignoring them.

Then one day, a Forsaken replied. His words were guttural and harsh in tone, but the words were almost...friendly. “Good morning. You must use your throat more.”

Jaina obliged readily and welcomed any and all criticism that came. Some were malicious and stung, but a majority of those who engaged her seemed...bewildered at her willingness to learn. “Haven’t others tried to learn Gutterspeak?” she asked.

The Forsaken shook his head. “Gutterspeak is beneath the Alliance, isn’t it? ‘Tis the language of us Forsaken.”

Pursing her lips, Jaina said, “All peoples should have a right to their own language.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, eyeing her with something less than hate.

Though most were wary but polite, not all members of the Horde were as accommodating. She dared to approach a warlock troll one day, blinking in surprise when he curled his lip and sneered at her.

“Why would I be sharin’ de secrets of da Horde wit’ ya?”

“Because I want to understand more about your people,” she replied staunchly. “I’m only trying to help —”

He barked out a laugh, the sound calling the attention of the nearby folk. Orc and goblin and trolls watched on, murmuring among themselves as Jaina fought back the embarrassment building in her belly.

“Leave her alone, Zaejin,” an orc said. “You’re not stupid enough to challenge the Lord Admiral.”

“Mebbe it be time someone did,” Zaejin growled back. In his hands, a dark, swirling ball of energy formed.

Jaina backed slowly away from them, smothering the prickle of arcane itching at her fingertips as more of the Horde began to gather. Something solid and cold bumped against her back and she helped softly, spinning around in alarm —

“Lady Proudmoore.”

She stiffened, staring up at burning red eyes.

Sylvanas peered down into her face impassively. A hand reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her in place. Those blazing eyes flashed back to the crowd. 

Before Jaina could speak — to explain, or perhaps protest — Sylvanas insinuated herself between them, all but looming over the warlock. “Have you any qualms with the Lord Admiral that I have not heard, Zaejin?”

The gathered Horde froze, darting nervous looks between them as they shuffled back. Zaejin bowed at the hip, refusing to lift his gaze from the ground. “Warchief. How are we ta trust de Lord Admiral’s intentions —”

“Has she given you cause for concern?” Sylvanas drawled. “Has she trod on your toes? Planned a military coup to usurp power while we are in peace talks with the Alliance?”

“Who knows with de likes o’ her,” Zaejin grumbled, casting a resentful look at Jaina.

“Then this peace treaty is a waste of time,” Sylvanas said. “If you’d like us to return to war, only say so, Zaejin. I shall leave the Lord Admiral to deal with your insubordination herself.”

At last, Jaina found her voice. “It’s alright,” she croaked, darting a slightly bewildered look between Sylvanas and Zaejin. “It’s understandable that he would be...wary still. There is too much between our factions to expect everyone to be content with peace talks.”

Sylvanas’ ear flicked, her burning eyes flashing with amusement as she inclined her head. “That much is true. Regardless.” She reached out and laid a hand on Jaina’s shoulder, squeezing just so to leave the woman gaping wordlessly at her grip. Setting her eyes to the crowd, she said, “Let it be known; so long as we remain in Stormwind, the Lord Admiral is free to walk among the Horde with my blessing.”

A rich plume of power began to bleed from her shoulders effortlessly and Jaina fought back a shiver at the raw strength of it. “Have you any protests, warlock?”

Zaejin said nothing further, only glared. Boldly, Jaina reached out and touched Sylvanas’ elbow, casting a speaking look up at the Banshee Queen. “I think your point’s been made, Warchief. Let us do as you say and lay our animosities to rest.”

Wordlessly, and strangely, Sylvanas complied. “I shall escort you to your quarters, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina blinked. It didn’t exactly sound like an offer so much as a command, but she quelled the instinct to bristle and nodded mutely.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, when they were a fair distance away. “That was...unnecessary, but thank you.”

Sylvanas inclined her head; the weight of her hand lingered at the small of Jaina’s back. “If these peace talks are to bear fruit, we can’t have the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras assaulted in the streets. And we can’t have you levelling half the street in retaliation.” Her eyes slid sidelong knowingly.

Jaina huffed. “I could have managed with a little more tact than that.”

“I have no doubt,” Sylvanas said. They walked on for a time in a stilted sort of silence, until the Warchief folded her arms behind her back and remarked idly, “How have your experiments been going?”

Jaina paused in her step and stared.

Shrugging, Sylvanas said, “Derek likes to talk.” It was strange to hear her brother’s name on such a foreign tongue. “I understand the desire to...process the state your brother returned to you in. Not many of the living had such a kind reception to their Undead loved ones.”

“...He told me you gave him the choice to come back. Despite everything.” Jaina’s gaze was hard and searching, but not unkind.

Sylvanas’ ears swivelled and flicked, but there was nothing in her face that gave away the Warchief’s thoughts. She shrugged. “...I do not Raise those who do not wish to be raised. Not without purpose."

“And what was your purpose here?”

Sylvanas peered at her thoughtfully before turning back forward. “I did not Raise him with the intention of misusing him. I know the stories the Alliance tells about my powers. My goals and aims.”

Her burning eyes slid sidelong to Jaina for a moment. Quietly, she said, “I will not lie and say that the possibility never crossed my mind. But the Forsaken have never been mine to use. They are my kin, not my servants.”

The weight of Sylvanas’ words stunned Jaina; brought every story about the Dark Lady and her relationship with the Forsaken into question. Many thought her a tyrant — and she was, in many ways — but this was not one of them, it seemed.

Jaina ducked her head almost in shame before nodding once, meeting Sylvanas’ gaze steadily. “I believe you.”

Sylvanas made a noise in her throat, tilting her head curiously at Jaina. “...Does he regret it? Some do.”

“No,” Jaina replied, and the honesty of her response surprised even herself. “I don’t think he does. I think he’s...trying to adjust. And I want to help.”

Sylvanas nodded slowly. “Do let me know, should you require another test subject. I would be curious to see what you could achieve,” she said.

“Wh—?”

“If you require information from the High Necromancer, I shall provide it,” Sylvanas continued, pausing as they reached the tower. Glancing up at the spire, she turned to Jaina. “It is my duty as their leader, is it not? To ease their burdens. I would like to help, if I can.”

Jaina blinked rapidly, then found herself nodding. It was the only thing she could think to do. “Y-yes, alright — I — thank you??”

A slow, curling smile spread across Sylvanas’ face. “You’re welcome. Until another time, Lady Proudmoore.”

[kazuhasbunny]

oh, to be diluc’s smelly fart machine 😩😳🥰🤪👍✨😍💦😋🤩🥵❤️😌👍✨ o-oh sowwy daddy diwuc,,, did i do a wittle farty warty on you owo 🥺👉👈 i - i didnt mwean to 🥺🥺 i pwomise-oh what’s this? *notices his little bulgy wulgy* o-oh daddy diwuc gwot hward 🥺🥺🤩🥵 does daddy diwuc want mwe two take cawe of his wittle pwoblem hehe

since this is /j (i hope it is) i will reply to this . there , anon . are you happy ? i hope you eat beans for today 💔 why did you even thought about this in the first place pl

[lotusfartstwice]

Howdy!

Trick or treat?

Have a candy dipped apple. Happy Halloween!

[chancedarling]

"A farmer would be smart enough to have the manure in a wheelbarrow, and not flooding up over the top of his welly-boots."

Chance's brows hike with the quip and he graces Zaid with a startlingly bright grin.

"But you're correctamundo there, pal. Definitely not a farmer. Closest I get to horticulture is a session now and then with sweet sweet mary-jane."

Chance allows his head to turn this time. Obviously looking directly at the nearest poles as Zaid hits the nail directly on the head. Go straight to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Because... Yes. That's exactly why. Of course when the other passes it off as a joke (because who in their right mind would do something like that?), Chance manages to allow some of that internal discomfort to show, but he's good at passing things off as something other and allows his nose to wrinkle at the thought.

"Nah. Told you - I'm no influencer. Not one for the limelight... But it's certainly upping the freaky factor, yeah? Proper creeping me out."

His eyes narrow for just a moment, before he's shuffling in the sand - back to one of the cameras and - because he's passing this off as a discomfort - why not toss in a little childish spite. Hell it might amuse dumb Zaid enough to pass right on by that previous thought.

"You want something to see? Have an eyeful of this..."

And there's a quick smirk as he bends forward, quickly pulling down his pants to reveal buttcheeks for a flash - mooning at the camera closest to them.

"...Aye, swivel on that y'feckers."

There's a sound like 'snort-honk' which is Chance being amused at his own ridiculousness, but the pants are pulled up and he's still grinning as Zaid starts to ramble about his pre-boat whereabouts, elaborating on the 'why'. Which was... Lovely. Get people to start talking about themselves - it's usually their favorite topic. Keep them talking... And they wind their way deeper, into the darker and more personal - eventually...

"No shit? That's cool, man. Restaurant and all - newest restaurant at that, meaning more'n one? We got here a bona-fide businessman! Sounds like you're the celebrity, pal. What kinda food did you serve? Ah don't tell me it was farty wee teeny bits of posh stuff? Hundred quid a plate and you've gotta get a kebab on the way home..."

It's Chance's turn to tease now. But the 'teasing' is in the hopes of 'teasing' out just that little bit more info. Be interested. Let them think they're the most thrilling thing you've ever encountered in the entirety of existence. Give them the stage, the spotlight... And let them dance.

But they do dance. The case presented and now suitably discarded. Zaid pulling himself together just enough to toss in a couple more rocks. The mirth of moments ago now lost in the starkness of that startling revelation. Fucking guns.

As the case hits the surface there's a 'glomp-blomp' sound. Water giving away under the weight, then rushing back in as it sinks quickly (likely the weight meaning that when it did hit the bottom, it wouldn't be washing out anywhere).

"Ammo or not, I'm still gonna pee my pants if someone sticks one of those bastards in my face. I ain't about to start asking questions about ammo when I'm staring down a barrel. And I'm pretty sure people are jumpy enough as it is without adding that bullshit to the mix. So... Best be rid."

What's done is done. And there's a sharp, quick nod as he finishes speaking.

There's another squint though, as Zaid now poses a question of his own, and Chance replies with another of those loose limbed shrugs.

"I dunno, pal. Not exactly Bear Grylls here. Right now, I could really go for a cheese and ham toastie. A stiff drink. And a nice kip... So... Uh... I guess, alcohol... That's supposed to be good for medicinal stuff too, I think. Blankets maybe? Uh... And clean water because unlike Bear Grylls, I have no desire to start drinking my own piss."

Zaid wasn't expecting to be touched, reassured in such a calming, sugary-condescending way by the other man. Who was clearly younger, yet seemed to carry all the wisdom of the world on those thin shoulders. It was bemusing, almost sweet that Chance wanted to belay any of Zaid's praise. Big picture modesty; and Zaid too loved noble displays of humbleness.

"A farmer might consider knee-deep manure a boon," Zaid lightly countered, but was congenial enough to agree. "I reckon neither of us are farmers."

As Zaid cleaned and patched Chance's head, he noticed the piercing eyes flickering up. Zaid turned, to peer up at the loudspeaker/camera set-up. "Yeah. Them CCTV poles studding all over the landscape, it seems. The cameras move too. Oi - that why you came after me? Make yourself look good for whatever perv's behind them cameras," Zaid chuckled, so close to the truth but missing it entirely. "Nah, I'm just joking, mate."

Zaid nodded about the online blackjack story. "So...you were awake when it happened. It felt like I blinked and one moment I was stepping off the train, next I was waterlogged in a flipping galley. I live in New York, running my newest restaurant - about a year since it opened." And now indefinitely closed. No Chef Zaid Shair to contact, no GM to harass at all-hours, no lawyers to wheedle, no banks to deal, no press backing him on a corner, no agent giving dire options, no investors calling him at all-hours. No grief about -

No. The grief remained. Sod the rest; Zaid would hold onto that grief.

It helped soothe him, Chance's charming tale about his name. Zaid squinted at Chance, leaning back on his haunches. "Dunno man. You look like a Rudy."

Zaid expected to be further embarrassed by a suitcase full of touristy clothes, German-packed efficiency, maybe some souvenirs and shoes - shoes would be nice. Zaid's trainers were soaked through. Instead, he found the worst thing possible, and went silent and tharn from the shock of seeing that many guns.

Chance took over. Bollocks to that. Zaid wished he'd never seen it, and so he just watched passively, as Chance stood up like he was getting ready for a challenge. He then gutted the foam, collecting rocks to replace them. Furtive, Zaid wordlessly gathered more obsidian rocks as well, tumbling them into the suitcase. His logical brain knew where this was headed; but his emotional fraughtness refused to actually process Chance's plan, until Chance was swinging and twirling like the world's maddest dervish.

The suitcase sailed out of his gangly hands, almost beautiful for a moment, then plopped into the water. Suddenly Zaid was on his feet as well, staring, waiting, let they were watching the penalty shot at a match.

It...sunk. It sunk! It sunk into the rocky reef and only he and Chance knew where. Zaid alternated between staring up at the Irishman and the bloopy ripples of the water. "It - I didn't see no ammo in there. Did you?" Zaid's question finally came out, hushed and breathless. "Chance...it's. It's fine. Not posing any danger without any ammo anyway, right. Good riddance."

But they both knew where it was. Suddenly feeling loose-limbed, adrenaline surging up again and swirling in his throat, Zaid nodded. "Yeah. Right. If...if you wanted to hoard anything from the ship, what would you look for?" Zaid had ideas of his own, but currently Chance was running two-for-naught. It was Chance's turn to do what he wanted, Zaid thought.