#i don't know how to explain it but like its not stuffed but occasionally it leaks

[radiance1]

The members of the Justice League sat in silence, joined by a few members of Justice League Dark.

They were almost ready to start their meeting.

Almost.

"Where is John Constantine?" Batman stared at those gathered around the table, one spot currently vacant. Zatanna spoke up. "He's coming."

Batman narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know how," Zatanna nodded. "But he's coming."

The table was silent for a few moments, before Superman hesitantly spoke up. "Maybe he's running late?" At Batman's look Superman felt the need to add. "You know, he could've gotten stuck up with another magic user, or something."

Superman brought a hand up to rub at his neck as he laughed awkwardly, before promptly shutting up at the look Batman sent with an even more awkward smile. The silence was notably loud, such that it made it quite easy to determine who and where the sound of crunching came from.

Flash swallowed. "What?" He dug his hand in the bag of chips, only to pout at it being empty. He quickly ran from and to his seat in, well, a flash. Laying down his armful of chips, he picked up one and opened it, back to stuffing his face. "It's not like we're starting yet or anything."

Batman's eyes narrowed.

Flash blinked, looking down at the chips in his hand, the one on the table, and then back at Batman. He picked one up and held it out in his direction. "Want one?"

Batman glared.

Flash hesitantly brought his hand back down, before sticking his hand in his chip bag and eating some more, this time quietly.

Minutes passed by with the various League members gathered around sitting ramrod straight. A few more minutes passed, and they started to relax (except batman), a couple more and some of them started up conversation with each other, with some others joining in.

Batman took the time to work through a few files, giving the occasional grunt and hm whenever Superman and Wonder Woman tried to drag him into their conversation.

It was then that a noticeable heat spread inside the room, rising in temperature with each passing second until it was no longer ignorable. Just then, when the heat reached its highest point, with the members of the League already standing from their seats, a wave of black flame appeared in a circular pattern and the League tensed, magic gathering at the fingertips of some and battle stances being fallen into by others.

The circular flame shot up, high enough to reach the ceiling and not a second later, in its place was a giant mass of flaming feathers curled into a ball.

A groan came from the middle of it, and a few seconds later-with what sounded like a huff- did the mass uncurl just enough to see the owner of said groan.

"Ello." John Constantine raised a hand and gave a two fingered salute. Everyone in the room blinked at the man currently leaning against the- creature? Being?- in just pants. "I would say this isn't what it looks like, but its exactly what it looks like."

Zatanna's eyes narrowed, before she inhaled sharply. "Constantine." She hissed out quietly, as if trying not to draw the being's attention. "What is-" She gestured at the creature. "-He of all beings doing here?!"

"Being used as a living heater."

Zatanna blinked again in surprise as she stumbled over her words. "I- what-?"

"You heard me. It's colder than Santa's tits in our house, and I'm not paying even more money for a heater when I have a living one right here." Constantine deadpanned, very shamelessly sinking back into the mass of feathers behind him and giving a most certainly exaggerated sigh to prove his point.

"But- But he's," Zatanna gestures at the phoenix again, this time with both hands. "Him. How are you okay with this!?" That time she spoke to the phoenix, rather than Constantine.

The being in question peeked open an eye, before huffing in annoyance and closing back its eye.

"So uh," Flash spoke up, rubbing his hands together. "Not to interrupt, but uh, do you mind explaining for the rest of us not in the know?"

Zatanna blinked, staring at the other League members in surprise as if she forgot they were there. She awkwardly coughed into her fist. "Right, yes." She cleared her throat, before gesturing towards the giant mass of feathers. "That being is one of the more infamous of those heralding from the Infinite Realms, because that's its goddamn Duke." Zatanna rubbed her head, as if she were getting a migraine just thinking about it. "Constantine, how did you even-"

"We met on a rainy night, and he lit up my cig and proposed his love for me." Constantine said simply.

The League stared in bafflement. Zatanna had a skeptical look all over her face. "I'm not believing that. It's too much of a stretch, even for you."

Constantine shrugged. "Okay so would you believe me if I said I sold like half my soul and conned this other guy by swearing my soul to this big guy for his protection?" Constantine deadpanned.

"Yes, actually." Zatanna matched Constantine's deadpan with a look of her own.

[ccswife]

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Oh no.

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next

pairing๛: kate martin x iowau!reader

synopsis๛: kate catches you watching your saved edits of her.

not proofread so ignore spelling mistakes pls lol

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being a trainee under the strength and conditioning coaches for the Iowa womens basketball meant that you were constantly around the team. you found it hard to get used to all the personalities, but by your sixth year it became quite easy.

one person you particularly leaned towards when assisting was Kate Martin - a fellow sixth year and a phenomenal basketball player (as far as you knew). throughout the 3 years you had really known Kate, the two of you grew very close, exchanging 'i love you's and often sleeping at eachothers places. a lot of the girls wondered why you guys didnt just move in together.

one cool evening in iowa city, after a considerably hard practice and lift, kate decided to come home with you after her shower. you leaned against the wall outside the locker room playing on your phone, patiently waiting for the blonde to shuffle out with her bags.

'phwwtt!'

a loud whistle pulled your eyes up and towards the door. there came kate, her hair wet and barely brushed and her bags stuffed to the brim.

"i tried to shower as fast as i could and pack all my stuff up but it got a little messy so...." she spoke out in one breath.

"kate... you know i dont mind waiting," you laughed. kate usually does this, and it ALWAYS leads to her forgetting something important. whether it be her shoes (like, her actual shoes not her bball shoes), her whole bag of skincare, or her bra, etc.

kate shrugged with a goofy look on her face and shouted 'onwards!' before shuffle-running to get out to the parking lot.

the car ride over to your apartment was as usual; listening to music, chatting about school and practice, asking about the other girls lives. you often asked her about everyone else when you guys had sleepovers. its not that you don't know and love them, but you don't talk to them nearly as much as you do kate. everyone knew that. after settling in and grabbing snack and a spot on the couch, you pulled up tiktok on your phone and decided to go through your 'wbb😭😍' folder. you can't even lie and say you don't find kate and some of her teammates attractive. hell, one of the reasons you first talked to her was because of her beautiful face. but after you guys got so close, you deemed it inappropriate to tell her how you really felt. how she made your heart flutter when she called you 'n/n' and when she stared at you for a little longer than usual. you found out that people made edits of her after liking one womens basketball edit... one is all it took. at first it shocked you and you tried not to like any of them.. but you couldnt resist it. she looked so. damn. good. IN ALL OF THEM!!! sooner than later a folder was made and filled to the brim. a dabble of caitlin, paige and an occasional molly in there as well.

so, there you sat: munching on goldfish, one leg up on the couch and one leg dangling off, all while scrolling through various edits of your best friend.

oh yea, full volume too:D

kate walks into the living room and sees you on your phone. usually she tries not to snoop but something caught her eye. was that.. her?!?! on your phone screen?????? she watched you scroll and watched as her face popped up a dozen more times. caitlin as well. a million thoughts went through her head. why were you watching edits of her? did you like her like she liked you? you find her attractive?? why is caitlin in there.

she continued to stand there, mouth ajar, trying to find the right words to snap you out of your lull.

' y/n' she spoke up

your phone immediately shut off and you sat straight up, turning to look at kate with a beat red face. your hands start to move around frantically as you try to explain.

' i- im- i was just looking at some beacuse,-- well like i thought it was cool and-' words start flying out of your mouth.

'y/n,' kate spoke again. ' its ok. im just kinda caught off gaurd' rubbing her neck she looks around before making eye contact with you and smirking a little. your face twisted when she smirked. she thought this was funny??!

"what're you smirking at freak??" as you said that your heart dropped. her smirk only widened. "dont you dare kate." a demanding tone, one that you only use before she tickled attacks you or is about to yell something completely out of pocket to the girls.

kate inches towards you, causing you to put your phone behind your back. before you can even process her attack, she snatches your phone and unlocks it, quickly going into tiktok. at this point all you can do is sit and stare as she goes through your folder of wbb edits. occasionally she looks down at you, sometimes with a sweet look and others confused or.. offended? you couldnt tell.

after finishing, she hands your phone back to you and sits next to you on the couch.

"well," she starts. "who knew there was so many edits of me and caitlin!" her tone was light hearted but with a tinge of hurt and sarcasm. she turns to look at you.

"oh wait, you knew!" she yips. kate slaps your knee and laughs, and you couldn't help but join. she cracked jokes for at least another minute.

the vibe in the room after that changed in the slightest bit, the both of you holding your tounges, not wanting to be the first to acutally talk about what had just happened. when the clock hit 11:00pm, you both sauntered to the bedroom to hit the hay. hopping into your respective sides, and making sure you both had everything you needed. instead of a "i love you, goodnight!", kate just rubbed your cheek and smiled, then turned the other way.

before you fell asleep, you saw the light of her phone, and an edit of herself on the screen.

Oh no.

no no no no no. your heart started to race as you thought of everything that could happen. what if she doesnt wanna be my friend anymore? what if she tells the girls and they hate me? does she know i like her?

you curled up and tried to sleep away the thoughts. halfway asleep and arm snaked around you and stroked your arm, prompting you to fall soundly asleep.

"ill figure out what to say to you soon enough, love"

kate spoke under her breath only when she was sure you'd fallen asleep. soon she was out too.

Oh no... what will they do?

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A/N q(❂‿❂)p: i hope this isn't complete trash! i tried my best:))))) i had this little idea i forgot about in my notes lolll. i hope u guys enjoy and lmk if you potentially want another part ?!!?!! anyways toodles😜

[blu3-j]

I gave in. I'm doing it. I'm writing the fanfiction. Here you go, besties!

Reader X Barnaby and Wally

Good Afternoon Rests

Platonic or romantic?: You can read it however you like! I don't blame you for either.

Tw: none!

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It had been a good few months since you had "moved" to the neighborhood Home. "Moved" as in you woke up one morning in a house within the neighborhood with no explanation as to how you got there from your apartment back in your old world. As it turned out, humans didn't exist here, as did living puppets in your world. The crew had been quite surprised upon meeting their new neighbor. They didn't have a single clue as to what you were! Not even Frank had any ideas. He scoured relentlessly through Howdy's book selection and through his own book collection (despite his entire collection being all about bugs) and never found a thing about these so called "humans."

You did things they could never even fathom: eating, drinking, being in water without having to deal with barely being able to move due to the water-soaked stuffing, even breathing. Well some ideas were more common than others. Despite not needing to eat and keeping food around more as more of a fun activity to make or as art, they knew that there are puppets out there that could eat if the wanted to, like Wally. But they were fascinated nonetheless. And teeth were a rare thing to see on puppets. There were puppets out there that had a few teeth, like buck-teeth or fangs. Never before had they seen as many teeth in one person's mouth as you did.

Even though they didn't quite understand how you worked, where you came from, and what exactly you are, they still welcomed you with bright smiles and open arms.

"Welcome home!"

Currently, you were hanging out with Wally and Barnaby. The two best buds had invited you to a small hangout. Barnaby wanted to test a few new jokes and funny stories, and Wally wanted to practice his art skills by painting the two of you together.

Wally was still getting used to the more stiff and solid silhouette you had compared to the puppets. Unlike you, they didn't have any skeletal structure, so often times their bodies could squish and flail anywhere and anyhow they wanted, so long as their felt didn't rip in the process. Wally loved the practice he got from attempting to paint or draw you. Had had an excuse to take in all of your looks without making you uncomfortable! Oh, how he hated that it made you feel as such! He felt so guilty when you finally explained to him how his staring made you feel. You were just so interesting, and he wanted you to know you had his full attention! He couldn't help himself. Asking you to be his muse also gave him a chance to get to know you more personally, and how he just loved hearing your stories of your world while he painted you. It was so fascinating! And your voice, oh how he could listen to it all day. It was his favorite sound, afterall.

Meanwhile, Barnaby loved joking around with everyone, but he knew he would get the most reaction out of you. He had to admit, he found it endearing how much your eyes could sparkle and light up with joy! And he could tell what kind of mood you were in so much easier with just a small wrinkle on your face, or how much you squished or scrunched your face up with joy or disgust. While puppets could express their emotions just as well as anybody else could, you had the ability to add onto that! You didn't have as many limits as some puppets did (like Frank being unable to smile or Wally being unable to frown) and some of your human features just added more. (Like your eyes being wet all the time so they could shine more.) It meant all the world to him and more when he got you to laugh.

It was a warm sunny day, and you and Barnaby had taken shelter in the shade under a beautiful large tree. Wally was sat in front of the two of you, the canvas sitting on its easel blocking him from you view until he occasionally peaked out to get a better look at his best friends. Barnaby glanced down to you at his side and smirked.

"Hey, Y/N," he started. Wally peaked over from behind his canvas upon hearing the large dog's voice. You looked up to Barnaby and smiled, quick to catch onto his tone of voice. He always had this certain tone of voice when he was about to crack a joke. Like a cool chill breeze before a heat wave. "What do you call a well-balanced horse?" You felt a small cheesy grin make its way on your face.

"What?" You asked, feeling like a giddy child waiting for an answer. You could barely hold back your giggles when you saw Barnaby's smirk turn into a wide grin. He waited a few moments, checking to make sure the two of you were looking at him before he continued, letting his voice fall flat.

"Stable." Wally threw his head back a little and laughed, that monotone laugh of his mixing with your giggles and echoing through the nearby area.

After his laughter died down, Wally managed out a "Oh, Barnaby!" His eyes widened a little as he pulled his paintbrush away from the canvas. "Oh, that reminds me, Barnaby..." He continued, his voice soon drowned out to you.

You had let your mind wander and your gaze to the sky. The clouds were so fluffy today. The tree you all had been sat around was blooming and full of flowers. It was a beautiful day. And here you were with two of your best friends. A content sigh escaped your lips. It was such a nice day, and it was comforting to be around your friends. Who accepted every part of you, who comforted you when you became homesick, who took the time out of their day to something as peaceful as this with you. You felt your body relax, and you closed your eyes. Maybe a nap won't be so bad.

The two best buds had been carried away in their conversation, unknown to your sleeping figure. That was, until Barnaby felt a small weight against his side. Wally's gaze followed Barnaby's. Both of them chuckled. You had explained to them before the importance of sleep to humans, and what falling asleep in the middle of the day could mean. While puppets did need sleep, they often wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the day, even if they tried. They just were never in need of it. It was so endearing to them when you were found sleeping in the middle of a nearby meadow or up in a tree in the middle of the day.

As your mind traveled further into unconsciousness, two voices warmly called out to you. A final caring message before everything went dark on this warm dreamy afternoon.

"Sweet dreams, Y/N."

[justatalkingface]

WTF happened?!?

Alright, so for context? I took a break at... *checks bookmark* 395. And looking at that chapter really quick, I'm reminded why I stopped reading for all this time!.That's ten chapters behind, for the record, and from what I can tell from my occasional glances at the critical tag? Those ten chapters were... something.

Welp. I read them. And then experienced instant regret.

Let's start with the first big thing: Armor Might. Somehow, looking at Armored Might, my first thought isn't WTF, because I've seen the spoilers, but the way that mask frames his smile reminds me of Redestro? Like, what the hell, he actually looks villainous like this. Still, though, the way powers are supposed to be the students isn't just cringe beyond belief it's... actually really dumb?

Like, step back from the ham handed metaphor for a minute, and look at this as a set of powers that someone decided to put in one suit. Ignoring how they stuffed so much shit into a suit, which even for MHA tech breaks my SOD, much less how this is surviving hits that causally blast through buildings, but it's just... inefficient? Let's ignore such choices as 'talking to animals' and 'powered by sugar', which are clearly relics of a different manga and don't make sense to use at all, but just these powers as a package. Does it make sense to put something like, 'make acid' with super strength'? Or 'sound waves'? Etc, etc? Wouldn't you want things that synergize together, so the suit is... I don't know, sturdier, or more effective, rather than having to build in a bunch of random devices just to do a reference? That explains why half of them aren't even same powers, it's just pointlessly pasting the names on things built to counter literally this situation, a reverting AFO, even though they had no possible way to know it would happen. Like a Uravity 'thruster'. Which has fuck all to do with canceling gravity.

Seriously. Cellophane and Blackwhip are literally the same damn thing, as in, literally they're the same tentacles. He's 'using' 'different powers' to retract them. And the sugar power is a... rocket kick? I. Can we just admit this doesn't actually have the entire class in it and move on?

Also, the fact that AFO is apparently super predictable and apparently has never adjusted his tactics once since beating Nana? Bitch please. He's been leading you by the nose since day one, and the only reason you ever beat him is because you out-powered him because you're bullshit and he's nerfed.

As a side note, AFO isn't controlling his reversion. He's not 'choosing' to rewind faster to heal himself, it's just happening, and Eri's Quirk just doesn't give a shit about anything, the acid would just be gone. Eri's Quirk has literally never given a shit about anything, ever, including but not limited to it's target, the person using, or the laws of nature because it's not a healing Quirk, its reversing fucking time.

Honestly, reading this, I'm not even angry about how bad the writing is anymore, I'm just cringing. Both All Might and All For One sound like complete morons, the fight is stupid, it's just.... this is just pathetic and it hurts to read.

I. Is AFO the shining baby. I pretty sure a bunch of people made jokes about the baby coming up but. Is AFO the shining baby?

Why is Stain even here? Why is the suit talking?! Like, they didn't even do anything, it didn't even buy any time, it just dragged out the chapter so we could another cliffhanger!

...Finally. Finally, Momo gets a fucking gun. I guess at this point Hori thought it couldn't harm anything to let her actually be competent, and it looks like a copy of Bakugou's new gear because of course it is, but I don't care just let me have this.

What the fuck is even the point of AFO's mouth ripping open? Like, what is the in-setting reason his cheeks tore apart?

Bakugou: fucking dies.

Bakugou: gets his heart patched together with jeans and a prayer soap bubble.

Bakugou: is instantly jumping into high intensity combat.

Yeah, that makes sense.

Are we really bring back the 'wishing energy' bullshit? Are we bringing back wishing energy and Bakugou is using it?

And now we have Nighteye. Nighteye.

...

You know what? I'm angry again.

Holy fuck. I read the posts, but I didn't believe they were real. Bakugou restarted his own heart. Like. What even is his Quirk, at this point. Like, what is it actually supposed to be, Favoritism Sweat?

All Might, solemnly: Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Me, vomiting:

God, I pity whoever eventually has to voice act that and say that line at all seriously.

And, to the surprise of absolutely no one except the people who actually thought Bakugou died and were angry about it, Bakugou gets his heart impaled and came out the other end with a power up.

Let me sum up my thoughts on that with one simple sentence: The Lion, The Witch, and The Plot Armor of This Bitch.

Here's my impression ten chapters later, after a month or two without reading: I... I did not miss this story.

[fallenwhumpee]

I have a small idea for a whump prompt! It's a whumpee who's sick with something like a cold or flu and whenever they take medicine it doesn't do its job making it worse, or it does but at the cost of a difficult symptom to deal with!(or maybe they take more thinking it'll help) Especially if whumpee decides to continue on with their day like there's nothing wrong. :)

This is actually why I hate medicines. Here you go!

One more

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Medication, working through illness, sickfic.

Whumpee kept their head still between their two fists, their headache growing more. They knew it was not a good sign.

Whumpee could usually work through the cold easily. They would sniffle a bit, and wear one more layer, and the next day they would be fine.

Whumpee didn't think that was the case this time.

Whumpee reached to their bag, their hands starting to throb from the cold as soon as leaving their pockets. They searched for painkillers, not caring that they had already taken two this morning.

But they couldn't celebrate the victory, there was only one pill left in the whole package. It was strange. Whumpee remembered clearly that there had been half package when they left home.

That would explain their dazed state. Painkillers would always make Whumpee want to sleep, but they couldn't do that at work. Not because it was wrong to do, but because of all the noise and lights.

Even just sitting under the white light was fueling their headache, the occasional noises coming was snapping them back to attention. That was probably another gift from the painkillers.

Sighing, Whumpee weighted the options. The headache was their priority if they wanted to function even slightly.

One more wouldn't hurt.

It worried Whumpee that they had nothing left after swallowing the hard pill with their now-warmed herbal tea, but they didn't have any option. This had to hold them until the end of their shift.

Whumpee's vision blurred slightly as the second pill took effect. The edges of their reality softened, and the throbbing in their temples began to dull. Yet, the workspace, once a hive of activity, seemed to spin in a slow dance of colors and shapes. It was also calming, everything blending into a chaotic lullaby.

Still, sudden noises made them feel a little jumpy, but they tried to focus through all of this. The key word there was tried.

"Whumpee, are you alright?" Caretaker's voice cut through the fog, an anchor attempting to pull Whumpee back to reality. Whumpee blinked slowly, struggling to focus on Caretaker's face.

The concern in Caretaker's eyes was misplaced. Whumpee was fine! Truly. Just a little tired and drowsy... Whumpee forced a smile, or at least what they hoped resembled one. "Yeah, just a headache. Nothing to worry about."

Caretaker's brow furrowed with worry. They were having none of it, apparently. "

A headache that has you zoning out like that is something to worry about. Have you taken anything for it?"

Whumpee blinked again, trying to remember. The pills seemed to be doing their job, but they also clouded Whumpee's thoughts.

"Just a couple of painkillers," they mumbled, their tongue feeling a bit too heavy for their mouth.

"How many is a couple?" Caretaker's voice was firm, demanding a straight answer. Why did they have to be so serious?

"Maybe two. I don't remember," they lied. Whumpee was sure it was at least four.

Caretaker's frown deepened, and they took a step closer. "Let me see the pill bottle."

"Thrashed the package. It was empty."

Caretaker sighed, clearly not convinced. "You shouldn't be taking so many painkillers, especially without food. It's not good for you."

Whumpee tried to nod, but it felt like their head was swaying too much. "I know, I know. But I need to get through the day, and the pain was unbearable."

Caretaker crossed their arms. "You need a break. Even just a short one."

The words falling on their ears seemed to be stuffed with cotton. Whumpee tried to focus on the words, but again, they could only try. They chuckled weakly. "I'm invincible. Can handle it."

Caretaker's expression shifted from frustration to genuine concern. "Whumpee, you're not invincible. Nobody is."

Whumpee fought to keep their eyes open, the heavy lids threatening to surrender to the drug-induced slumber. "I'm fine, really," they slurred, attempting to stand straight but swaying a bit. Caretaker caught them, steadying them.

"No, you're not fine. You're barely standing. We can't afford to have you collapse or, in the office."

A wave of nausea surged through Whumpee, and they swallowed hard. They just had to sit down a bit.

"I'm going to call for a replacement," Caretaker said firmly, pulling out a phone.

"No," Whumpee protested weakly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the idea. Caretaker's voice became distant.

"We'll sort this out. You just rest. Someone will take over your duties for now."

The last thing Whumpee heard before falling asleep was the distant sound of Caretaker's footsteps, likely to handle the situation they had tried to prevent.

[ax-y10]

From the daylight (running from the daylight)

In which- Wilbur misses you now that you're gone, especially the light you gave him

Chapter info: angst, hurt/comfort, honestly sad, first angst I've written so it's kinda shit, use of Y/n, italics are the past, mentions of suicide (doesn't actually happen. You'll see what I mean), happier ending because I can't write entire angst, mention of car accident.

A/n: Daylight started playing on my Spotify when I was laying down and I bolted for my laptop because I immediately had this idea. Listen to daylight by David Kushner when reading this. If you are ever feeling down or in need of help, please visit this website to help with ways to cope and prevent suicide. Love you all.

Pronouns: gn reader (Mainly you/yours, though)

Masterlist:

"Wil! It's snowing!" You exclaimed, and his face lit up at seeing you happy.

"Hold on, hold on. I'm getting up."

You bolted for the door when he stood, holding out your hand for him to take.

"Where do you get your energy from, Y/n?" He asked, a genuine question, no judging tone behind his words.

"I don't know. My mum used to say I got it from the daylight?"

And he cherished those words, his nickname for you being 'Daylight' for a very long time.

What did he do wrong? What did he not do for you? What did he say wrong that made you do that?

A million questions ran through his head as he lay in the bed you both used to share.

He had no answers, no closure, no warning. It just happened all so quickly, and he couldn't help.

He watched as your light slowly drained each and every day, your energy losing its power, your glow slowly dimming. Until right now.

Your dad had called him, telling him about what had happened.

How could he have been so stupid.

Why did he think your words of "I'm fine." were not misleading?

Why had he gone to band rehearsal?

Your dad explained that you were no longer here, and that pained him to hear. His sweetheart, his love, his dearest, his beloved, his Daylight, was gone? Was gone for good? Wasn't coming back?

It wasn't like the weekly grocery shop where you left for an hour to get food.

It wasn't like his rehearsals where he left for a few hours, but eventually returned?

You were actually gone?

You'd actually jumped?

He'd fallen for the jokes?

He thought you were okay?

How come you hadn't told him?

How come you hadn't told him how you were feeling?

Had he broken your trust somehow?

What had he done?

---

He currently found himself laying on your shared bed, as he had the last few weeks. He didn't know how to cope with this event. He would leave the bed to use the bathroom to shower or use the toilet. He hadn't brushed his hair or taken care of himself properly in weeks since you'd passed. Tommy would occasionally come over with food or drinks for him. He'd come over as someone who Wilbur could talk to. He'd bring some of Wilbur's friends sometimes to help him. Tommy had even brought a hairbrush for him to brush his hair. He'd even cleaned Wilbur's apartment for him, knowing what he is going through.

Wilbur had always made jokes about your stuffed animals, and you had always told him he was jealous. But right now, they were the things he sought the most comfort in. They smelled of you faintly, the fragrance of you fading each and every day. When one teddy lost your scent, he'd scavenge for another one. And when he ran out of stuffed animals, he moved over to your clothing, finding many of his sweaters, and them still smelling like you.

He hadn't streamed in ages, and his fans were getting worried. He hadn't checked Twitter, Twitch, YouTube, Instagram, anything. He only ever called Tommy or the boys from Lovejoy. he would feel too guilty if he left Tommy in the dark about it.

He hadn't gone to a Lovejoy rehearsal in ages, hadn't touched Simone or Baby Blue in weeks, them reminding him too much of you.

WHAT HAD HE DONE WRONG??

What had possibly made you do that.

And what had made him so oblivious to it.

The takeout containers and alcohol bottles scattered around showed his mental state. He didn't want to help himself.

He didn't want to live without you.

He couldn't move on.

You were the one for him.

The bed felt too empty without you squished up against his chest.

He was sick of it and decided to try and find closure.

He got up and refused to look at polaroids of you or you and him together. Anything that reminded him of you, was pushed to the side for a bit.

He immediately started connecting the dots.

You haven't talked or seen your dads for years.

So why had he reached out to you?

He texted your mum asking if what your dad had said was true, and she simply replied with, "Come over now. I'll explain"

He had the quickest shower of his life, made sure he looked presentable, got dressed out of his sweats and dressed in jeans, and his casual sweater.

And that was the quickest walk ever.

Showing up at your mum's house, he quickly walked through, finding your mum at the kitchen counter, and he took a seat.

"So, what he said was not true. They're perfectly safe. Do you want to come on a drive with me? It won't be too long."

And he obliged instantly, walking behind your mother and finding a seat in the passenger seat of her car.

And soon enough, he was at the... hospital?

Your mum told him to tell the person at the counter "I'm Y/n's boyfriend. Am I able to see them?" and that is exactly what he said as he ran to the counter.

"Hi. I'm Y/n's boyfriend. Am I able to see them? Their mum told me they were here?"

And soon enough, he was guided down a corridor to your room.

And his heart broke seeing you on that hospital bed.

Your mum had left after Wilbur had walked in, leaving you both there so he could spend time with you.

His health anxiety was already bad, but this made it so much worse.

After two days of being in there, he finally felt your hand squeeze his in the same gesture you had always done. 2 squeezes adn a soft drag of your thumb over the back of his hand.

And it's safe to say the first thing he did was cry. And cry he did.

He was so happy that you were alive, and you had only been in a car accident including some random drunk guy on his phone.

As you explained what happened, he was so glad that you were still here. So glad that you hadn't left him, yet.

He was so glad that his Daylight was back. So very glad.

But one thing was still unanswered.

Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't anyone given him an explanation? Why hadn't he been told?

"Daylight? Why hadn't you texted me or let me know that you were okay?"

"Wil. I couldn't have. I physically couldn't."

And you both chuckled a little bit.

And soon enough, you were dismissed after a final check up, and you were both your happy selves again.

----------

end note: I know this was all over the place. Let me give you some explanation. In the part before the mum scene, Wilbur had convinced himself that you had lost your happiness, and your dad hadn't helped. Tommy had been a real help to him, him knowing what had happened, but didn't want to alarm him in anyway. Do you get it? I'm so very sorry this was all over the place. I wrote this really quickly with no planning, sorry. Feel free to use the website above.

[livelist]

God bless your soul, honestly. But can you explain to me why this felt like your responsibility, more than, say, an explosion of rabbits in a similar space and timeframe? It's confusing to hear you simultaneously upset about the many births and the many deaths. Are cats not allowed to undergo predation? Were they not feeding the very same ecosystem they were feeding from? I understand it was very hard for you, but why undertake trying to control wild animals then?

I really don't want a future where all animals are either in enclosures or homes, seperated to prevent natural ecosystems that we find distasteful. I adore my little Zucchini, and keep her inside exclusively because we live in Urban/apartments, but I so wish for her that she could have had a life in nature, meeting other cats, hunting, breeding, and yes, experiencing danger. Cats are honestly just one small example of how humanity is continuously extending our reach and control over the Earth. How will it all end?

These are honest questions that cannot be answered on an individual basis. I know everyone is doing their absolute best to take care of the animals they steward in their homes and environment, but it is genuinely very difficult to know what the best way is. But we must also be willing to ask difficult questions about what we want humanity's impact on the Earth to be. Do we want animals confined to smaller and smaller spaces, eating only food we pre-kill and provide for them, unable to breed outside of our manipulation, never engaging with other species? Zoos only work as "protection and sustainability" if there will eventually be an ecosystem to return them back to. Are we committing the felis catus to a life indoors? That is a space they have only very very recently been confined to. Same with dogs, birds, fishes? How well are we able to replicate what animals need to thrive? We are barely able to create conditions for humans to thrive! Why are we assuming a sexless, threatless, huntless life is whats best for them? Simply because fewer die, but also fewer are born? Are we really so sure that a kitten, killed by a snake a month or two into its life, would rather never have existed? Again, why do we think its fine for a snake to eat birds, bunnies, and mice, but not cats?

Humanity has an existential and dangerous fear of death. This has lead us to push animal slaughter into the industrial shadows, out of average experience. As well as push human death into the institutional and sterilized environment of a hospital. I found myself shocked to realize that I eat meat and plants with no guilt, but feel deeply bad about killing a bug or even picking a wildflower or stomping grass. The alienation of humanity from death is causing environmental and sociological devistation, as we put the prolonging and protection of the individual human life over all other factors, including health, happiness, connection, sustainability, sanity, and more.

I’m sorry this has gotten so big and ranty. But I myself am struggling with these issues all the time. It is so painful to watch my beloved kitty go between laying under the bed and looking out the window every day, with the occasional break in routine of running as fast and chaotically around the room as possible. I start to feel crazy, anxious, and depressed after being stuck in this small space for only a day. She is only allowed to leave when she is stuffed in a carrier and moved to another small, inescapable room when we move every year or so. I suffer at the inhumanity of it all. I considered getting a chameleon but after hearing of someone who regretted it after feeling incredible guilt that all he wanted to do was stare out the window, I decided against it. It is honestly insane hubris to think we can create any substitute for the life they get in the wild.

I am not trying to guilt anyone for their choices: like I said, I love my exclusively indoor cat very very much. I know that if I dumped her in the wild in a fit of guilt she would certainly die. There are no easy answers in a world where our influence involves the rapid destruction of every single natural habitat on earth. But I know that if we continue our trend of increased control, one day we will be burdened with the consequences. Specifically, the few natural ecosystems we have left will be completely reliant on our support to stay alive, and we will not understand them enough to actually provide them with what they need to thrive. Will we one day have to seed clouds to keep the rainforest from turning to desert? Inject probiotics to keep soil from turning to dust? Is there any amount of support we can provide to undo the destruction that we have caused? And how much harder will that support be than the destruction was?

I’m sorry again, perhaps this was a talk that was better made for its own post than a reply on a well-intended post about cats. But this is the topic that brings these questions to my mind almost constantly. There are no easy or independent answers available. I know some people may get mad at me for even bringing all this up. But I hope anyone who reads this will lend me their honest and good-natured thoughts.

Blessings to all beings. Peace and love everywhere, forever.

i'll tell you what converted me to being all-in on keeping cats indoors only:

living for a year and a half in a rural area with a sudden feral cat colony explosion on the property.

i moved in with my folks for a bit and at that time, one (1) stray cat mama had taken up residence on the property, but was too feral to let my mother anywhere near her. but especially after she brought three kittens around, mom fed her and the kittens in hopes they'd grow trusting enough she could catch for spay and neuter at the minimum. momcat stayed mean and hella wary, but the kittens would hang around a little nearer and play with my mom via long stick, but still wouldn't come close enough to touch or catch.

unfortunately, two of the three kittens were girls and started having kittens of their own before further progress was made, shortly after i moved in. and that was pretty much instant doom.

there were so many kittens. SO MANY. multiple litters. every time we turned around, more kittens.

we fed them. we hunted for and located the kittens every time anywhere on the property and would move them to a repurposed doghouse anytime a mama cat had them somewhere else, so that they could grow up human-socialized and we could spay/neuter them when they were old enough. (also it was a handy tactic to push the issue of the mamas getting more used to/trusting of us themselves. only really worked with one of them, though.)

and we watched them die.

we watched litter after litter of kittens never make it to the age they could be spayed or neutered. the moms stayed, for the longest time, too skittish to more than briefly touch, much less catch and crate for a vet visit.

it sounds like a silly joke to say i have kitten-related ptsd, but i absolutely do.

too many goddamn times i'd walk out of the garage and find the carport and gravel drive strewn with tiny bodies. others simply went missing, never to be found.

one in particular, i wish i hadn't found, and the visual literally haunts me still, almost a decade later.

i saw so many kittens die of snake bite, spider bite, wild dogs, birds of prey, hit by cars, respiratory illness, covered in fleas and eyes crusted with infection.

and we loved them all. scrimped for antibiotics if the vet could be convinced to give it to us despite our being unable to bring them in. bought flea collars and ointments. we cared for them and fed them and petted them and played with them, brushed their fur and cleaned up their little faces, put ice in their water in hot summer, rigged a heating lamp in their house in the winter.

and they died. horribly. that property is pocked with unmarked graves of kittens and cats.

all the best intentions, not enough resources, and it didn't matter anyways because the population went from three to almost twenty (at times, over thirty) in the blink of an eye.

they died and died and died. our hearts broke over and over again. the stress and anxiety wore us down like sandpaper. i think, by the end of it all, we managed to find less than 10 of them all homes, including batman the disabled kitten i found a home across the country through tumblr.

it was carnage and tragedy, frankly. and we were helpless.

it only ended because they started dying faster than they could be born, and because we finally caught the two remaining mom cats in traps and got them spayed.

the points about outdoor cats being invasive predators devastating to local wildlife populations is true and valid and important.

but i know cat people, and cat people who don't know better than to let cats outdoors. what matters to you is the cat itself, generally. the cat being happy and taken care of.

keeping cats outdoors, letting them outdoors, is not taking care of the cats. it's not protecting them. it's not giving them any happiness or invigoration that couldn't be provided to them as indoor-only pets with just a little research and effort.

they die. they get ill. they get hurt. they're at risk of predators, and cars, and disease, and carelessly cruel children and deliberately cruel adults. they're at risk of disappearing on you because someone else saw a cat outdoors and intervened to give it a better, safer life not in conflict with the local environment.

and if that offends and angers you that someone would just take a cat they saw roaming outdoors, even collared, and that it sounds like i'm endorsing that, i am, but not if you intervene and be that person yourself for your own cat.

if what matters to you is doing right by your cat because it's family and a living creature whose happiness and health and safety is important to you,

keep them indoors. not part time. always. exclusively.

[vismundcygnus]

Journal 4.12.23

I really feel like I don't know how to be a person, or if I was really meant to exist at all.

Connection is very difficult to me, and has been for a very long time. At one point I might've been happy, but ever since I was 10, it's just been a constant state of suicidal depression and intrusive thoughts, swapping out anxiety between the shifts. Even before that I remember feeling miserable over how much I couldn't fit in with the people around me. My sister always excluded me when I was younger, as did the neighborhood kids, as did the schoolchildren. I just couldn't do it. Luckily, my relationship with my sister has highly improved. But I can't connect with my family at all even though they do care, and I know it. It makes me feel evil.

I found few friends who I think understood this, and we bonded over it. But I ruined so many of those relationships. Sometimes I'm cruelly distrusting of people. I assume malice, performance, and the need for me to perform alongside them, even when it's just not warranted, and that's why I pushed them away. Just like so many others who get too close.

It most happens with people IRL. The internet comes so much easier. No one has to know who I am, and there's less of an expectation of attachment, because people just come and go. If I leave a group, people don't chase after me. I'm a phantom in their lives, an apparition that's there one moment, and gone the next.

I'm always on the outside looking in, but I feel like people don't understand what I mean. It's not just being excluded; sometimes it's self exclusion, likely brought on by the pain of the former. Other times it feels like a tinted glass sheet pulled over my eyes, like I can't relate at all, like I'm so distant it's almost painful. Being alone, and loneliness itself, is a double edged sword for me. Sometimes it's comfort, and other times its the worst pain in the world. That's why I try to be candid about the experiences I have that seem more obvious, more 'relatable', because I don't want people to feel the way that I do. Half of explaining my gender struggles comes easy to me, but the abstraction that my self exists as is something I can never share.

It's like I have something missing. A fundamental part of the human experience. A hole in my brain that I just can't identify, always out of reach. I listen to so much music because it often feels like the only thing that expresses these feelings, while the real world suppresses any mention of them. It's one of the few things I love to bond with people over because I feel like if they understand this, then they'll understand me, too. So that's where the username comes into play.

Love/hate. Connection, disconnection, avoidance. Too much, and not enough. A hole, a husk, my skin hollowed out and stuffed with pestilence, a facade that I can never leave but the holes make me sink beneath the sea. I want to peel my skin off and remove the imperfections, shed the skin of reality to disappear into nothing, only leaving my atoms behind. Or maybe just to rise above it in my purest form, but no matter how hard I try, I just can't believe that such a thing would really exist. I want to feel like myself, act like myself, instead of feeling taken over by performance and impulsiveness.

I stay in the background, occasionally offer intimacy and comfort, but I don't want to infect them with my dysfunction. I yearn for attachment that I can never fully commit to, just as much as I loathe having to be attached at all. I have close friends, I've had a long-term boyfriend for over six years, but these feelings still remain. I discard myself before anyone can discard me, because when I try to share my inner world, the multiple-selves that linger and become characters with their own inner worlds, it's like I'm sharing an infectious disease. It's too painful. I don't want to feel rejected like that ever again, because it happens over and over. This, in part, is why the internet feels safer too; they can't force me to be institutionalized, and they can't see the self-destruction that exists in my physical reality.

I think I made this publicly because, in a weird way, trying to write it down in an actual journal comes out so disjointed, like my voice was twisted as soon as it reached paper. And maybe if someone sees this, maybe if they understand, then they don't have to feel alone like I do.

It feels like more than just depression, but I can't admit to it. I don't want to be this way. I just want it to leave.

[you-aremy-sunshineeeee]

my nose is soggy rn

[starlessea]

Eye For Detail (Daryl Dixon/Reader)​

Sequel to Sketchbook Confessions

Summary: You try to sketch Daryl in return. Except, you draw his smile a little crooked, and the eyes are wonky... And Daryl completely loves it.

Words: 2490

Warnings: Language.

The courtyard was still and quiet, free from the dinner-time rowdiness going on behind prison walls. Well, it was almost quiet; Daryl's scribbling over paper sounded out faintly beside you, as you watched him work. At first, he'd been opposed to the idea of company, but after a while it has become almost like a weekly tradition - in which you'd both bask in the comfortable silence together. You'd even started to bring your own notepad, in your attempts to learn how to sketch from the man.

At first, your drawings were anything but good. Sometimes, even you couldn't tell whether you'd drawn a landscape or a strange, abstract fruit bowl. Yet, Daryl was a good teacher. Where he lacked patience normally, it seemed like he had ample to spare with you. He'd shown you how to use the different charcoals, and had even come back with more art supplies after his latest run.

It was coming up to dusk, and the sky was a brilliant mix of blue and grey hues. There were clouds gathering overhead, too, and you wondered whether there was a storm brewing behind them. Your notepad remained closed over your lap, since you still hadn't gathered the confidence to open it yet. Daryl hadn't noticed, however - too absorbed in his own work to pick up on the way you tentatively thumbed over the spine of your book.

"I tried to draw a person the other day," you finally admitted, "I don't know how you do it."

Daryl stopped what he was doing, rubbing circular motions over the paper to try and blend out his charcoal lines. He looked over at you, and you laughed gently at the black fingerprints littering his cheeks.

"Who was it?" he mumbled, eyeing you as you gathered your sleeve over your hand.

You shuffled over to the man slightly, and used the material to wipe away the charcoal stains over his skin, feeling him squirm slightly beneath your touch as you did so.

"It was you," you told him, and finally he kept still.

His stare bore into you, and suddenly it felt as though you'd been set on fire. You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, and edged away from Daryl as soon as you'd finished cleaning him up.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of an excuse you knew he wouldn't believe. You sighed, knowing it was no use.

"Well, it was a poor attempt at Daryl," you confessed, glancing down at your sketchbook sheepishly. "Maybe a Darren at best."

You'd expected him to laugh at your joke, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed intrigued. He closed his own notepad, and you worried about whether the charcoal would smudge.

"Show me." Daryl said softly, his eyes flickering over to your lap.

You bit your lip, wiping off the cover of your sketchbook before opening it.

"Don't laugh," you warned him, shaking your head slightly.

You didn't think that he would, but you suddenly felt self-conscious. You'd drawn the portrait in your cell a few nights ago when you couldn't sleep - with the page illuminated by soft lamp-light. You remembered the feeling of the linen sheets beneath you as you sprawled out over your mattress, trying your best to shade the stubborn parts. You had tried - really you had. Except, you'd discovered that art came more naturally to some than others.

"Your eyes are crooked, and I drew your nose too big." you grimaced, settling your gaze over the portrait as you inspected its faults. "I'm sorry."

In natural lighting, it looked a lot worse than you had remembered. You tried to snap the book closed, but Daryl's palm prevented you from doing so. He was silent, and you watched his eyes slowly trail over the paper, taking in all of the details.

"Fine, you can laugh," you exclaimed, overwhelmed by his lack of response. "Okay, just say something-"

"Can I keep this?" Daryl interrupted, glancing up to meet your eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It took a few seconds to comprehend his words, before you finally shook your head a little too quickly.

"No!" you cried, trying to snatch the book from his grasp. "I can draw you a better one."

Daryl didn't give up his grip, and only shook his head back at you in return.

"Nah, I wan' this one."

Any argument you had bubbling up was quickly quelled when you caught sight of his expression. He seemed deadly serious, and you felt your own fingers loosen over the sketchpad as a result. The man slipped it away from you, and brought the book onto his own lap, continuing to look over it.

"But it's bad," you retorted, weakly.

You knew you had lost at this point. You had learned your stubbornness from Daryl himself, after all. The man never was one to know when to back down.

The courtyard seemed a lot darker than it had only a few minutes ago. The clouds had gathered to be more dense and thick, and blocked out the remaining light left over from the setting sun. It would be hard to keep drawing like this, you thought - yet, Daryl seemed more preoccupied now.

"E'eryone gotta start somewhere" he told you, "an' I don' want ya to throw it out."

You watched as he trailed his charcoal-stained, calloused fingers along the page - careful not to leave any marks over the pristine, white paper. Even your sketchbooks looked worlds apart from one another. Yours was neat, each drawing labelled, and your lines clean; Daryl's was a collection of blackened fingerprints alongside scrawled handwriting, and the occasional crumpled page.

"Shoulda seen my first drawings," Daryl went on, looking out towards the field, and at the forest behind it. "Merle found one when I was a kid an' told me it was a shit donkey."

You cocked your head to the side, listening to him.

"Was meant to be superman," he explained, with an expression far too serious for his words.

You snorted, and the man whipped his head over to scowl at you.

"I'm sorry-" you choked out, not missing the way his lips quivered as they fought back a smile of his own. "I must have swallowed a bug."

Not long after that, the feeling in your gut turned out to be right. The storm clouds had finished gathering, and soon the first droplet of rain landed over your paper - smudging the line you'd just drawn. You glanced over at Daryl, but before he'd even had time to reply, the downpour started. It went from a single raindrop to a raging storm in a matter of seconds, leaving you both scrambling to collect the strewn sheets of paper and charcoal pieces trembling over the ground. With your supplies bundled up in your arms, the two of you ran towards the cellblock - yelling through the sounds of the rain along the way.

Once you had reached Daryl's cell, you were soaked through. The man had dragged you there since it was closer, but it hardly made a difference. Your shirt was stuck to your skin, and you were left clutching soggy handfuls of paper - bleeding ink over Daryl's stone floor. He helped you set down the supplies onto his desk, gathering up whatever was salvageable, and throwing the rest away. Luckily, most of the pastels and charcoals had been kept safe, but a lot of loose sheets had been sacrificed to the greater good in the process.

You laughed, taking in the sight of the man. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, and you watched as stray droplets ran over his cheeks. He quickly glanced around the room and retrieved one of his shirts, before offering it to you. You took it from him and smiled, waiting for Daryl to turn his back on you before starting to change.

"Looks like the weather had other plans," you noted, pulling the dry shirt over your head. "At least it washed away that god awful drawing I did of you."

You untucked your hair from the collar, and smoothed out the material over your body. Behind you, you heard the sound of a zip, and peered over your shoulder to see Daryl taking off his own leather jacket. As he did so, you noticed that he'd been concealing something beneath it, and squinted to try and make out what it was.

"Looks jus' fine to me," the man mumbled, holding up the dry piece of paper for you to see.

You scoffed; he'd stuffed your drawing there to keep it safe. You couldn't prevent the smile spreading over your face as you looked at him in disbelief. He gave you a teasing smirk back, before setting the picture carefully onto his desk with the others.

"Y'know," Daryl said quietly, "s'a lot easier to draw from real life."

You glanced over at your drawing, knowing what he was getting at. You were acutely aware of its flaws, but you just didn't have the experience to know how to fix them yet.

"I know what you look like," you quipped back.

It was the truth. Perhaps you even knew a little too well.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before walking over to where you were standing.

You could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't entirely believe you. One of the first things he'd taught you was that there could never truly be a good enough replacement for the real thing. Though, you had to disagree. You felt like you knew exactly how Daryl Dixon looked - you just couldn't translate it to paper.

The man stopped directly in front of you, so close that you could see his chest rising and falling. He lifted one hand slowly, tentatively even, so that you didn't get scared by his actions. Then, he hovered his palm gently over your eyelids, flicking them shut so that your world went dark.

"What colour are m'eyes?" he asked.

His hand was cold over your face, from where the rain had soaked his skin. You knew that he was trying to teach you a lesson, but you thought that perhaps you'd use the opportunity to teach him one back.

"Blue," you answered, without hesitation.

You desperately wanted to see the man's expression, but all you could do was imagine it.

"An' what-" Daryl continued, but you cut him off.

"A greyish blue," you went on, not entirely satisfied with your answer. "Like the colour of the sky before a storm."

Daryl removed his hand from over your eyes, but you kept them shut. Your fingertips brushed over the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, and you felt like you could picture the way it looked in your mind just from the texture of the material.

"Your hair is brown. The same shade as that desk near your bed," you told him, pointing in the direction you remembered it to be. "And it falls just above your neck, and is slightly curly at the ends." You laughed, considering your next words. "Especially just after you wash it."

Daryl remained silent, and you tried to picture the type of look he had in his eyes. You thought that perhaps you should stop, that you'd made your point clear - but you were in too deep to turn back now.

"And you have two moles," you said quietly - and wondered whether he had heard your voice tremble, too.

You reached out your hand slowly, trying to find the other man. Your palm made contact with his chest, and you let your fingertips trail up until you reached his neck, and then his face.

"One by your nose," you told him, resting your palm over his cheek, "and the other near your lip."

You tried to find it, but your thumb accidentally brushed over his lip, instead. Your heart jumped in your chest, and your eyes flickered open unintentionally.

"I'm sorry-" you blurted out, but the words tapered off as you noticed Daryl's stare.

The man stood perfectly still in front of you, letting your hand rest over his cold, damp skin. You quickly pulled away, glancing off to the side nervously. Though, the both of you knew that you'd gone too far to make any poor excuses now. You'd passed a boundary, but you couldn't say that you wanted to take a step back, either.

"Tha's one eye for detail ya got," Daryl said, after a few seconds had gone by.

You shook your head. "Only when it comes to you," you admitted.

Daryl looked off to the side, and then back, but you continued before he had the chance to interrupt.

"I know I'm not the best artist, but I wanted to show you how you look through my eyes, too."

Daryl raised his hand again, but this time it wasn't to block out your sight. Instead, he just rested his palm softly over your cheek - and despite how cold it was, you leant into his touch.

"Ya jus' did," he said, and gave you a small smile.

You could still hear the storm outside, as the occasional breeze whistled its way past the cracks of the cell block, or made the tree branches batter up against the windows. Sometimes, the draft even made those loose sheets flutter over the desk, in a kind of muffled, paper applause.

"Maybe I should just swap out pencils for words," you told the man. "They seem to do the job better."

He nodded in agreement, letting his hand drop back down to his side.

"Hey, Daryl?" you asked, but you already had his full attention.

"Mhm."

You decided to put your words into practice straight away, so that you wouldn't forget exactly how you felt in this moment.

"You mean a lot to me," you admitted, "in a way I don't think I'd ever be able to describe."

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, and you wished to have the talent to capture that expression with pencil and charcoal one day.

"But I still wanted to try," you finished, and waited for his response.

Except, Daryl wasn't a man of words - and he reminded you of that as he reached for his sketchbook. His fingers were still damp, and you watched as they left watery prints over the pages as he flicked through them. He finally stopped once he reached the last one, showing you his latest sketch.

It was stained with raindrops that hadn't dried yet, from where the storm had first broken out and Daryl hadn't reacted quick enough. Yet, even though it was a little smudged and wrinkled, you could still make out that it was you - from where you had been sitting right next to him in that courtyard.

The man set the book down so that the page remained open on his desk, and picked up the other loose-sheet drawing that you'd done of him - and placed them together.

"Me too," Daryl said.

And that was all you needed to hear.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Also, here is my buy me a coffee! If you enjoy my writing, tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

A/N AHH. I just loved this 2 part story.

Tag List:

@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @speakinglikeconstellations @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli @julesmalek @fuseburner @riverscyberwife @browneyes528 @julesclues @diaryofkali @solinarimoon @ssonia13 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jocyc1997 @bvbwestfall @graniairish @bitchynicole @whitexwingedxdoves @potatochic2003 @suranne-doesstuff @witch-of-letters @sweatywildpanda @daryldixonstorm @btsiguess-kpop @dead-leviathan @reichelhache @thatmemechick @lokiswhqre @marylimlp @jodiereedus22 @shittyoudidntneedtoknow @fantaziescapade​ @abbyz28

[comingyourlugubriousness]

heheheh >:3

Sunflower

Lilac 

Daisy 

Lavender

Winterberry

Snapdragon

Sunflower - What name(s) were you originally thinking of calling your OC?

Answered that here!

Lilac - Does your OC have a comfort item? If so, what is it?

I'm going to say comfort item is different than most important possessions bc that would be their 3ds from their world, the ghost camera, and the gift they got from Idia.)

Yume has many comfort items! Lots of stuffed animals a fav blanket ect. One of their fav is a teddy bear they got from Sam, it has a minor enchantment to wrap its little stuffed arms around a person when they squeeze it! So it literally hugs you back!

Daisy - What inspired you to create your OC?

A lot of different things but at the end of the day **Pinocchio's voice** its just me~ I explain more in this post!

Lavender - How does your OC cope with loud noises?

Yume isn't good with sudden loud noises! (Which is why they really don't like Sebek off rip, man yells outta nowhere). If they know the loud noise is gonna come their fine and sometimes might not even react. They play some horror games with Idia sometimes and occasionally can even predict a jump scare a few seconds before it happens. It's funny bc it distracts Idia from the game and makes him get even more scared. (all in good fun of course)

Winterberry - Use one or more photos that encapsulates your OC's clothing style.

(At school they lean towards more masculine looks to fit in with the all boy school NRC, but in their free time they dress more gender-neutral or even fem. They like cutesy oversized things! Comfort is important!!)

Snapdragon - What is your OC's most used phrase? LMAO Idk if Yume has a catchphrase. At this point it's probably "Pause." just bc I'm a walking meme with a 13-year sense of humor ꉂ (´∀｀)ʱªʱªʱª

[a-is-for-abel]

"“I’m moving.” He froze, glancing up at his friend. The other boy’s eyes were gleaming with suppressed sobs, breath hitching and jaw clenched. “Mom got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

Inspired by this prompt by @givethispromptatry

Sand and shells crunched under the belly of the kayak as it ran aground. With a wobble and a curse he tumbled into the water, paddle floating away from him and kayak shooting off in the opposite direction.

"Fuck."

He scrambled to collect both, tossing the paddle up onto the beach and grabbing the handle at the bow of the kayak to tow it onto shore.

"You're late."

He rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to see Warren in all his cut-offs and sandals glory. "And you're early."

Warren crossed his arms. "I'm literally the most on time, dude."

"Whatever, just-- Help me grab the stuff."

He popped open the watertight chamber in front of the seat and reached into the belly of the kayak, all while Warren struggled to pull the backpack out from under the cage of bungee cords at the front.

"Just unhook them, dude," he said, his cellphone and two unopened cream sodas finally in hand.

"Don't tell me how to do it."

"It's not going to--"

"Shit!" Warren yelped, recoiling and clutching his hand.

"Told you."

Warren flicked him off, but turned to do what he said anyway.

"Come on, suns gonna start setting soon." He grabbed his backpack from Warren and stuffed the drinks and his phone inside.

"What? Afraid of some gators?"

"No," he said. "Rather a gator than my dad."

Warren grimaced. "He still got you on that curfew?"

"Yup."

He picked his way through the mangrove thicket that cut the beach off from the rest of the spoil island. The roots of the black mangroves jutted up like fingers through the sand and the stilts of the red mangroves tried their best to snag his feet as he ducked under the sprawling web of an orb weaver hidden in their midst. Thankfully, it cleared out past the initial wall of foliage, becoming more barren with only the occasional thicket.

He remembered when his dad had led them through here the first time and explained that the mangroves kept the spoil islands standing. That when hurricanes and storms threatened to wash them away, their roots would act like a little army, keeping off any barrage and harboring whatever took up shelter under them.

He frowned. His dad and him hadn't come out here since--

"Fuck, fuck, fu--" Warren sputtered behind him, high-pitched.

"Web?" he asked, glancing back to see Warren flinching away from a tree.

"Yeah, fuck--" Warren brushed his arms off frantically and patted at his hair. "Fucking spiders all over the fucking place, man. They call it Mosquito Lagoon, but it really should be spider god damn la-- Fuck!"

"Nice one, ‘spider god damn la-fuck’ really has a special sort of ring to it."

Warren shot him a glare and dusted off his shoulders and the front of his shirt with quick flicks. "You owe me for psychological damages..."

"Come on, we used to come out here all the time."

"When I was like ten! And with your dad!" Warren cowered away from another web that sprawled from a lone tree. "And I didn't have as much free real estate for a spider to like, you know-- Crawl all over me or whatever."

"Free real estate?"

"Yeah, you know the whole--" Warren gestured vaguely. "The meme."

"God, please stop," he groaned. "That shits like, what, twenty-seventeen? That's like ancient history, man."

"It's a classic."

"Sure," he muttered. "A classic."

"Whatever, man, you're just not cultured."

He scoffed. "That's definitely it."

The other end of the island unfolded into a drop-off, all coquina and shells packed tightly together and built up into a mound that cut off abruptly into nothing. It was the highest point of the island-- of most of the spoils out here honestly-- even though it's small cliff had been eaten away and eroded over time, shrinking and shifting as the island shrank with the waves.

Dropping his backpack, he sat and dangled his legs over the edge, shoes knocking back against the coquina with a scratchy rasp. Warren plopped down beside him, keeping his legs folded and away from the plunge. Not that it was much of a sheer cliff. Only about eight feet down at the most, but enough that it felt like a lot. Compared to the average of three feet below sea level for the rest of the mainland; eight feet felt pretty fucking huge.

The tide lapped at the base of the island, the water hissing and coiling, writhing and alive where it squirmed through the holes bored through the coquina face and back out with a soft crackle. Crabs, tiny and mottled, darted in and around the rocks and he could see finger mullet, their scales flashing as they turned and twisted with the waves.

"You tied up your kayak, right?" Warren asked.

"Naw, but it should be fine. I pulled it up pretty far."

"I'm not sharing if you get stuck out here."

He frowned, shooting Warren his best puppy dog eyes. "You'd leave me out here?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "Fair."

Seagulls drifted in lazy circles far overhead, the occasional cry working its way down to them as the birds banked with the wind, following the gusts up to where they could catch a glimpse of a meal beneath the water. One wheeled down in a sudden arc, wings folded close to its side as it plummeted, beak first, into the water with a snap and then back out with a spray.

"Man, tough luck..." Warren said. "Hate whenever they miss. Makes me feel kinda bad."

"They're just gonna go do what the rest do and steal some fries at the jetty once they realize it's easier than doing this."

"Yeah, but it's like-- I don't know, man. Just wish he'd get a win."

"You don't even know him!"

"I feel like we have a connection." Warren pointed at where the seagull had gone back to patrolling the waters. "Me and seagull number one thousand and three, we're like this--" He crossed his fingers.

"Shut up," he snorted.

They watched the seagull try again and fail.

Warren started up a running commentary after the third attempt, cupping a hand over his mouth to imitate the slight grain of a sports announcer's microphone as he dramatized the whole thing. When the seagull finally managed to snag a fish Warren cheered, arms thrown up in a touchdown motion that he copied with a grin.

"Hell yeah, dude!" Warren high-fived him.

"Where's all that enthusiasm for when you're at my games?" he asked.

"Come on, dude, you know I always cheer the loudest. You're just too far out on the field to hear me."

"I'm sure that's what it is."

"Whatever, man-- What'd you bring anyway?" Warren grabbed his backpack and began rummaging through it. "Oh shit! Gummy bears, dude! And the good kind, hell yeah!"

"Yeah, grabbed them before I came here. That's why I was late, idiot."

Warren tore open the package. "Crimes forgiven, man. This is worth it."

"Give me that--" He pulled his backpack out of Warren's lap. "I also got some soda, but I guess all you care about is your precious little bears."

"Naw, naw-- Hand that over."

"Rude much?"

"What? You want me to kiss you on the lips for it first, bro?"

He laughed. "Now, that would be the polite thing to do."

Warren puckered his lips at him and then snatched the soda. "Fuck off."

"Not even a little kiss?" he teased.

"You dragged me out to spider-fuck-nowhere, while it's ass fucking hot out and where it smells like rotting fish taint-- Just to watch the fucking sunset, when we could have sat on my roof and done the exact same thing-- You expect a kiss for that?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Bro code."

Warren snorted. "Hand me a bottle opener, dip shit."

He popped open his own bottle and passed it over to Warren, who struggled for a moment before finally getting it with a triumphant 'whoop'. The mixture of saccharine flavored soda and the slight rotting stench of algae, and whatever else the lagoon had to offer, wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't terrible. It was familiar.

It was homely in it's off kilter sort of way.

"So, why'd you bring me out here anyways?" Warren asked.

He sighed and kicked his heel back against the coquina. "I’m moving.”

Warren sucked in sharply and he glanced over at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the water below his feet. "Dad got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

"Dude…"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I just--"

"Is that why you decided it'd be a good idea to sneak out and go to that dumb party with me?" Warren asked, frowning.

"I figured it would be one of the last chances I had to do something fun, you know. Here. Before I just-- Leave all this shit forever. I mean, we're moving to fucking Ohio, man. Where the fuck am I gonna find a party on an island out there?"

"Right…"

"And look, fuck my dad--"

"Jake--"

"No, fuck him-- He didn't even--" he huffed. "Things were looking up, man. Varsity lacrosse in sophomore year, that's huge, dude. And I wasn't just the fucking loser kid in the back of class anymore and he just--"

"Works rough here, dude..." Warren cut him off, sighing. "Space programs taking a shit. Whole island's taking a shit, really. Plenty of people left the first time NASA tanked, remember? It's just… it happens, man."

"So, you're just fine with it then?" he asked, brows furrowing. "We're never going-- I'm never going to see you again and you're just okay with that?"

"It's not forever!" Warren said, throwing out his hands. "There's planes, man! It's the twenty first fucking century. We got phones, dude. We'll stay in touch."

He grit his teeth and looked down.

"Jake, bro. C'mon-- Look at me."

He met Warren's eyes.

"It's gonna be okay, dude." Warren said, smile wide, and he could see the little falter at the edges, but he didn't call him on it. "Look--" Warren held up his bottle. "We'll cheers on it."

"Cheers on what?"

"To staying in touch, to meeting up in the future. To staying friends and all that, I don't know."

"To you finally getting a boyfriend?"

"Actually, you know what, I'm not going to miss you at all."

"Come on--" he grinned, nudging Warren with his shoulder. "You'll miss me."

"Yeah," Warren chuckled, looking down with a small smile. "I will..."

His fingers tightened around the glass bottle in his hand, bottom lip threatening to worry between his teeth. "Look, let's do your dumb cheers thing before it gets too sentimental or whatever."

Warren sighed, seeming to shake himself off before raising his soda bottle above his head and towards the slowly setting sun. "To us."

"To us?" He wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that kinda cheesy?"

"Just shut up and do it."

"Fine..." he grumbled with a grin, raising his bottle to clink against Warren's. "To us."

--

//photo credit// me and my phone c. 2020 //

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Title: Eyes on you

Pairing: Shaw x You

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2,901

A/N: You (Y/N) are not the MC in MLQC. This is a plunny that's been bugging me for quite a while, I had to write it. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own MLQC or its characters, but I do own the concept of this fic.

There were a few mysteries in this world that the esteemed Archeology Graduate Professors at Loveland University can't explain - for instance, the formation of the Stonehenge, the exact location of the lost city of Atlantis, the origin of the Nazca lines… and your presence at the Metro Art Gala dressed to the nines, positively gleaming as you strode arm in arm with your classmate and Thesis partner Shaw, who seemed like the perfect gentleman that evening. Thanks to your work at the Loveland Museum, you scored two invites to the gala featuring the recently discovered works of a well-known artist - an event any Archeology fanatic wouldn't let pass. The two of you walked along with LFG's Exhibition Hall, pausing occasionally to admire one of the recently discovered sculptures by the Renaissance artist D'Romani. As you both looked at the intricacies of the artwork in front of you, your charming companion would lean in slightly and whisper something in your ear, causing you to roll your eyes or stifle a giggle. 

To the guests in the prestigious gala, the two of you looked like two young people at the cusp of falling in love, but the members of the Faculty of the Graduate School of Archeology saw it differently - this was a real-life mystery if they'd seen one. 

As your eyes swiftly swept through the entire room, you could see that your professors only had one question in mind - how'd this happen? How did two people as different as day and night, who argued with each other throughout Graduate studies, end up amiably enjoying each other's company tonight? 

You drew a sharp breath and sighed. The answer was simple: Your Thesis defense was right around the corner. You needed him to cooperate, you were willing to go to great lengths to make it happen. And your Thesis partner (unfortunately) was ready to take full advantage of the situation. 

***

"Tell me why we're doing this again, " you said through the door that separated you and your date, as you were putting on the dress you bought (or invested on, as he casually stated) for tonight's gala, which he insisted on attending with you. It was six in the evening on a Friday, and you had just arrived home after cramming your workload at the Loveland Museum and foregoing your meal breaks just so you could leave work at exactly five-thirty. 

"I already told you a couple of times - you want me to cooperate with you so you can pass our Thesis, and I need a reason to be around her," the purple-haired man waiting at the other side of your bedroom door called out nonchalantly. "You can drop your fantasy about me asking you out because I'm attracted to you."

You hissed silently at his snarky remark and counted to ten. You haven't even left your apartment yet you already wanted this night to be over. "How do you even know she's gonna be there?"

She - the Miracle Finder Producer, the object of your Thesis Partner's fantasies, and as fate would have it, his brother's girlfriend. 

"They're doing a show featuring our Thesis adviser. Didn't he tell us about it during our last consultation?" He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I wasn't listening," you shot back, as you took off your ponytail and started styling your hair with your curling iron. You chose a one-shoulder fitted black dress that stops right above your knees, so you thought of wearing your hair down for a change. 

"Ah, yes. You were too busy looking at your notes, trying to prove me wrong as always."

You closed your eyes, as you continued to make big beach waves and prayed to the gods you wouldn't commit murder tonight. 

"How much longer are you gonna take?"

"Excited much?" You asked, smirking while you now removed your glasses and put on your contacts. "You sound like a teenager excited to see his crush in a school fair!"

"Don't compare me to you!" 

"I don't have designs on anyone in the party," you called back. "Unless your brother's attending the event, that is. From what you've been telling me, he seems like a great guy."

Silence. You arched an eyebrow as you strained your ear to listen for any sign of life outside your bedroom door. What must your grunge-rock skater boy-turned-date-for-the-evening be thinking? 

"Do you want to pass our Thesis or not?"

You struck a victory pose at his remark. Finally, one point - you, Shaw - about twenty. 

"Are you done yet? This suit is really uncomfortable. Damn, why do people even wear these?"

"Because they're decent?" You shot back. "You know, you can always go home if you're not comfortable in your attire because when we get there, you need to act decent, too. Can't have your usual swagger in a formal affair."

"Just hurry it up already!"

You rolled your eyes as you applied your nude-colored lipstick to finish off your look before putting on your black stilettos, and stuffing your phone, wallet, and your makeup in your purse. 

"All done," you replied, as you finally emerged from your room. 

***

A part of you wished that the dynamics between you and Shaw were different. While he was a pain in the neck, and too carefree for his own good, you also thought he made for a good intellectual sparring partner, quite attractive, and it was hard to deny that he's got your heart beating double-time whenever he got too close for comfort like he was at that very moment. 

"My, you two kids seem to be having fun tonight."

You gasped, at the sound of the voice behind you, and you felt your date nudge you ever-so-subtly while straightening.

"Hey, Professor Adler," he said in his usual unruffled tone, his lips stretched into a smirk as he held his hand out to your Anthropology professor and Thesis adviser, who watched you both amusedly. His gesture made your eyes shot wide open, you thought they'd fall right off. Shaw shaking someone's hand? That's one for the books. 

"Shaw. Fancy seeing you here," the stout middle-aged man greeted while shaking your date's hand. "This isn't your usual scene though."

"Yeah, I know, but I can't exactly turn a pretty lady down, can I?" 

"I can see that," your professor said as he looked at you appraisingly. "Well, well, you clean up well, Miss (y/n)."

You fought the urge to squirm at the older man's words when you heard your date cluck his cheeks with his tongue and suddenly felt his arm around your shoulders, pressing you protectively close to his side. 

***

"All done!" You happily announced as you stepped into the living room of your small apartment where your date was impatiently waiting for you. 

You could've sworn he was stunned for a second or two before he shook his head and tried to regain his usual impassive expression. Finally, he stood and walked closer to assess you better. 

"You're not wearing your glasses. I thought you said you're practically blind without them?" 

You cocked your head to one side. Out of all the things he could've complimented or called out, that's the first thing he noticed? 

"Wouldn't it look awkward if I wore glasses to a formal event?"

"Your hair is all curly," he continued as if you didn't say anything. "And your shoes are so tall, won't you trip? Also, surely you have a jacket to go with that dress, right?" 

You stared at him in disbelief. Why did this carefree, bass-playing skater boy turn into your dad all of a sudden? 

"Uh…"

"Well, at least you're not wearing red lipstick. You don't have to try too hard to look sexy. Geez! I've got plans of my own this evening, so don't expect me to be your bodyguard," he continued to mumble as he circled around you. Before long, you felt something warm and heavy on your shoulder. His coat?

"It's just until we get to the venue," he shrugged as he led you to the car he borrowed for tonight. "I don't want people seeing you freeze to death."

You sighed, your shoulders slumped as you followed your date to the car. You already expected he wouldn't throw you a compliment for looking like a proper human tonight, and you cursed yourself for feeling gutted over it anyway. 

 ***

"So, which one of these sculptures did you like best, Professor?" You sighed in relief as Shaw changed the subject, his arm still wrapped around you, making you blush furiously. 

"Oh, I have to say I liked Eros and Psyche best. In case you haven't seen it yet, it's located a little further down the hall near the bar area," the older man was starting to explain when someone tapped his shoulder from behind. 

"Excuse me, Professor Adler," a gentle voice called out, making both the professor and Shaw jump. From behind the old man, a pretty petite with brown hair and big brown eyes, and the biggest smile on her face stepped up. "My name is MC from Miracle Finder."

Almost immediately, Shaw withdrew his arm around you, almost causing you to stagger backward. He straightened up and feigned disinterest. 

"Hey. It's a little rude how you stepped in while I was talking to the Professor," he said, his tone teasing. 

"Oh, I didn't notice you here. Do you mind if I talk to your Professor? We've invited him for an interview about the exhibit," the girl said sweetly. 

Based on how unconsciously coy she acted around Shaw, and the way he kept egging her, there was no doubt that this was the girl he was crushing on. You felt like the odd person out all of a sudden and needed to step away. 

You backed away slowly, careful not to rouse their attention because it would probably suck if you knew how Shaw would introduce you to his little crush. As soon as you were in a safe distance, you turned and walked aimlessly down the hall, pausing briefly at paintings or sculptures that caught your fancy, looking at its intricacies as you did so earlier. But somehow, it wasn't as fun as it was before, so you moved on quickly, to give way to the other guests who also wanted to view the artwork.

Finally, you came upon the bar and decided to rest your tired feet at the far corner, hidden from the rest of the world. Sighing, you slipped your feet off your stilettos and quietly watched as the guests around you - mostly couples - happily chatting away as they enjoyed the beauty of the art around them and the wonderful music that filled the air. You knew somewhere in the crowd, your date was fawning over his lady love, probably getting in the way of her filming your professor. 

Tch. 

You knew he liked her - he always told you he did. And why wouldn't he? MC was pretty, seemingly sweet, and dainty - the kind of girl any guy would like to protect. And you. You were the opposite. You lived for your work, were 'one of the boys', and didn't need anyone to protect you - that's just how you were - and now you started to realize that maybe guys don't exactly like that. At least not Shaw. 

Wait, what were you thinking? You scolded yourself as you shook your head. Why were you even thinking of what he liked when you don't even like him to start with. Or did you? 

"Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me?" You groaned when a cold bottle of beer and a frozen glass was placed in front of you. 

"I was gonna ask you that myself." 

You straightened up in your seat and shot a look at the guy seated beside you. Dressed in a nice grey suit, he smiled as he raised his beer bottle in front of you. 

"You look like you needed a drink. I hope the beer is okay. They don't have fruit beer or soda," he said calmly, his amber-colored eyes never leaving yours. 

"Y-yeah. Beer is perfect," you replied while pouring the amber liquid into the glass. "Thanks," you muttered before raising the glass to your lips to gulp down some liquid courage. 

"I saw you with Shaw earlier -"

The name on his lips drove you to a coughing fit, as you choked on your drink. "Sorry, " you mumbled in between coughs. 

"No, I'm sorry," the brown-haired guy said, as he cautiously and politely patted your back. "I didn't mean to bring that up. I was just curious."

"It's fine," you replied when you finally regained your composure. "Yes, we're just classmates in Grad school who decided to check this exhibit out for the heck of it."

"Classmates, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what we are," you said, taking a sip off your glass. "Grad school classmates."

"Are you telling me or telling yourself?"

You looked up and saw him smiling. There was something about Dreamy McHandsome who was seated beside you that felt so familiar yet different at the same time, but you couldn't point a finger at what it was exactly. 

"We're classmates, and we're working on our thesis together. But we're not friends - far from it even. We hate each other's guts."

"Can't blame you for doing so," he shrugged as he drank his beer. 

"Yeah. He dragged me here so he can get with someone he's been crushing on for so long," you rambled on, frowning. 

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"The Miracle Finder Producer. You know, the pretty girl in a blue top and white skirt. He's been going on and on about her for weeks…"

"You mean my girlfriend?" 

His girlfriend. You choked on your drink once again. "Y-y-your girlfriend? You mean to say…" You gasped. Has the beer made you stupid? You've barely drunk half of it, you thought as you fought to regain your dignity. This was Shaw's brother you were talking to - and boy, we're they blessed with good genes…

… And the same social awkwardness, you noticed, judging by how he kept his hand at your back, but not exactly touching it, as if trying to assess if he had to pat you or not. 

When you finally calmed down, he cleared his throat and gave you a small smile. "Don't worry. She talks to me about their conversations. I know what that guy is playing at, and I most definitely know he's not after my girl," he said, his voice broke no room for doubt. "My name is Gavin..."

"Yeah, I know…"

"You - what?"

"Oh," you said, tapping on your glass nervously. "Shaw kinda mentioned it in passing before."

"I see."

"So, what were you saying earlier about Shaw?"

"Oh. From what my girlfriend tells me, he's got his sights set on…"

"Ahem," you heard someone say loud enough for you and Gavin to turn your heads around. And there, standing behind you, was an angry-looking Shaw. You sat up, your gaze shifting between the two brothers as the air started to thicken with tension. "I talk to someone for a minute and the next thing I knew, my date walks out on me and right into the one person I'd hate for her to meet."

"Well, if you were just honest with her as with a lot of other things in your life, maybe she wouldn't have left your side earlier," Gavin retorted flippantly. "Is she finally done with filming?"

Shaw simply grunted in reply as he watched his older brother finish his bottle of beer and stand. "Well, Miss, there's a lot I've heard about you. Seems somebody couldn't stop talking about you, but I'll leave it at that." 

With a wink and a mischievous smile upon his face, the brown-haired guy sauntered off to look for his better half, as you and Shaw watched in awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat and glanced at you. "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, shakily. 

"So, about what that jerk said -"

"Yes?" You asked, feeling your heart hammer against your chest by the second.

"Whatever he said is not true," he said dismissively, as he took his coat off and draped it over your shoulders. "I told you before, I don't find you the least bit attractive."

You felt tears starting to sting your eyes, as he continued with his harsh commentary. "You're tough, highly opinionated, and you always want to come out on top. I don't find those attractive at all," he said. "I prefer a damsel in distress. I want someone clingy… someone, needy."

"I know that -"

"Oh do you?" He teased, his amber eyes twinkling. "You seem to know a lot about me."

"We've been working together for months now," you said. "Of course, I'd know more about you."

"I see," he said, as he took a step closer to you and touched your cheek, rubbing the stray tear that had managed to slip down the side of your face. "So, you must know I'm also a good liar. After all, I've kept all these feelings to myself for quite some time."

He snickered when he saw your frown deepen and he bent down just as he had done so earlier, to whisper. "I made you think I liked someone else when in fact," his low voice made you shiver. "I've always eyes for you."

The End.

[nyctolovian]

(this is my first tma fic so i struggled a bit haha) Inspired by this amazing fancomic by @mod2amaryllis. I borrowed some of ur stuff cos it’s really just ;-; 

Summary: TMA 170 from Jon's perspective

Even as he stood outside the looming mansion, Jon could already hear the despair-brimmed tears of its victims drip upon its creaky oak floorboards. He also instantly Knew that this house expanded far beyond its original physical form, dipping far into the reaches of existential emptiness. As Jon lightly encircled his fingers around the metal of the door handle, its frigid seeped into his bones. He glanced to his side. The way Martin was steadying himself with deep controlled breaths as he worried at his lower lip sent a pang through Jon.

This was The Lonely’s domain after all.

However, Martin’s chestnut eyes also held steely determination. His voice, too, was firm when he said, “Let’s go in.”

“B-But are you going to be okay?” Jon asked, placing a gentle hand on Martin’s forearm. 

The huff Martin let out was resigned and he pursed his lips for a second. “It’s not like we can just – I don't know – saunter round the building now, can we?”

“I- Well, no, we can’t,” he mumbled, “but I still don’t want to force you through this.”

“I’ve come this far, Jon. I’m not letting you go on by yourself."

"Um, a break perhaps?"

"It's really fine," Martin assured. "I'm ready."

Gripping the strap of his bag, Jon nodded. “Alright. Remember to stay close then. I know the route.” He clenched his jaw and pushed the heavy door, which opened with a hollow groan. 

A long corridor stretched before them, but they couldn’t see much beyond several doors along it. There was a thick fog obscuring the rest of the house. Martin flinched as white mist extended through the doorway and curled slowly, like a thin finger beckoning him in. However, when Jon looked at Martin again, he was met with an adamant glare, so he licked his lips and faced the corridors again. 

As soon as he took the first step into the domain, he was enveloped in coldness. The shiver that ran through Martin as he followed told Jon that it wasn’t just him. 

A statement tickled the back of his throat but he pushed it down in the interest of safety. He didn’t want to lose himself in the statement as he had in the burning building. Leaving Martin stranded here would have worse consequences than a wake-up slap across his face.

Jon stood at the entrance, assessing the domain as best as he could.

Unlike Peter Lukas’ Lonely, which had strong winds that smelled of salt, this coldness was still and smelled like an immaculately sterilised ward. The fog here, unlike the moving clouds of the seas, snaked lazily around the house. Not to mention, there was an incessant tick-tock surrounding them but none of the clocks in sight had hands, as though time was simultaneously passing and standing still. He could also hear the muffled creaks all around the house, even above him. It was unnerving.

As he slowly and tentatively moved forward, Jon spotted several silhouettes shuffling around in the fog, but they didn’t see anyone as they passed each other by. He peered into the nearest room and saw a little girl shivering as she sat hunched on a green metal foldable chair. Tears dripped from her small chin as she hiccuped silently. Jon tore his gaze from her. 

Other than what was in his immediate surroundings, however, he couldn’t Know much else, other than the fact that a miasma of loneliness poisoned the air of this domain. With a hum, he said, “ How strange. I think The Eye can’t see much in this fog either.” He swung his hand backwards for Martin to take. “Let’s stay together until I can figure this…” His heart leapt to his throat.

He spun around. “Martin?”

Gone.

Only fog.

Frantically, Jon looked around. His breaths grew short and shallow. “Martin?!” he cried.

Gone.

He dashed through the corridor, searching, leaving no room spared. His voice broke as he called, “Martin!”

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Dread swallowed him whole as he scrambled around the mansion, passing by Lonely person after Lonely person. But Martin still couldn't be found.

“Martin! Where are you?!”

How could Jon just lose him? He was just behind! There wasn’t any logical way he could simply disappear from sight like this.

No, no. This distorted reality didn’t work logically anymore. People could very well up and vanish now. He shouldn’t have gotten distracted. 

“Shit.” Jon ran his fingers through his hair. “Wh-where would Martin– Should– Shit shit shit. I don't–" He took in a long shuddering gasp and licked his lips. "I need to look for him. I need…" 

Words that were not his bubbled in his chest, along with his swelling panic. His face was numb and his fingers tingled with terror.

"Wh-Where is he…" 

It was hard to breathe at all, as though the fog was stuffing his lungs. He felt the beginnings of a sob.

He took another deep breath. Then, the words spilled out of The Archivist's lips. "One might assume that because he smiled often, he was free of worries, " he began, his features growing slack. “ What nobody sees are the tendrils of mist that enlace, encase and entrap him. However, that does not matter now. For he sits in the Moorland House, and there is no more illusion. He is truly and perfectly a-alone .” The Archivist choked. “Th-There is n- not … No… No! H-he isn’t–” 

Jon slapped a hand over his mouth and fell to his knees. He gagged upon unspoken words, but he shoved them further downwards. Digging his fingers into the flesh of his arm, Jon forced himself to get out of his trance. Five seconds in, hold, five seconds out… Repeat. 

His heart was still racing as he pushed himself to his feet again, leaning against the white walls for support. “I will not take that from him! Never from him!” Jon spat, raising his head to The Eye that was surely staring back. “And we don’t need you to find each other!” 

He pulled a final defiant scowl at the entity before breaking into a run. “Martin!” he shouted. “Martin, where are you?”

God knows how long he had been running before he felt a familiar something flicker amidst the fog. Jon stopped in his tracks. His chest heaved as he strained his senses. 

… There!

He followed the wavering presence. It was a mere dim spot of light in the thick haze. But it was light nonetheless.

Occasionally, it would fizzle out like a feeble flame. When it did, it would send a shot of alarm through Jon, and he willed it to come back (“please, please, please”). Time and again, it listened to Jon's desperate prayers and returned. Sometimes, it gradually grew into a shimmer. Sometimes, it would sputter alight. Each time it came back though, it felt ever-so-slightly closer.

And Jon chased this distant lighthouse with all his might. 

Then, came a time when the light, after dying out for a while, crackled to life. It settled into a quivering glow and stabilised. 

Then, it grew. 

Jon gasped. “Martin!”

In the distance, he heard Martin’s voice, muffled but very much there.

"Martin!” he called.

A familiar silhouette moved from within the white heavy curtains of mist.

“Martin?”

The voice that responded pulled the weight off his chest. “Jon! Jon, over here!” Martin shouted, blessedly closer. 

“Oh! Martin, hold on. I-I’m coming. I just–”

Bursting through the fog, he spotted Martin, in the middle of the room, clutching a tape recorder to his chest. A wide smile broke across Jon’s face and he sprinted harder. “Oh, Martin," he breathed.

Tension melted from Martin's shoulders at the sight and he made his way over.

Jon shook his head. “Thank god. I-I was–” A wheeze of relief escaped him as they met in a tight embrace. He was practically enveloped by Martin, and the sensation calmed him as he rested his forehead against Martin’s firm shoulder. Eyes sliding shut, Jon drank in the scent of warm tea and comfort. “I-I thought you were behind me.”

“I thought you’d left me behind,” Martin admitted, arms trembling around Jon’s thin body. “Gone on without me.” 

Jon felt a shaky huff against his hair as worry returned to his features. “No, never! N-Never. I-I just-” he managed, pulling Martin closer. He couldn’t really register what he was even saying at this point; words fell out and tripped over themselves while Jon tried to explain, and tried to apologise. 

“It’s okay,” said Martin. Running cool fingertips against the nape of Jon's neck, he pressed a kiss to the top of his greying hair in what Jon could tell was a silent assurance that he was here. 

He was here.

[theangrypokemaniac]

Since no one cares about Alola I can therefore say what I want.

Team Rocket's Pokémon are all worthless toss. That's such a surprise from this oafish writing team.

Remember when Jessie and James had two each, to offer variety? Permitting them even that is too much focus nowadays.

We don't what anything interesting going on, thank you. Repetition is what we and they deserve.

Arbok, Weezing, Lickitung and Victreebel are spinning in their graves.

Stufful was missing for three years and she displayed not the slightest pang of concern until its belated invention. Given her temper she ought to have torn the island apart searching for her baby, but no.

Not bothered about Bewear. It shouldn't really be in this list as it didn't belong to them, although catching has no value anymore.

A bit thick are we? Or conforming to the usual parental standards?

Well, she's sufficiently neglectful that she let it out of her sight long enough for it to be crushed under a tree, then was too idle to come to the rescue. In consequence he was obliged to wait days until one of Lusamine's lackeys arrived.

She's 'Mama Bear' though, isn't she?

It's based on a red panda, is partly the colour of a black bear and as strong as a grizzly, but all that is a mere cover for its true nature as a Bear-Face Ham.

The modern pretence is that everyone's a vegetarian (are they balls), and Ursa Major lives on fruit, not, you know, flesh.

Just because it there's no hibernating in the tropics doesn't mean it can get by without a salmon now and again.

The name is stupid, since a red panda is not a bear. A play on words isn't clever if based on what it isn't.

They should've called her 'Pandamonia', or 'Pandour', which is a brutal soldier.

It is at least redeemed by battering the klepto cockroach into the next dimension. Good on 'er.

Mind you, this is Alola, a cesspit of incest, so it's probably some sick arrangement, like Bewear being slipped the length by that previously unmentioned Oakie-Dokie clone.

He's the spit of Jimmy Savile, thus every depravity is on the table.

Where's Stufful's dad? He buggered off too?

What kind of name is 'Stufful'? What's it made from, 'stifle' and 'suffocation'? 'Stuffed'?

Thanks for that. Whenever I see its ovine face I'm reminded of taxidermy.

Were Ursa Minor and Bewear described as mother and son, or were they 'friends'?

A series of games involving breeding and the 'anime' is too squeamish to even imply animals live in families.

I don't care either way for Stufful, but I'd like it better if its mouth wasn't a camel toe.

I understand it's a sea creature, and the contents of the oceans are their own brand of peculiarity, but looks like a limbless, undead spaniel plagued with extra teats. Its 'ears' resemble distended mammeries.

Hey, remember that interesting, original Pokémon James had called Victreebel? Let's do it again! And again! AND AGAIN!

Victreebel is a venus fly trap: an anomaly in nature as a carnivorous plant. It makes sense that the Pokémon version would be a bit more full-on in catching a meal.

New law: Team Rocket are required to collect monsters as ugly as themselves.

Hurting James was its personality quirk, particularly to it, fitting its nature, its 'thing'. It was never meant as a template for most of what he caught in the future.

Something is funny if it happens once, and can be now and again if done with a least a little flair.

Nothing repeated as a constant leaden thud is remotely amusing, but this is an unknown fact to Nintendo bone heads. They think certain events are utterly hilarious in themselves and require no finesse in application.

They have a checklist of moments obligatory to each episode, which explains the plodding lifelessness. Tick 'em off to keep the fans from being ticked off. All we supposedly care about is each gong struck, not how we got there.

At least Victreebel used to vary its behaviour:

Occasionally it even did as told without any chomping preamble.

It didn't do the exact same action every single time it was involved!

Mostly it swallowed James.

How long was it once Victreebel was chucked out on its leafy arse before Cacnea arrived?

Oh look, it's a Grass Pokémon and attacks James!

Sometimes it ate Jessie.

Carnivine got in on the action before Cacnea's run was even up: kick 'em when they're down why don't yer?

Oh look, it's a Grass Pokémon and attacks James!

Now we have Mareanie. Wasn't there a few in between? No, shush, they don't exist anymore.

Every bloody time it came out, it turned round and punctured him.

Every bloody time.

Ah, it's not a Grass Pokémon. That makes it totally new!

Oh yes, it's the complete opposite of Victreebel. It's Poison instead. Not like it at all.

Every bloody time it came out, it'd gnaw his head off.

Every bloody time.

That's endearing.

Oh but it is! It's just showing him love!

As that makes it alright!

If a muscular man squeezed his girlfriend so tightly he cracked her ribs, is that 'sweet' because he 'meant well' but his feelings overwhelmed him? Or is it A.B.H.?

Every bloody time it comes out, it injects James's head with toxin until it swells up into purple pustule of disease.

Every bloody time.

I never took Victreebel's assault as affection. To me they were real attempts to devour James, especially with the accompanying frenzied screech. Interpreting that as a positive emotion is bizarre to me.

At soon as James found it wedged in a Breeding Centre cage and opened the door it grabbed him, which appeared to be Victreebel lashing out in anger for what'd happened in the intervening period.

What Mareanie does is worse than the other three put together. At least they delivered mere bite marks or pinpricks, but it infects James!

Whole episodes of this programme have involved a Pokémon falling foul of Poison Powder and being on the verge of death, with all done to preserve it until Ash hunted down the cure, but now it's a big laugh, apparently.

Not one character ever has the wits about them to carry an Antidote, otherwise the writers wouldn't be able to fall back on the tired old race-against-time scenario, which is no such thing as we know they won't die.

Is it likely that James is always going to end up picking a violent Pokémon, of all the individuals of a race, of all the lifeforms in the universe?

Aren't his allowed to come with their own personality, or is there a set pattern they must follow, and when caught they absorb it, for fear they might be memorable?

Mind you, it's interesting the reactions these abuses provoke:

Victreebel eats James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Cacnea impales James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Carnivine chews James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Mareanie poisons James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Meowth claws James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Jessie beats James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Jessibelle whips James: EEVUL BITCH!!!

Mimikyu should be opposed for breaking it's own world.

To us, Pikachu is the most famous Pokémon, belonging to Ash, the protagonist, and the franchise's mascot.

To them, Pikachu is just another middling Pokémon hundreds of young Trainers catch, and holds no greater value.

It's blatantly a reference to Pikachu's real-life status, acknowledging itself as fiction. No Pokémon would hold the same significance for this design to work but him.

Otherwise why would Mimikyu, when it has the choice of every Pokémon that exists, and, if meant to be a believable world, every Pokémon we don't know exists, choose Pikachu to ape? Why wouldn't it pick a Legendary?

Alola Pikachu is looking off colour.

It's not even this specific Mimikyu, it's the entire species!

What, they work to a hive mind, incapable of individual tastes and opinions?

Do they all hate Pikachu too, even though the entire mouse population of Alola has been rounded up by that loon and trapped in a valley, or were we lumbered with the lone demented obsessive with a severe complex?

Is it well jel that Pikachu's a real one, whereas it can only manage to knock up a bog-standard costume with a face daubed by a chimp paralytic from scrumpy?

Well stop imitating it then! Invent your own design!

Oh come on. The animators can't even do that, hence its creation. You can hardly expect it to display inspiration if born from its absence.

I wonder if it hates Raichu. And Pichu. And Plusle and Minun. And the rest of the Pikachu derivatives, although it is one.

(As an aside, I don't know why Raichu, Marowak and Exeggutor were redrawn for this era, but not Pikachu, Cubone and Exeggcute. Why does the sweaty climate affect only evolutions?) 

Here's an idea: make Shiny Mimikyu have a different get up, not colour.

You can have that free, Game Freak. I'm too lenient with yer.

Presumably, Mimikyu hatches (already dead?) in all its eye-bleeding nastiness, and instinctively reaches for the discarded yellow bedsheet and pack of crayons that just so happens to be nearby, and the scissors to make the peep holes.

Them inbreds know how to litter.

Flippers?

Nah, it's probably hooks.

How is it born aware of a Pikachu's face, and why is it compelled to copy them?

Knowledge of his own ugliness is innate, thus he must cover his nakedness before it lays waste to the forest inhabitants.

Yet if you breed 'em, it emerges wearing it, like the cloth formed from left-over albumen and stained with yolk!

What's it reaching with? Paws?

Mittens?

Oh, and there was a deceased specimen in the series, so it's either a ghost, and nothing but bedsheet, or a zombie, and it's repulsive carcass has upped the ante by putrifying.

Even its name doesn't fit. Apart from the unsightly spelling, what's 'Mimikyu' about? It's not mimicking me.

Mimikyu? It should be Mimikchu!

And you know what? Even Nintendo agree their own inventions aren't good enough, because they made return almost impossible.

They hate these more than they do even the pre-Unova Pokémon, most of whom were condemned to a dark existence within the iron corridors of H.Q. and haven't been seen since.

• Growlie is such a beloved figure in James's life he's been involved all of twice.

• Dustox got pensioned off.

• James was practically bullied into gifting Cacnea to that cloying bitch Gardenia.

• Whilst he still tecnically owns Chimecho, it's as lost to him as any of them.

Remember Seviper, Yanmega, Carnivine and Mime Junior?

Hell, remember Woobat, Yamask, Frillish and Amoonguss?

Or Gourgeist and Inkay?

Of course, since the makers appear to have the Reverse-Midas Touch, Team Rocket still took that useless, wincing lump Wobbuffet to Galar instead of dumping it over the sea. Apparently we're stuck with it forever.

Arbok, Lickitung, Weezing and Victreebel got shafted, but THAT survives?

Yes? That's more the writers do. In current canon these Pokémon never lived at all. Dead memories in the haze.

[minsgirl]

Selcouth | ot7 mx series

Chapter: One, 

[GENRE]: fluff

[WARNINGS]: Please make sure to pay attention to warnings in each chapter.

[A/N]: My first full series! I’m not sure just how many chapters it will have at this point, but it will be fruitful. Also, I’m sorry it isn’t amazing. I am a new writer but I will definitely try my best on this. Written in y/n point of view.

Chapter One:

Shownu quirked his eye at you trying to piece your thoughts together. He couldn’t imagine what you're thinking right now. All he wanted to do was help or provide some kind of comfort to you. He could only just kept watching as you paced your livingroom carpet back and forth. Wondering what was wrong. He thought eventually you'd make a burn in your tracks like they do in the cartoons. 

“Okay, that's it” His shout caused you to stop dead in your tracks. Standing in place waiting for him to break the silence.

“ I can't watch you just walk back and forth like a mad man all day. It’s not good for your sanity. Can you please tell me what happened today and why you're doing.. this? “ He finished, gesturing around the area you were just pacing around.

You just stared at him with a blank expression on your face. You didn't know what to tell him, how to explain, or just simply couldn't, yet you wanted to so badly. Looking at his stern and slightly worried expression memories came fluttering in your mind.

 From grade eight and onward, you two have been practically joined by the hip. Becoming friends when randomly sat next to each other on the first day of school.

Now you’re a 25-year-old art school graduate. He’s a 27-year-old accounting major. Sometimes you laugh how widely different you two are, and yet you two are so compatible it's almost scary.

You became so attached to him, and he became just as attached to you. You loved him so much and were so thankful for his friendship. That's why you’re thankful he rushed over when you called him out of the blue, you couldn’t hide it anymore and he needed to know.

“ Shownu...”

He was thankful you finally spoke and replied with a simple “Hmm?”.

But then he noticed the tears welling in your eyes, something was very wrong.

Standing up from your sofa, he walked over to you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. In his softest tone, he let you know he was there for you. To which you returned a smile.

“ I have a confession...” You looked down to break eye contact with him and sighed.

“ About five months ago the animating company I worked for suddenly sold the rights over to our competitors and so lots of people lost their jobs. Including me. Since then I have been trying so hard to find another job. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn't want to worry you. I thought I would have a new job by now. My commissions aren't doing much anymore and I’m all out of any savings I did have.. I don’t know what to do Nunu.” You hadn��t noticed the tears streaming down your face. Shownu just stared at you while he was pulling all the information together in his head.

He realized this means for the past five months you’ve been struggling.

Probably not eating as well as you should have been and financially, as well as mentally, struggling.

He knew the rent in your apartment was high as your old job was overly decent pay. You were probably months behind on the rent, but knowing how stubborn you are, you’d never admit it.

He wiped your tears from your face and just looked at you with furrowed brows.

“Sometimes, you frustrate me so much.”  He breathed out, though it nearly sounded loving.

Dumbfounded, you just stood there. Watching as he broke away from you. You weren’t sure what he meant until you watched him walk towards your hallway making a beeline straight to your bedroom door.

“Hey! Shownu.. what are you doing?” You tried yelling for him again but he just silently disappeared away into your room, you now following close behind.

You studied him opening and closing different clothing drawers, grabbing handfuls of mix colored clothing and throwing them on your bed. Then he went to your closet, doing the same. Shortly after he reached for your luggage and started stuffing them.

“W-what are you doing...” You softly spoke, barely recognizing your own voice.

You just looked at him while he was practically throwing your entire wardrobe in luggage, followed by your necessities. Until the two hard shell cases couldn’t fit anything else.

“Wonho and I will come to get the rest later. In the meantime, we have a spare bedroom and that’s where you’ll be staying. When we get all your things you can have the entire basement. It’s like its own apartment, you’ve seen it.”

He sounded so firm and was still messing with the luggage, zipping them up and shuffling them about.

“No-”

“You’re not allowed to refuse y/n.” Shownu interrupted.

“Where do you think you’ll go? You obviously can’t afford this place anymore. Just stop, let me help you. For once, stop trying to act like you’re okay when it’s fucking obvious that you aren’t. Come on grab this and let's go.” He shoved the handle at you, which you took and followed him to the door.

“I can’t live with you rent-free. How much do you want? I don't’ have much but-”

He cut you off again, “I don’t want anything.”

Shownu isn’t dumb by any means though, and he knows you’ll insist on paying him and if he refused you would just transfer the money into his account or slide it into his wallet. Especially since his place was significantly more lavish than yours, he knows you’ll just insist more.

“Just...You know I live with six other guys. So we could use a girl's touch. It’d be nice. So it’s your job to keep the place tidy at all times, occasionally make us breakfast or lunch, or something. You’d be like our maid.” He kind of giggled.

Shownu was always shy when it came to things like this, speaking his feelings. He wasn’t good at expressing his emotions and you thought you saw a faint blush spread across his cheeks as well.

The drive to his house was in comfortable silence. You were drowning in thoughts of how it would be living with seven men. Not sure what exactly to expect, but you were kind of excited.

Kind of was an understatement. Flashes of his decor came flooding into your mind. Your place, well old place, was nice. Sure, but his place was amazing.