#i guess this is technically a ficlet

[enjoythesilentworld]

more than just a minute

in honor of 500 (!!) kudos on one of my favorite things I've ever written, just if for a minute, aka the fake marriage-friends to lovers au, here's a short little drabble I wrote about what those two (not) fake married boys are up to now 💜 and thank u so much for 500!!! wtf!!!

“Baby?”

Simon’s voice comes back slightly muffled from across the apartment, “Yeah?”

“Have you seen that blue button up of mine?” Wille calls back, shuffling through their mess of a closet. “The nice one with the stripes?”

There’s a pause, then Wille hears a loud sigh and the quiet pat-pat-pat of Simon’s socked feet on hard wood. One moment later, the exasperated face of his darling husband — husband! — appears in the doorway.

“Wille,” Simon says softly, as if speaking to a naughty child. “Darling. Light of my life. It’s a beach vacation. Grab two pairs of swim trunks and call it a day.”

“It’s not just a beach vacation,” Wille pouts.

With another small sigh and fond shake of his head, Simon steps fully into the room and loops his arms around Wille’s neck. Though Wille is still pouting slightly, it’s mostly for show, and his hands find their place on Simon’s waist, thumbs slipping under his sweater to rub small, gentle circles into warm skin.

“You’re right,” Simon nods, tucking his face into Wille’s neck. “It’s not just a beach vacation. But seeing as it is our honeymoon, that makes clothes even less of a necessity.”

The teasing tone in Simon’s voice and small nip of teeth on the sensitive skin under his ear pulls a giggle from Wille, and he buries his face in Simon’s curls, inhaling the calming scent.

Two months. Two months since their wedding, which had started out fake and very nearly been a total disaster but was saved at the last minute by a long-overdue (and luckily mutual) love confession. Two months since their wedding, which is altogether not very long at all, in the grand scheme of things, even if they had technically been in love with each other for the past few (many) years.

As such, the fact that Wille is standing here, in the bedroom of their shared apartment—shared before but is now shared in a wholly different way—with Simon, his husband, all wrapped up in his arms still makes his head spin. And, technically, it’s their second bedroom, formerly Simon’s bedroom which is now more of an office space—also, the very handy storage place for summer clothes while they’re in the thick of Swedish winter.

The words husband and shared and honeymoon swirl around in Wille’s brain as Simon wiggles out of his arms and turns to search for the shirt Wille’d asked about. Simon is right, it’s a beach vacation, and though they have been married for two months, the holiday season has been a whirlwind, and Wille has not been able to have Simon all to himself as much as he’s wanted to. This honeymoon will finally allow them to have that, a week and a half in the sun and sand, clothing optional.

“Did you pack that new sunscreen I bought today?”

“Oh, so I’m not allowed to bring clothes, but you can bring seven tubes of sunscreen?” Wille teases, following Simon as he slips out into the hallway and across to their bedroom, with their bed, that they sleep in every night together. His husband.

“The fact that you’re not allowed to bring clothes,” Simon retorts, “is the reason for all the sunscreen, Dracula.”

“Hey!” He pinches at Simon’s hips, then gets tackled back onto the bed in retaliation.

They roll together over the winter quilts, laughing and wriggling fingers under sweaters to tickle at soft spots of skin. Simon yelps when Wille gets him on the bum and quickly manages to win the wrestling match, pinning Wille back to the bed, wrists over his head and pressed into the pillows. He hovers over Wille, cheeks flushed pink and chest heaving, a big, proud grin on his face.

Wille smirks at him. “This is not the win you think it is,” he says, glancing down at where Simon has settled into this lap.

Fondly, Simon scoffs and rolls his eyes, starting to move away, which simply won’t do. Using his newly freed wrists, Wille loops his arms around Simon’s waist and flips them, wrapping himself around his husband like a koala.

“Wille!” Simon squeals, squirming and giggling. “We’ve got to finish packing! Our flight is in the morning!”

The last few words get partially cut-off by breathless laughter, but he stops trying to get away when Wille murmurs, “Just a minute or two more,” into the skin on Simon’s neck, nuzzling his face there.

They’ll probably stay there a bit longer than a few minutes, but they don’t mind. Simon is right, anyway; it’s their honeymoon, being clothed is way further down on the list than just being in each other’s arms as much as possible.

[chronicowboy]

His breakup with Marisol is about as unremarkable as the rest of their relationship. There's no catastrophic muffin mess in his kitchen or divorce papers. Just a quiet I don't think this is working out, I'm sorry. Marisol hadn't even cried. She'd just nodded like she'd been waiting for it and left, didn't even need to grab anything from the house before she went and really that just reassured Eddie that this was the right choice.

So, his breakup with Marisol is unremarkable, except that it's not. It's pretty fucking remarkable when he thinks about it because it's not just that they weren't working out, not just that he really didn't care about spending time with her, not just the clench in his gut every time she touched him. No. It's pretty fucking remarkable because he realises he's in love with his best friend.

That's what pushes him over the edge, gives him the last kick he needs to actually break things off with her. Because Eddie may have sworn himself to secrecy about it the moment he realised, but he could never string someone along just because he couldn't have the real someone he wanted.

It's a fucking revelation once he has it. Not a ton of bricks, but the sun peeking out from behind the clouds on the greyest of days, bright and blinding. And the way Eddie has always thought of Buck in terms of sunshine maybe should have tipped him off sooner, but with the way Buck has been beaming over the past few weeks. Well. Eddie doesn't really think he can be blamed for only just taking his sunglasses off and daring to look directly at the light.

And, okay, so Eddie maybe makes it a full week before he decides his self-sworn secrecy absolutely is not a viable option when Buck walks through life now like a drop of sunshine in human form. It's after Buck leaves the Diaz house, walking out from a day of giggles and joy at the go-kart track they'd finally managed to convince Chris to be seen with them at, leaving behind a cosy heat like sun-warmed skin, that Eddie realises he cannot go another day without telling Buck that he's desperately, deeply in love with him.

And so, that's how Eddie finds himself at Buck's door on a random Sunday morning, knocking for the first time since Natalia waltzed out of the picture. Buck opens it a few moments later looking perfectly sleep-rumpled and soft and downright golden where he's backlit by the early morning sunlight pooling in the loft.

"Eddie," Buck breathes out, eyes darting up the stairs before refocusing on Eddie and what must be the most hopelessly lovesick expression painted across his face. "H-hey, what are you doing here?"

"I, um." Eddie takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous, and wipes his clammy palms on his jeans. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Now a good time?" And Buck must hear the slightly shaky steel in his voice because the surprise on his face morphs into a concern so quintessentially Buck that Eddie just wants to kiss it away.

"Y-yeah, of course, come on in." Buck holds the door open for him, and Eddie migrates to the fridge as Buck closes the door with the gentlest touch. "So, um, what's up?"

"I..." Eddie swallows against the heart in his throat, loses himself in the shining blue of Buck's eyes like an ocean he'd be more than happy to drown in. "I broke up with Marisol last week."

"Oh, Eddie." Buck slumps, and Eddie tries not to think that it looks a little like relief. "I'm so sorry, man. That sucks."

"No, no." Eddie waves him off with a laugh. "It's good. Was a long time coming actually." He shakes his head at himself. "I think I was dating her just to tick a box, you know? Realised you probably shouldn't be more excited about a phone call from your new buddy than one from your kinda long-term girlfriend. You definitely shouldn't be relieved when you see your best friend in the restaurant you're taking her to and disappointed when you realise he's just leaving."

And then, Buck blushes, ducks his head, does that little smile that could light up every house on South Bedford Street just like Eddie had been hoping for.

"Yeah." Buck looks up at him from under his lashes. "Probably not."

It bolsters Eddie. Buck's sunshine giving him that one last push he needs.

"There was something else I wanted to say," Eddie starts. And there isn't really any fear in him, knows they'll make it through this no matter what, just an overwhelming sense of peace to come. "I..." A deep breath, gathering all his love and devotion in his lungs so it's ready to pour out on his next inhale and—

A groan from upstairs has the words dying in his throat. A masculine groan. And then:

"Evan?"

"D-down here," Buck calls back.

Eddie can't take his eyes off the loft, stuck there like a car crash he can't look away from as a very shirtless Tommy Kinard appears at the top of the stairs and quickly blanches.

"Shit. Um..." He looks down at Buck in a panic.

Eddie finally manages to drag his eyes away from the very chiselled curveball that just hit him at a hundred miles per hour and finds Buck's face. Small, scared, shaken. He knows the feeling. And because he loves Buck, because of just how deeply he loves Buck, it's the easiest thing in the world to lock that love away and let his face crack into the most genuine of grins. Because if Tommy's been the thing making Buck shine like every fucking star in the sky, well Eddie will absolutely not be getting between them.

"You've been so happy," Eddie chokes out, still smiling.

"I have," Buck whispers.

"And I'm so happy for you." Eddie covers the distance between them in three long strides and pulls Buck into a hug so tight and clinging he's sure it's a confession in and of itself, but Buck only buries in deeper, taking shaky little breaths in the crook of Eddie's neck.

"Thank you," Buck murmurs into his skin. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden rush of tears.

"Sorry you didn't get to tell me on your own terms," he murmurs back, letting Buck pull away, but lingering with a hand on his hip, on his shoulder. He should maybe be worried about what this could look like to Tommy who had basically never heard anything apart from rambles about Buck, except when he glances up the stairs, Tommy is nowhere to be seen.

"I was going to tell you," Buck rushes out. "I-I just wasn't sure how."

"That's okay," Eddie says. It's okay. It's okay. "Well, I'll stop gate-crashing for the... Second time?" He raises an eyebrow, and Buck flushes a pink Eddie will never ever get to taste. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense." He remembers the pure fear on Buck's face, the indecision on Tommy's and the sudden tightening of his own chest despite his smile. "I'll leave you guys to it." He clears his throat. "Kinard, if you hurt him, they'll never find your body," he shouts up the stairs.

"Copy that, Diaz," Tommy shouts back.

"I'm really proud of you, Buck." Eddie wraps him in another hug then, a quick thing, just one last touch before Eddie seals every desire away for good.

"Thanks, Eddie." Buck walks him to the door, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and Eddie wants to hug him again. Wants so badly it hurts. But if he hugs Buck again, he doesn't think he'll ever let go. "See you at work tomorrow."

"See you at work." Eddie prays Buck is too distracted to hear the wobble in his voice.

"Wait, sorry, what did you want to talk about?"

Eddie freezes on the threshold, the stutter of his heart painful like he's back in a suit store, and he catches himself on the doorframe with a shaking hand.

"It can wait."

[faux-mance]

thinking about geno's impostor syndrome

his own world replaced him. it tore apart his code to make another version of him that lived his life, and he was forced to watch that sans fill his

and maybe he was glad after was taking care of papyrus, but that doesn't make it hurt, any less. geno was supposed to be the one doing that. it wasn't supposed to come to this. it wasn't fucking fair that he'd suffered so much, only to see another version of him be with geno's brother.

but maybe it was fair. maybe it was what he deserved. he couldn't save his friends. he couldn't save his brother. he couldn't even save himself. it was why he gave up the name sans, wasn't it? he didn't deserve that name. he didn't deserve that life.

— the surface doesn't change how geno feels. sure, the sun on his face and his feet in the grass feel nice. but geno can't help thinking it wasn't supposed to be for him. like the very code in the world is calling him a fraud. this ending wasn't for him. it was for frisk and sans and papyrus. it was for toriel and undyne and alphys and asgore and all the other monsters. why should geno intrude on any of that? what right did he have, to claim this world as his own? he couldn't even save himself. it'd been frisk's idea to use the pie to get him out of the save screen. he didn't deserve to be here. maybe that was what led him to go back into the mountain. to walk through soft, undisturbed snow. not many would step foot here again. not many would want to. that was fine with geno. he found it under a house all too similar to the one now on the surface. that one felt foreign to him, just like the sunlight and the grass and the smiles of his family. this one, he knew well. the click of a lock opened a back door into a dark room, one that hadn't seen the light of day for quite a while. he slid the syringe out of the drawer, the viscous determination inside swirling slowly, the light emanating from it casting a soft red glow on geno's hand. at the same moment, his gaze fell on a familiar silhouette under a purple curtain. the corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile.

[millenari]

Drop a wip update? It’s been a minute 👀

Well I've made very little progress on the Tugger pov gold rush. I've been stuck on the Skimble argument scene for weeks at least, though I worked on part of it a few days ago. Luckily after this single hard scene is like 20-30k or so of easy scenes that I'll be able to breeze right through.

Otherwise I started editing my human/celeb/soulmate au and I've discovered that the first draft is actually in excellent shape in comparison to my other first drafts. I've gone through 60k worth of the first round of editing for that one in like three days. And admittedly 60k of 300k doesn't feel that impressive in context but for the Tugger pov gold rush I'm basically killing it if I edit 1k a day.

Haven't made significant progress on anything else other than a new fic I started writing; it's a shorter one about the junkyard flooding. It looks like it'll come out to around 40-50k and it's more of a tribe fic than a tuggoff fic. I initially started out with this one with the intent of giving every single character a chapter but I Dont Think That Will Be Happening.

[amethystina]

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Several, I'd say.

Many of my fics contain difficult subjects or end up having very heartbreaking storylines, some more tragic than others. But the thing with my writing is that my heart never stays broken since I always insist on a happy ending. So even if my heart has been broken many times, I usually make sure to mend it, too.

The only exception — where my heart has stayed broken — is a short fic for The Losers comics called Grief.

Which, as the title suggests, is a fic about grief. A case of Major Character Death that I chose not to fix, basically. That's not to say that the fic is all gloom — it's actually about moving on after you've lost someone important to you — but it would be wrong to call it happy. And I would be lying if I said it doesn't still break my heart, partly because I used that fic to work through some of my own thoughts on grief.

Which, admittedly, is something I still do in many of my fics, but I just tend to make them happier than this one xD

So yeah.

I've broken my own heart many times while writing, but only once did I let it remain broken.

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

[alectoperdita]

Hmmm, I expanded on that Monsters Halloween ficlet, but now I'm wondering if less was actually more/better. 🤔

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3 💖🍁

[les-pompiers118]

Don't Worry Baby (a 9-1-1 ficlet)

Buck/Tommy | Rated Teen and up | 2K words

Summary: It's technically not their second date, but sometimes you just have to see where the night takes you. In this case, to the ocean. Notes: Set between 7x05 and 7x06, and incorporating some of Lou's backstory for Tommy from this video.

“Well,” Buck exhales, when he and Tommy step out into the muted hum of a balmy Los Angeles evening, “I think that went a lot better than our first date.”

Tommy stops and holds up a finger in admonition. “Ah, ah.”

“Right. Not a date. Just a— What did we call it?”

“A low-stakes, no-pressure evening of fun and getting to know each other.”

“Yeah, that.” 

No matter what they’re calling it, tonight was actually great, Buck muses while they walk toward the lot where Tommy parked his truck. Buck’s not a great bowler himself, but he’s found that—as with a lot of games—the competitiveness and friendly trash talk are at least half the fun. He felt more in his element, more relaxed. Buck didn’t mind at all that Tommy won both rounds easily, with his usual confidence and charm. And he looked damn good doing it, too. God, there’s something about the sheer fucking size of him and the way he carries himself that make Buck a little weak in the knees.

“You did have a good time, I hope?” Tommy asks, sounding cautious after Buck apparently got lost in his thoughts for a few beats too long.

“Totally. Yes.” Buck glances back at the bowling alley entrance with a rueful expression. “Though I kind of wish…”

“Mmm?”

“I kinda wish that we could’ve had more of the ‘getting to know each other’ part, I guess? On the other hand, with all the noise and the music, I was a lot less likely to put my foot in my mouth again. So that was a plus.”

“Evan.”

“I know I kind of blew it last time,” Buck winces.

Tommy steps in front of Buck, forcing him to stop. He touches Buck’s wrist lightly. “Hey. If that were true, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Here… on our evening of low-stakes, platonic fun?” Buck asks with a small, playful smile.

“Hmm. I don’t remember ever using the word platonic.” Tommy lets that sink in for a second as he pointedly looks at Buck’s mouth. “Tell you what. I’ll take you to one of my favorite places in L.A. and we can talk for a while. That is, unless you have a shift in the morning.”

“No. No, I don’t.” Buck ducks his head, grinning. Feeling just so goddamn buoyant, all of a sudden. “I’d love that. Where are we going?”

“Why don’t we let it be a surprise?”

Read the rest on AO3

[gumy-shark]

an interview with suzuki shou

(aka the shou ficlet that possessed me last night and is technically unfinished but i want u guys to see it :D)

Okay, I’m only gonna do this once, alright? So you’d better ask everything you’re going to the first time.

Alright. I guess that’s fair enough. Anything else?

Nope. Ask away.

So, what happened, Shou?

What, like in general? Sorry, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.

Alright, I’ll narrow it down. What happened during the Claw incident?

You wanna hear it from me, huh? Okay. I woke up, made the trip over to Seasoning City, and burned down Ritsu’s house. Then we went to my hideout, Ritsu and I made our plan of attack, and then the broadcast went out. We started kicking psychic ass together, then we ran into Shimazaki and Ritsu split off to keep him distracted. Then I fought my dad, he beat the shit out of me, Ritsu’s brother showed up to stop him, Dad beat the shit out of him too, and then Dad launched us off the top of Seasoning Tower and he and Ritsu’s brother beat the shit out of each other. And then my dad nearly exploded, and he only didn’t because Ritsu’s brother convinced him not to or whatever.

Does it upset you that it was Kageyama that your dad changed for, and not you?

I dunno. Should it? I guess I can’t say I’m not bothered, but in the end I’m mostly just glad my dad’s not trying to take over the world anymore, you know?

Plus, it’s kind of hard to stay mad at Ritsu’s brother. Or even get mad at him. He’s just kinda there. 

You said you fought your father. Did you really think you could defeat him?

Y’know what, I think I really did. For a little bit there, at least, I convinced myself that I was tougher, that everything I’d been through had made me strong enough to beat him.

Besides, it wouldn’t have mattered if I did or not. It wasn’t about thinking I could win and deciding to fight, it was knowing that I had to. That I was the only one who could.

But you weren’t.

No. Are you done now?

Hardly. You said you burned down the Kageyama house- why?

It was kind of a stupid thing to do, huh? I do feel pretty bad about that one, but I needed to make sure Ritsu’s brother would fight. He didn’t even do anything when his brother and friends were about to die-

But he did for you. How does that make you feel?

I guess- shit, I don’t know- I guess I was scared. And surprised. He- I thought he was like my dad, but he got it in a way even Ritsu didn’t think he did- Look, I don’t know, alright? I know I agreed to do this therapy thing, and I said I’d answer your questions- but can we drop this one?

Alright, we can do that. How do you feel about starting school next month?

Actually, can I pass on this one too? Oh, wait- Kidding! That was a joke, alright? 

It might be kinda weird to say this, but I’m kind of excited for it. Like yeah, it’s probably gonna suck a lot, but I’m gonna have friends. And get to learn things like math instead of how to blow up people with my mind or something. It’s gonna be great.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Fanfic writer interview

Thanks for the tag, @niennawept!! (& answering under this blog since the VAST majority of my fic is Adar-related)

How many works do you have on AO3? 14, which feels insane to me.

What’s your total AO3 word count? 202,906, which again... feels insane. I'm pretty sure Adar is to blame for like, 195,000 of those words.

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall'n: My longest work, Adar's life story from his awakening at Cuivienen to the Battle of the Last Alliance. (Written and completed pre-S2, so his story after Orodruin erupts is, um, different than in the show canon. So technically it's a fix-it fic.)

sister golden hair: The Adar x Mirdania fic that I NEVER expected to write. This started as a ONE-SHOT and then exploded into an angst-riddled tale of accidental necromancy and Tolkienian zombies. Deus ex Mirdania!!!!

Son of the Darkness: The one-shot that started it all. The moment that my brain became fully unhinged. The original one-shot sketch of Adar's life story.

memories of dancing: A fic I wrote when I lost my mind temporarily pre-siege of Eregion episode premiere and decided to entertain the crack idea that Adar = Celeborn. No regrets.

Blood on My Name: Awwww... a throwback to the days when Kastle (Karen Page x Frank Castle from The Punisher) had taken over my brain. A little AU where a badly wounded Frank shows up at Karen's door in the middle of the night. Midnight MacGyver surgery FTW!

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try! I have not been historically the best at this, partly because for awhile I didn't realize that that was what you were supposed to do. >.< Also sometimes I type responses out and my brain tricks me into thinking that I sound way too dumb so I abort mission. But I've been trying to be much better about it because yes, fandom should be a conversation and I'm so grateful for every comment I get!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? LMAO TAKE YOUR PICK, I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THE PAIN TRAIN. Honestly, though, I guess it depends on your definition of pain. I think Awake, Arise ended on a hopeful/Tolkienian note, so I actually wouldn't say that one. I think it might be "what law can lovers move," which was a little lyrical Turgon x Elenwe oneshot that I did, inspired by Orpheus and Euryidice. Those two hurt me so good.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Mmmmm... I think "in the halls of awaiting," a companion ficlet to Awake, Arise from the POV of Erenyë, Adar's spouse in my canon, as she waits for him in the halls of Mandos. It was SUCH an angsty fic to write, but their reunion made it all better. That said, I DON'T REALLY DO OVERTLY HAPPY ENDINGS, SORRY.

Do you write crossovers? Nope.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? I don't think so.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I DIDN'T, AND THEN ADAR X ERENYE TOOK OVER MY BRAIN. "A Knife in the Dark" is the AU smutfest of Awake, Arise and I like to say that it's what happens when you don't let your characters fuck each other enough in the longfic.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Let's hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No... writing is kind of a solitary endeavor for me. I'd entertain editing, but probably not co-writing.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? I'm staring at this question going "why can I not think of an answer for this"? I mean this feels so self-promotional/self-indulgent to say, but I'm high-key obsessed with my OC Erenyë and I've definitely dedicated the most brain space to shipping her and Adar over the past two years. Turgon and Elenwe also have OTP status in my brain, as well as Kastle and SANSAN.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Mmmmm... I think maybe "Tides of Fate Onward Run"? I started this something like TEN YEARS AGO, and the basic idea was to tell the story of Gollum and his corruption by the ring through the POV of Nienna. It was a neat little exploration and I had intended it to be a way to explore a lot of the Valar headcanons I have. Maybe one day I'll get back to it...

What are your writing strengths? Mmm... I think maybe my canon adherence? For the most part that is my sweet spot with fic-- I like to craft stories that can fit very snugly into exisiting canon with few deviations. Especially with Awake, Arise, I wanted Adar's story to feel like it could have slipped right out of Tolkiens Silmarillion canon.

What are your writing weaknesses? Ugh I think sometimes I can slip into passive voice and I hate that. Also sometimes I feel like my descriptions are just way too flat and I can fall into "telling instead of showing."

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? The only other languages I really use are Tolkien's... and I'm for it!

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? Mmmm... well technically I have written for this ship, but I've never published publicly... and may never. It's Lalwen x Fingolfin. It's wrong. It's scandalous. It's a mess of feelings. There's extensive Helcaraxë angst/trauma involved. Don't @ me, they are so compelling to me. I'M UNREPENTANT, LOOK AWAY.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Awake, Arise! I'm so goddamned proud of that fic. I'd never actually completed anything novel length (fic-wise or original) before I wrote that fic. So that was a big deal for me to do as a writer. And I really felt like I told a damn story.

ANYWAY tagging @brynnmclean, @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @mylovelylittleobsessions @clumsycopy and anyone else who wants to play!!!

[guqin-and-flute]

✅🗳️VOTING INCENTIVE !🗳️ ✅

So, this year has been huge for elections around the world. Because voting is SUPER IMPORTANT and early voting in some U.S. states has already started, I'm gonna say that if you send me some sort of proof you checked that you're registered/you voted (i.e. a sticker, a heavily redacted screenshot, I'm not interested in doxxing you 😂), and a character, pairing, fic au I write, or short scenario, I'll make you A Thing™️ for it. So;

Vote/register/confirm your registration

I make you A Thing™️

Yes, that means that you can technically send in something twice if you check your registration and then vote! This also applies for any voting anywhere in the world. Don't care. We love democracy. (Sorry this is later in the year, people who have already voted 😔 Check that you're registered, I guess?)

The Thing™️ might be a drawing, a ficlet, a drabble, a horrible sketch, a funky poll, a text post meme, a weird edit; whatever it is that I can actually follow through on that day (I want to be realistic, y'know, and manage expectations).

I know that bluevoterguide, votelikeabeast, and Vote411 have good information on local elections which are also very important, so remember to vote the whole ballot. (I know these are only American resources, sorry)

Obviously, I reserve the right to opt out of a scenario or pairing that makes me uncomfortable so send in list, maybe ? Also, it would be pretty easy to cheat. Um. Don't? This will be on the honor system.

OKAY COOL, don't know if anyone will send anything in but WOO GO VOTE!!

[tennessoui]

anyone remember the divorce lawyer au?

(first ficlet posted here, along with the explanation post) (1.5k)

“Of all the gin joints in the world, you walk into mine,” the very familiar and incredibly grating voice of Anakin Skywalker greets Obi-Wan mere moments after he settles into a seat at the end of the bar. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says automatically, though he isn’t quite sure what he’s protesting. It’s an instinctive sort of no. A plaintitive no. A for the love of all things holy, I cannot be expected to deal with this now as well sort of no. 

Even though, technically, Mr. Skywalker is right. Of all the damn gin joints in the world, he happened to walk into one already hosting Anakin.

“Well,” Anakin sounds considering now. He doesn’t particularly sound as if he’s planning on leaving. “I guess of all the dive bars in Vegas, you happened to walk into mine. But I’m pretty sure they sell gin here! Though I guess I don’t know how much gin needs to be sold at a bar before it’s classified as a gin joint.” Now his voice sounds even more considering. Closer too.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks as she slides down closer to him. It’s not very loud in here, still relatively early and so not overly crowded, but she leans forward across the bartop as if having trouble hearing him.

Anakin sits down in the seat next to Obi-Wan rather aggressively, brushing their shoulders and thighs together. “You can put his drinks on my tab, thanks,” he announces. “We’re together.”

“We’re not together,” Obi-Wan tells her. “But yes, you can put my drinks under his tab. Much obliged. An old fashioned, thank you. A double. No cherry.”

“You got it,” the woman says, turning away to make his drink. 

Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a second to pray for patience before he turns to look at Anakin Skywalker.

He is just as beautiful as he was two weeks ago when he’d last stopped into Obi-Wan’s office, tearful, hungover bride in tow for a quick divorce before her plane ride back to Australia.

It isn’t fair.

“We could be together,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark, his head canted forward, his thigh still brushing Obi-Wan’s. “Just for the night.” “You know, I’ve always thought you were a lot less sober when you proposed to strangers,” Obi-Wan tells him drolly, accepting his drink from the bartender with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been picturing you absolutely sloshed stumbling down the aisle.”

“You’re not a stranger, Mr. Kenobi,” Anakin replies. “You’re my go-to divorce attorney.”

“Normal people do not have those,” Obi-Wan says, taking a sip of his drink. It’s strong at least, thank God.

“People get divorced all the time,” Anakin argues, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the bartop to look over at Obi-Wan. “You were the one that told me that divorce can be just as healthy as marriage.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, taking another bigger sip. He really, really does not want to talk about marriage with Anakin Skywalker of all people. 

Yet somehow the words slip out of his mouth and off his tongue despite how much he does not want to talk about marriage with Anakin Skywalker. “How do you do it then?”

“Do what?” Guileless, innocent. Hell, he probably just has to blink wide blue eyes at his fuck of the night and they’d follow him down the aisle as quick as they can stumble.

“How do you—” he waves his hand and takes another sip of his drink. “Convince people to marry you. You’ve got a politician, a bride to be, who knows how many bridesmaids, a foreign dignitary, a man old enough to be your father, a veteran all under your belt. How are you dragging them all down the aisle? You can’t be—”

He cuts himself off. That good in bed, he’d been about to say. 

Anakin grins with his eyebrows raised like he knows it. “It depends,” he says. One finger traces over the countertop. The other hand falls to rest on Obi-Wan’s knee. “Sometimes we’re already in bed,” he murmurs, slow-like. “Sometimes we’re on our way there, in some dark corner booth and I’ve got my hands wrapped around her waist and she’s begging me to whisper dirty things into her ear, tell her what I’m gonna do to her. It’s sort of like marriage vows, you know? Dirty promises sound the same.”

He is far too handsome for his own good, Obi-Wan decides. If he were a little less attractive, he’d probably have a much harder time coaxing strangers down the aisle.

“I wouldn’t know,” Obi-Wan says stiffly, stopping Anakin’s hand from moving further up his leg. “I’ve never been married.”

The words are bitter; the wound is still bleeding. He downs his drink in one go and waves for another from the bartender. 

“You have a girlfriend though, don’t you?” Anakin’s nose wrinkles. “You’ll marry her probably. You’re the marrying type.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. “She’s not,” he says shortly. And then, to rip the bandage of the wound completely. “And she’s not my girlfriend anymore either.”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. “What?” “I asked. For her to marry me. And she said no.”

“She said no?” 

“While your disbelief is rather flattering, I’d like not to talk about it, thank you.”

“Why would she say no? To marrying you? Is she alright? Well, obviously not, but—I mean. I don’t understand. Or believe it.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thin, and he reaches into his pocket. “I assure you, if she’d said yes, she’d be wearing this right now and I would not be here.” 

He puts the ring box on the bar in between them and accepts a new drink from the bartender. Anakin looks down at the ring box silently.

“Well?” Obi-Wan asks. He doesn’t know what he wants Anakin to say. He’s sitting in the tatters of his longest relationship, ended because she did not want to marry him in the end and he could not live with that. And he is talking with a man who gets married and divorced more than  perhaps anyone else in the entire world. 

What could he possibly want to hear from Anakin Skywalker?

“‘M going to get you wasted,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan figures that’s good enough.

—----------

“Marriage is important to me,” Obi-Wan slurs out countless hours later. They have migrated from the bar to a low-level booth, and Anakin has his arm curled around the top of it with his fingers playing with the ends of Obi-Wan’s hair. “I couldn’t com…pro…mise.” He sounds the word out carefully and deliberately. 

“You shouldn’t have to for something that’s important to you,” Anakin decides, and Obi-Wan nods. That’s what he thinks too. That’s why they’d broken up. That’s why Obi-Wan still has the ring.

“All sales final,” he quotes and rubs his hand over his beard. “What am I gonna do with it now?” 

“Give it to someone else,” Anakin suggests once Obi-Wan picks up the ring box again to look at it. “Someone who wants it.”

“Nobody wants it,” Obi-Wan says. That’s the problem.

The other problem is that his drink is gone. This is a very big problem and easy to solve because Anakin’s drink is right next to his empty glass, and Anakin will let him have his drink, Obi-Wan is sure of it. Anakin has been very lovely tonight.

“That’s my drink,” Anakin says. “Get your hands off it.”

“I’ll trade you for it,” Obi-Wan mumbles, gesturing to the ring box. Anakin stills completely.

“You…will?”

“Yes,” he decides. And then a thought occurs to him, terrible and mean and brutal. “Unless you don’t want to marry me either. But you want to marry everyone.” He scowls, though he thinks it may look more like a pout. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

Anakin’s hand carefully resumes its light stroking of Obi-Wan’s hair. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough. Obi-Wan likes the way it sounds. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good then,” Obi-Wan says and takes Anakin’s drink. After all, what’s Anakin’s is now his if they’re engaged to be married. “I’m sure you know where the closest chapel is. Though I’m quite disappointed so far.”

“Why?” Anakin’s face is awfully close to his. When did he move? “Aren’t I providing for you like a good husband should, baby? You’ve got my drink and everything.”

“I was told you’d put your hands on my waist and whisper dirty things into my ear,” Obi-Wan says. “And so far you’ve just been playing with my hair.” “I like your hair,” Anakin says. “And I don’t want to tell you what I’m thinking of doing to you. I think I just wanna show you.”

Obi-Wan blinks. His face is hot. Anakin is flushed all over too, eyes focused somehow despite the amount of drinks he’s had. His breath smells sweet, like the cocktail he’s been drinking for the last hour. Now Obi-Wan’s breath probably smells the same. “Well, I suppose tomorrow morning I won’t have to ask you if your latest marriage has been consummated.”

Anakin smirks. “No, you won’t,” he agrees. It’s a promise. 

[snarkythewoecrow]

It's technically Wednesday and I started a new WIP tonight!

Definitely been tagged for WIP Wednesday in recent weeks, but haven't had anything, so here you go, and tagging @buckybeardreams, @underwaterninja13, @theotherbuckley

Been struggling to write but got some words down tonight, so here you go. This is BuckTommy, only the first scene (which is sorta a ficlet by itself I guess) Some angst and introspection, and then some soft hurt/comfort will come later in the fic (please forgive typos it's super late and this is a draft)

“Oh, Evan.” His mother never seemed to say his name without a slathering of curdled disappointment, withering came to mind, thinking back now as an adult when he pictured her saying it, the sagging lines where there should have been creases from her smile. 

Neither of his parents had ever been able to say his name without some soured pinch to their lips.

Sometimes even Maddie seemed tired when she’d say it, no matter how much she loved him, not to the degree his parents did, with that trademark exhaustion, but enough to leave him feeling like a wraith for it, as if speaking his name sapped the life from her veins like it did his parents.

And love him or not, Maddie couldn’t fix him—not in the way he needed.

No matter how many band-aids she placed over his broken, bleeding skin, it wasn’t her love that had left his chest an echo chamber. That hollow place had been created for a parents’ love that had never taken root. 

So, he'd left—looking to fill that ache with something—finding a new family with the one-eighteen and starting over with a better name. Because where Evan had been said with a sigh, a grimace, annoyance—Buck could be said with a teasing and playfulness that his old name never could. 

Yet, beneath his skin, Evan had never felt more alone, scared of losing everyone and being forgotten, and so Buck sought comfort in the heat of others, in their skin, changing his shape to be what was wanted, trying to fill the void.

He drank from that well until he nearly drowned in it.

Except that a person, like a house, can’t stand divided—or more directly, ignoring a part of yourself didn’t erase it, nor any of the wounds that made you want to hide it away.

Especially when lightning stops your heart, and you dream of another life—one just a shy step to the left—close but just wrong enough to leave you rattled when you choose life, only to wake to your parents' faces as they say your name. 

That same cadence and tone—the whined note of pity as his mother says for the thousandth time in his life, “Oh, Evan,” somehow still almost sounding disappointed.

Perhaps she always would be—probably internally screaming at the unfairness that Buck had returned from the edge yet again and Daniel never could.  If that weren’t enough for another few years of therapy alone, he didn’t know what would. 

Their near-awkward attempts at caring in the After, how his mother’s voice still thinned across the bridge of his given name, nearly snapping and falling off the other side, reminded him of its wrongness of just how lonely that part of him would always be—a reality where Evan may never be said without pity or contempt.

A house divided—and it might have stayed that way, if one Tommy Kinard hadn’t arrived, looking like a brick shithouse with a sexy cleft, short-circuiting his brain and making him stumble over his own name.

“Buck—Buckley,” Buck had to clear his throat, scrubbing his palm over the pocket of his jeans before shaking Tommy’s hand.

“Your name’s Buck Buckley?” Tommy raised his brows, nose scrunching a bit. “Did your parents really hate you that much?”

Buck hadn’t missed Eddie, hiding his snort of laughter behind a fist, as he pretended to be working on the tailgate. Asshole.

He’d sent a glaring squint in Eddie’s direction, subtly flipping him the bird, then turning back to Tommy. “Uh, actually, somehow I have no doubt they did—or still do—but, um, yeah, anyway.” He rubbed the back of his neck before dropping his hand. “Hi, I’m Evan—um, Evan Buckley—though most people like Buck better.”

And then, Tommy had done something unexpected—his eyes tightened, the soft blue made brighter by the afternoon sun, seeming to search Buck’s own before suddenly turning softer, then crinkling at the corners. “Well, if it’s okay with you,” Tommy said. “I think I’ll stick with Evan—I got a feeling he’s a pretty interesting guy, too.”

[lycankeyy]

creature comforts

Actual ficlet woagh,,, (~750 words lol). I wrote this earlier before my head started hurting and my head still hurts so I can't really edit it but I want to post it bc I haven't been posting content much and its supposed to be kind of stream-of-conscious anyway. Like I'd apologize for it not being super coherent but it's not really supposed to be yknow BDJQJD

TW: past torture and trauma discussion

BFs in this one-shot: cyborg!bf (cyber, mine), yourself is extensively talked about but only kind of technically there I guess (ys, @ochrearia)

-

Cyber was a good listener. When you lived the short life that he had - and it was easier to convince himself that he was merely a few months old compared to his body's fourteen years - always listening was what kept you safe. You listened to conversations you weren't meant to hear. You listened to the feelings under the words, and then the feelings under those, until you'd heard five variants of the same sentence and had a plan for each. It was another thing he was sure that if he told anyone about it, it would be another poor Cyber thing. It was only second nature, though. Something that wouldn't bother him until he was older.

He knew Yourself more than he'd ever wanted him to.

Didn't blame him, not really. Cyber was the baby. Littlest brother. The littlest brother who'd already been through enough. It's not like he expected an adult to come to a would-be high school freshman for emotional support, anyway. Still, he was good at listening. Overhearing. Knowing.

He wondered if YS knew him. Not the surface of him, but the things underneath, the same way Cyber pried apart other people. Wondered if he knew the way nothing had been afforded to him. Not his life. Not his body. Not his tongue. Not his memories. Not even his own self. All, at one point or another, belonged to someone else. Autonomy stripped completely, slowly fought back for, a battle he had a gut feeling would never quite end.

Not that he wanted other people think about that, or what it meant. He didn't want people to see his scars and think about what led to him getting them. He didn't want people to see the way he flinched at the smallest touch and think about what caused it. He did not want a single person to ever look at him and know. Too deep, too much.

But, y'know, he wondered.

Wondered if he ever realized that this was one of the few choices he'd ever been allowed to make. Loving him, he meant.

It was far from a secret that YS hated himself. It was one of those things Cyber wasn't supposed to know, though. One of those things that wasn't supposed to be his problem. One of those things that he wasn't supposed to worry about. Not that he had a choice in it, either. Too good a listener.

Unfortunate thing about that earlier part about his tongue hardly being his - how was he supposed to say anything? He'd never been good at words in the first place, according to his boyfriend (and Boyf backed that up), and they were so much more... difficult, than feelings.

Too easy to slip up. One wrong phrase and the whole thing goes under. Things meant as compliments could be taken so easily as insults to someone who wasn't in the right frame of mind. And when, exactly, was a good time to talk about something like this, anyway? He didn't know. Nobody ever told him.

So he would sit at YS' side, praying that mere feelings would be enough, knowing that they wouldn't be. When he was really desperate, he invoked something deeply childish and hoped that if he could just think it loud enough, maybe he would hear him.

Thank you for being Safe. I love you. You are like if a muscle relaxer was a person - is that funny to say? I love you. You make me less scared to be alive. I love you. Your joy is like stars twinkling in a new-moon sky. I love you. Thank you for being alive. I love you. I love you.

And then he would curse the mental blocks in his head that made utilizing the man's telepathy magic almost impossible.

It wasn't enough. He wasn't enough, but he supposed nobody had asked him to be. So he would press himself into YS' shoulder, purr as loud as he could, and maybe get a laugh - "the hell are you doing that for? There's nobody else here." - and he would love, love, love. Love until YS got sick of it. Least he could do.

He knew something else he wasn't supposed to. His little secret, for now, which he was more than fine with, as his non-human eyes painted his angel a nice candy-apple red whenever he entered the room.

What a coincidence for it to be Cyber's favorite color.

[marichild]

AO3 Wrapped #2 (Mari’s Version)

crazy year it has been for fic writing. careening into four(?) fandoms and being so absolutely insane about all of them. I think you can see here that I am not normal about anything ever

words written

technically, about 362k, but a lot of that is from my monster of a vampire au from … a while ago, so around 290k, probably. lmao.

works published

37, counting out the three chaptered fics I’ve had since before the year started, and also counting in one fic that’s on anon! I don’t know how I even got here, lmao. but it’s nice to know I’ve been pretty consistent with my writing this year, by my standards, anyway.

work I’m most proud of

what should we become, in what form, although only published in december, is one work I’ve been putting so much effort into since like … august, probably. this could be because that as much as the jujutsu kaisen world has disappointed me, it’s so dear to me—especially the characters. I’ve said this before, but while I knew I would become obsessed with satosugu even before I got into this fandom (what can I say, I’m weak for best friends, devotion, and betrayal), I didn’t expect to become so, so dearly attached to the gojo & megumi dynamic. so.

this fic, while it is worldbuilding and exploring gojo’s character, does also count as a love letter to them. I’ll stop now before I get carried away— (but be on the lookout for an update this month or next!)

also! shoutout to careless as could be! although it’s a rarepair, sigma & chuuya is a dynamic I’ve been enamored by since the moment they revealed sigma’s origin. something about humanness, affirming yourself, allowing yourself to live as the way you are, no matter what you were born from. their dynamic could be interesting and I’m genuinely hoping this is the direction asagiri takes it in once the narrative shifts back to focusing on dazai, chuuya, and sigma.

I think the thing I am most proud of with this fic is the characterization, because as I’ve said before, I’m so picky about sigma and chuuya characterization, even with my own writing, so it’s just … nice to see it done, you know?

also, I would say that the fic I wrote for New Year (which I unfortunately was not able to do this year), the little blue bird that’s lost its voice, does stand out. I think it does a good job depicting what it has to be like, loving your best friend, who, well. wants to die. shin and his mindset is always something that has intrigued me, of course, and who would I be if I didn’t add to the raiden/shin tag? overall, for how little this fic was planned, reading over it, I am happy with the thread of desperation and yearning that runs through the whole thing!

work that readers enjoyed the most

I’m not even going to lie when I say that evidently people are enjoying my taegyu porn, you know i want it bad, because. well. do I even have to say anything? I see you, you horny demons /aff (it is also worth noting that I refuse to look at this unless I get a comment …)

although. a close second is because you had shared it with me, this love and that’s…well, I do feel bad? I haven’t updated in a while not because I don’t feel the spark, but due to personal reasons, the very premise of this if i stay au kinda freaks me out. although I’m trying to ease myself back into it, the fact that the scary event that puts me off writing this au happened while I was well into writing it…well. I do try to tell myself that everything is okay now, but we’ll see. zeroses, please wait for me <3

fastest work to write

I have a lot of ficlets ranging from 1k to 2k that took a few hours to write (that’s the power of xikers I guess. specifically woojungz) but talking about longer fics, it took me about two days to write couldn’t even become a nobody, my transfem dazai / dazakiko fic, which is around 6k words, or speaking of even longer fics, five days like a deranged man with tunnel-vision for we’ve met like a miracle, my 13k T4T soulseob high school au. crazy work.

I’m kind of proud of myself, because even for the short amount of time and little to no editing done, I really do like what I did with that one there, especially because I was so busy with schoolwork and stuff, lol.

slowest work to write

strictly speaking of this year, this precious moment. not because I didn’t have the fuel, but because I was genuinely scared of what I was doing. I was kind of … doing a new thing for the fandom specifically, writing about a trans man’s pregnancy and subsequent raising of the child together with his partner. it took a few months, maybe? at least four.

while I know very well that there’s nothing wrong with that at all, it was such precious and personal work to me that I needed to do it justice, and also, I wasn’t ready to face criticism for it. I want to thank my friends sol and @draco-renn for encouraging me to post it. and draco for being the number one fan of the verse, haha. xi is the real reason I wrote that kindergarten sequel, really <3

number of WIPs I’m taking into 2025

um. well. quite a bit! if I do a process of elimination and count in only the ones I’m likely to be finishing, then 28 or so. at least. it’s a problem.

favorite character to write

*through gritted teeth* welcome, dazai osamu. I literally don’t like that dazai is so fun to write. what is wrong with him. go away you little gremlin.

okay but for real, besides the crowning king gendermess, I think my favorite to write this year has been either gojo or megumi. to absolutely no one’s surprise. there’s something fun about getting to write from their perspectives, especially exploring their respective stances on power, love, and what it means to be a sorcerer—and counting in both canon and in an au context, how they process the love they are given, how they react to more normal real-life situations. idk. they’re my beloved blorbos.

shoutout out to till alien stage. I love writing angry rebels who continually throw themselves into a wall. metaphorically and literally. I haven’t written luka perspective yet, but writing about him the way others see him … god. it’s so much fun.

favorite lines I’ve written this year:

from we’ve met like a miracle:

But. It’s Shota. He’s always been awfully good at tugging Jongseob along to his rhythm, catching all the flyaway strands of her seams as he goes, laughing in delight. And that’s the real miracle: that Jongseob’s been able to keep in step with him this entire time. She prays she never falls out of step, that their rhythm carries on.

from what should we become, in what form:

Because, he thinks as Tsumiki looks up at him with shining eyes and too-pale skin flushed with delight, searching for approval, he can’t let them become another Gojo Satoru, finding the meaning in life far too late, far too little of it. He can’t let them become another Geto Suguru, going crazy until salvation reaches him, only for that to not be enough, too.

He can’t let them become like this generation of sorcerers. He’ll be damned if either of them end up on Shoko’s morgue table, like nearly all his upperclassmen, like Haibara, or children like Riko—

“Tsumiki-chan wins!” he grins, and for once, his boisterousness feels real despite the tears threatening, despite the cursed energy crackling in the air as a result. It feels real and true and good, despite Megumi’s concerned blinking, like he doesn’t know what he’s sensing. The blinking morphs to an offended scowl.

from the little blue bird that’s lost its voice:

But, when has Raiden ever been someone who’s given up? Especially not on his friends. His best friends. The only boy he’s ever loved this much. Because anyone would be a fool to give up on Shinei Nouzen, constructed of fragile, jagged glass and unraveling stitches of frayed stubbornness, a core of bloodied, torn gold. Because even if Raiden shouldn’t, loving Shin has always been a foregone conclusion.

Because when you love someone, even the threat of shattering yourself isn’t enough to stop yourself from jumping off the edge with them, if nothing else.

and finally, from careless as could be:

“You come in here reeking of blood,” Sigma deadpans. They feel like they’re playing with a fire here, a dangerously volatile one, and it’s—it’s thrilling. Besides, it is unfair of Chuuya to say that. “I’ve heard too much about what you’re capable of.”

You scare me, they don’t say. Judging from Chuuya’s raised eyebrow, he heard the subtext loud and clear, and he smirks. He smirks.

“That’s true,” he agrees. “It’d be easy enough for me to break your neck.”

Sigma’s stomach flips. “Would you?”

this was entirely based on @fushiglow ’s post! and also @hollow-lime-green !

anyone who sees this is welcome to try this as well! I think you’d like doing this, @anticidic @ryuvnosuke @littencloud9 @sunnyyflowerrs @zukkaoru but no pressure ofcs <3

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

Guys i accidentally fell in love with this duo help I barely just came up with Niko

undercut @fruity-legos @murkystarlight

Summary:

Beau and Niko get a gun (Read blaster)

Additional Tags:

Aged Down Characters, they’re 12. Mr. Oz is mentioned. Oc-ified (technically) canon and does not appear in show character, try to guess who Niko is :3. they’re dumbasses your honour, who gave them a gun. gun - Freeform. Crack Treated Seriously. Niko and Beau are besties. Ficlet. No beta we die like the soup cans

Niko glanced up, away from her science textbook and over to Beau as she adjusted her glasses.

The two were hiding in an abandoned alleyway next to a noisy pizza restaurant, the cowboy himself pacing in front of her muttering lines from his favourite western movies under breath as he toyed with the strange looking gun he had in hand.

The gun was some sort of sci-fi looking blaster the two had stolen off of Mr. Ozwald early in the day once they had seen him carrying it around on his figure. Well, Beau had been the one to want to steal it, having instantly fallen in love with the gun at first sight. Yet Niko had also been too fascinated by the thought of why their science teacher had a gun to complain at all when Beau had talked her into helping him steal it.

“Put yer hands up partner!” Beau ordered, whirling around and causing his scarf to swirl as he aimed the gun at the empty soup can stack set up towards the back half of the alley.

“Or I’ll be forced to shoot um out … wait no that’s not the right wordin’” Beau grumbled as he lowered the gun. He buried his face into his scarf and chewed on it as he fiddled with the trigger on the gun.

Niko watched Beau for a bit before glancing outside towards the entrance to the alleyway cautiously, “Put that thing away dweeb, you’re gonna get us arrested,”

“Relax!” Beau insisted, face still half hidden in his scarf, “Plenty of people have guns!”

“ Right, “ Niko rolled her eyes, “plenty of twelve year olds have guns. ”

“You say as if I can’t hear the clear sarcasm in your voice,” Beau shot back, taking his face out of his scarf a little bit to shoot a grin at Niko.

“Haha,” Niko laughed as she sat back and placed her back against the alleyway wall, “look I’m just saying I can bail you out of detention but juvie is a different conversation entirely.”

“Aww come on Neeks, I’m sure you’d find a way. ‘Sides I haven’t even fired the gun yet, now how do you-” Beau trailed off as he continued to fiddle with the gun. Eventually it made a pop noise and Beau’s fingers slipped slightly in surprise only to end up pressing down on the gun trigger.

A blinding blast of white and bluish light shot from the tip of the gun and soar through the air.

The blast hit its mark easily, the soup can tower, and in an instant the whole middle half of the tower was reduced to ash leaving behind only the burnt remains of the outer cans which fell to the ground with a cacophony of clatters.

Beau and Niko stared in equal amounts of shock and awe.

What-

Beau slowly lowered the gun only to exclaim, “HOLY MOLY!”

Niko slowly turned to look at him, mouth still slightly agape in awe, “DUDE-“

Beau whipped his head around to stare back at her, “WHY DID MR. OZ HAVE THIS-“

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“WHAT DO WE DO!?” Beau yelled back, holding out the gun to the side like he was afraid it might go off again.

“I don’t- JUST GIVE IT BACK!” Niko responded, patting the sides of her face as fear started to swarm up in her mind. They were going to get into so much trouble!

“Great idea!”

Before Niko could quite register what was happening Beau had run over and looped his arm in hers so he could begin to drag her off. With a yelp Niko reached out and grabbed her science textbook off the overturned crate it rested on along with the strap of her backpack before Beau could pull her away completely.

“BEAU YOU DWEEB-“ Niko screeched as her best friend pulled her out of the alley as she struggled to shove her textbook into her backpack.

Hopefully the people over at the pizza place wouldn’t be bugged by the smell of burning soup cans.