#i may have to genuinely shoot myself really hard in the foot and like. tell my mother to like look over my finances weekly.

[fearandhungies]

very :((( that i am deeply incapable of having a healthy relationship to gacha games but many good games and games for series i really really enjoy are locked behind being gachas

[kingdaddydaichi]

NSFW Alphabet || Katsuki Bakugou

I had so much fun with this! Vodka may or may not have been involved in the making of this little ditty. 🍸 I hope you shameless hussies enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. 😩

*Exhibit A:

(Source)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like he gets clingy asf, but plays it off like it's something he's doing for your sake. He'll probably never admit that he feels so vulnerable after sex, but he does. If it was a rough session - which it usually is with him - he'll ask if you're okay, if you're hurt anywhere, kiss any marks he left on you - he's such a protective hero boi.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: he's not gonna lie, he's fully aware of how well-endowed he is. He really is proud of his cock, the way it makes you sing when he works it - and he knows how to work it okay? Favorite non-sexual body part - his arms. He works hard to keep them cut (as in lifting, not cutting). 😬

Yours: listen, Katsuki is an ass man through and through. Go ahead and tell me I'm wrong, I'm 👏🏼 not 👏🏼 listening 👏🏼. He loves to watch the subtle ripples he sends through your ass cheeks when he's driving into you from behind. Also, our big scary boomboom man appreciates a nice, thicc pair of thighs. Bonus points if they're muscular/toned - he loves the way it feels when your thighs have such a strong grip around him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Let's just say our boy's orgasms are explosive. He cums hard and loud, shooting long ropes of his hot seed. Consistency is about average, not too thick, not to thin, but there's a lot of it. He doesn't taste too bad - salty, but not too bitter. You're more likely to gag from the sheer volume and force of his cum hitting the back of your throat than the flavor.

His precum gets honorable mention here. It's fucking delicious. That is all.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It took him no less than 2 years into your relationship to tell you this, and if you ever tell anyone he might actually kill you, or at the very least make your ass bleed. He hasn't gotten to the point that he's ready to try it yet, but he's not entirely opposed to the idea of you pegging him. Someday. It kinda does make his balls tingle a little just thinking about it tbh. He hasn't yet, but he thinks he might be ready to try working up to it and is really close to asking you to stick a finger in his ass and stroke his prostate. He's heard how good it feels and he's super curious to find out for himself.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced, actually. He's only had 1 or 2 lovers before you, BUT he's determined to be #1 at everything. Couple that with how perceptive he is and you've got yourself a winner of a loverboy. He's going to make damn sure that, even if things don't work out between you two, he will always ALWAYS be the best you've ever had. No other man will outdo him, E-V-E-R.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggystyle all the way, baby. As stated before, he loves watching your booty jiggle every time he slams his hips against it. He gets off on spreading your ass cheeks to watch his slick-coated cock slide in and out of you. God he just loves hitting it from behind, makes his dick so fucking hard.

Bonus 2nd Favorite Position (couldn't help myself): you on your back with your ankles on his shoulders, your ass lifted off the bed, him on his knees and hugging those thick thighs of yours, keeping them closed as he reams into you. (Slight variation of this one: he leans over you, nearly folding you in half, putting you back on your shoulders with his hands pressing into the mattress beside you, angling you such that his prominent corona rubs over your g-spot as he drills down into you. 10/10 you're gonna scream his name when (not if) your liquid gushes all over him.)

Tell me the truth, am I a disgusting human being? Here are all the fucks I give:

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Bakugou is serious asf about his sex game. This is not the time to joke around or poke fun at him, understand me? If you do he will get pissed and either fuck the silly out of you, or if he's feeling particularly ruthless he'll just stop altogether and let you ache for him as punishment until you beg him for release.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes care of his body, paying a lot of attention to his hygiene, which includes manscaping to keep his pubic hair trimmed and kempt. The carpet's just a shade darker than the drapes, like a honey blond. If he lets it grow out, it sticks straight out just like his head hair. It's actually kind of funny and he hates it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

*sigh* Let's be honest. Katsuki is not the super romantic type, at least not outwardly. However, if he realizes something he's doing is hurting you - physically or emotionally - he's going to stop dead in his tracks and hold you close, push his fingers through your hair, and tell you how much he loves you and how safe you are. He can be rough and he can be an asshole, but if he thinks he's genuinely hurt you at all, he's all over you, doing everything he can to make you understand that he will never let anyone hurt you, especially not himself. Got that?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't jack off very often. You two share a very active sex life so he doesn't see the need to. If you have to be apart for more than a day or two, he'll rub one out. Or if the need hits him particularly hard and you're not available or in the mood, he's not above closing his eyes and reaching into his pants to wrap his thick fingers around his cock and start tugging.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lord Baby Jesus, where do I even begin? Kinky, kinky Katsuki. This man should come with warning signs and disclaimers.

First of all, he dom asf okay? Even if he lets you play with his ass someday, he's gonna be bratty about it. He's going to top from the bottom, hashtag facts. And trust that he WILL own you afterwards to securely reestablish his dominance.

Giving and Receiving: Hair pulling. DIRTY TALK - you think he's got a potty mouth in the streets? His mouth is downright filthy between the sheets. Loves it when you dirty talk right back to him. "You love taking my fat cock, don't you princess?" "Mm yessss, fuck me, Katsuki! Your cock feels so fucking good babyyy!" He eats that shit up.

Giving Only: Degradation. Praise. Spanking. Cockwarming. Dom/sub/power play. Shibari/ropework (he tried it bc you wanted to and he fucking loved it). Creampies. Begging. Discipline. Ravishment.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Literally anywhere inside your home/homes - bed, bathroom/kitchen countertops, kitchen/dining table, office desk/chair, any piece furniture is fair game really, up against a wall, washer/dryer, the fucking floor, ugh just all the places to fuck. Not one square foot is sacred tbh.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Wear something that showcases the curve of your butt. Doesn't have to be revealing per se, matter of fact he'll get possessive as fuck if you're showing too much skin in public. At home/privately though? He can't help himself. Dat ass tho...he is going to smack it hard enough that it stings and that's final, understand?

Tease him. You can't be obvious about it though. If he senses that you're doing it on purpose, it'll just backfire. But if you just so happen to brush against his crotch when you squeeze past him, it'll drive him crazy. Go commando in short shorts/skirt and cross your legs just so, his dick will twitch. Even better if you do shit like this in public where you know he won't act on it. But when you get home you best believe he's going to dick you down so hard, won't even bother to take said shorts or skirt off.

His ears and neck are his most sensitive erogenous zones. Whisper in his ear or kiss his neck and he's going to grit his teeth in an effort to fight back the shudder that threatens to rattle his bones.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Let's get one thing straight. Katsuki Bakugou does not share. This is non-negotiable. He will not agree to anything involving additional people - cuckolding, threesomes, orgies, exhibitionism, voyeurism (unless it's him watching you pleasure yourself - that he will gladly do, and probably start palming himself in the process).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves giving and receiving. Giving puts him in full control of your pleasure, receiving makes him feel like you're worshipping his cock, which you probably are. Have you seen this man's cock? Of course you have. Gatdamn.

Y'all, Katsuki's so good at eating pussy. Like how does one get that good at eating pussy? I don't even know, but god the way he flicks his hot tongue over your precious, tiny bud before wearing it down like a fucking feed bag? It's unnatural. Like it could be his backup quirk if blowing shit up doesn't work out. You've seen the way he licks his lips when he gets excited, everyone has.* He doesn't even bother swallowing while he's feeding on you so you just be dripping in slick and saliva and he's just slurping away. It's lewd.

*See Exhibit A above.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You already know this, but I'll say it anyway. His go-to fucking style is fast and rough, dominant and relentless, hard and dirty. But every once in a while he'll want to take you slow and deep and passionate. He'll hold you so tight in his arms and chest, you'll have to tap his shoulder sometimes to let you breathe. And he'll just roll his hips so fucking thoroughly both of you will feel every last inch, his pubic bone rubbing your clit so hard. You've told him so many times how much you love it when he makes love to you like this, but he maybe makes it a rare treat on purpose. 😈 Little shit.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are difficult for our boy. It's not that he's against them, it's just that he savors every drop of sensuality, he has a tendency to draw the pleasure out as long as possible. He can’t help it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The idea of having public sex turns him on, but he's only done it with you a couple of times when he was 10000% sure you wouldn't be caught. He can't risk doing anything that would tarnish his reputation and goal of becoming the #1 Hero. He might be freaky as hell, but he needs a sex scandal like an Alaskan needs a refrigerator.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He loves you long time. He's a Taurus for fuck's sake (well, Aries/Taurus cuspie, but that just sweetens the deal). Great stamina. Grinds you down like a whetstone. Can last as long as he needs to to ensure you cum for him as many times as it takes for you to beg him to stop. If he feels himself getting too close while you're blowing him, he'll stop you and go down on you instead. If he's inside of you, he'll pull out and start kissing all over your body, sucking, nipping, licking until his urge to cum passes, then he pushes it right back in and keeps going.

If on the off-chance he does cum before you, he'll be ready to go again in about 20-30 mins. Just give him some motivation, he deserves it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He didn't own any toys when you first got together, but you did. He hated the idea of you using them though, especially when he's right there with you. You've since assured him that you don't want to use them to replace him, but to enhance the pleasure. So now you do use them from time to time.

The first time you managed to coax him into using a toy together, it was a small wireless bullet with a remote. When you brought it out and showed it to him, there was a wild glint in his eye. He carefully inserted the vibrator into you, his cock slowly following suit. He loved the fact that he had complete control over this thing, but later complained because the sensation of it against the head of his cock made him cum too fast. He still wants to use it sometimes though. 😏

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he can be so unfair. He loves teasing you until you're begging him to put his cock inside you. He's not so much into orgasm denial per se; he just loves to hear you beg him for shit - to let you cum, to suck his dick, to stop fucking you when you're overstimmed, etc.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Lol he's fucking LOUD! And he's going to make you cum so hard that you're screaming his fucking name. There was a time when one or both of you lived in an apartment and the neighbors would bang on the wall behind your headboard.

Shit, what sounds does he NOT make? He growls, moans, grunts, groans, yells, swears, fucks you so hard you can hear the wet sound of slapping skin, hell even the bed protests. Another reason he doesn't fuck in public - he can't stay quiet enough to be discreet about it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Okay, as much of a wild sex beast as he is behind closed doors, he gets embarrassed so easily when your sex life is so much as hinted at around others. It's legit funny how flustered he gets about it.

If he goes into work real tired and Kirishima says, "Hey Bakubro, you look like shit this morning. You and (y/n) stay up too late?" while doing the finger in the hole gesture, Katsuki will just "Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair, or I'll blast your ass right through that fucking wall!"

Or if you two go out together with friends and the girls are talking about sex-related stuff, Katsuki will just roll his eyes and try to ignore it. But if one of them is all "So, (y/n), does Bakugou ever like accidentally let off explosions while you're doing it?" and you wink and say, "Only when he's especially *cough* frustrated *cough*". Katsuki will go red from his neck up to his hairline and start stuttering, sparks flying from his palms. "H-hey, d-don't tell them sh-shit like that! I-it's none of their god-goddamn b-business, (y/n), what th-the f-fuck?!" Meanwhile, you and the girls are in stitches while he stomps away, just mortified, bless his heart. When you catch your breath from laughing you'll follow it up with, "Looks like tonight's gonna be one of those nights", and you all lose it again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As has been mentioned, Bakugou's well-endowed. I figure he's packing about 7.5-8" in length x just under 2" wide. He takes some getting used to, that's for damn sure. Oh, and he's more of a shower than a grower. Like around 6" long x 1.5" wide when flaccid. Katsuki + sweatpants/basketball shorts = swinging dick print, alright sis? Take notes, this motherfucker visibly jumps when he does, class dismissed.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Eh, he's surprisingly not ridiculously horny. Maybe a little above average sex drive? A lot of times hero work just takes it out of him and he comes home utterly exhausted and just needs a soft place to land, and you provide him with all the love and nurturing in your heart. ❤

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends, really, on the time of day and what type of day it's been. If it's late (like past 9pm lol) and he fought more villains than usual that day, he's probs gonna pass out pretty soon after. If it's earlier in the day - especially first thing in the morning - it gets him pumped and almost comically genki.

[citrinesparkles]

doctor todd.

jason todd x gender neutral vigilante!reader. 1,875 words. notes: requested by @jason-redhood as part of my hundred followers celebration! this got a lot longer than i intended, oopsies. thanks for requesting- hope you enjoy! warnings: tending wounds, mentions of food.

"y'know, lurking outside somebody's window is a good way to get yourself shot," jason called over his shoulder.

"i'll keep that in mind," you said, voice strained enough to shoot dread into his veins and draw his attention completely away from his work.

he set the gun he had been cleaning on the table and twisted around to find you gingerly sliding through the open window.

"hey," you mumbled, giving him a weak wave after your boots hit the floor. "sorry for not calling, i just..."

you were backlit, the glow of the city making it impossible to see your features from the dining area- but your posture alone was enough to have him shoving his chair back and crossing his apartment.

"how bad?" he asked, stopping a few steps back, now able to make out the tears in your suit and the bruises around your mask.

"pretty sure i sprained my wrist, and there's a poorly-bandaged gash on my leg, but otherwise i'm peachy."

"how bad's the leg?"

"i'm... not sure. bad enough that i think i need your help." you patted the windowsill with a gloved hand. "obviously."

he nodded and slid to your good side, gently resting a hand on your shoulder. "okay. c'mon, my stuff's in the bathroom."

-

"here." he handed you a pair of shorts and a large tank top. "change into this so i can get to the wounds, okay? i'll be right out here if you need anything."

-

"you're good!" you called.

he nudged the bathroom door back open and scooped your uniform up from the floor, carefully putting it in a canvas bag and tying the handles together before setting it in the tub to deal with later. "alright," he sighed, turning back to face you.

his clothes looked way too right on you, he realized, a wave of emotion he would vehemently deny surging through his chest and pushing heat to his neck and cheeks.

"alright?"

"okay. alright. uh-" he jerked a thumb at the counter- "up here, i guess, so i can see your leg."

you propped one foot on the toilet lid and braced your good hand against his shoulder, his hands instinctively coming up to hover around your waist as you pushed yourself up and settled next to the sink.

the grateful smile you gave him was enough to tug his lips into a smile of his own.

"you're up, doctor todd," you teased.

he stepped forward with a halfhearted eyeroll, fingers brushing the cloth tied hastily around your leg. "can i take this off?"

"go ahead."

he tugged gently at the knot, wincing when you inhaled sharply. "sorry."

the scrap fell away, revealing dried blood and an open wound on the outside of your thigh.

"yeesh, that is nasty," he said.

you scoffed lightly. "gee, thanks."

"hey, if you wanted a nice doctor, you probably should have gone somewhere else." he shifted to the side, grabbing a clean cloth and bottle of alcohol. "fair warning, you're really not gonna like me here in a minute."

your quick "i seriously doubt that." was greeted with a grin that felt a little too fond for his liking.

he told himself it was for your benefit.

...yeah, that sounded good.

he could live with that.

-

he made quick work of cleaning the gash, doing his best to distract you by making stupid small talk about the horrible movie he'd sat through that morning because the tv remote had been out of reach and the mediocre new coffee shop with dry blueberry muffins.

"was the coffee okay, at least?"

"okay, yeah, but not 'five-dollars-fifty' okay. if i hadn't been falling asleep in line i probably would have left when i saw the price."

"there's a nice one up by my place, they make the best blueberry muffins ever."

he hummed. "i'll keep that in mind, next time i'm over that way." he leaned back, studying your cut. "i think stitches would probably be smart."

you groaned. "of course they would."

"i'm okay to do them- i do them on myself- but if you want i can give you a lift to a hospital or something."

"no. if you can, i want you to do them. i trust you."

he sat with that for a minute, searching your face for any hesitation. when he found none, he nodded. "okay."

-

as you both expected, it sucked.

to make things worse, he was rapidly running out of mindless things to talk about.

how many times could two people really argue about pizza toppings before it got old?

-

"alright, done."

"holy shit, finally." you slumped back, leaning on your good hand for a moment before your head snapped back up. "no, not like- i meant thank you, you did great, i'm not being an ingrate-"

"i know, relax." he nudged your knee with a goofy smile. "here, gimme your wrist."

you pouted (which, yes, that was also adorable, much to his dismay), carefully stretching your bad arm out.

he took your hand gently, scooping it up in one of his and bracing your forearm up with his other. "it's actually not too bad, considering you hit hard enough to tear your glove. i'm gonna clean the scrapes here up, though, okay?"

"do i really get a choice?"

"it's your body, so, yeah."

you sighed dramatically. "fine, if you insist. go ahead, clean my wounds for me."

-

he was quiet this time, focusing intently on removing bits of dirt and stuff from your raw palm with a set of tweezers.

trying to ignore the way your eyes seemed to linger on him now that he was looking down.

he set the tweezers aside, glancing up at you to find you smiling at him thoughtfully, and dropped his gaze just as quickly as he had lifted it. "what, you enjoying making me do all the work?"

"you could say that, yeah."

he scoffed. "well, you're going to enjoy it a lot less in a second. time for the alcohol again."

"ugh."

-

he managed to dig up an old wrist brace in the back of his sock drawer. a little big for you, but it would work for now, he figured.

"may i?"

you nodded and held your arm back out for him to loop the brace over your thumb and tuck the velcro strap under and around, pulling it snug against your skin before sticking it to itself.

-

"last one, tough stuff." he pointed at your cheek, where a small patch of dried blood stained your skin. "ready?'

you nodded tiredly. "let's just get this over with. this counter isn't as comfortable as it looks."

he chuckled, dampening the softest cloth he had and wringing it out. "sorry, i didn't think i needed to get an apartment with counter cushions." he raised his left hand up, hovering an inch or so below your chin. "uh, can i..?"

your eyes widened, glancing at his hand. "oh, uh, sure. yeah."

he moved slowly, raising it to cup your chin softly with his middle and forefinger on one side and thumb on the other. "this okay?"

"mhm." your eyes slid shut and he could almost believe that you sank into his touch.

if it wasn't absolutely insane, anyway. his touch wasn't exactly the kind people sank into- much less people like you. people that good, that caring, that stunning? yeah, no.

he tilted your head to the side slightly, rubbing gentle circles across your cheekbone with the cloth and watching as the blood faded.

"so, who did this?" he asked softly, casually.

apparently not casually enough, though, because you snorted at him. "why, you think you need to go avenge me? defend my honor or something?"

"no! i'm just curious. just... making conversation."

your eyes opened, amusement dancing in them and threatening to hypnotize him. "good. i shouldn't have to tell you who won that fight, jay."

"well, i mean, you are missing a chunk of your thigh."

"aw, is the big bad vigilante worried about lil old me?"

he squeezed your face gently, pushing your cheeks up and forward into a goofy fish face. "it's rude to tease the guy tending to your wounds, babe."

he definitely didn't imagine your breath hitching. "babe, huh?" you asked playfully.

"shut up," he grumbled. "don't make me regret helping."

-

"alright, looks like that's the last scrape. you're all cleaned up."

"thanks, jason." you smiled up at him, soft and warm and genuine. "i really appreciate this."

"yeah, yeah." he squeezed your jaw again. "try not to make it a habit."

"mhm." a moment passed quietly before you spoke quietly. "so, you gonna do something here, or can i have my face back?"

he froze.

your mouth- which he was really trying not to look at- shifted into a confident smirk, a challenge written clearly in the angle of your lips.

your eyes, bright under the harsh lighting, told a different story. one of vulnerability, and want, and something close to fear.

"do you want me to?" his voice was hoarser than he'd intended, and he swore you could hear his heartbeat echoing in it.

your gaze dipped to his lips. "would it make everything super weird?"

"you just came crawling through my window in the middle of the night in a mask and kevlar. i think things are already weird."

he felt your hum under his fingers. "then why not?"

"do you really want me to answer that?"

"jason, will you please just kiss me already?"

"well, you did say please." he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to slip away or yell 'sike!'

all you did was bring your good hand up to his collar and pull him towards you.

your lips were soft and gentle, and the way they pulled upwards slightly when his hand slid from your jaw to cup your cheek was something he'd be thinking about for weeks.

when he eventually pulled back, it took him a moment to open his eyes. he was half convinced that if he did, it would be to his bedroom ceiling, the past half an hour all a dream.

instead, he found your fond gaze.

"finally."

he let out a huff of laughter, thumb running over your cheek. "you should stay here tonight."

"w-"

"not like that," he clarified quickly. "you have stitches, you shouldn't go leaping across rooftops tonight. i can take the couch."

"hm." you smoothed out his shirt collar, the barely-there brush of your fingers against his shoulder almost tugging a whine out of him. "or i can take the couch, and then you can take me home in the morning and let me treat you to an actual blueberry muffin."

"are you asking me out?" it was a teasing comment, paired with a tiny smirk meant to fluster you.

but it was also a reality check.

you seemed to catch the second meaning. "yeah, i am. would you, please, let me take you out on a date?"

"i'll have to check my calenda-"

"you're so full of it."

"yeah, probably."

"is that a yes?"

he laughed, bringing his other hand up to squeeze your knee. "yeah, i can let you take me on a date. i could use a good muffin."

[thechekhov]

Hi Chekhov! Really enjoying your white diamond au! I had a quick art question: How do you start comissions? I've been improving my drawing skills and thinking about drawing for others after having fun in artfight, but I don't know where to start? How much to charge, how to get paid, etc. Do you have any tips? Hope you're doing well! :)

Alright, since a few people have asked, I’ve decided to put together a few things about how to get started on commissions - what you need, what you should make, and how to keep things organized.��

This will get a little long, so I’ll divide it into 4 main sections:

1) Draw Art - Getting started

2) Get Commissioned - Making a commission sheet, Advertising

3) ??? - Communicating, Setting Limits, Running the Business

4) Profit - Pricing Yourself and Getting Paid

* Disclaimer: I’m an artist, so this How-To will be illustration-focused. I’m sure many of these tips can apply to ANY types of commissions, but I will be focusing on the type I know best. If you are proficient in other types of commissions for other types of art - music commissions, photography, etc - feel free to chime in and leave a comment or make your own tutorial!

1) Draw Art

I think this is probably the most obvious part, but it needs to be said:

Before you start making art for other people, you must first be comfortable making art in general.

I’m not saying your art has to be Disney-quality, or industry-level! Not at all. 

BUT! You must be comfortable creating what you sell. If you try to sell something you have little confidence in, you will stress yourself out and possibly end up losing time AND money.

Don’t shoot for the moon if you haven’t landed on it even once. Sell what you know you’re good at. Your commissions don’t HAVE to include full-body illustrations if you don’t know how to draw feet/solid stances. Limit yourself to what you can do.

Things you need to should probably have before starting commissions:

1. Access to art materials or a fully downloaded art program

DO NOT - Use a free tutorial version that will expire in a month and leave you without a way to draw! If you are having trouble finding a program, try free ones like MediBang Paint Pro. 

2. Free time to complete the amount of commissions you want to take.

DO NOT - Take on or offer commissions if you KNOW you’re going to be overwhelmed with school or personal life for the next 2+ months. Pace yourself, otherwise you’ll burn out, get stressed, and get discouraged.

3. A reliable way to communicate with your customers like a commissions-only email 

DO NOT - Use your friend/family/college email. It’s hard to keep track of things as it is, and creating new emails is easy and free. And keep it professional if you can! Not many people will reach out to dong-wiggles20434 to ask for a design. Ideally, your email should be close to your brand - however you want to brand yourself. Usernames are fine!)

DO NOT - Use Instagram/Twitter/Tumblr to collect commission info unless you are ready to do the organizing yourself. Some people make it work, but in my experience, if you use these SNS sites to communicate with friends and network... you’re going to be losing commission inquiries right and left and accidentally ignoring people. Email is much easier to organize and sort into folders.

4. A portfolio or at least 2-3 pieces of each type of art you’re planning to sell. 

DO NOT - Advertise commissions without having any examples of the art you plan to sell. People will find it difficult to trust you if you can’t even give them a vague idea of what sort of drawing they’ll be getting. 

Disclaimer: These are not hard ‘do not’s. If you have had a different experience, I respect that. I’m simplifying for the sake of streamlining this advice. 

.

2) Get Commissioned

So - you have your art, you have your art program, and you’ve got all the time in the world. That means.... that’s right! It’s time to let the world know you’re taking commissions.

One of the most common ways artists signal to their audience that they can do commissions is by creating a commissions sheet. There are MANY ways to make this - and they range from simple and doodly ones to VERY complex designs. For example, here’s mine! 

There are many ways to organize a commission sheet. At its core, a commission sheet should display the types of art you WANT to be commissioned to make. Let’s go over a few ways they can be done!

#1.... Body Portion Dividers!

This sheet is most common with those who want to capitalize on drawing people and characters. If you want to draw lots of characters, this is a great way to offer several tiers of pricing based on how much of their character your customers want to see. 

#2... Complexity Scale

If you’re open to drawing many things but want to base your pricing off of how complex something is, you can split your tiers into done-ness. This type of commission is popular with those that draw characters AND animals, furries, etc.

#3....  Style and Type

If you’re more on the design side of things, or if you have various niche art styles that you can’t quite lump together, display a variety of your skills alongside each other! It helps if all the ones you have can be organized under a common customer - like those looking to advance their own business and get logos, websites, or mascots made for them!

.

3) ???

You got your first commission... what happens now???

Well, ideally you have the time, tools and motivation to make things happen! Now all you have to do is... sit down and... draw.......

I’m going to say something that may be a little controversial: 

Commissions aren’t fun. 

No, no, hear me out: I have fun doing commissions! I genuinely enjoy drawing characters and coming up with designs. But even with all that said, commissions are, first and foremost: WORK

I’m not saying this to discourage you, I’m saying this to keep things realistic. When I first began commissions, I thought it would be just like any other type of drawing. I would sit down, imagine a thing, draw it... it would be fun! 

But then I realized that I couldn’t just draw what I wanted - another person had an idea in mind and had asked me to do it. I stressed over getting the design correct from descriptions. I stressed over not having the right reference for the pose the commissioner wanted. I stressed over not being able to draw the leg right in the way I had promised I would do. I stressed about billing. I stressed about digital money transfers. It was difficult, and time-consuming, and I did not enjoy it. At all. 

And a part of that is definitely on the commissioner - we, as artists, NEED to demand proper references or descriptions. We, as artists, NEED to limit the amount of changes we’re going to make at the flick of a finger. We NEED to demand clear instructions and set boundaries. That’s also super important. 

But also - don’t be discouraged if you find yourself exhausted drawing your first commission. MANY artists go through this. Adjust your rules, fix up your limits, practice putting your foot down on finicky commissioners who expect you to read their mind! It does get easier, but you have to communicate and put in the effort and act as your own manager AND your own customer service AND your own accountant. That’s what you’re looking at. 

Good limits and boundaries to set: 

Limit the amount of changes a person can ask to make. “I want blue hair.” Next email: “No wait, yeah, make it red.” Next email: “Actually I changed my mind, can I get the blue but like, lighter?” Next email: “No, not that light.” ... At some point, we have to stop. I personally allow 2-3 changes on the final stages of a commission before I start refusing or start asking for extra money.

Demand clear instructions and/or references. If something isn’t described, you have to take artistic liberty and design it, but that’s difficult! And if the customer is not happy with it but can’t tell you more? That’s not your problem - the burden of reference is on THEM. You cannot read their mind, and that’s not your fault.

Get at least half the payment up front! This is a good balance between the ‘pay before art’ and the ‘pay after art’ conundrum that will limit the amount of woes between artist and customer. (I’ll touch upon this a little more in the Profit section.)

Organization:

Where possible, create good habits! Tag your emails and organize your folders. I have a tag on my emails for active and finished commissions. I also keep my emails on Unread until I have time to sit down and properly look at/reply to them.

My Commissions in the folder are also organized chronologically and I mark down which ones are paid and which ones are not.

(I understand not everyone can do this, but if you want to give it a try, it does make things easier in the long run. Again, this advice is just what I have found personally helps.)

One last thing - I do not want to shame ANYONE for taking their time with commissions! Commissions are complex, and they take time and work. You can draw in 8 hours, but some things take research, materials, etc. Some illustrations realistically take up to half a year, or, depending on what’s involved, several years!!

THAT BEING SAID - it’s good manners to be upfront with your customers about how long you expect the commission to take. If you think you’re busy, just say that! Explain that you have a lot going on, and you will probably take (insert time period here).

And if your commissioners are worried, work out a system to keep them updated! I send my commissioners updates when I finish the lineart/flat colors/etc and I try to be clear about how long everything will take. I try to estimate with a +3-5 days buffer to give myself extra time... and recently I’ve been using it. Always say a bigger number than you think you’ll need. 

If someone wants a rushed commission... make them pay more. If ANYONE wants a commission done ‘by the end of the week�� - that’s an automatic rush-job for me because I’m juggling an irl job and several commissions at once. I WILL charge a rush fee and I won’t feel bad about it. 

If someone wants a commission within 24 hours...... Well, they better be paying you 3x your normal amount, or more. And remember - you CAN refuse! It’s perfectly reasonable to say ‘No, sorry, that sort of turnaround time is not realistic for me.’

Food For Thought - Invoicing

Many artists I’ve commissioned in the past have not used Invoicing, but I’ve recently begun to fill out invoices and file them in my Commissions folder just to keep track of things. It’s not necessary until you start getting into the Small Business side of Freelancing, but it’s not a bad idea to get into the habit early in case you might need to do it later for tax purposes. 

Here’s what my Invoice looks like, for example. 

I’ve optimized it to help me remember who, what, and how much is involved! It also contains important info for my customers like where to send the money.

Which brings us to...

.

4) Profit

One of the hardest things for artists is pricing themselves. I’m not going to tell you which way is BEST - there is no BEST way, only the best way for YOU. 

One of the options available to you is pricing by the hour. It includes averaging out how long it takes you to draw a specific type of art (whatever you’re offering as a commission) and multiplying that by an hourly wage you’ve decided on.

When you do this, I stress - do NOT price yourself below minimum wage if you can help it. When you first start out, aim for the $15/hour mark and adjust accordingly. 

Other ways to price your art:

- Per complexity: Portraits vs full body should be scaled based on how difficult you find one vs. the other. You can also easily decide on a price for a sketch and double it for lineart, triple it for full color, etc.

- Per type: Look up for industry prices for website design and logo design. They may surprise you! You don’t have to charge that much, but it helps to keep things in perspective. 

It’s okay to change your prices! Keep your commission sheet image handy so you can update the amounts as you grow. :)

Payment up front or after completion?

Some artist take full payment up front. Some only demand payment after they’ve finished and sent out the piece. I personally think these are both risky for everyone involved. 

I recommend doing at least HALF of the payment BEFORE you start the commission. Calculate your full price and ask for half before you start working on it in earnest, to make sure the person can actually pay you. Then, when they receive the full piece and are satisfied, they can complete the payment. 

I personally work in this structure:

> Someone emails me with their idea/reference

> I send back a rough draft sketch that shows the idea/pose (only takes me 10-20 minutes so not a huge loss if they ghost) and quote them a price

> They can pay the full thing upfront OR pay half

> I finish the commission and send updates when I do the lineart/colors to double check anything so they have multiple chances to spot any errors

> If the person paid only half on completion, I send them a low-res version of the finished thing, they finish up their payment and THEN I send them the full-res version plus any other filetypes/CYMK proofs, etc. 

Many of the people who commission me pay me up front even though I offer they pay half - and I’m really flattered that they trust me that much! Because of that, I feel encouraged to update them frequently and ask for their input as I work, so they have the peace of mind knowing I’m actually doing their commission. 

Great, but how do I get PAID????

There are NUMEROUS ways - these days money is relatively easy to transfer over digital means, and you have a few options. 

Paypal is perhaps one of the oldest digital wallets and is geared towards businesses. By setting up a PayPal and connecting it to your debit card of bank account, you can tunnel a pathway from your online business directly into your hands in a matter of days. 

Paypal also offers Invoicing - you make an invoice, price it and send it to the person’s email and they can pay whatever way they need! (It also allows partial payments.)

Pros: transfers from PayPal to bank account are free, and take a couple of business days. It also has no upper limit to the amount of money you can move in/out each month. It can force refunds due to the nature of its business-oriented payment system.

Cons: Because it’s used by businesses for larger transactions, PayPal may demand a more rigorous proof of your identity. It may also take longer to set up and be harder to get used to. I’ve also heard that they can be a hassle when it comes to closing your account. 

Venmo is another type of digital wallet that acts much like paypal, except for a few key differences - it is NOT made for businesses (so depending on whether you’re officially registered as a freelancer, you may not be able to use it). I personally don’t use venmo, so I cannot speak to its usefulness, but I know a few people that use it for casual transactions. It’s easy and quick! :) 

Keep in mind that you cannot force a refund over venmo! The transactions are final.

There’s also CashApp, GooglePay (which could load gift cards but also allows peer-to-peer transactions) and I’ve heard good things about Due, though I’ve never personally used it.

Other ways to pay: I’ve had people pay me over Patreon by upping their pledge, and I’ve had people pay me over Ko-Fi by donating a specific amount. 

Many people even use Etsy - the website specialized for independent small businesses selling art - by listing their commission sheet and offering up several ‘slots’ of commissions, which allows you to track taxes AND allows your clients to pay using whatever they feel comfortable with.

If you’re in Canada, you can even pay by emailing money directly from bank account to bank account - check whether your country offers this type of service! There’s no shortage of ways to move money in the digital world.

Just like everything else, there’s no singular ‘Best’ way. It just depends on what works for you.

I think that just about wraps it up! I can’t quite think of what else to put here - but I’m sure other artists will chime in with their own advice. :) I’m very sorry this became so long but I hope it was helpful! 

Obligatory Disclaimer: I’m not qualified to give legal or accounting counsel. Please double-check the laws in your own country/state in regards to taxation of freelancing work and do your own research. If you are underage, DEFINITELY get an adult’s permission before you start doing commissions, and have the adult help you through the process.   

. . . . . . . . . . . . 

OTHER POSTS YOU MAY FIND USEFUL:

An Extended Post on Pricing Yourself for Commissions

Dealing with Imposter Syndrome/Feeling ‘Not Good Enough’

Growing Your Audience

Advice for Starting Digital Art

[lunaekalenda]

hi!! can i ask for either an eren or porco x reader fic where their titan form saves you from nearly dying during a battle and they get mad at you afterwards because they’re obviously not gonna be there all the time then when you apologize they end up breaking down because their afraid of losing you and it just ends in fluff 👉🏻👈🏻

OMG OMG wait this is gold!! that was a really good plot!! i had a hard time deciding, but i'm more into porco lately, so this time i'll be using him for my first fic! i hope you like it and sorry for the errors or the things that were different to the original ask :(  (*´-`) this takes place in one of the battles Marley fights against another enemy, but I will not follow the line of the original manga :D (also thanks to @breathes24 for refreshing my memory :D)

𝔰𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲

❁ porco x reader

❁ mention of blood and battle, mention of the extraction of a bullet, bad talking. shingeki s4 spoilers!

The only thing you could hear were shots. You kept running, your feet hurted and the backpack was really heavy. Running in the middle of the battlefield was a suicide mission, you knew it, but you were not going to leave all in Pieck's and Porco's hands. So, trying to avoid the shots, you keep runing. You can see Pieck's bag shooting and Porco running from one machine to another, trying to break them with his hardened claws. You look around, the corpses of your companions scattered across the field, along with some enemies. You try to concentrate in what you’re trying to do. The kids are safe in the trench, and you’re not a soldier of valor, you only have nursing knowledge, useless for the fight.

That’s why the commander has not hesitated to send you as a distraction.

“If you expose yourself as an easy target, they will probably have to divide their attention between them and you. Also, they know there are nine Changing Titans, but they don’t know exactly how many of them we have. They could think you’re one of them. That will make Zeke’s appearance more unexpected for them, you see?”

"Where the hell is Zeke?" you think. He should be here helping, a lot of eldians have died. a scream is heard and you identify it as a Titan's one. Pieck received a shot on her hand. She's losing her strength little by little. Porco keeps fighting, and Pieck’s support soldiers do a great job mastering the cannons, trying to hit the enemies. Reiner is trying to stop their train.

"Just wait a bit, guys. I'm almost there..." you enter the enemy side of the field. Your trench looks empty, because your army blindly believes in titans. But, like humans, their stamina is limited, and transforming takes a great deal of energy.

"There's one of them!!" someone yells in front of you. "She could be the Beast Titan, kill her before she reaches the other two!" all the soldiers can be heard loading their shotguns. 

The first shot impacts on the floor. The second, near you. You just have an option: keep running, faster.

You accelerate the step to the front, where big war machines are searching you. From the trench, a lot of soldiers are trying to kill you, failing due to the poor visibility they have, but it's a matter of time before those who run the tanks finds you.

This is the end.

The shots are every time more precise, but you can’t return and leave them alone, waiting for Zeke to make his appearance.

You have no scape.

You close your eyes, accepting the destiny, while you keep running. You can hear them charging their big machines. They found you.

You’re their target now.

A Titan's scream is heard, right before the order of the enemy captain.

"Fire!"

You open your eyes when a shot impacts on your leg, and you watch how they charge the canons, ready to kill you. Now you have zero scape way, you’re hurt and you can’t move.

Suddenly, the Jaw Titan appears and, opening his mouth, picks you up off the ground, locking you in his hardened jaw. His speed of movement allows him to easily dodge all shots. 

"Thanks, Pock."

A tremor and the sound of lightning tells that Zeke has already arrived to help.

He keeps runing, and then all you can hear are rocks hitting people, trains and houses. Zeke’s titan may be slow for running, but his pitches are deadly. Your leg hurts where the bullet went through, and the pants you’re using are covered with blood. 

“Just leave me here and return. I don’t want them to lose because of me.”

He ignored what you said and kept running, but slowing down. Probably he’s tired, he has been fighting for hours. 

Once you two are far enough from the battlefield, Porco turns right and you recognize the path he has been taking. We’re close to the residence. He opens his mouth and you go down to the floor, but your leg complains of the roughness of the movement. Then, his Titan falls, and he appears behind it. He seems angry.

"What the hell were you doing there?" he says. His Titan is steaming. 

"I wanted to help you, you were doing all the work... The commander told me to help and I thought it was a good idea." Porco looks at you without saying anything for a minute. Then, he sighs and looks at your bleeding leg, before coming towards you. His arm slips under your knees carefully, and the other rests on your back, before he lifts you. “I can walk, you don’t have to...”

“You have a fucking bullet inside, just take help for one damn time.” You decided to shut up and he enters the residence. “I have some medical stuff in my room, I’ll take you there.��� He starts to walk up the stairs, heading to his room. There are a few doctors on their daily check of the injured soldiers that live here. He opens his door using his foot, and he enters. His room is clean and clear. Natural light comes in through the window, and a bedside lamp lights up the corner of hi bed. He leaves you in the bed before walking to his personal bathroom, from where he takes a medicine cabinet. Porco drags a chair to place it near the bed, making him able to treat your leg. He hasn’t talk since we arrived here, but he keeps frowning. 

“We didn’t need help” He says after cutting your pants at the height of the wound. Then, Porco opens the medicine cabinet, and takes out thread, needle and some surgical tweezers. The scalpel glows when he pulls it out.

“Maybe this hurts a bit.” He whispers. He prepares also a towel with some water. “Grab that pillow and use it to muffle your screams.” You do what he said, and you put his pillow on your face. It smells like him, and it comforts you a lot. He works fast, moving his fingers with precision, and extracting the bullet without problem. Once he’s finished, he saves everything back in place and offers you a glass of water. You’re dizzy from the pain and you needed to drink, so you thank him and drink.

“Do it slow or you’ll be feeling worst, idiot.” he scolds tou. You drink it slower and you take a breath once you’re finished.

“Thanks” He puts the glass on the table he has as a desk. 

“Well, I...”

“You could have died out there” he says. He’s not looking at you, and runs his hand through his hair. “You were about to die.”

“Thanks for that, you saved me”

“I’m not going to last forever, you know? Someday I’ll die, and I’m not going to be there to save you like all the other times. So start thinking about surviving and stop playing the heroine.”

“Sorry?”

Why was he so pissed off? You didn’t ask for his help.

“I don't have to take care of you every time we go out onto the battlefield”

“Stop doing it, then”

“It's called companionship, but it only works if everyone focuses on surviving and not in saving stupid death-hugging soldiers”

“I never asked you to save me.” The words come out on their own before you could stop them. That was very rude, you’re ungrateful. He looks at you in the eyes, but you can't tell how he feels. 

“Cool, next time I'll take care of my business and let you die, if that’s what you want.”

He’s hurt. You hurt him because you were getting nervous. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said. I was getting anxious...”

He sighs. “I also talked badly to you.”

“But you’re right. I can’t survive by myself.” 

“I didn’t mean to say that.” His voice is losing strength, and his gaze is lowered. “It’s just... I thought that today I was losing you, I was not going to be able to arrive on time” his voice breaks while he talks. “I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you”

You looked at him surprised. “To me? Who cares about me? Maybe it’s because we trained together since kids.” You think for yourself, before speaking.

“Well, I know you care for all of us, but Pock yo...”

“You’re not getting it.” He says. Then he leans over to the bed. “I care for you. I care a lot. I can’t imagine if something bad happens to you. I’m always near in case I have to help you. I can only thing about your wellness.” His brown eyes are fixed on yours. “Please, don’t do that again.” His eyes are getting wet. “Just the idea of losing you terrifies me.” His hand sits on your back, and draws you to him. You’re speechless.

You have always been interested in Porco. When you first met him, you thought he was really handsome, and his personality made you think of him as unattainable. You two have been training together since kids. He was really good in all skills, and you were really bad. He helped you a couple times, but you ended in the nursery school. You started to lose contact, but then he inherited the Jaw Titan and wasn’t sent to Paradis, so you both coincide again. He is a man now, even more attractive than before, but with a somewhat shocking personality. So listen him saying this things makes your heart shudder.

“Pock, I...”

“I like you. Well, I think this is no more just attraction.” he whispers. “I guess I’m in love with you.”

That hit you like a train. His love for you was behind all the times he saved you, the times he helped you and the times he reprimanded you. He was moved by love, genuine concern. 

“Are you crying?” he separates you from his body to look at your face. Tears roll down your cheeks fast. Porco places his hands on both sides of your face, dabbing them dry with his thumbs. Your hands are placed on top of his, and you lean your head towards his touch. 

“I also love you, Pock” he smiles before kissing your forehead. “Since we were kids”

“You know that if you had said it before, I would have corresponded long ago” you laugh quietly, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “I can’t promise you a long life together, but if you accept the little that I can offer, I’ll be delighted to be with you.”

His lips place a soft kiss on your hair and you hug him.

“I will be happy to be with you, Pock.”

The room was silent, and you could only listen to his heartbeat, slow, because he has you on his arms, alive. You look at him, his handsome face looking you.

“Does that mean I can ask you to going out later” he laughs.

“I just took out a bullet from your leg, you have to rest.” you smirk.

“I live in the other part of the city. I can’t walk.”

“I’ll call a horse cart for you.”

He was having fun, dodging every possible way to spend time together that night.

“What if my leg hurts? I live alone.” you tried and, for your surprise, he smiled.

“Then I guess you need someone to take care of you tonight...”

His lips covered yours sweetly, and you thought you could get used to it.

To him.

[arcana-asshole]

Hello! I have a request if you like to do it, can you do the main 6 reacting to MC being obsessed with the band guns n roses and liking all their songs and having a small crush on all of band members?

HELLO!!!!! congratulations luv you were my first request EVER!!! as a big guns and roses fan myself, i would be absolutely DELIGHTED to write about this!!

Nadia

to be honest, it’s not really her style...YET

after a few days of hearing November Rain about 27,000 times, it starts to grow on her a lot.

this isn’t the kind of music she would typically find herself dancing to, but her foot will tap and she’ll bop her head side to side during Sweet Child O’ Mine.

“MC love, you must tell me, who sings these songs?”

When MC tells her she just..👁👁

“Guns and Roses?? Why would anyone want to shoot flowers?..Sounds like something my ex-husband would indulge himself in.”

After explaining to her that it’s just a name and no one is going to shoot the roses in the gardens, she allows herself to enjoy it a little more

She thinks MC’s passion is utterly adorable and every time their face lights up when they hear one of their songs come on, she can’t help but smile.

Nadia is lowkey kind of old. I love her to death, but she is old.

She doesn’t really understand how you have a crush on the members.

“You’ve never met these people. Why are you interested them? Forgive my tone, I’m just confused.”

You genuinely don’t even know how to begin explaining this to her.

“...So you don’t have genuine feelings for these people, you just think they’re attractive and are a fan of them. Oh goodness, that makes so much more sense!

Julian

He will sing to you constantly.

He can’t sing at all

Utterly tone deaf

Please stop him before this gets out of hand

He likes the more upbeat songs like Welcome to the Jungle.

He once started a bar fight while that song was playing

He broke his nose

Julian Devorak: Human Disaster

Will spin you around the floors and take you dancing in the street all the while listening to the music

If the moment is right, he just might give you a little kiss 💋

He’s a big brother. He knows a thing or two about teasing people for having crushes that seem silly

Just ask Portia! She almost beat him to death for mocking a crush she had when she was 6!

He will make mock kissy faces and try to impersonate your voice.

“Oh mwah mwah mwah! Axl Rose I love you so much! Kissy kissy~ Mwah mwah mwah!”

To be fair, as brutal as he can be with his mockery, he loves your music taste and he thinks your little crushes are just another admirable quality you have.

Asra

He gets it right off the bat.

Not his favorite, but he’s groovy yknow?

He likes their slower and sweeter songs

Will rock you gently and show dance with you beside a rainy windowsill

He can turn any song into a romantic memory without even trying that hard

What can I say, he’s a charmer!

He’s not an incredible singer, but at least he’s better than Julian. If you ask him to serenade you, he will.

“What’s the lyric, my love?”

He’s so happy that you’re happy

Passion is the quality that he has always found most admirable about you.

Whether it be about magic or music, if you care about it, he’s just going to fall in love with you a little bit more

He handles the crush thing better than everyone else

“Yeah he’s hot. I can see you two together.”

Portia

Oh my god. She is the best

She’ll scream along with you.

Literally scream.

Then she’d blow out her throat and not be able to speak without sounding horse for like six days.

“TAKE ME DOWN TO THE PARADISE CITY WHERE THE GRASS IS GREEN AND THE MAGICIANS ARE PRETTY!!”

See what she did there?

Paradise City is her favorite song

Like Julian, she’s a big fan of the more Rock n Roll kinda songs

Honestly, she might love them as much as you do.

She’ll sing along while she cooks and cleans around her house and while she’s working.

It confuses the shit out of Nadia.

She loves to dance. She’ll pick you up and spin you in circles

She may be small, but she packs a lot of might

She’s a little bit of a fangirl when it comes to the members of the band, just like you!

You two geek out over how cute and talented they all are

“MC, babe. Honey. Love muffin. Cutie patootie with a red hot booty. I adore you so so so much. But if Slash ever came up to me, I would leave you in a heartbeat.”

She’s only kidding

...Right?

Muriel

Not his style, but a song will get caught in his head every once in a while.

If you catch him humming while feeding the chickens, call him out. He’ll get all flustered it’s so adorable.

“...It’s catchy leave me alone”

He’s not a big rock n roll guy. I feel like he’d like Willie Nelson yknow?

But the softer songs that they have??

He’s in love

A guitar riff will get stuck in his head and when he’s all alone he’ll sing it on “nee new”

Does anyone else do that? When you want to sing a guitar part, you just go nee now?

Muriel Does

He’s a Nee-Nower

To be honest, he’s completely indifferent to you having a crush on all the members.

Doesnt affect him

If anything he thinks it’s kind of weird

But it’s still endearing

Lucio

“These guys suck. I could sing better than that!”

No Lucio. No you can not.

He’s canonically a warbling mess when he sings. He’s worse than Julian. He’s so bad. Dont let him sing to you.

Truthfully, he doesn’t like them that much

He wants to be your #1. Not some silly band!

He’s a pain in the ass

Think of him like— an old grandma

“TURN THAT RACKET DOWN, MC!!”

“WE ARE NOT IN THE JUNGLE!!”

He pouts a lot whenever you mention having a crush on one of the members

“What does Axl Rose have that I don’t?????”

In order to make you happy, he’ll disregard his own dislike for them, and try to organize a choir of servants to sing some songs for you.

No one agrees

He’s angry

He says “Fuck That” and puts on the whole mini concert by himself

It’s a nightmare

At the end of the day, he’s happy you found something you really like, even if it’s not his favorite. (and even if it makes him just a little bit jealous)

BONUS

https://youtu.be/Cy8khyMj8JE

NOT MY ART!!! It’s just a funny video!!

[chiantidinner]

THE UNCLE WORRIES

"Well, as you have the formidability of an Adler and the intellegence of a Holmes, I don't believe these moronic obstructions will interfere with the path you will take on in the future, now will it?"

\\~\\

"Yes, I'm fine- NO! Your father musn't hear about this!" Nero berated loudly to the phone stuck to his ear, hands flinging outwardly and feet rustling about outside the school gates.

The Adler-Holmes offspring had just retired from school for the day and was yearning to be back at the home-y confines of Bakerstreet; just him, his father, occassional (now, more often) visits from his mother, the skull on the mantelpiece, and the ghastly laboratory equipments filling the whole of the kitchen area - but it wasn't until he recieved the call from Rosie, aware of what had transpired between him and a couple of boys their age, who think themsleves as tyrants, and had offered a solution that involved telling John Watson about the matter at hand.

"You know he'll tell father and..." The boy paused, sighing, rubbing his elbow and hissing as he felt a slight sting of the movement, "Rosamund, don't you dare-"

Nero's attempt to dispose his friend out of the idea had suddenly died down his throat, ignoring her cries as he watched a black Jaguar car pull up right in front of him. His eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly but his expression remained stoic, hearing how the car door clicked and started to swing open. Nero tightened his grasp on the phone and muttered lowly, "I have to go.", then ending the call. He carried his long limbs toward the opening, slowly rasing his chin to imply confidence. Assuming the man inside the car is who Nero thinks he is, he'd have to appear much like his father - though for what reason, he doesn't know.

As he steps closer, a figure of a woman in a suit with light brown hair comes to view - further proving that the man responsible to the mysterious arrival of the vehicle, is indeed his uncle and not wealthy kidnappers trying to take him as bait for his father to willingly catch (which, unfortunately, has happened more than once in his 16 years of life). The boy closed the door beside him as he sat down on the leather seat, sighing before turning to face Mycroft - his apprehension expertly covered by his naturally sour facade.

"Nero." The older man inclined his head to his direction, as a way of greeting, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

"Good afternoon to you too, sir." the boy replied, still with a stoic and blank face.

Mycroft tried hard to hide his grimace as he heard his nephew call him: sir.

Ever since he was shown to Mycroft, it never really deemed him to be called uncle - much less ever being one - but the boy was different. The boy was far too brilliant and belongs to a far more extraordinary family than normal people would suspect. It impressed Mycroft how easily he could start a conversation with adults and then finds chatting with other children boring and annoying, how he could find clues in the most discrete of places at such a young age, and how he could act realistically and would use that against people that were worth the punishment, but he could say he wasn't the least bit surprised; he was Sherlock Holmes' and Irene Adler's son, after all.

"May I ask what could be so terribly important that you couldn't have just called me?" Nero replied pointedly, itching to get this over with and go home.

"I have heard about the shooting near your school and came to pick you up myself."

Nero's blank facade finally came crumbling down when it was replaced with pure confusion, mixed with a bit of shock, his face pulling into a grimace and his eyebrows knit together. The boy searched a reason from his uncle as he bore his eyes into his, but found that he didn't want anything from him and that his actions were from familial concern, apprehension, guilt (he didn't know where that came from), and, as much as he would deny, sentiment. He opened his mouth but no words came out, and the second try was unsuccessfull as well.

When he finally found the breath to reply, he choked out, "...Why?"

Much to the younger boy's surprise, Mycroft's demeanor actually softened; a soft grin played on his lips that spoke volumes, sharp brown eyes losing their sting. He looked nothing like what Nero had ever seen of his uncle, even his assisstant looked utterly surprised.

"Because I don't want my only nephew to become like my brother." Mycroft's eyes now showed signs of sadness and... guilt.

Ah, that's where that came from, Nero thought to himself.

"Really? Because I believe my father is in a good place. He receives inquiries for cases from the Yard, still gets to bring John Watson with him, and as much as he'd deny it.. he has his family. I would rather want to become like my father."

The British Prime Minister opened his mouth to speak, but not before something caught his eye: the scratches on Nero's elbow.

Nero covered his arms with his bag quickly upon realization, but the damage was done; Mycroft knew what happened to his nephew. He straightened and turned to the window - his face now unreadable and dismissive, a sharp contrast to the previous expression he donned.

"Tyrants." He spoke after a moment's pause, "Although they do not hold a single grudge in comparison to our intellect, they are the worst and most destructive enemies, us, Holmes' are destined to face - other than criminal masterminds. They are the ghosts that haunt our every sunny day, scribbled letters we keep in the very back of our minds." Mycroft continued with a dangerous glint in his eyes, his gaze slowly turning to the boy in front of him, a corner of his lips jerking upward knowingly (that somehow reminded him of his father's), "And you, to no surprise, have your own fair share, Nero."

For the first time since he stepped into the car, he allowed a one-sided but warm smile to appear on his face and felt pride fill his body. He wasn't proud that generations and generations of the family were ganged up and hurt, just because of their inexplicably curious nature. No. He was proud of the fact that they simply acknowledge the particular attribute each of them holds, that this experience may wound and scar them, but will always have their prodigious intellect as plaster.

"Well, as you have the formidability of an Adler and the intellegence of a Holmes, I don't believe these moronic obstructions will interfere with the path you will take on in the future, now will it?"

The car came to a halt and suddenly they were at the Bakerstreet pavement.

"Nevertheless," Mycroft ducked his head slightly and glanced upwards to see his brother watching the car from the window, and turned back to Nero, "I hope you take this little conversation of ours as a precaution to not take into account what those babbling baboons imply to yourself."

"You are a smart boy, Nero. Make use of your intellegence for the greater good."

With nothing else to say, the boy merely nodded slyly, grabbed his bag and went out the door. But as he stepped foot on the hard ground, his name was being called from inside the car.

"Nero."

The person donning the name ducked and poked his head inside with an expectant look on his pale face.

Mycroft hesitated and sighed in fustration, his lips pursed together in a thin line, "I-... I worry about you as I do with my brother. I don't want you going through what he did."

Nero ginned once again, this time honest and genuine, his eyes smiling along with his lips, "I am aware.. uncle."

Giving, one tight smile to Mycroft and his assisstant, Nero disappeared from the door and into 221B Bakerstreet.

It was then that Mycroft realized the boy was as much every bit of his brother, and at the same time, not.

\\~\\

First of all, thank you to everyone who read and had actually finished lmao. Second, WOHOO my first fic!!

I got this idea from my own headcanon that generations of Holmes' - from the Holmes parents, to Mycroft, Sherlock, and Eurus, then Nero - were belittled and made fun of, because of their extraordinary intellegence, whether that was in school, or in the world at large. So, I incorporated that into this fic, mixed in with 'responsible-and-protective-big-brother-Mycroft' but instead of brother, we have uncle to Nero because, why not?

I also sort of made this because I had writer's block and read somewhere to write what's inside your pretty little head to bring back your natural creativity...

But, back to the matter at hand, I hope you guys liked it and I would REALLY love if you left some feedback and suggestions as to how I can improve my writing skills.

Much love, R. xx

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Hello! Love your works, if its not too much trouble, how about a Mia x Monty Hogwarts Fluff?

Ah thank you @richerthannoir I’m loving writing about Mia and Monty Potter (Minty) at the moment, so enjoy some Minty Hogwarts fluff!! As this is to celebrate a We Can Be Heroes  reader milestone on ff.net, it’s a reminder that in that story, I did say I would do a backstory get-together fic for Mia and Monty and I will do it at some stage soon!!

How Many Detentions Will it Take?

“Hullo, Mia.”

“Hullo, Potter.”

“Well past curfew, you know, old thing,” Fleamont Potter said, leaning against the wall in a relaxed manner.

“Oh, I’m well aware, Potter.”

Mia’s hazel eyes twinkled and he shook his head and grinned back.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said.

There was something about him, about his kind smile, his casual confidence and quiet positivity, that made her feel safe and excited, all at once.

“Are you not going to ask me what I’m doing out and about at this hour, Potter?” she smiled.

It was after midnight.

“Do I look like I want to know?” he said.

Mia laughed, her dimples showing.

“I’m willing to bet you and your fellow Buccaneers are up to something,” Monty said, idly twirling his wand.

“Oh never doubt that, Potter, The Five Buccaneers are always up to mischief,” she said. “You can take that as a given.”

“I’d rather not know the details,” Fleamont laughed quietly.

“Why’s that?” Mia asked, walking closer to him.

Their hands were practically touching. Mia’s strong, thick hair, cut in a bob (purposely, a muggle hair do, to cause outrage) shimmered gold against the torch light. Fleamont’s spectacles glinted, or perhaps it was his eyes shining, she couldn’t tell.

“I don’t want to have to give you detention,” he said.

“That’s cute, Potter,” she said, still smiling. “You gave me five detentions last month.”

He snorted and shook his head at her.

“That’s ‘cause you gave me no choice,” he said. “Almost like you wanted me to catch you red-handed.”

“Almost like I wanted you to catch me,” Mia repeated, her eyebrows raising theatrically. “Who knew?”

He didn’t say anything this time, just ran his teeth over his lower lip and laughed. She was quite sure she had managed to rile him up a little bit. But it was so hard to know, he was uncommonly good at appearing unperturbed. In fact, even now, she wasn’t sure he was even remotely interested.

“You Hufflepuffs are a menace,” he said eventually, running his index finger along the groove of the stonework. “Others always underestimate you.”

“You underestimate us at your peril, Potter,” Mia said, with a brazen wink at the tall, dark-haired chap.

He looked away as he smiled, bashful, just for a split second, and when he looked back at her there was something so pleased, so adoring, in his gaze, that her hopes rose. Maybe he wasn’t quite as nonchalant as he wanted her to think.

“I said others,” he replied.

His voice had dropped, lower, warmer.

“You’d think you’d have learnt your lesson by now, seeing as I’m always beating you on the Quidditch field,” Mia added.

She was almost embarrassed by her outrageously blatant teasing, her outright flirting. Almost. She did not do embarrassment. It wasn’t in her vocabulary.

His face took on a more confident grin, this was their usual banter, during inter-house games.

“You wish,” he said lightly.

“Gryffindor Seeker and Head Boy. Not bad, Potter,” she said, beaming up at him.

He was so much taller than her.

“Hufflepuff Captain and Rogue Buccaneer,” replied Fleamont, leaning his foot against the stone wall. “Not bad yourself.”

“Ha!” she grinned mischievously. “Pity my parents don’t think so.”

His smile dropped.

“Do they not?” he said.

He sounded astonished. But then again, his parents weren’t obsessed with pureblood nobility and the likes. Sure, the Potters were purebloods, but they didn’t appear to give a toss about such drivel as Sacred Twenty-Eights and other daft nonsense. Everyone knew it. In fact, despite being a very old and reasonably well-off family, they managed to remain on the outer fringes of respectability and quite outside pureblood elite circles. Lucky bastard. She was quite sure she had heard her father talking about what a disappointing, pathetic man Fleamont’s father was. It made her like Monty all the more. Just like she loved that he never called her by her surname.

“No. Hufflepuff was literally the worst House I could have chosen,” she said, determined to keep a light tone. “My parents think it’s the losers’ House. They were mortified. They said if I had been in Ravenclaw, they’d have accepted it, if Slytherin wasn’t an option. Gryffindor would have infuriated them, but there’s plenty of purebloods in your House. Mine is where most misfits, as my parents would call it, end up. You know – muggleborns and the likes.”

She rolled her eyes derisively.

“I’m sorry,” Fleamont said, genuine concern in his tone.

“Yeah, so am I,” Mia said.

She looked away pretending to fasten her cloak so he couldn’t see she was a bit upset. Only a bit.

“Anyway,” she said, after a pause, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in her voice. “I don’t care. My father and I have never really gotten on. It doesn’t bother me what he thinks.”

Fleamont had been looking at her, tentatively, both feet back on the ground, one hand now scratching the back of his neck.

“I think my mum is proud of my Quidditch skills, but she’d never say it to me. The only time I hear from them is when I’ve gotten into trouble with the Professors. A Howler from my father. You’ve probably heard them.”

She wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted face, her laugh coming out all watery.

“A lot of them,” he said, smiling back.

“They don’t seem to deter me from getting into mischief.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

She smiled and looked away again, her wand tracing haphazard patterns in the air.

“My father has already decided who I’m going to marry, you know…”

“Oh?” he raised his eyebrows marginally.

“Yeah, some creep called Casper Carrow, a committed pureblood, a Ministry of Magic official,” she said. “He’s nearly ten years older than us.”

She knew he had seen her shiver.

“Dad says I better change if I know what’s good for me, or the Carrows may decide to pull out of the agreement,” she said.

This time she looked at him, really looked at him, and he could see worry and resistance in her eyes. He stepped closer to her.

“I hope you never change, Mia, not like that,” Fleamont said.

He looked so sure, his grey eyes were burning, and she felt so much better when he was close to her.

“So, you like me, Monty?” she said, biting her lip, hoping she looked as confident and debonair as ever, that he couldn’t see the vulnerability hidden behind it.

He continued gazing into her eyes, steadfast, and brought his two hands to rest lightly on her shoulders.

“Of course I like you, Mia, you daft thing. I like you, an awful lot,” he said quietly.

“You do?” she whispered, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her hands around his neck, pulling his face down closer.

“I do,” he said, his whole face lighting up now.

“Oh thank Merlin, I was resigning myself to daily detentions for the rest of the year, hoping you might get the gist,” she grinned, all traces of sadness disappearing.

“What gist is that?” he asked, teasing, his lips practically touching hers.

“That I like you back, an awful lot,” she said, radiant and triumphant.

They kissed, long and slow and full of hope, under the dim torchlight, bursts of tiny stars shooting from the tips of their giddy wands.

(Hope you liked it!)

Arranged marriage?   Minty   Minty fluff    Mia & Monty Potter Hogwarts fluff

[lu-undy]

Hello! I was wondering, how about sniperspy version of "seduce me" hehehe

Alright, this took me ages and I hope I met your expectations! I had great fun with this one and I hope I’ll give the same smiles I had on my face as when I wrote it.

"So, what is it you seek with me?" 

Sniper was standing awkwardly in Spy's suite. He was nervously fiddling with his hat between his fingers in front of the Frenchman who looked, on the other hand, as if he couldn't possibly be more comfortable. 

"I uh, I'd like some advice." 

"And you decided that of all the people you could ask, I would be best?" Spy raised an eyebrow. 

Sniper sighed and nodded. 

"Pray take a seat." 

Spy extended an inviting hand and Sniper obliged, albeit on the edge of the armchair. The Frenchman, who wasn't wearing his jacket or vest but only his shirt and tie, took a seat opposite him, on the other armchair. The coffee table separating them as well as the fireplace on Sniper's left, or Spy's right.

"So, how may I help?"

He gathered his fingertips and elegantly put a leg on the other. 

"I uh… Well, there's this… person."

Spy hid his surprise. 

"I… I like them… I'd like to know them better and I don't really know how to, y'know, approach them and start the whole thing." 

"Ah, I see."

Spy nodded slowly.

"So yeah, that's my problem."

"And you are asking me because…?"

"Cause I know you're good with this stuff. And I…"

"And?" Spy repeated.

"And I hoped you wouldn't make fun of me."

Spy smiled but not in an arrogant way, non, not when his colleague had made the effort to come out of his den of a van and be honest with him.

"I will help you." 

Sniper raised his eyes to his masked friend. 

"But you need to know that there is no way to do this without getting out of your comfort zone." The Frenchman said.

"Yeah…"

"I am serious, Sniper, I know you adore your solitude in that van of yours but if you really want to approach someone, you will have to come out of your shell quite a bit. Are you sure that it is what you want?"

Sniper looked left and right. 

"I uh, I'll try."

"That will not do." Spy answered and the Aussie lowered his head, frowning. 

"You need not to try, but to succeed; if you really want that person, that is." 

Spy paused before he added:

"Do you?"

The silence lasted for half a minute or so but for Sniper it was eternity and it weighed on his entire being. He closed his eyes. 

"Spy, I-" Sniper's breath cut on its own. Spy watched with attention. The tension on his colleague's body was visible. “Yeah. I want to."

"Bien, in this case, I first need an idea of what I am working with."

[Good.]

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. His eyes met with the Frenchman's ice blue ones. 

"Show me what you can do." 

"What d'you mean?" Sniper asked. 

"Seduce me."

Sniper gulped down hard and he felt himself sweat. 

"W-what?" 

"Seduce me." The Frenchman repeated as he moved to sit on the sofa.

"Alroight."

Sniper stood up and adjusted the collar of his red polo shirt. He made sure it was tucked in his trousers and rolled up his sleeves. 

"Roight." He took a deep breath and approached the Frenchman whose eyes were locked on the fireplace. Sniper sat next to his friend, but not too close. 

"Hey." 

Spy turned his head to him. 

"How're you doin'?" 

"Not too bad. Yourself?" 

"Yeah, I-I'm alroight… I think… Uh…" Sniper put a hand behind his neck. 

"You think?" 

"Y-yeah, well, nah, I'm-I'm fine." 

Spy smiled. He knew his colleague wasn't very good with social interactions but he hadn't imagined he would be at a loss that much. 

"You can ask me what I do for work if you don't know it, or what I do outside of work." The Frenchman suggested. 

"Ah, yeah, that's a good idea. So uh, what do you do outside o'work? Got any hobbies?" 

"I collect short blades. I have about three hundred of them. Some I like for personal reasons, others because their fabrication was a work of art in itself. I also like to read." 

"Oh, cool, that's nice, I like knives but I don't know much about them. I just look at them like paintings, I suppose." 

Spy was surprised but didn't let it show. Sniper had continued on the conversation as if collecting hundreds of knives was ordinary. 

"And uh…" The Aussie continued. "What d'you like to read?" 

"French literature. Mainly 19th century authors. I find contemporary authors quite empty and arrogant. I much prefer the man who wrote without knowing that he would be famous hundreds of years after his death."

Sniper had drank his colleague's words like a priceless wine. 

"Oh, wow… That's quite poetic, the way you put it, eh?" 

Spy smiled. 

"I do like it that way, don't you?" 

Sniper blushed and looked away as Spy's eyes were too sharp. 

"Part of me does."

"And the other part?"

"Tries to hide it."

"Why?" 

"Because… I don't think that's what people like in general, eh. Can't be a hunter and a poet. People think huntin' is barbaric but that's because they never tried."

Spy raised an eyebrow and listened as Sniper's eyes locked on the dancing flames in the fireplace. 

"Hunting can be complicated and takes ages. It's not just point and shoot. First you want to attract your target's attention, you want to know it well, understand its behaviour, the patterns painted on its soul. And when you decide to approach, it is to get it but you mustn't do it too soon, eh."

"Otherwise?" 

"Otherwise the target just runs away and you don't want that… Also, when you take your aim and decide that it's the right moment to shoot, your entire body is focused on that one particular target. You hold your breath to steady your aim, your eyes see nothing but the target, your mind think about nothing but the target. Only the target exists." 

Spy tilted his head on the side and the corner of his lips pursed up in a smile. 

"And then you shoot. In a split second, you have taken the target from this life to the next. And God forbid you ever have to shoot twice. Hunting isn't a game and you must treat the target with the utmost respect. There's no point in making it suffer. You want to kill it as cleanly as possible." 

"Tell me, Sniper..." Spy pulled his friend out of his almost monologue. 

"Yeah?" 

"You said that you were ready to make outstanding efforts to get that person, oui?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why?" 

Sniper's eyes lowered slowly. 

"H-they're… special." 

"How so?"

"They… count a lot to me." Sniper took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "First, they're gorgeous. They're absolutely stunnin'. I look at them and I can feel my eyes burn when I do, because that's how hard their image gets imprinted in my head."

"Hm." Spy nodded to show he was following.

"And then they're… They're just perfect… Yeah, well, ok, I don't think we go well together and I don't have much hope they'll accept to spend more time with me."

"But?" 

"But I have to do it."

"Why?" 

"Because I can't think about any bloody one else! I wake up and they're the first image that comes to my mind. I work and I can see them in my head all the time, and when I go to bed, I… I just wish they were with me." 

The Aussie sighed. 

"Tssk it's ridiculous. I know it won't work." 

"What?" Spy asked. 

"I'm givin' myself false hopes. I-I'm hoping they could like me but I know they don't and they won't." 

"Sniper." 

He raised his eyes to his friend's. 

"Tell me more about them." 

"What do you want to know?" 

"When you see them, what do you think?" 

"I can't."

"Well if you want me to help you, you will have to help me with that!"

"No, you don't get it."

Spy raised a curious eyebrow. He noticed Sniper was tapping his foot relentlessly on the floor. 

"I can't think when I see them is what I mean. I… I just don't know anything anymore. They're… I'd kill to just have an evening more with them." 

Spy's eyebrow twitched at the "more". 

"And in fact, that's what I do everyday. I kill and kill, hoping they would, y'know, maybe pay a bit of attention to me…" 

Sniper took a deep breath and sighed.

"Sniper, what do you feel for them?" 

Spy's voice was delightfully calm. 

"He has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. He's gorgeous." Sniper lowered his face and hid it in his hands. "When I see him, nothin' else matters anymore, I just become obsessed, and-and stupid I s'ppose."

"Have you tried talking to him before?"

"Once."

"How did it go?" 

Sniper raised his head again. 

"There wasn't a second that I didn't appreciate. I sat next to him and… It's like I could feel the heat of his body even though I wasn't touching it. I felt hot and sweated b-but I'm so bad with words, Spy, why does it have to be so hard?" 

Spy looked at his friend and smiled. 

"Ah but that is what I meant when I said that you would have to come out of your shell. Engaging with someone is exhausting in truth."

"Even fer you?" Sniper looked him in the eyes briefly.

Spy chuckled. 

"Oui, even for me. But if you feel so strongly for them, I can only understand the torture that is going on inside of you, the constant indecision. Should I, or should I not? Will that get me closer to him, or push me farther? Besides, I did not know you could enjoy the company of men." 

Sniper realised only then that he had been using "he" and "him" the whole time.  He blushed so hard he might have blown up.

"Ahem, well, I mean uh…"

"But don't get me wrong, mon ami, far from me the idea to judge. I can appreciate a man's company too."

[My friend]

"Oh, really?" 

"Oui. And, if it is confession time, I will add that there is one that my heart is not insensitive to."

"Oh…"

"Let me tell you more, it might help you…" 

Spy adjusted himself on his seat and cleared his throat.

"I don't recall how I started getting interested in him and I must admit that it surprised me when I realised that I did. You see, I am no stranger to romantic stories and am well versed in it all. Also, rarely have I faced rejection."

"But?" Sniper half guessed. 

"But that man is different. He is so different that I genuinely do not know how to approach him."

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. 

"Oui, even I don't know so who will? But one thing is for sure, you would never think I could fall for such a man. He is my polar opposite in all aspects and all ways possible and I fear that if I did as much as talk to him, I might ruin it all." 

"Did you try and talk to him or…?" 

"Oui, once. We had a long conversation. Oddly enough, it happened in this very room. I was sitting here and him, more or less where you are now." 

Spy sighed but his lips were pursed in a genuine smile and his eyes were dreamy.

"We had a chat that I wished could last forever. His voice is such a delight to my ears. He doesn't use it often, but when he does, it is such a sweet melody…" 

Sniper blushed seeing how Spy felt. He had never imagined the Frenchman could tell him something that personal, and he seemed honest about it too…!

"Sniper, if I had to describe him, I would say that yes indeed, no one would imagine him and me together. And believe me, it is very hard for me too. I cannot imagine for a second that he would want it either. Of course I do guess that he is not insensitive to my charms but I think that I am lacking what he might be looking for in someone else."

"D'you know if he's into blokes?" 

"Well I did my fair share of research on the man and came to learn very recently that yes, he does not exclude that possibility. What about you?"

"Yeah, same." 

"We are fortunate then." 

"And cowards." Sniper added and Spy's eyebrows jumped. "Cause we're talkin' here on your sofa and not really amounting to much, are we?" 

"Would you be achieving more anywhere else?" Spy asked. 

"N-no, not really, that's true." 

"Then I suppose we are not so cowardly." 

"I guess so… But, Spook, uhm, d-do you… I mean I can't imagine you do eh, but, do you feel like you're dumb when you're around him? I mean I lose my words and-and I stutter a lot more than usual and…"

"Ah, I see what you mean. I might feel so but I have long learned how to control my emotions, so it doesn't really show. Although I feel the soft tingling in my insides, the electricity in the air and in me when my eyes meet his. His eyes are blue, but very different from mine." 

"Ah, same for me. I just have blue eyes but his are… My God, they're somethin' else, when he looks at me I'm so scared that he might see that-"

"That you love him?" 

"Y-yeah… His eyes are so piercing he might as well see through me and behind, as if I was transparent."

“You are fairly easy to read, Sniper.”

“Huh?” He sweated more heavily, feeling put on the spot. “What d’you mean?”

“Let me explain. I think you have said a lot about that man, almost enough for me to know who he is.” Spy grinned smugly.

“W-what? N-no, how?!”

“Correct me if I am wrong.” Spy closed his fist and opened his thumb. “First, the person is a man.”

Sniper nodded.

“Then,” Spy extended his index finger. “You know what job he has.”

The Aussie’s eyes snapped wide. 

“How did you know?”

“You didn’t ask for his job, but his hobbies.”

“Ah, y-yeah.”

“There is also the fact that he knows that you are a hunter at least.”

Sniper lowered his head.

“Add to that the fact that you never go anywhere near people and I do imagine this is your first time out of your beloved Australia, the man you have your thoughts on is in this base or the other one.”

The Aussie’s knee bounced faster up and down.

“Now, I know your professionalism and I do believe he isn’t one of the enemy, which then means that he is in our team, is he?”

Sniper hid his face in his hands and shyly nodded.

“Interesting. The man I have my thoughts on is also in this team.”

The Aussie’s face flashed up to his colleague.

“W-what?”

Spy wasn’t sure if he saw surprise or disappointment.

“I love him, Sniper. What you describe about the heat of his body, ah… I can only dream about letting my fingers trail his cheeks and entire body, and I did. How many times? Bah, not enough times for me, and sure too many for you who are listening to me. But what else can I do? As you know, I am used to romance but he is so different, so special. I cannot invite him to a restaurant, I cannot take him out for a ride, I… I am condemned to enjoy him like I would a priceless work of art, from a distance, and without doing more than just watching.”

Spy sighed.

“Maybe I am asking too much, maybe I should just content myself with what I have but… My thoughts are stuck on him, his tall and slim silhouette, his beautiful eyes, there is something wild and primitive about him that burns my insides, Sniper…”

“W-wait, he’s on the team and he’s tall and slim. So… That’s not Engie, Heavy, Pyro, Soldier or Scout. You’re taller than them and Heavy’s not slim. That leaves Demo and Medic. But I can’t see how Medic could have something wild about him. Oh bloody hell, it’s Demo?!”

Spy chuckled. 

“I also forgot to say that he is adorably selfless. His smile is rare but when I see it, I can feel flutters everywhere in my chest, as if it contained butterflies that had been kept dormant for too long. Only he can make me feel those things, only the sight of him can do hat. Well, not only the sight. When he blesses me with his voice and his attention, very few words can describe what that generates.”

Spy turned to Sniper.

“It’s Demo, isn’t it…?” The Aussie repeated, with a disgruntled sigh.

“You sound disappointed.”

“N-no, I-I’m just surprised, is all.”

Spy spotted the bad lie as easily as an elephant in a porcelain shop.

“Sniper?”

“Hm…”

“Look at me.”

“I am.”

“Non, in my eyes.”

Sniper took a deep breath and raised his defeated eyes to the Frenchman.

“You forgot someone in the team.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did.”

“Who? Miss Pauling! She isn’t a man, is she?”

Spy chuckled and moved closer to his friend on the sofa.

“Indeed she is not.”

“So it’s not her?”

“Non, it is not.”

“Then who?”

“Look in this very room, do you not see anyone else?”

“Y-you? You can’t be lovin’ yourself, I mean, you can’t find yerself wild, can you? If anything I live in a van and all, so I’m wilder than you and-?”

Spy had nodded which cut Sniper short.

“W-what?”

“You have finally found him.”

“W-wait, who?”

Sniper was sweating bullets as he saw Spy’s gloved fingers rise and soon he felt the velvet against his cheek.

“Toi.”

[You.]

Spy’s dreamy eyes were a sight to behold. He looked in love indeed but the Australian couldn’t believe it, so he refused to and frowned.

“I understand I might not be the one that you put in your heart Sniper, and I respect that.” The Frenchman removed his hand from Sniper’s cheek. “I will not trouble you with my feelings again and shall help you talk to whoever you want.”

Spy was annoyed, that was clear enough in his slightly clenched jaw and furrowed brow. But if Sniper needed help, he would oblige.

“So, who is it?”

Sniper’s jaw had dropped and for seconds that felt like eternity for them both, he was incapable of producing any sounds, let alone words.

“Sniper?”

“You love me?” He finally asked.

“I do. Now, can we not dwell on this, as you are obviously looking for someone else.”

Irritated, Spy took his cigarette case out and opened it. He was about to take one when-

“I love you too.”

“What?” Spy’s cigarette case fell off his hands. He stopped sharp and looked up at the Aussie. “You cannot change your feelings that fast. You can fake it, oui, but you cannot enter this room with someone in your heart and exit with someone else.”

“Ya wanker, it’s you I was talking about since the beginning!”

Spy’s eyes flashed with the flames that they reflected from the fireplace.

“You lie very poorly.”

“Oh that’s rich... “ Sniper spat. “One, you’re the bloody Spy here and two, look at me!”

Spy had been busy picking up his cigarette case from his lap and collecting the cigarettes scattered there. He stopped to look at the Aussie.

“I… I…”

“Pathetic. You lie so poorly that you cannot even say it.”

Spy felt his feelings flip like a wave crashing. He went from head over heels for the man to furious, fuming with rage. He clenched his teeth.

“I LOVE YOU!” Sniper shouted and his roar was so powerful, that it startled the Frenchman on his seat, tipping over his cigarette case again. He blushed intensely seeing the Aussie get that loud for the first ever time. His voice had projected so powerfully, he worried that the entire base had heard it.

“I love you, alroight?” Sniper repeated with his usual calm voice this time. “I came here to ask you how I could… Talk to you… And spend more time with you. Yeah, as you said, I don’t do fancy dinners and all that but I love you. I can’t not think about you. So I thought of this to spend more time with you. I don’t know what you like, posh stuff I guess, so that was the only way.”

Spy’s eyes were riveted on his spilled cigarette case again on his lap but when his friend finished, he raised his eyes to him. 

“And you were ready to help me get with someone else?” Sniper asked.

“Oui.”

“Why?”

“I want to see you smile, even if I am not the reason for it.”

And Sniper obliged. His face radiated with an innocent, almost naive grin, which Spy reciprocated.

“I’m sorry I’m bad with words…”

“Don’t be, it makes you more charming.”

And with that, Spy leaned on Sniper’s shoulder. They found each other’s hands and slid their fingers through without a word. They couldn’t hear the fire crackle, their heartbeats were too loud.

[dammit-stark]

Ooo ooo, an au i loooove is flower shop au! Where one character runs a flower shop and flowers with symbolic meanings are used- ugh the fluff/flirting potential 🥰🥰

fun fact: i’ve somehow managed to never write a flower shop au before this??? which is absurd bc it’s a friken classic so this was super fun I really enjoyed this hehe

SEND ME YOUR FAV AU AND ILL WRITE YOU A DRABBLE :)

...

He knows that it’s Pepper’s birthday. He knows because she told him a week ago, pointedly inserted it into all of his various calendars, threatened him with violence and selfish resignation as his assistance. He knows it’s her birthday.

Still, the morning of when JARVIS alerts him that he forgot to get Pepper a present, it catches Tony by surprise.

“Fuck,” He says, rubbing his face as he sits up in bed, “JARVIS, what am I supposed to get her?”

“I’m afraid you did not program me to be able to advise on gift giving, sir,” JARVIS replies, and Tony, his infernal creator, knows it’s said with joyful malice, “But if I may suggest something. Miss Potts has expressed an appreciation for fresh flowers in the past. Sir.”

Tony sighs, pulling on the nearest pair of pants, “You’re a life saver, JARVIS. Send Pep a happy birthday message, will you?”

“Very well, sir.”

“I’m gonna get some flowers. Don’t tell her I forgot.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony grabs his keys and opens the front door, stopping with one foot over the invisible jamb, “And stop mouthing me, JARVIS. You might sound polite, but I programmed you, I know when you’re sassing me.”

JARVIS is tellingly silent. Tony closes the door behind himself.

So, flowers. Flowers. How hard can flowers be? He passes four flower stands on his way to the burger joint he likes a block from the tower, and he’s positive there’s a quaint little shop the next block over. Surely, he can figure this out.

Except when Tony gets to the shop, a pink and blue awning hanging over him like an insufferably ironic storm cloud, he’s at a complete loss.

Would she like pink or blue? Roses or carnations? Tulips? Lilies? Daisies? Something yellow? Maybe something orange like her hair? Would she be offended by that? Probably. Isn’t there a green thing she likes? Surely, she’s mentioned it before. It’s gotta be somewhere in the recesses of Tony’s unfocused brain, somewhere.

He’s standing at a loss in front of a vibrant display that looks distinctly like the photoshop color picker exploded.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry?”

“I get enough of that from my robots, I don’t need it from- attractive flower salesman. Hi. Tony Stark. Nice to meet you.”

Aforementioned flower salesman blinks, and Tony notes with satisfaction the dee blush high on his cheeks.

“Uh, can I help you find something?”

In a moment, Tony’s moving again, hands fluttering, mind whirring, mouth working without the rest of his body’s knowledge, about as per usual. He picks up a colorful bouquet of various wild flowers, smells it, and puts back with a scrunched nose, “I need a birthday present for my assistant. Something that says ‘Thank you for being in my life. No I didn’t forget your birthday, see. Love you’.”

The salesman looks at his shoes when he talks, nodding, “Well we have a variety of flowers that can express love or lust. A mauve carnation, for example. Or coriander is a lovely way to express the same sentiment. Red roses obviously mean love, and calla lilies symbolize beauty. We can assemble you a beautiful bouquet with these if you would like.”

Tony scrunches his nose like he smelled another disagreeing flower fragrance, “I don’t think you understand. I was thinking of something a little more.. platonic. More gratitude and friendship than sex and love.”

Steve’s head shoots up from the spot on the floor that he had been all but staring a hole through, and his eyes are wide, “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. We don’t really bat for the same teams, if you know what I’m saying.”

The blush returns to Steve’s face, but there’s an excited, hopeful glint in his eyes. And when he speaks, the words come out faster, rushers “Daffodils and peach roses then,” He says with confidence, “Appreciation. Yellow roses, too, maybe. For friendship.

Oh! And we can’t forget about alstroemeria! Better known as Lily of the Incas, they’re beautiful flowers that are most popular in bouquets for platonic love and friendship. What do you think?”

Tony smiles, and Steve’s breath audibly hitches, it’d almost be funny if Tony wasn’t so wooed by all the flower talk, “That sounds great. I’ll take all of it in one big, gorgeous bouquet.”

Steve moves behind the counter, “It’s gonna be pricy.”

Tony’s responding grin is knowing and cool, and his eyes squint minutely at the corners with this joyfulness, “Don’t worry. I can cover it. How fast can you get it done? Can we make this happen today? I know it’s last minute, but this’ll really save my butt.”

Steve reads down the long list of invoice orders ahead of him. He looks up to tell Tony that it’s impossible and- “Give me two hours.”

Apparently his heart (and eyes, and dick) put Tony at the top of the list. Tony has no idea, just smiles cheerfully, and nods, pulling out a shiny black credit card from his back pocket. Steve had always thought the black card thing had been a myth, an urban legend made up by money-grubbing banks and capitalists, but when he slides the card through the machine, it doesn’t bounce.

“Alright,” Steve says as he hands the card back, “I’ll see you in two hours.”

When Tony opens the front door to leave, he wiggles his fingers in a funny goodbye and disappears back into the New York streets. He’s starting to be glad he forgot Pepper’s birthday in the first place, even if she potentially hates him forever for dropping the ball.

Two hours later, Tony returns, and the bell on the green painted door to the quaint shop rings as he enters. Steve is nowhere to be found. A grumpy-looking, long-haired curmudgeon mans the counter instead.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order for Stark,” Tony says with a charming smile, one hand coming down to slap the blue painted countertop.

The florist, his name tag reading BUCKY :) in big, ironic letters turns around still frowning, and roots around for Tony’s bouquet. When he turns around, he’s holding two bouquets. He sets them both on the counter. Tony stares at them.

“I’m sorry,” He says, pointing at the redder one of the two, “I only ordered one.”

Bucky points with malice at the unfamiliar bouquet, “Yeah, I know. Apparently this one’s on the house. It’s from Stevie.”

“Stevie, huh?” Tony quips, the corners of his lips turning into a smile.

“Steve, yeah.”

“Tell Steve to call me then. So I can thank him.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking boring and maybe even irritated. He points at the on-the-house arrangement, “His number’s on the card.”

Tony smiles and scoops both bouquets up into his arms.

“You guys really have great service,” Tony jeers, and Bucky continues looking unamused and uninterested, “Thanks, Bucky!”

When Tony gives Pepper her gift, she’s duly impressed by the thoughtful layers to it. Tony proudly tells her what all the flowers mean.

She watches him dubiously from over top the crest of flowers, “So who told you what to get me? Who do I really have to thank?”

Tony shakes his head and refuses to think about JARVIS or Steve (just in case Pepper secretly has mind reading abilities, you can never be too safe), “I did it all by myself, Pep. Come on, give me some credit.”

She still looks suspicious, her nose in a lily, but eventually she nods, “Yeah, sure. You pass. Even if you didn’t think it up yourself, there was obviously some forethought since you can’t just go out and get a custom bouquet the same day. Good job, Tony. You’ve set the bar for next year.”

Tony groans.

It’s quarter to eleven, and Tony’s been staring his own bouquet, carefully placed in a genuine crystal vase on his kitchen counter, for almost an hour now. He finally gets up the nerve to google the symbolism surrounding the flowers and-

They’re all variations on lust or pining. A couple that have alternate meanings of love that Tony tries not to dwell on. He carefully punches the number into his phone and presses dial.

“H-hello?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Who is this?”

“Tony Stark from the flower shop this morning.”

It sounds like something is dropped, something fumbled, and Steve’s a little breathless when he finally speaks, “Did you, uh, get my flowers?”

Tony’s smiling even though he knows Steve can’t see him, and it’s all kinda ridiculous, but he sees that beautiful bouquet in his kitchen and sees red roses behind his eyes, mauve carnations dancing in his vision, “Yeah,” He says, smiling like an absolute idiot, “I should give you some daffodils in exchange, I appreciated them so much.”

Steve snorts, and Tony imagines him smiling too.

“What? Is that not how it works?”

“I’m glad you appreciated them, Tony Stark. I meant it.”

Tony feels a feeling in his stomach, something like purple lilacs rising through him.

“Wanna go for dinner sometime?”

He imagines Steve’s smile looking like a field of daisies.

“I’d love to.”

[apex-academy]

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#23)

Ten minutes in, I get to find out how irreparably horrible I am at shooting a basketball from the corner.

“Okay, like, are you on ‘S’ already or do I not know how to spell?”

“Can’t be both?”

“Hilarious. And yeah, I’ll get all the pressure on my next turn. Ichiriki, you’re up.”

I toss the basketball to him.

“Yaaaay~!”

“I get to go from wherever, then, right?”

“Just like the last three times you went after I missed.”

“Okie dokie!”

At least he left out the “artichokey” this time. Not that it makes the situation any less bizarre.

Goofing around playing basketball, with half the people still left, right after being told our loved ones will die if we don’t commit murder. I can’t even tell if this is a good way to deal with it or not. Is there even a way to deal with... all of it?

“Yo, dude!”

It takes me a second to blink and look up.

“This is a no-thinking zone, ‘kay?”

I glance around the room.

“Do I, specifically, need to leave?”

“Ouch.”

“Nah, dude, just don’t go gloomy on us.”

“Why would you wanna be gloomy, anyway?” 

“It’s been a great day, right?!”

“A whole lot of lives just got threatened, so not really?”

“Well, we’re still having a good game, yeah? Y’ don’t have t’ say the whole day’s been great t’ enjoy some ‘f it.”

I narrowly keep myself from pointing out that everyone besides him can’t do that quite so easily.

“Totally!”

“And, like, it’s day one. If we’re gonna worry, we don’t have to yet, right?”

“Is that how that works?”

I let out a breath.

“Sorry. This just isn’t the absolute most consuming game, is all. I’ll try to focus.”

“Yeah, maybe then you won’t lose next round!”

“Yeah...”

Ichiriki makes his next shot from what appears to be a completely random location. Kaichi lines up and sends the ball bouncing hard off the rim.

“And I ‘m ‘fficially a HOR.”

“That sure is one way to put it.”

The ricocheting ball only just misses my head. It goes bounding off towards the stage.

“I got it.”

I enter an awkward “trying not to get hit crossing the street” sort of jog and make it to the ball before it stops rolling.

“Hmm?”

There’s something else here. I reach over with my foot to nudge it toward me. Seems like a normal key. Too small for the dorm rooms or study halls here, but...

“Yo! You lose the ball or what?”

“No, I got it, sorry.”

Might as well swipe the key while I’m here. It doesn’t trigger any obvious alarms, and I get the ball back in play before anyone starts squinting too hard. Good enough.

Ichiriki manages to strike out—metaphorically; I swear I’m not going into Aidan sports commentary mode—before I do, and, shockingly, Kanagi wins.

“Good game, dudes!”

“Better luck next time.”

“Yeah, yeah. G’d game, brah.”

“I had lots of fun~!”

“Yeah.”

“IIIIII had a drawing to get back to, so I’ll see you guys around?”

“Oh, unless you want to come with me!”

“I’m good. I’ll just head back to my room for a little bit.”

“All right, cool. See ya.”

“Later.”

I have no reason to go elsewhere at the moment, so I head to the dorms. 

I end up stalling at my door. More than usual, at least.

“...”

I swear I hear something... Don’t think it’s coming from here, though.

I turn around, and it doesn’t take much investigating to notice Mahavir’s door isn’t completely shut.

“...”

Wonder if he’s settled down. Is he even in there?

I go ahead and knock. The door shudders but doesn’t swing open. 

“Mahavir?”

“Ah... Yes?”

“Sorry if I caught you at a bad time. Just thought I’d check in.”

“Your door isn’t quite shut, so I figured you either really want to talk or really don’t.”

“...................”

After a bit of shuffling, the door opens.

“...”

“So, uh... Which is it?”

“...”

“I’m not sure myself.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Are you resting enough?”

“Yes.”

I should probably be concerned he didn’t stop to think, but it’s not like I have proof either way. At least I’ve brought it up.

What else are we supposed to talk about? “Hey, I hope our parents aren’t about to die?” “Hey, need any help planning a murder?” “Hey, do we need to lock you up somewhere so you don’t do anything rash?” Not the greatest conversation starters.

Hopefully not necessary questions, either. But...

“You’re not...”

“...planning anything, are you?”

“..........”

“We have no proof anyone outside this facility is in danger.”

“........”

Even in silence, there’s a tension about him that makes it feel like he’s on the verge of exploding. I have no idea how to defuse anything here, but I can see about distractions. It’s Mahavir, so... he needs to feel like he’s doing something, right? I don’t have any grand escape plans at the moment, but I doubt he’s up for a casual game of pool. Let’s see...

“You haven’t been in Itsurou’s room, have you?”

“His study hall? Not recently. I believe it’s been locked.”

“And his dorm room?”

“I haven’t gone inside or tried to. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been wondering if he may have had some theories on the young master or anything else useful.”

“I have his key, but I might need to move the furniture around a little if I want to give the place a good look. Do you think you could help me?”

“It doesn’t have to be now, but. Whenever you’re feeling a little better, maybe.”

“Er...”

“I don’t see why not? Although...”

“Are you sure it’s safe in there?”

“Not completely, I guess, but I’ve at least given it a once-over without setting off any booby traps.”

“Good to know.”

“I, ah...”

“Perhaps later today. I’m still rather nauseous, I’m afraid.”

“No problem. Get some rest, and I’ll check in again later.”

“Of course. Until then.”

We give a little mutual nod before he shuts the door, all the way this time.

“...”

There’s only so much trouble he can get up to in his own room, right? Unless he’s already hidden something in there. But he wouldn’t have had the chance, right? Aidan and Yuki were right on his tail when he left.

Not that they’re the swiftest athletes here. Still, he shouldn’t have been able to run out to grab some knives or anything first. And there’s no reason to think he was plotting a murder before we got our motive.

Granted, I wasn’t plotting one, either, and...

“...”

I’ll just hope he has a little more presence of mind than me.

And hope he actually gets some rest. Not too hard to believe he’s genuinely not feeling well, after everything. He’s never been one to admit it, though.

We’ll just... see, I guess.

I step into my own room and lock the door behind me.

[BACK] [NEXT]

[emily-strange]

Growing Pains...

Wow, so I feel like I’ve been working on this forever! Thank you to everyone who’s still interested in this fic :) I hope this chapter doesn’t disappoint!

So here we go! 😁 @strwxberrymilk you asked to be tagged so 😘

Summary: Emmy has been with the gang since she was a little girl. Her mother moved on, leaving her to be raised by Dutch, Hosea and Susan. Arthur and John are her brothers (argue and she will fight you). Becoming a woman is hard when everyone still sees you as a child. Since the Blackwater mess she’s trying to find her feet while dealing with her new feelings for the gangs resident douchebag.

Pairing: Slow burn Micah x female OC.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of blood, mention of past abuse.

Chapter 10

I wake up and John’s already gone. Probably on guard duty. I lie for a minute just staring up at the ceiling of the tent, damp with condensation. It’s muggy today and I already feel clammy and gross. What a wonderful day this will be.

I sit up and notice that the flaps of the tent have been closed and I hear hushed voices on the other side. Obviously, Sean. He isn’t subtle.

I slowly get up, not wanting to make a noise and stand next to the flaps. I’m struggling to hear anything so edge closer….and closer…..when all of a sudden the canvas is pulled back and I’m face to face with said Irishman.

“Fookin’ hell!!” Sean shouts as I scream and jump back, clutching my chest. Sean falls to the floor laughing in a very dramatic fashion, “You tryin’ ta kill me woman?!”.

“Me!? You’re the one lurking outside my tent!” I laugh while finding my footing, “Oh get up you idiot.”

I pull Sean up and he throws his arm around me as I survey the camp. It’s very light on the ground and I feel like that’s because of me.

“So, how’ya feelin’? Stupid question?” Sean asks.

I sigh and lean against his shoulder, “Yeah, stupid question….where is everyone?”

Sean leads me to the camp table and gently pushes me to sit down. He disappears for a moment and returns with some coffee before sitting next to me.

“By everyone I guess ya mean Dutch, Arthur and lovely Hosea?” he asks and I nod, “Well, I think they’re down by the water with John. He came out very…..very…..early this mornin’ and demanded to know, and I quote, ‘what the absolute fook’ is goin’ on.”

I only have energy to nod and take a gulp of lukewarm coffee. I rub my eyes and instantly regret it, they’re so sore.

“Emmeline” I hear and see Susan coming towards me from the beach area.

“Aaand I guess Grimshaw was also there” Sean adds quickly.

Susan approaches and sits elegantly down next to me. She’s calm but I can sense her fury.

“Emmeline my darling, how are you feeling?” she demands and even though her words are nice, she’s always struggled with tone. If I hadn’t known her most of my life, I’d be terrified! But I know she means well.

“Not. Great.” I say quietly and she scoffs.

“Of course not. Awful business, just awful. Believe me I’ve given Dutch an earful. Unacceptable. Knowing that pig’s still out there getting his muddy trotters all over the country. Disgusting…..” Susan trails off and I can just see something in her eyes. Something she isn’t saying.

“Susan. What is it?” I say through gritted teeth. She sighs and her voice softens as she takes my hand.

“I will fight to the death for you my girl. The death. And I am, truly, disgusted. But…”

“But!?” I interrupt.

“But. If this gang is going to survive….we need to stand united. I know you girl better than I know anyone and I can see it in your eyes. You want to run. But I won’t allow it.”

I take a breath and really look at her. I’ve never seen Susan cry. Not even when Bessie died. But now her eyes are glassy and she repeats firmly “I. Won’t. Allow. It.”

Susan squeezes my hand and continues. Quieter but just as strongly, “Focus on those who haven’t wronged you. Me, the girls, John….”

“Me!” Sean chimes in happily, making me laugh. Susan rolls her eyes, “Yes, yes, you Mr MacGuire! Believe me, no one can forget you!”

Sean winks at her and she gives him a small smile before hardening up once again.

“They’re by the water. Do you need me to come with you?” she asks.

“No. I’ll be okay. I have Hosea I suppose….” I start saying and jump when John appears behind me.

“And me. I’ve come ta get ya.”  he says while holding out his hand.

Susan squeezes my hand again and leaves the table. I can already hear her shouting at Tilly.

I take John’s hand and stand up, straightening myself out.

“If you need me lady, you know where I’ll be” Sean says.

“Yeah, asleep by the fire” John laughs while he pulls me away towards the beachy part of the campsite.

“Don’t leave me John, okay?” I find myself needing to say to him and he lets go of my hand to put his arm around my shoulders. “Never again Em. Never again.” He whispers.

As we approach the beach, I can see Hosea stood with Dutch and Arthur. Arthur. I feel my heart break a little bit more.

“Emmy. John” Hosea greets and I find myself shrinking into John despite my desperate attempt to appear stronger than I feel, “Should we go sit down?”

“I’m fine standing Hosea” I say crossing my arms. I feel like I need to separate myself from everyone but John. I know if pushed, Hosea will always be with Dutch. Well, what’s best for the gang, I guess. And Arthur. Well, Arthur made his choice a long time ago it seems. Speaking of Arthur, he’s stood with his hands on his hips looking at the ground. His hat shielding his eyes.

“Of course” Hosea smiles sweetly at me, “Now, for this….meeting….to work, everyone needs to say their piece but also, listen. Agreed?”

Everyone nods and Arthur chances a glance at me. I can see the pain he’s feeling. Arthur always held everything in his eyes. He looks exhausted.

“I think Dutch should go first” John chimes in and gets a furious glare from said man.

“Don’t look at him like that” I snap, “Speak.”

I see Dutch take a deep breath, steadying himself. I’ve never spoken to Dutch with such disrespect before and I can tell he hates it. He clears his throat and begins, daring to look me in the eye. He’s unbelievable.

“Emmy” he begins and I can’t help but scoff at him using my nickname. John squeezes my shoulder as a warning. I know he’s on my side but he also wants me to learn the truth, so I need to bite my tongue.

“Emmy” Dutch starts again, “When you came to us….I didn’t….we, didn’t know what kind of a man your pa was. And your mama. We didn’t know.”

“But then you learnt” I interrupt and he nods. Hosea pries my arm from my own hold and takes my hand in his and nods for Dutch to continue.

“Yes. We learnt. We learnt.” He sighs, “That day when we went out with Wayne. We intended to kill him. We had the gun at his head.”

“I had the gun at his head” Arthur croaks and I honestly can’t help the bitter laugh that leaves my mouth.

“He speaks. Hallelujah.” I bite. And Arthur looks like he wants to fall to his knees. I hate myself for wanting to comfort him.

“Yes. Arthur had a gun to his head. And I asked Wayne if he had any words we could give to his daughter…..” and again, I can’t hold myself back.

“The daughter he beat. And abused. The daughter he broke. Over and over again. That daughter?” I ask.

Hosea squeezes my hand and edges closer, sighing my name. “No Hosea, I want us all to be on the same page here. I want us to acknowledge, for once, out loud, what he did.” Tears begin to fall from my eyes but I refuse to recognise them. My body may be weeping but I will not indulge it.

I think I see tears in Dutch’s eyes as he continues, “Yes. Emmy. That daughter….” He nods, “I asked him for any last words and he offered me a lead instead. About a big job. One that would set us up for months. One that would help us take care of you….if we let him live.”

I let go of Hosea’s hand and push myself away from John, rubbing at my eyes.

“I can’t believe this is happening” I mutter and stop to look out at the water as Dutch goes on.

“Arthur wanted to shoot him but, I overruled him. After we let Wayne go, with threat of death if he was ever seen again, I promised Arthur that after the job was done he could track him down if he so chose to.”

I turn back just as Arthur begins to speak. He clears his throat and looks at me. His eyes are so red.

“And I did Emmy. I….I tried. I looked for months but came up short.” Arthur sniffs and looks back at the ground, “I’m sorry. I’m. I failed you twice. I’m sorry”.

“Damn Arthur” John sighs while shaking his head.

I know how under Dutch’s thumb Arthur is, we all do. But, I can’t focus on Arthur right now. One liar at a time.

“So, why didn’t anyone put a bullet in his head in Valentine. Tell me that” I ask, getting us back on track. Once I have everything, then I can start to make sense of it all.

“I was about to. I was. Had my gun in hand…..but…..Emmy we’re in a tight spot….” Dutch starts and I scream, “BECAUSE OF ANOTHER TIP. FROM HIM”.

“Yes. Yes I know. But we need money Emmy. Real money. And, well, Wayne asked to meet us one last time. He said he had a genuine lead he was gonna share with another gang as a peace offering but that he’d give it ta us.” And as he speaks, Dutch gets almost….excited?

“Hosea, what the hell?!” John shouts and Hosea reaches out to grip his shoulder, “Now son, you need to hear Dutch out. You all do. For better or worse we’re in this mess now. We need to get out of it. I am not happy about this. I….frankly I hate myself for it. But we have a responsibility to the rest of the camp. Now, this lead seems legit. I checked it over myself in that cabin.”

And there it is. My dear Hosea. What is it about Dutch that makes all the men ignore their better instincts? Now can I run Susan?

Dutch now addresses a horrified John and an equally horrified Arthur while sparing me the odd glance, “Now, he’s holding the last piece of the puzzle close to his chest until the day of. He wants to know we won’t off him…..” he turns to me “he knows he’s on borrowed time. But when we get that information…” Dutch continues but is cut off when Micah appears on the beach.

He walks towards us from camp, not really looking anyone in the eye. He’s absolutely caked in blood. His moustache is almost entirely red and his clothes (minus his hat which isn’t anywhere to be seen) are stained with bits of….something…..stuck to them.

“Sorry boss” he starts, “but that info won’t be coming anytime soon”.

When Micah reaches us, he doesn’t stop and heads straight for the water. He crouches down and begins to slosh water onto himself.

“Son?” Dutch enquires quietly but he doesn’t answer. He continues to wash his face until I step into the water.

“Micah” I say softly. I know we’ve fallen out but if he’s hurt, I want to know. At the sound of my voice, Micah stops scrubbing and takes a moment before standing to face me. He can obviously see the concern on my face because he gives me a very slight, reassuring smile.

“I’m alright sweetheart” he says very quietly.

“Micah” Dutch tries, this time a lot firmer, “What in God’s name did you do!?”

Everyone’s so quiet.

“Micah” I whisper, drawing his attention back.

“If I’d known….I’d of done it sooner” he says to me. Just to me. It’s like I’m the only one standing here and it’s…..I don’t know what it is. But it isn’t bad.

I can hear Dutch rearing up to shout or complain or whatever Dutch does when someone shits on his cereal and for the first time I couldn’t care less. When I speak, it quietens again.

“Did you make it hurt?” I ask, looking him right in the eye. I’ll know if he’s lying.

Micah smirks and approaches me slowly until we’re face to face.

“Oh, I made it hurt” he says softly to me. And as sick as it may be, I feel giddy. Kind of, excited.

I throw my arms around Micah’s neck and hold on for dear life. I whisper my thank you to him as he pats my back gently, obviously a bit uncomfortable with my form of appreciation. We can work on that.

As I pull back, I can hear everyone behind me start to argue and I just don’t want to be here anymore. I can hear Dutch try to explain his grand plan to John and Arthur who are going between arguing with him and each other. Hosea is trying to calm everyone down but it’s a losing game and if I’m not mistaken, I believe Susan, Uncle and maybe Sadie having appeared to ask what’s happening and why Micah and I are covered in blood.

Screw this.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” I smile, taking Micah’s hand. He nods but loses his smirk before the rest of the group can see. Not that their paying any attention to us now. Too busy shouting.

Micah lets me lead him down the beach in the direction of his little, private campsite.

I can still hear everyone fighting but the sound of my own voice is drowning it out.

And my own voice is telling me, thank God for Micah Bell.

[the-desolated-quill]

She Was Killed By Space Junk - Watchmen (TV Series) blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

The first episode was a shaky, but intriguing start. The second episode was both incredibly provocative and intelligently written. What about the third episode? Um... I’m honestly not too sure what to make of it, if I’m honest. I watched it twice like I do with everything I review and I genuinely don’t know what to say about it. I couldn’t even tell you if I liked it or not. I think I liked it.... but I couldn’t tell you why.

Okay. Sorry. Hi guys. Let me explain what happened. I wrote that first paragraph and then I got writer’s block, so I decided to step away from it. I had a nap, played a video game and then decided to watch the episode again for a third time with fresh eyes. Now my thoughts are a little more concrete. So. She Was Killed By Space Junk. Having watched this episode three times now, I’ve decided that I don’t like this episode very much at all, and that’s less to do with what’s in the episode and more to do with what isn’t. 

Let me explain.

Reviewing episodes like this one can often be very frustrating because it’s hard to tell what is a genuine flaw and what is merely setup for what’s to come. I have a number of problems with this episode, but for all I know, what I’m about to talk about might not actually be problems at all and will all be explained in a future episode. Or they are genuine problems and I’m inadvertently giving the writers way too much credit. I don’t know. That’s why it’s so frustrating.

My main point of contention is with the character of Laurie. First of all, let me just say that Jean Smart doesn’t put a foot wrong. She gives a great performance and is a good choice to play an older Laurie. The problem I have is with her characterisation. Or, at the very least, bits of her characterisation. I don’t know. It’s complicated.

Laurie’s inclusion in the TV series was something I was actually most looking forward to because I felt her character was kind of shortchanged in the graphic novel. Initially starting out as an effective and scathing critique of how women are often presented in comics, over the course of Watchmen’s story her role was reduced until she ended up becoming little more than a prop for the male characters’ stories. It was disappointing and it’s led to me arguing multiple times that Silk Spectre is one of the most underrated and wasted elements of Watchmen. The HBO series felt like a perfect opportunity to right some wrongs and give Laurie the attention she deserves. She Was Killed By Space Junk certainly gave her the focus and attention she didn’t receive in the graphic novel, but I’m very much struggling to ascertain what the show was trying to achieve here.

Let’s quickly remind ourselves where the graphic novel left us with her character. She had recently discovered that the Comedian, the man who tried to rape her mother, was her biological father, she was in a relationship with Dan Dreiberg, aka Nite Owl, and they were both on the run from the law, hellbent on continuing their lives as vigilantes. Okay. How does the HBO series continue this? Well it turns out she and Dan are no longer together. I know some fans really don’t like this, but I personally don’t have a problem with it. In fact I’m perfectly happy with it. In my review of A Stronger, Loving World, I explained how I didn’t believe their relationship could possibly last long term because it was clear that they were together not because they were in love, but rather because they were indulging in each other’s fantasies, and the fact that Dan’s seeming fascination with the Silk Spectre porn comic supported this. Showrunner Damon Lindelof clearly agrees, so cool. It’s always nice to be proven right.

Anyway, at some point between the graphic novel and the HBO series, the fantasy was shattered and the pair split up. I’m assuming what shattered the fantasy was them getting caught by the FBI. It’s unclear what’s happened to Dan at this time. Judging by the fact that the police in Oklahoma are using Owlships and goggles, I’m assuming that Dan was arrested and his equipment was appropriated by law enforcement. Laurie meanwhile has struck some kind of deal and now she’s working with the Anti-Vigilante Taskforce and enforcing the Keene Act, which is an interesting parallel with how her father, the Comedian, served the American government during the Vietnam War. But you see this is where I start to get a bit confused.

The episode opens with Laurie setting a trap for a vigilante known as Mister Shadow (basically Fake Batman) and shooting him, either not knowing or not caring whether or not Mister Shadow’s body armour would save him. She’s also taken on the Comedian’s last name Blake and displays a very similar nihilistic attitude, making dark jokes and exhibiting uncaring, unsympathetic behaviour. Now I don’t necessarily have a problem with Laurie becoming more nihilistic, given what she’s been through. Having witnessed Ozymandias and his squid of doom, it’s bound to affect her worldview. However, her turning into a female Comedian doesn’t really marry up with her character at all. And yes, I know at the end of the graphic novel she talked about getting a gun and body armour, like the Comedian, but it didn’t work there either. It felt too drastic a character shift and was painfully on the nose. I didn’t like it there and I don’t like it here either. I just don’t buy that she would want to emulate the man who tried to rape her mother. 

I especially don’t like her violent, uncaring attitude toward Mister Shadow. Why does she have such a disdain for vigilantes? Is it because of what happened with Dan, and she’s projecting that onto everyone else? Has she become so nihilistic that she just doesn’t give a shit anymore? There’s a moment later in the episode where she asks someone if their civil rights are being violated only to then turn around and say she was being sarcastic. That really didn’t sit right with me. It just doesn’t feel like something Laurie would say.

And then there’s the whole thing with Doctor Manhattan. Throughout the episode we see her in a phone booth trying to tell a joke to Manhattan (quite what the purpose of these phone booths are, I don’t know. Considering that people in the world of Watchmen believe that Manhattan was giving people cancer, why would anyone want to call him?). She clearly misses him to the point where she has a large blue dildo hidden a briefcase that’s clearly a direct reference to Pulp Fiction. I REALLY don’t like this. At all. The reason Laurie left Manhattan in the first place was because he couldn’t emotionally satisfy her, being an omnipresent demigod and all. So why would she be pining after him? The blue dildo joke in particular just felt kind of degrading. Just... why?

Weirder still is the joke she spends the whole episode trying to tell him. It’s clearly an indirect reference to the Pagliacci joke from the graphic novel, except the Pagliacci joke had a specific purpose in the graphic novel and its meaning was clear. Rorschach was remarking on how America was relying on the Comedian to save them from violence and corruption, which was futile considering what a violent and corrupt person the Comedian was. Here, however, I have no idea what Laurie is trying to say with the brick joke at all. I’m assuming the bricklayer is her father and she’s following in his footsteps. Okay, I kind of get that (except not really for the reasons I’ve already mentioned, but whatever). But then we come to the whole bit with God at the pearly gates sending Nite Owl, Ozymandias and Doctor Manhattan to Hell, only to then get killed by the brick from the previous joke. Now... what the fuck is that all about? I’ve been racking my brains, checking what other people said, and I can’t find any satisfying answers. It just feels like pretentious, unnecessary fanwank. The best I can come up with is that Laurie is expressing how she’s not letting men dictate her life anymore. But... she’s spent the whole episode pining after Doctor Manhattan, she’s modelled herself after her rapist father, and at the end of the episode, she sleeps with her assistant Petey, an agent who claims to not to be a fan of superheroes, but is totes a fan of superheroes. So... is that the joke? She wants to escape from the shadow of the men in her life, but can’t? Or she intends to overcome the patriarchy that has kept her down, but she still ends up choosing to indulge in the power fantasy of Petey? Or does it refer to something else she’s planning to do later? It’s all so frustratingly vague.

As I was watching this episode, I honestly lost track of the number of times I thought to myself ‘I don’t know where Lindelof is going with this.’ Sometimes this approach works, keeping the audience in the dark in order to build intrigue and suspense, but for Watchmen, a story that’s famous for its dense material and subject matter, it’s just plain annoying. In fact this whole episode feels really off to me. Instead of focusing on character narratives and thematic storytelling, She Was Killed By Space Junk relies more on a plot heavy story that moves the pieces of the larger arc forward and keeping certain specific details vague in an attempt to keep people watching. Except that’s not really what Watchmen is about and it results in leaving the more integral aspects of the story in the dust. Angela barely gets a look in here, and considering a significant portion of the episode focuses on Judd Crawford’s funeral, it feels like a massive, missed opportunity. How does it feel discovering that the man you liked and respected wasn’t the man you thought he was? Does that change your feelings toward him? Does it invalidate the good times you had with him? And with Laurie there, the show could have compared and contrasted the two. How these two women move forward knowing these uncomfortable truths about the men in the lives? But the show never really capitalises on this.

And the annoying thing is, for all I know, all the things I’m talking about could actually be addressed in a future episode, thus rendering what I’m saying moot. I don’t know. I can’t tell if this is all just really bad setup for an eventual satisfying payoff or if it’s just plain bad.

That being said, while I do ultimately dislike this episode, there are a few things I like. For instance, I do like what we learn about the larger world of Watchmen. We learn that Oklahoma is the only state that’s allowing the police to mask up and that this law was passed by Joe Keene Jr., whose father was responsible for the Keene Act that was passed outlawing vigilantes. Joe Keene Jr. was briefly introduced in the previous episode and it looks like he’s going to be playing a larger role from here on out. Let’s wait and see where that goes. 

We also learn that Looking Glass knows Laurie and has prior history with her. He even confirms Sister Night’s secret identity to her, albeit reluctantly. So is he a plant? Maybe sent by the FBI to try and sabotage Keene Jr? Hmmm, what’s going on here then?

And then there’s Ozymandias.

While I dislike how Laurie is being handled so far, I love, love, LOVE what they’re doing with Adrian Veidt. After the events of the graphic novel, it seems he’s gone into self imposed exile. Whether this is as a punishment or as a way to make sure he doesn’t inadvertently blab about his involvement with the squid is unknown. Anyway, he’s been here for three years now, judging by the candles on the cake, and he seems to be going a little bit stir crazy. He’s sacrificing his clones in order to try and find a means of escape and now he has to contend with a bloodthirsty game warden (another clone). The idea of Ozymandias being hoist by his own petard and being oppressed by the very tools and instruments of his own vanity is absolutely tantalising, and I love what Jeremy Irons is doing with the part and the way he’s depicting the character’s slow descent into lunacy.

Also a special shoutout has to go to the costume department for the Ozymandias costume we see Adrian finally don. It’s gloriously, breathtakingly terrible. Truly one of the worst superhero costumes ever seen on screen... which is exactly what it should be! 

One of the things I intensely disliked about the 2009 movie was Zack Snyder’s attempts to make the characters look cool and stylish when in reality these characters are supposed to be the complete opposite of that. Rorschach looks like a hobo, puts on a gruff voice and wears lifts on his heels in a pathetic attempt to look more imposing. Nite Owl wears a ridiculously tight fitting costume that shows off his belly bulge. Silk Spectre’s outfit looks more like something a stripper would wear and is not even remotely practical. They look stupid to us, the outsiders, but to the characters, it makes them feel powerful. That’s the whole point, and the HBO series captures that perfectly. Adrian is going to war with the game warden and wants to feel powerful, so he puts on his objectively silly purple and gold shawl in an effort to reclaim the power he once had. It’s laugh out hilarious, made all the more funnier by the fact that he’s clearly far too old to be playing dress up. It’s moments like this that demonstrate that Lindelof clearly does understand the source material, which is what makes the way Laurie is treated all the more baffling.

She Was Killed By Space Junk isn’t a bad episode. There’s stuff to like, but it doesn’t have any of the intelligent thematic storytelling or characterisation the previous two episodes had. Coupled with the apparent mishandling of Laurie’s character and the deliberate vagueness of some of its plotting leads to it being an episode that’s ultimately more frustrating than enjoyable to watch.

[languor-em]

Alright, I wanna tell a story. I've been listening to a lot of scary stories and creepypasta readings, and that's gotten me thinking about the very few personal creepy experiences I've had in the past. I think I'm gonna make this like,, a once a day reblog thing. I'll start by telling one story and reblog every day with a new one until I'm all caught up. Y'all definitely don't have to read this, but I think they're very interesting to tell, so enjoy!!

It's a little long, so I'll put it under the cut UwU

To preface, I am a very superstitious person. My mom, although now christian, was a wiccan shortly before becoming pregnant with me. On top of that, she's half Welsh, so I grew up on a lot of old Celtic folk tales and stuff. I grew up with stories of The Good Neighbors, with warnings never to give my true name to things that seem beyond human, to watch my tone and my words as to not be taken advantage of, to always be polite but always wary, and to recognize the power of the number three. So as you can imagine, I've always believed and been fascinated by the paranormal. I was also a very imaginative kid, so a lot of these stories can likely be written off as the wild dreams of a creative kid who grew up on freaky folk tales.

With all that in mind, let's get to the main meat of the story.

I was around five, maybe six when this happened. I had my bed in the same spot it's in now, tucked in the corner of my room underneath my window. The door to my bedroom is on the wall opposite and diagonal to my bed, tucked into a little alcove where my bookshelf is today. I can add a picture for reference if you guys would like, just let me know. At the time, I had a large-ish dollhouse that was near the entrance of my room, on the wall next to my closet. This will be an important detail later.

As I said before, I was an imaginative kid. I was always able to freak myself out with thoughts of the monsters under my bed and in my closet, but that was always that particular sort of childlike fear, never true terror or anything like that. I may have been afraid of the monsters under my bed, but I was still able to distinguish fiction from reality.

It was late at night, probably well past midnight, and I had found myself awake and sitting up in bed. I don't even remember what woke me up or what possessed me to sit up, but I was nonetheless. I remember looking over to my door, just sort of aimlessly looking around my room. My eyes initially sort of,, slid over a particular spot in front of my door, but I remember forcing myself to look at it. I remember it seemed really weird to me just how hard it was to look at that spot, and little dumbass Ronnie wanted to know what was going on. I remember freezing up when I realized there was something wrong.

I can't really describe it very well, it was really just a mass of shadows. Like,, a really tiny shadow person. Maybe a little bit smaller than an American Girl Doll if that helps with the visual?? It was definitely humanoid, but for some reason I just KNOW that there was something wrong with its proportions. I can't remember what it was, but there was just something viceraly WRONG with it. I just,, froze. I was absolutely terrified, and it wasn't the childish fear I felt when I freaked myself out. No, this was sheer and all consuming terror. I remember time seeming to slow down, the few seconds I stared at it there seeming to be minutes, maybe even hours. Then the little fucker started moving.

This little bitch straight up just started,,, sprinting around my room. I remember the path it took vividly, out from the spot in front of my door, in front of the doll house, under my bed, over my little basket of books, and back to the spot it started at. It went through this cycle over and over again, just picking up more and more speed as it went. I was absolutely frozen, clutching my blankets to my chest and watching it go with wide eyes. I remember finally mustering up the courage to move and look over the end of my bed, only to see it dart out and continue in it's cycle. I was terrified, and I vividly remember shooting backwards and away from the foot of my bed. I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I screamed as loud as I could, I think trying to get my parents.

I started sobbing the moment my mom and dad burst into the room, pointing at the spot where the little bitch was STILL STANDING. My parents couldn't really make out what I was saying, but I remember my mom bundling me up in her arms and starting to calm me down. I buried my head into her chest, not wanting to keep looking at the little thing in front of my door. Once I calmed down enough to speak clearly, I tried to explain what had happened, trying to point out the weird little creature and just,,, freezing up when I saw it was gone. Just,,, fucking gone. Like,, maybe it walked out of my bedroom and left or something?? I don't remember.

My parents didn't believe me if course, why would they? It just sounded like a little kid's nightmare or something. They told me that it was probably just the shadows playing tricks on my mind, that it was probably just the shadow of my dollhouse or something.

And sure, in hindsight I can totally see how that could be an explanation. Hell, maybe that's exactly what it was. But Jesus Christ, the real and genuine fear I felt in that moment was horrifyingly real. And just,, the way the thing was moving just felt way too real and organic to be shadows playing tricks. It just,,, it was odd to say the least. Even if it was actually something, I'm not sure if I was in any danger or not. I was scared, sure, but the dude was just running around my room. Sure, it definitely felt like it was looking at me, but I??? I'm not sure if it actually meant any harm or not.

I don't know, If anyone has an explanation or something, that would be really cool to hear. I'm open to answer any questions anyone has, but I'll let you know in advance that I don't remember a whole lot from my childhood, so I might not have great answers for y'all.

If you guys enjoyed it, I'll keep posting my stories like these until I'm all caught up! I'm super open to any explanations anyone might have, whether logical, supernatural, or anything else! I'm excited to keep telling my dumb lil spooky stories, especially because I think they're maybe connected?? I don't know, I'd love to hear what anyone else thinks!!

Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!! :D

[paperclipninja]

NCIS post-ep ramble 17x01

I know it’s been days since the season 17 premiere and I had every intention of writing something earlier but just didn’t have time (plus I have been so caught up in reading everyone’s thoughts and reblogging all these posts and general flailing that honestly, who has the time for anything??) but I most certainly do have a few thoughts and feelings about the ep I’d like to get down.

For those who don’t know me that well, hi :) and also, I’ve always been rather partial to a post-ep ramble (which is basically me trying to process everything by dumping many words here) so I thought I’d throw a few words down because let’s be real, ‘Out of the Darkness’ was A LOT.

Ok, so can we talk about the opening scene, because it seemed like a classic NCIS ‘guys doing a dodgy deal but wait, the team needs the vehicle’ kinda moment but then FINGERS. Actual freaking fingers on that car dash and I should mention I was live streaming this episode on the train on my way to work and I was NOT chill at this point because it was brutal.

I was having so many feelings right from the get go, I mean Ziva is back and even through we’ve had months to process this it still felt so surreal yet like she’d not really been gone for that long, except that from the very first interaction with Gibbs in the basement, you could just see that she’s different. It’s subtle but it’s there. I love that the moment Gibbs’ basement starts getting shot up and both he and Ziva are out of ammo, they immediately default to working together to create the makeshift explosive thing, no words, just right into the groove of knowing what needs to happen without treading on one another’s toes.

Meanwhile Nick, McGee and Ellie are obliviously having a drink (lol @ McGee lasting less than two seconds not talking about work), for anyone into the Nick/Ellie ship there was a nice little moment and the three of them hot foot it to Gibbs’ place after after McGee gets the call to say there’s been a shoot out (seriously, can you imagine being Gibbs’ neighbours? The weird-ass stuff that has gone down there over the years, that’d be one house you’d tell the kids to skip for trick or treating). I am so into the follow through from the Ziva set up last season, Ellie feeling like the fabric was familiar was a nice way to bring it all together.

It’s funny, after so many years of watching this show then stepping away for a little while, I’m really not sure what I expected when I heard that Ziva was going to return. My shipper heart is really just locked on to Ziva and Tony finally getting some kind of happiness, but I was unsure what it would be like seeing this character on screen after so long, especially considering the way she was written out initially. Can I just say that the way Ziva has returned to our screen exceeded any expectations I did or did not have. I never in a million years expected this show to not just consider, but actively highlight the toll of all the years of trauma and struggle of Ziva David. A credit to the direction in this scene, but as Ziva began having the anxiety attack in the sewer pipe and we gained our first glimpse of her battle with this demon, it was unnerving to see this character who had always remained so seemingly in control, so vulnerable. But it was also wonderful (and heart-wrenching and sad). I am so grateful to Gina Lucita Monreal (who I Stan v. hard btw) for showing this side to this character because to me, it demonstrates not only the character’s journey, but NCIS’s growth.

Gibbs knowing that Ziva needed space and giving it to her but then finding her in a state that clearly caught him off guard was once again something I was not expecting and I was floored, yet again, when the pills Ziva stuffed back into her pocket were actually addressed and spoken about on the bus (I realise it sounds like I’m just constantly surprised but in the past, it’s the kind of thing that may get followed up about six episodes down the track, though I’m aware there isn’t the luxury of drawn out breadcrumbs with this arc and honestly, I’m grateful).

The scene between Ziva and Gibbs on the bus is quite possibly my favourite interaction between these two characters ever. And yes, I mean in the entire series. Hearing Ziva talk about Tali, explain the significance of the necklace and then put it to Gibbs that wouldn’t he do anything if it meant he could hold his daughter one more time, ugh my heart. The ONLY thing I disliked about this episode was later when Ziva said she wasn’t talking about Kelly. I understand the sentiment and I am here for her calling Gibbs out on giving up on her every day of the week, but in that moment on the bus, it absolutely was and should have been Kelly she was referring to because it was in that moment that she and Gibbs connected on an entirely different level - as parents. And more than that, as parents who know what it’s like to risk everything because of the love they hold for a child. So while I do love that Ziva put it to Gibbs that he abandoned her, I do feel it could have been brought up in a way that didn’t diminish the power of that conversation on the bus. Because when Gibbs reached out and touched that scar on her wrist, it may have been a small gesture but the meaning was huge and yes I did start crying and no, I did not care that I was on a train.

Of course we must talk about Odette. Sweet, old, possibly an assassin or some other kind of highly trained deadly human Odette. When Bishop asked her, ‘who are you, really?’, all I could think was, same girl, same. I am so into this character and I really hope she sticks around because her turning up later in the ep with a car load of weapons and then wanting to join in just upped my curiosity even more.

I really am such a fan of Ellie, I have been since the beginning, and I did feel for her trying to balance the wishes of Ziva and her loyalty to her team. McGee’s reaction to finding out that Ziva was alive and that Ellie knew about it was definitely warranted and my Tiva loving heart is trying very hard not to read too much into everyone’s avoidance of answering whether Tony knows (read: I am 150% reading too much into it and of course he knows because Ziva has obviously been leaving clues the entire time that she’s ok and it’s fine, it’s all fine, I’M FINEEE*)

*I am not fine

Nick is immediately suspicious after the awkward af conversation in Vance’s office where every time he mentions something from the crime scene at Gibbs’, Ellie and McGee very obviously downplay or dismiss it. Plus Ellie’s sweaty neck is apparently a dead giveaway and I love that Kaisie also mentions it because when this show does funny, it does it damn well. Aside from the bus scene, my other favourite scene of this episode was in autopsy when Nick ‘I don’t even know this ninja but this is like the biggest news of my life’ Torres has just learned about Ziva and Jimmy ’you said the thing about Ziva and my ears heard it and now I think I need to sit down’ Palmer also gets clued in and honestly, this entire sequence is absolute gold. I heart Kasie so hard and her discomfort with the ‘weird air’ just lent itself to making the whole thing wonderfully hilarious and the dynamic between all the characters was so on point. Nick and Kaisie really are stellar additions to the show, it just works.

Ziva’s determination to go it alone definitely wavers momentarily after Gibbs has spoken to McGee and asked him to decode the encrypted SD card (so many lols at Gibbs asking Ziva if she wants to talk to McGee then telling him she says hi. Again, the writing in this ep is just brilliant, being able to slot in genuinely light and funny moments between the dark and serious), there’s the ever-so-brief expression before Ziva gets into the car, as though she remembers what it’s like to have a team, her team, working with her. 

What is on the card of course leads Gibbs and Ziva to be standing in the man who uses phrases like ‘dope’ in front of his machete wall’s office and I have to say, his ‘what are these two homeless people doing in my office’ was accurate. The show then stabbed me in the heart with the necklace situation - either her heart or her albatross- and of course it all connects back to Ari (the parallel to Saleem ripping off her necklace was noted). We also get our answer as to why Ziva had those severed fingers in the opening scene which is still gross and brutal but also understandable and much better knowing that the dude was dead when it happened. But still gross.

One thing that really struck me was when McGee, Ellie and Nick see Gibbs and Ziva making their getaway and McGee and Ziva share their moment of locking eyes and her indicating for the team to stay put, it is Ellie who points out that, ‘she knows what she needs better than anyone else’. It was just really interesting to me that McGee’s initial instinct was to go after Ziva and Gibbs, despite Ziva clearly not wanting him to, and it is the woman on the team who points out that he needs to respect Ziva’s wishes and trust her. I have no idea if this was making some kind of larger statement but it felt significant to me for some reason. Plus I just love the respect Ellie has for this woman she has never met and I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her to see Ziva in the flesh for the first time after harbouring her secret for so long.

We all knew Vance would find out eventually and omg Nick just cracked me up, ‘I’m the least guilty one in here, Bishop is the worst...’, he is just such a great character (in case I haven’t mentioned that enough times). I don’t know enough about Sloane at this stage and I’m a little confused about her role or position so I will catch myself up on that (or feel free to fill me in) but she also seems pretty cool. I think back to early days McGee, the nervous probie who was so unsure and then think of him in this episode, standing in Vance’s office defying orders and all I can hear is Tony’s voice saying, ‘I’m proud of you Tim’. I love that he’s backing Ellie and that he’s standing up for and trusting her and knowing Vance’s history with Ziva, it’s just all such a wonderful coming together of NCIS history and the present.

The final scene of course left us in a TBC moment as Gibbs’ attempt to arrest Sahar (or at least a woman I assume is Sahar but then it’s NCIS so who knows?) is railroaded by Ziva’s adamance that unless she is dead, Sahar will always be a threat. I can’t wait to see how it all unfolds, I’m just loving the speculations and excitement and most importantly, consideration with which the show seems to be bringing back these storylines and characters and really, I do believe we are in for quite a ride and if this episode is anything to go by, one heck of a payoff. 

[breachtopology]

prompt: we’re secret friends with benefits and you accidentally wore my shirt to to the party so you’re pretending you came as me and it turns out your impression of me is on point and you know me better than you know myself are you sure you’re not in love with me?? \\ requested by @hermannsthumb

sorry this is so late (but it’s still halloween on the west coast? did I make it??) some shatterdome-era, halloween-themed com dram.

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Newt cracks an eye open, waking from a nap he hadn’t realized he was taking. He lifts his head and looks where it had previously been resting—on Hermann’s bare chest. Newt’s eyes drag upward to Hermann’s face—eyes still closed, gently resting.  

Reaching over to his nightstand without looking, Newt first mistakenly grabs his glasses, then his remote for the A/C setup he cobbled together from scrap jaeger metal (not officially approved, but no one has to know), Newt finally picks up his phone and checks the time. He bolts upright immediately. “Uh.” He glances down at Hermann. “Not to kick you out, but I’m gonna need to kick you out.”

Hermann props himself up on his elbows. “Oh?” He says coolly. “Plans this evening?”

“The Halloween party, dude!” Newt exclaims, leaping up out of bed, tossing the covers back so forcefully that they’re flung off Hermann as well. “It’s only like, my favorite holiday out of the whole year.”

With a yawn, Hermann reclines back onto Newt’s mattress and pulls the comforter back over himself. “In July you said Christmas was your favorite holiday,” he says up at the ceiling.

“It was in the heat of the moment,” Newt says, fishing through various piles of clothes—piles he insists are clean but just haven’t been put away yet. “We really do need some kind of mid-year holiday to break things up, you know? Why save all the good stuff for the last three months? Anyway.” Newt retrieves a white tank from one such pile and pulls it on. “I’d invite you to come,” he says as casually as possible. “But there’s a strict costume policy.”

“How gracious of you,” Hermann says, again in that cool tone. “I’m not interested in costumes.”

“Or socializing, or games, or fun. Yeah, I get it.” Newt hops into a pair of tan pants, belting them at record speed. “Now hurry up, will you?”

Hermann groans as he sits upright. His hair is mussed and sticking up at odd ends. Newt swallows down an impulse to run his hands through it one more time, to straighten it, to tuck it in place just the way Hermann likes it.

Instead, he tosses a discarded white shirt from the floor of his quarters, pelting Hermann squarely in the chest. “Here.” He follows up with a deep maroon sweater. “We’re burning daylight.”

---

They step out into the concrete hallway of the Shatterdome and start to walk toward the Mess Hall, the same direction as Hermann’s own quarters.

“You could have given me a bit more time,” Hermann grumbles, fussing with his hair, still sticking up a bit at odd ends. “I look...disheveled.”

“Hey, it’s working for you.” Newt steps in front of Hermann quickly, but continues to walk backward as he holds his arms out wide for display. “How do I look?”

Hermann looks him up and down. After a short pause, he says, “I can’t evaluate your costume until I know who or what you’re supposed to be.”

“John McClane!” Newt falls back to Hermann’s side. “You’ve seen /Die Hard/, right? Tell me you’ve seen Die Hard.”

“I’ve seen Die Hard,” Hermann says, deadpan.

“You’re lying. It’s okay. You’re forgiven. It’s unforgivable. But I forgive you.”

“Gracious of you,” Hermann murmurs with a small smile. He tugs at his sweater collar. “It’s bloody warm.”

“There’s an easy solution for that, Erdos,” Newt quips. “It’s what you get for wearing sub-zero-ready knitwear in a tropical climate.”

Hermann scowls and stops, handing Newt his cane as he proceeds to pull his sweater over his head. He looks down and lets out a groan. “Newton, this is—“

“Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb!”

Mako approaches from the other end of the hallway, clad in a long black trench coat—clearly borrowed from someone who was at least a foot taller and broader than her—and thin sunglasses.

“Mako!” Newt waves. “Are you Neo? Dude, did you watch The Matrix? Amazing, right? That is so badass.”

She lifts her sunglasses and smiles broadly. “Keanu Reeves, he’s the best.” She lifts her sunglasses and considers Newt’s attire.

“Dr. Geiszler...Are you...someone whose clothes have been stolen?”

Newt twitches. “I’m John McClane. Die Hard? Don’t worry about it, it’s from before your time.”

Mako shrugs and smiles politely as she turns her attention to Hermann. “Dr. Gottlieb, you are a...Velvet Underground fan?”

“No, Newton is—“

Newt snaps his attention to his left and sees what Hermann had noticed—under his maroon sweater was Newt’s own Velvet Underground t-shirt, the iconic Andy Warhol banana print. Something that Hermann would never wear, on principle.

Hermann is wide-eyed in surprise. “Er, what I meant to say is...” He clears his throat. “That’s, er my costume,” he says simply. “Newton.”

“WHAT?” Newt exclaims reflexively, unable to stop himself. The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitch upwards. His expression is some bizarre distribution of mortified and smug. “I—...Yes.”

“That is cute.” Mako looks back at Newt, mildly disappointed. “I’m surprised you did not come as each other.” Before Newt can protest and explain, she lowers her sunglasses back down, strikes a pose of such genuine intensity that Newt feels momentarily frozen, before breaking out into a smile and gently leading the two of them, each with one hand, into the mess hall.

Tendo, leaning casually on the snack table, greets the two of them as they grab a couple of drinks—beer that had been snuck into the Shatterdome by some brave anonymous individual, he explains. “So,” he says to Newt. “What are you, a discount construction worker?”

Newt flips him off. Tendo laughs and turns to Hermann. “What’s your ‘stume, doc?”

Newt watches Hermann take another drink before responding, “I’m, er. Newt.” He laughs nervously. “It’s a shallow approximation—“

“Don’t sweat it, doc, no one’s got time to do anything detailed.” Tendo waves his plastic fangs. “You know. More important stuff going on. But—“ he pauses to put the fangs in. “You’ll also be amazed at how far an impression goes to sell it. I’m sure you’ve got some stories.”

"Well, yes, just the other day...” He glances quickly at Newt. Newt looks back at him and crosses his arms.

Hermann straightens up and starts speaking, more quickly and pitched than usual. “‘OSHA procedures are more guidelines than rules,’” he says, quoting—Newt realizes—something Newt had said the day before. A few near bystanders turn their heads to casually tune in. “‘So by extension, I’m the Captain Barbossa of lab safety.’”

A few scattered laughs. Hermann looks around, shocked, possibly by the getting any sort of reaction and possibly by his own delivery.

“Ha!” A nearby J-Tech officer exclaims. “That is legit.” He turns to someone on his left. “I heard the Marshall chew him out a couple weeks ago for—“

“Hey, asshole.” Newt shoots him a glare. “Shut up.” It’s not intelligent, Newt knows, but it’s enough to make a new officer wince.

Tendo lets out a laugh and claps Hermann on the shoulder. “Good one, doc.” He glances at Newt and smirks before taking a sip from his cup. Newt calls that glance and raises it with a death glare that fully transmits, Don’t you say a fucking word.

The initial bystanders disperse. Newt crosses his arms. “That’s not an impression. That’s just one single thing I said once. Taken way out of context, I might add.”

Hermann starts to silently fish through the candy bowl on the snack table.

Newt leans over to watch. “Lookin’ for something?”

At last, Hermann meticulously plucks a green Jolly Rancher from the bowl. “Green is the best flavor,” he says facetiously, delicately unwrapping it from the plastic. “Never mind that green isn’t a flavor but a color.” He pops it into his mouth and grimaces. “These are so sweet,” he says, returning to his usual tone. “Newton, how on earth do you eat these.

Newt rolls his eyes before taking a green Jolly Rancher out of the bowl for himself. “That green was wasted on you, dude” But when he looks back at Hermann he’s smiling slightly, albeit not looking in his direction.

---

For the next half hour, Newt tries to keep a safe distance from Hermann. He makes lap around the mess hall. One engineer, dressed as a pirate (basic, but effective) calls out, “John McClane!” And Newt makes a show cheering and giving her a high-five that is audible throughout the hall.

But the space is finite, and eventually his path leads him back to Hermann, who’s at the center of a small group of PPDC staff who are amused by his current monologuing. Newt slides up behind them and catches Hermann in mid-sentence.

“—and it’s an album from the point of view of a man who’s wretched, who is confronting his misdoings, his mistreatment of others, his skewed relationship with love, in this operatic way—“

In that moment, it strikes Newt that Hermann may have actually been listening. Through all the monologues, through all the rants. Newt flushes with equal parts embarrassment in the accuracy and another feeling he’s tried to push down for seven years.

“But the thing about Weezer,“ Hermann continues, emphasizing the band with an American emphasis on the -er, “Is that they created two perfect albums, so their next twelve mediocre ones are forgivable—“

“The White Album is not mediocre!” Newt finally exclaims from behind the small group, unable to stop himself. He pushes forward and softly grabs Hermann by the arm. Hermann looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, defiant. Newt turns around at the small group casually listening in. “Yeah, yeah, he’s great—excuse us for a sec, will ya?” Without waiting for a reply, he gently pulls his colleague by the arm to the hallway outside, promptly stepping in close, so Hermann is the only thing between Newt and the wall.

“What the hell, dude?” Newt hisses.

Hermann leans his head back against the concrete wall. “Being you is very easy,” he says scathingly.

With a short laugh, and Newt goes in for the kiss. Rough and agitated, how this sequence of events typically starts out. How things started hours prior in the lab, resulting in the change of location to Newt’s room to tear off one another’s clothes as quickly as possible. He slips a hand under Hermann’s/Newt’s own shirt and slides it up and beside Hermann’s ribcage, pulling him in closer.

“This is a new level of narcissism,” Hermann says breathlessly when Newt pulls away. “Even for you.”

“Says the guy who tastes like green.” Newt smirks. “You think you know me?”

“You are impossible not to know.” Hermann says, lifting his chin.

They lock eyes. Newt searches for some confirmation of something in Hermann’s gaze. There’s a hint, close, just behind his eyes, but it’s just out of reach. Despite his better judgement, Newt slips his hand out from under Hermann’s shirt, lifts it, hesitates momentarily, but proceeds to card it gently through Hermann’s hair, smoothing out the odd ends. From front to back, then around to rest on Hermann’s cheek. Hermann looks at him, wide-eyed.

“Newton,” he says softly.

Newt swallows. “Yeah?”

The faceless drone of the party on the other room extends the silence. They look at one another for a minute. And it strikes Newt that it’s longest either of them has gone in each other’s company without a word.

But as “Monster Mash” comes on the speakers, the mess hall erupts into cheers. The incongruity of it all breaks whatever was there, between them in the hallway. Hermann swallows. “I’ll be returning to my quarters, now,” he says, voice just above a whisper. Newt steps back, giving Hermann the space to collect his cane and step out. He gives Newt one last look, opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. He walks away without another word.