#if so feel free to stab me with a spork

[exoyeol-blog1]

My Tumblr keeps glitching and I don’t know how to add the rest of you guys on to the thing I just posted :(( but I love you all and I hope you guys are having a great day💗

@bbhgrl @lovinthesoo @kyungsooyah @fluffyhairedksoo @minseokslilmochi @yeongicheoreom @baekhyuh @nonopinopi @heroesfan101 @laylienn @creepykyungsoo @d-efsoul @dohreos

[sergeantsporks]

[deep, deep, deep, deep, sigh]

Mmmmmmkay. Not sure this is going to be a popular post. In fact, probably going to be pretty darn unpopular (making the bold assumption that anyone will see it and/or care). But I want to talk about the PROBLEMS in the Tales of Arcadia writing.

Now, Tales of Arcadia has some diddly darn good writing. I like it. A lot. And most of it is fantastic and beautiful and makes me cry. All of the character arcs are 👌. Buuuuuuuuuuut as a whole, as a multi-show story, I do find issues with the plot.

Honestly, first off, I'm not going to bring 3below into this because 3below is a bit disconnected from the rest of the series. Maybe that will change Rise of Titans, but in general, the protagonists and conflict in 3below doesn’t really intersect much with Trollhunters and Wizards. Sure, it’s in the same world, and the characters interact, but the 3below plot is only minimally connected to the Trollhunters plot, and aside from Wizards picking up where 3below left off and Krel showing up and helping with the Hisirdoux’s Eternal Time Trap, the two shows don’t intersect at all, so. Moving on.

First of all, Trollhunters. Morgana, specifically. I have... issues... with the ending. I really, really, really felt like Jim and Gunmar kind of got sidelined for Claire and Morgana respectively. Now, is this issue biased by my dislike of Claire in general? Oh, definitely, I’m not going to deny that it factors in quite a bit. But even that aside, we’re given this protagonist, Jim, and they spend 3 seasons building up this big scary troll villain named Gunmar, and how there’s going to be this invasion/eternal night thingamabob where Jim’s gonna have to face off against Gunmar and-- PSYCH! Gunmar goes out like a little punk and we flip over to the universal story constant of “if there are two girls on the battlefield, they absolutely must find each other and fight.” And okay, Morgana was built up, too. She was, it’s not like they threw her in last minute. But she was built up as the MASTERMIND, as a puppeteer in the shadows, and I don’t know, it just sort of felt like she kind of lost her place in the story and became just another endgame boss. And I 100% absolutely DESPISE the fact that Jim got sidelined for Claire. Angor Rot coming in and holding Morgana? Fantastic. Superb. Again, the character arcs in this show are great. And Jim even stabbed Morgana! It was a great fight! The protagonist overcame harrowing ordeals, stabbed the-- oh, wait. Nope. She’s not dead. Now, let’s just knock Jim out cold (albeit in a very in-character way, taking the hit for his friends) and hand the reins over to Claire, who finishes her off. And I just [sighs again] it felt a little forced? Especially since in Wizards, we re-hashed the exact same thing and just made Morgana turn good instead of killing her. I felt like Morgana was rushed in as a villain when more time should have been taken, especially if they were just going to resurrect her and do it all over in Wizards. The pacing could have been better, that’s what I’m saying.

Speaking of Wizards and Morgana. Let’s talk about Wizards and Morgana. Again, it felt like they just re-hashed the ending of Trollhunters into Wizards and changed up the ending. Now, I have no problem with Claire fighting Morgana IN GENERAL. It’s cool. However, that being said, in Trollhunters, Morgana was built up to be a puppeteer character, then became the main villain that was just a cool final boss, like I already said. And since we brought the whole fight back up in Wizards, I feel like a better alternative would have been to yes have Claire fight Morgana in Trollhunters! But for that to be the side fight and the main fight to be the fight we were originally promised of Gunmar vs. Jim. For Gunmar to get beaten in something a little more epic than “One down, one more to go!” and then for Morgana, locked in her fight with Claire and seeing that the battle is being lost, slip away into the shadows and live to fight another day. Leaves a bit of intrigue, and keeps her initially-established role as a voice in the shadows intact. Granted, this does raise problems later in Wizards as to what zombie Arthur wants and why the Arcane Order would need to destroy the amulet, but I’m sure they could find a way around it, like that Morgana’s power was severely weakened by creating the eternal night and they were unleashing more power. Instead of “Hey, I liked being dead, it was quiet” it could be more of a “without my powers, I realized the error of my ways.” There are ways to fix the issue, is all I’m saying. Plus, to leave Morgana as an unsolved, living mystery would make it even more of a big deal to see her in the past in Wizards-- instead of Claire being “Grrrrrr, Morgana, that person I killed once!” it would be “Grrrrrr, Morgana, that person who’s still at large and we never managed to defeat!” Just makes more sense for you to be mad at an enemy you have unfinished business with than one you already defeated pretty soundly.

[Deep inhale]

Okay, let’s talk about the large, stone, elephant in the room. Troll Jim and his transformation back. Pure, honest, unadulterated opinion, right off the bat? Felt like a cop-out. Now, I have to sit here and constantly remind myself “It’s a kid’s show, it’s a kid’s show, remember that it’s a kid’s show,” but I’m sorry, I like my permanent things to be a little more permanent. I liked the fact that the Airbenders remained extinct in Avatar and we didn’t [gasp!] discover more! during the show (that changed in Legend of Korra obviously, but we’re not going to get into my feelings on that). It felt a bit cheap when there was a secret colony of living Alteans in Voltron. I know, I know, it’s a kids’ show, sometimes you like a happy ending, especially when the kids’ show is Wizards and ends up getting incredibly dark (what with the amulet getting destroyed, Merlin dying, the whole Beast-Jim thing, THE PROTAGONIST STRAIGHT UP DYING, all of the emotional/psychological darkness of the Arthur and Morgana arc) through the course of it! Yay, little bit of feel-good, Jim’s not a troll anymore. That being said, again. We got told that troll Jim was PERMANENT. There was no way out of it. Apparently Claire didn’t find a way to change that through whatever gap there was between Trollhunters and Wizards. And then it got fixed, by, uhhhhhhhhh, oh. They didn’t explain what exactly fixed it. Besides I guess the [heavy sigh] *low grumbling* power of love. Felt like a cop-out, and it felt like it cheapened Jim’s sacrifice at the ending of Trollhunters for it to just *poof* fix! at the end through the power of Claire’s love. Now, granted, Jim went through the absolute wringer of first turning into a great big monster and then getting turned to stone, so sure, give the boy a break and some therapy but it still felt like a cop-out.

Okay, all this to say. I ranted for like, three paragraphs about... two issues. I COMPLIMENTED parts of the writing WHILE I WAS BASHING OTHER PARTS. That is pretty dang good, guys. Yes, I have a whole essay on why there is a PROBLEM in this WRITING, but seeing as I could only find TWO THINGS that I had a problem with? That’s some pretty solid writing. Granted, they were two pretty big things that I had essays on, and that’s not great. But hey, two big plot issues versus a multitude of plot holes? Hot dang. Not bad. So, yeah, the character arcs are all fantastically carried out, and the plots in general are sound with the Sporks seal of approval on everything but two points. Thanks for reading through, I know it was long. Feel free to tell me exactly why I’m wrong about this being bad writing. I’d love to see someone else’s opinion and/or someone making me feel better about these issues that I have.

[taurusicorn2400]

Christmas day:

Word count: 638

Can also read on Ao3

Ruby and Clementine were currently in their kitchen, baking a rhubarb pie. Trying to bake a rhubarb pie, really. Ruby is attempting to teach Clementine how to make the pie. It isn't going to plan. At all.

"Clem, honey, no. You're gonna make the crust too thin, and it won't bake properly."

"I'm going to be really honest with you, I have no idea what any of that means. And I wasn't listening to half the instructions you've told me."

"Oh my god."

"Hey can you blame me? There was a very pretty lady telling me instructions. Of course I wasn't paying attention to boring words."

"You flirting ain't gonna get you out of this."

"Damn."

"We need to get this done before everyone comes over for the Christmas party. Just start making the rhubarb fillin' while I try to fix the crust."

"I guess you can say we're making…..Rubyarb pie.

Ruby just let out a long sigh from that bad joke. I mean don't get me wrong, Ruby is trying her damn hardest not to blush because Clem looked so proud of that joke. But the joke was just, bad.

"Oh my god, you did not just say that."

"I did."

"Just…..making the fillin'."

"Why are we making this the day of Christmas?" Clem starts doing the things needed to make the filling.

"Because you decided to eat the one I already made yesterday durin' your 'eat everything in sight, drink all of our apple juice, then pass out' session. So now I'm making you help me remake it."

"OK, far. But do we really need to have a pie?"

"Yes, because all our friends are going to come over, still feelin' the high of openin all their presents, and you know they are going to be hopped up on sugar. Especially the twins, with their obsession with soda chuggin'. They only way to keep the house hole free is to feed them.

"True. They do love their food."

"You found that out the hard way."

"Hey that is not my fault!"

"You have a scar from where Sophie stabbed your hand with a spork for trying to take her fries. After Tenn and Minnie told you not to."

"I like fries!"

"And then, as you were still holding a spork in your skin, you decided to try and take Minnie's nuggets. She almost stabbed you with her straw."

"OK, so maybe it was my fault. But hey, I got to go to the hospital for very cheap 'cause of you."

"Is that the only reason you're with me? Because I can get you into the hospital for the price of a fast food meal?"

"Well, yes, but also no. It's also because doctors are hot."

"Ah."

"Nah I'm just messing. Just because you're hot doesn't mean all doctors are hot. Like that correlation causation graph thing. Why am I doing math?"

"Because the author wanted you to."

"Well, she needs to stop because she's delirious." 

"Super delirious for making you do that."

"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I'm with you because of the fact you make me better. You push me to do things that I'd be afraid to do by myself. You make me happy. You being a hot doctor is just an added bonus."

Ruby snorts, while trying to keep her tears in her eyes. "Not you making me cry on Christmas day."

Clementine just grins, putting the filling in the pie pan, or whatever. I don't feel like thinking about how to make a pie correctly. So this is what you get. Anyway, they put the pie in the oven and set the timer.

"Alright, now we need to make Clemon bars." Ruby grins

"Oh, so you're allowed to make bad puns, but I'm not?"

"Exactly." Ruby grins.

[buterflies-and-ladybugs]

My Prompt List

Here is an ever expanding prompt list of my own creation including some stolen from @moavsiex. Feel free to use it for yourself or to use it to practice writing. As of right now my inbox is open so feel free to send in any Asks you would like (Just let me know which list you chose from).

“Is now really the time for this!” 

“I’m sorry, but i would prefer to not die … again.”

“Didn’t I tell you to go away.” “Only everyday, my love.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over that shirt!”

“Don’t leave me alone. Not again.” 

“If you die I am going to slap your ghost ass back into existence before I kill you.”

“You obviously don’t have any sense if you decided to wear that shade of [color of your choice].”

“Don’t get me sick too!”

“Can I wrap you in a blanket burrito now?”

“Do it for us.”

“It could be worse.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

 “I wish I could hate you.”

“Don’t do it- damm it”

“I miss you.”

“You didn’t stand by me even after everything we have been through.”

“I am so disappointed in you Mr.”

“I will stab your eye out with a spork.”

“Oh no.”

“She is so dead.”

“I would kill you but it takes too much energy.”

“I live on spite”

“What are you drinking?” “The blood of my enemies.”

“I can’t tell if you are serious, and it is scaring me.”

“Of all the people you could have chosen to love, why did you have to choose the one that would never love you back?”

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 32

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

-------------------------------------

Sleeping next to Wade wasn’t the same thing as being at home, but they had both woken up less stiff than they would have if they’d slept separately. Even better, Rhonda felt keen, determined, even a little optimistic.

“Stay sharp,” Rhonda warned Wade over their cold sausage and some oatmeal that could be used to cover cracks in drywall. “After last night, I have a feeling one or both of us might get stabbed today.”

“Oh really?” Wade asked as if she had just told him she thought it might rain. “Just a feeling, or do you say that because of the guy behind you twirling a shiv?” Her eyes shot wide and he nodded, “Yeah, he’s looking at you, ready to snap into a Slim Jim. Move left in three...two...yup--” 

Rhonda ducked, covering her head and neck with her hands as Wade flung his plastic spork at a scrawny, dark haired man who let out a gargling shriek when it plunged into his neck, just above his collar. A sharpened piece of plastic that used to be a pen fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Wade complained, “Dammit! I missed his eye!”

The nearest guard rushed over and glared at Rhonda, “What the hell happened over here?” His hand was quick to tighten over the cattle prod on his belt. 

“I don’t know,” she scoffed. “I don't know this guy. He just fell. Right, Wade?”

Wade replied around a big mouthful of sausage, “He’zh clumzhy on that toi-let wine.” He threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. Rhonda mimicked the shrug and took a bite of oatmeal, trying not to gag on it.

Boots thumped on concrete as a second guard showed up, and scowling at Wade and Rhonda, they both dragged the wailing man away toward the infirmary.

With a furtive glance around the mess hall, Rhonda caught a brief glimpse of Mimi a few tables away giving the slightest nod. Apparently, the man wasn’t part of the Vicious 13, and they wouldn’t have to worry about punishment. Lucky.

When Rhonda sighed and pushed her tray toward Wade, he eagerly took up her spork and finished off her oatmeal. How he could seem to enjoy the food was beyond Rhonda.

The Icebox didn't have a yard to speak of - at least not an outdoor yard. Built into the side of a snow capped mountain, the entire complex was indoor. A sealed box. There was a large central space, lined with the cell blocks that stretched for what felt like miles. In the middle of that was a large, open space where the mess hall and "yard" blurred into each other. Past the tables and benches of the mess hall were the weight racks, a pair of basketball goals, and some other equipment, most of it damaged from years of riots. There were very few fluorescent lights. Instead, most of the lighting came from the skylights several stories above. On a bright day, the lighting might have felt like a shopping mall, but there were no bright days on this mountaintop.

After breakfast, Wade and Rhonda hadn’t been put on any duties, so they were free to make their attempts at recreation in the yard. They had settled on a suspiciously rickety weight bench near some other members of the Vicious 13.

As they got the barbell ready for a few sets of bench press, they watched over each other’s shoulders, wary for another potential attack. The barbell was lopsided - there weren’t enough plates to make it even, so Wade pressed some of his own weight on the lighter side for Rhonda’s sets. She was on her second set when a pair of inmates approached.

“Hey, V-One-Three,” one greeted, “Can you add us to your rotation for a few sets?”

Rhonda sat up and before she could answer, the second inmate let out a startled hiss of, “Oh, shit.” They muttered a hurried excuse and quickly walked away. She watched them another moment, then rolled her eyes and laid on the bench again to finish her set.

“Okay, seriously,” Wade said, “Why does everyone in here wanna kill you or avoid you like a celebrity with a rape scandal?”

She puffed a breath, pushing harder against Wade’s resistance. “You know how when dirty cops go to jail, they get sent somewhere outside their county, or out of state? So they don’t have to be in general pop with the people they arrested?”

Wade started snickering. He coughed a little, but still tried to keep his weight consistent on the bar.

Rhonda took a deep breath before her next rep. “Well when I first got here, I was sure there had been a mistake and I made a big deal about being part of X-Men. Guess who put a bunch of people in here.”

“The Avengers?” When she leveled a stony glare on him, he chuckled a little more before asking, “Okay, so what else?”

She shifted uncomfortably, and racked the bar for a moment to catch her breath between sets. She tugged at her sleeve to make sure most of her Xs were covered. “Eventually, I...snapped.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “What does it look like when lawful good snaps? Quit saying ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes?”

Rhonda looked up at him, rusty barbell between them. “I started doing what everyone in here does. Stabbing kidneys, slashing thighs. But then I escalated. I broke a couple necks, and…” she took a deep breath and shuddered.

Wade smiled, a twinkle gleaming in his eye. Rhonda whispered something too soft for him to hear. “Hm?” he held a hand to his ear.

A voice near Rhonda’s feet said, “She slashed a motherfucker open and pulled out his intestines with her bare hands.”

Rhonda ducked under the bar to sit bolt upright, a shiv glinted in her hand. The blue-haired man she had pointed out to Wade when they first arrived stood before them. His arms were crossed, his deep bronze skin seemed dull compared to the bright blue of his cornrows.

Wade’s jaw dropped. Then he gave Rhonda a slow clap. “Look at you! Giving Arya Stark a run for her money! Miss Murder’n’Mayhem!”

The inmate bared his teeth, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, “She took a bite, too. I seen it.” He turned his gaze to Wade and pointed at Rhonda, “This psycho bitch bit off a guard’s finger too. If she’s using you for a slampiece, you better watch yourself.”

When Wade looked at Rhonda again, she was perfectly still, her features void of any emotion. “You have a lot of fingers for someone doing so much talking,” she warned.

Wade made a big show of grimacing and groaning, “Cannibalism? Really?”

The blue-braided inmate shrugged, “Nah, I know you won’t fuck with me. I ain’t given you any reason. Besides, you slash a V-One-Three? Mimi won’t have that. See how quick she makes you disappear.” His chin jutted upward, absolutely arrogant. It annoyed Rhonda, but he wasn’t wrong.

She lowered her shiv, but didn’t put it away. Cold glare fixed on the newcomer, she asked, “You need something, Janks?”

He waved vaguely toward the bench she sat on, “This bar’s in the V-One-Three section. Any of us can use it. Now move so I can do a set. I’ve got messages from Mimi.”

She hesitated to move. “If Mimi’s got something to say to me, she can tell me herself.”

Janks gave another mirthless smile, “Mimi is a busy lady.”

Sharing a pointed look with Wade, she reluctantly got up and let Janks settle. Wade coughed again, so Rhonda had him lean on the heavier side of the bar, so he could have it easier and she could lean with her own weight on the lighter side to Janks’s satisfaction.

Janks was surprisingly strong. He pumped each rep quickly, raw power in his lean muscles. He puffed a breath with each rep. “Mimi says - hhh - she knows the right snake hole - hhh - to get to the top of - hhh - the mountain.”

“Nice code,” Wade quipped. “A little on the nose for my taste, but--”

“What else did Mimi tell you?” Rhonda asked with a sharp edge in her voice.

“Hhh - Nothin’ she doesn’t trust me with,” Janks evaded. “There’s something - hhh - you’ll have to take care of - hhh - she says you’ll know what to do.” 

He paused at the end of his set, and Rhonda let him breathe a second before she pressed, “That’s it? She didn’t give any details?”

Janks scoffed, “How many fuckin’ details you need, Guestbook, huh? I told you everything I’m supposed to.” He curled a finger, signaling he was ready for another set. 

Practically hovering over his face, Rhonda gave a quiet snarl, “Whatever it is, if Mimi’s not happy, you better hope it wasn’t because of a communication error.”

Janks worked another two sets before he left them alone. Wade was coughing too much for Rhonda to let him do a set at all, and instead they took a worn deck of playing cards to one of the tables at the edge of the mess hall. As she started shuffling the deck, careful not to tear the corners any worse than they already were, Wade asked, “You really eviscerated somebody and then made a snack of him?”

Rhonda clenched her jaw so hard Wade could hear her teeth grinding. “I did the guard’s finger, yes. But the first guy...I spat some blood at somebody. You know how stories get twisted.”

“Uh-huh,” he was trying not to laugh.

“This isn’t something I’m proud of,” she snapped, her voice still raspier than usual. “The first time I killed someone, I couldn’t hold any food down for days. And later, I...I either got used to it, or I got better at not thinking about it." She paused and dropped her voice to a near whisper and looked away, "I don’t know which is worse.” Her teeth ground again as she pursed her lips and started dealing the deck evenly between herself and Wade.

His expression softened. “We won’t be here long,” he assured her. “The gang’s probably already on their way here. What’s the plan for these collars? I have a feeling you’ve been making decisions without cluing me in...”

“Let’s play War,” Rhonda flipped the top card of her deck - a queen of spades with her faces scratched out. Wade revealed a three of hearts, and Rhonda took both for her pile. “Mimi will get into the control office and let us in. Until then, we keep her happy doing whatever she tells us.”

Wade started to laugh, but it quickly turned into coughs again. “You let the snake lady gang lord be in charge of the most important part of our plan? Why did you agree to that?” He flipped a seven of diamonds, which beat Rhonda’s two of clubs. 

“I got her to buy in on getting the fuck out of here.” She surreptitiously glanced around, checking for anyone listening.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he grumbled as they tied the next round and each laid out three cards for battle. “You don’t strike me as much of a diplomatic type. What did you promise her?”

Rhonda won the next round and leaned close. “Every inmate in here would give anything to get these collars off. I promised Mimi that if she helps us, she can take collars off whoever she wants.”

Wade fidgeted with the corner of his next card. “And if she chooses people who can wreck our shit?”

She shrugged. “When I first got mine off, I couldn’t do anything. It was a couple days before I could even make sparks again. There’s a chance that the collars affect other people like that too, especially the ones who’ve had them a long time. Their abilities will probably be lessened.”

“I smell a whole lot of maybe in that idea…”

“What other options do you see, Wade?” She slapped her next card on the table. “If we had a year, we could build a cover, we could get a guard in our pocket, make some hiding places, but this is the best we can do right now.” She shook her head and muttered, “Besides, it’s not like we have to take them with us.”

“Inmate!” a guard barked from a distance.

Wade raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you’d have that attitude, but okay. I--”

“IN-MATE.” The guard was closer now, impatient. “Guestbook!”

Rhonda turned, schooling her features to predatory stillness. A few other inmates had gathered behind the guard, watching. This was the guard who had been with Reyes when the DMC had recaptured her. “Calhoun,” she said flatly. “How’s Reyes?”

Calhoun had bruises around one eye, and though Rhonda couldn’t remember, she suspected she'd put those bruises there herself. He was seething, “He’s out of the ICU, and he asked me to...watch over you until he gets back.”

“Here I am,” she said simply.

“Yeees,” Calhoun drawled. “Here you are.” 

He moved, and Rhonda dove under the table. Cards fluttered in the air. Before she had a chance to roll to Wade’s side, Calhoun and another inmate snagged each of her ankles and dragged her out into the open. Wade jumped, ready to help, but three inmates grabbed him, pinned his arms back, and started punching his gut.

Rhonda clawed at the cement, breaking fingernails as they dragged her. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she scrambled to defend herself. She whirled and caught the inmate in the face with her elbows, breaking his nose and spraying blood, but Calhoun caught her arm and threw her down onto her face. She was nearly to her feet again when a heavy, steel-toed boot caught her in the belly. The breath rushed out of her and she collapsed onto her side. 

Three more inmates pulled at her arms and legs until she was immobilized. 

Calhoun jabbed his knee into her lower back, ignoring her pained grunt. “It’s been a while since we’ve had our Guestbook,” Calhoun leaned over so Rhonda could see his cruel smile, “and we’ve had a lot of newcomers who need to sign.”

Rhonda screamed. Wild, pure rage echoed through the yard.

The guard tore her right sleeve clean off her arm, revealing her lacework of badly inked Xs.

Wade roared in angry futility, even as the inmates holding him kept beating him.

Calhoun took something from his pocket, a tattoo gun cobbled together from CD player parts and office supplies. He slowly ran one hand along Rhonda’s arm, looking for a blank space. “I forgot how full your arm is,” he said. “Maybe we should tear off the rest of your clothes.”

Rhonda huffed and heaved, raging but trying to conserve her strength. “Reyes thought he was tough until a giant Russian mutant had his hands on him,” she growled through her clenched jaw. “Reyes is shit, and you’re shit. You’ll die shit.”

Unperturbed, Calhoun hooked his fingers into Rhonda’s collar and thumped her head hard against the concrete floor. Looking at the inmates who had gathered around them, he flashed his teeth in a horrible smile. He offered up the improvised tattoo gun. “Okay, who’s first?”

[justauthoring]

No Reason To (Bonus Scene)

Prompt: idk if you’re currently taking requests for nrt bonus scenes, but if you are could you do the scene where scott felt y/n get stabbed and said something was wrong and stiles just bOLTS out of the vault (+ a little malia being concerned too?)

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to tag previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!”

A/N: 

He’d been dozing off, his eyes heavy. His skin felt hot, sweaty and at this point, Scott almost wished for the sweet relief of death. It was beginning to become too much to bear and he just wanted it to stop.

Those around him slipped to the back of his mind as his head fall back, exhaling heavily, his body feeling weaker than it ever had been before. Selfishly, and only for that one, split second, Scott didn’t think about you, wherever you were. He didn’t think about Stiles who sat across from him, head in his hands. He didn’t think about Kira or Malia who were doing just as bad as him. For one moment, he put himself before others as the pain and discomfort and that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach became too much.

And then, his eyes snapped open and his lips parted, pain hitting him. Despite the little-to-zero amount of energy in his body and limbs, he sat up, his hands instantly moving to his stomach, the pain centering there.

For a split second, he was bewildered. Scott couldn’t understand where the pain had come from and why it felt like a knife was being stabbed into his gut. His mind reeled as his eyes clenched shut and his teeth clenched hard against one another. But then it hit him, a second later and he realized that it was because of you. The pain wasn’t his own but rather yours, and because of your connection, he felt it. Like a knife in his stomach that wasn’t there.

And just like that, the worry overrided the pain. Scott lost all rational thought as his stomach plummeted to the pit of his stomach and he thought the worse. The pain he felt was almost unbearable and it radiated throughout his entire body, so he could only imagine how it was effecting you. The worse part was, he didn’t have the strength to get up.

Then, it got it worse. The pain increased at least tenfold and if the others hadn’t noticed him before, they certainly did now as Scott let out a heart-wrenching cry.

Stiles, the only one with enough strength to jump up to his feet lunged forward, reaching Scott in seconds with wide concerned eyes. Scott, felt rather than saw, Stiles’ hands fall on his shoulders, steadying him slightly as his jaw clenched and the pain continued to flood his entire being. He thought it had been unbearable before, but this was so much worse.

Then, slowly, it faded. It turned into a dull ache, one that you couldn’t ignore and finally Stiles’ voice seemed to drift into his senses.

“What’s happening? Scott! Scott, are you okay?”

Scott peeled his eyes open, finding Stiles’ worried eyes on him before drifting past his shoulders and watching as both Malia and Kira watched him with deep frowns marring their lips, obviously worried.

Swallowing thickly, Scott’s hand fell on Stiles’ arm, gripping it tightly as he shifted.

“Scott?”

“I’m fine,” Scott breathes, only then able to find his voice. “I’m... I’m okay. I have to...” He doesn’t finish his sentence, voice drifting as he plants his free hand on the concrete beneath him, trying to push himself up to his feet. He hears Stiles’ call out in concern, but ignores it, grinding his teeth together as he tries to get up to his feet.

And as he makes it halfway, he sinks to the floor, his legs giving out beneath him.

“Scott,” Stiles’ calls again, voice sharp. “What is it? What happened?”

“Y/N...” Scott breathes, instantly catching Stiles’ attention if he didn’t have it before. Something sinks inside of Stiles’ and his lips curve downwards in a deep frown as he squeezes Scott’s shoulder, pushing him back.

“What’s wrong with Y/N?” When Scott doesn’t answer, head falling back, Stiles’ presses. “Scott.”

“She’s...” Shaking his head, Scott groans through the pain. “She’s in trouble. I have to... I have to get to her--”

His words halt the moment Stiles leaves his side, instantly on his face. Through his bleariness, Scott blinks up at his best friend, frowning. “Stiles--”

“You stay here,” Stiles argues, shaking his head as he moves towards the door. “You’re too weak to go after her. I’ll find her.” Scott watches with a frown as he slowly opens the door, turning just before he runs off. “Shut the door behind me.”

Then, Stiles is gone and Scott, with a moan of dejection, sits up, moving to shut the door. And as he’s left alone with both Malia and Kira, the dull ache never ending, Scott can’t help but curse his state at that moment. He wasn’t even strong enough to go save his own sister and while he fully trusted Stiles, more than anyone, it was crushing him inside.

-

This takes place during part twenty-eight! Let me know what you thought!

Tag List: @potterheadbbc - @sunsetblake - @mythicalamphitrite - @loverofwaytoomanythings618 - @minuteandahalf - @mnk - @gazebros - @colie87 - @quilliamfears - @quellum - @pessimisticbullshit - @kaylinfayezink - @maiabiovillage - @tr1chst3r - @arkcangel - @quirkytwinkles - @thegirlwhoimagined - @noones-girl1980 - @illumminated - @fairchild345 - @all-will-be-well-love - @animemes-trash - @starryrevelations - @literallyhelpme - @theskytraveler - @jinandtion1c - @ilovemymoose - @bibliophilesquared - @stilessarcasmqueen - @mersuperwholocked-lowlife - @newtsshelbys - @wyattgoleft - @pancakefancake - @saturno-in-the-night - @pizzamelon7384 - @riskregretting - @mdgrdians - @ravenclawnerdfromnarnia - @franchisefan14 - @lovingpeterparker - @audreysduvxl - @kararanae23 - @alioop3818 - @a-gir1-has-n0-name - @andyl394 - @sclestial - @jayymocha - @2ptonpt - @itsfangirlmendes- @deafeningmusicdetective - @alex–awesome–22 - @nicholerodz  - @kellbell44- @serrahruby - @agentmarvel13 - @egg-in-a-spork - @nickigv - @vxidnik - @marvelousgab - @emmaleighrose- @danielag1969 - @digicharr - @shantayok - @cherry3bombshell - @thatprofessionalfangirl - @itsjaynebird - @grippleback-galaxy - @dafukbish - @randomfanfictiontime - @unicorn-sparkles123 - @sammyrenae68 - @myfanficlibrarium - @liveforthenight130318- @booknymph02 - @smileyouresopretty - @fionnthebandersnacc- @voidsarahh - @kal-pal - @darlingimmafangirl - @burningmusicmarchi - @celacaveremo - @maolhy71706 - @supernatural-kinda-girl - @wherever-life-takes-us - @natalien-92 - @letmebeyoursforever - @lonelyforeverlina - @parkerschurros

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Duck, Duck, Goose

Duck, Duck, Goose - Kidge Month Day 1 Prompt Fill Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Kidge Summary: She flashed him an flat look. “I was on board when I thought it was about getting free food and free shit; not when it was about people invading my personal space like I’m a petting zoo animal or something,” Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

All his years had done nothing to ease Keith’s discomfort with big get-togethers. Admittedly, he hadn’t had to worry too much about it in recent years. His work with the Blade rarely ever called upon him attending large, extravagant parties. The most he did were peace dinners and conferences and the like, which were always geared towards resolving volatile situations and easy to manage. He went in with an end goal in mind and he implemented strategies he’d learned over the years to try and achieve the ends he desired. In regards to his personal life, there were parties, sure, but they were much more family celebrations. He enjoyed those because he was comfortable with the people there, being surrounded by people he loved and who understood him.

Big things like this, though? Not really his thing.

He stole a quick glance at the array of wrapped and bagged gifts, all decorated in pastel colors or prints with baby animals on them. He only knew a handful of the people present because most of them were friends of Colleen and Sam’s, with a small sprinkling of Garrison officers whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember. The others were there, too, but the only people he could really see were Shay, Allura and his Mom. Shiro, Hunk, Lance and Coran, from what he’d seen, were getting a similar treatment of being shooed away from the center of excitement. He’d had that happen to him more times than he could count in the last hour and a half, which was more than a little frustrating. There would be points of loud, ecstatic squeals from the congregation of women but when he tried to see what was happening, he’d get pushed aside or, typically by the much older women in the group, told “It’s women’s business”.

After the seventh time, he plucked a can of pop from the little cooler by the food table and slipped outside. There was just a slight nip in the air as autumn started to settle in, the leaves of the nearby trees already changed to orange, yellow and brown hues, clinging to their branches with the last bits of energy they had. The smell of the leaves and change felt relaxing as he settled into one of the plush loungers couch on the patio. He popped the can open and took a sip, staring out at the well-tended yard and just enjoying the peace and quiet for a moment.

He perked up at the click of the sliding glass door being pushed open, offering up a smile when he saw it was just Pidge. "You alone out here?" She asked, still taking the time to poke her head out a little bit and scan the area.

"Yeah. Sure you can sneak away, though? I mean, you two are the lives of the party," He teased, gesturing back inside with a tip of his soda can.

She groaned and walked out, shutting the door with the utmost delicacy. He shifted a bit in his seat, preparing to get up and help her as she shuffled her way over to join him. "Ugh, don't remind me!" She lamented, prodding his side with one finger and scooting a bit closer.

He chuckled and shook his head, lifting his arm regardless and letting her snuggle up into his side. “You were so on board with this earlier,” He teased as he let his arm drop around her shoulders.

She flashed him an unamused look. “I was on board when I thought it was about getting free food and free shit; not when it was about people invading my personal space like I’m a petting zoo animal or something,”

He took a small sip of his soda before setting it on the little side table. "Huh, they've been taking the opposite approach with me; been shuffling me out every chance they get. Then again, they've been doing that to every guy, so maybe that's it," He commented. He tried to not take offense, but it did bother him that he kept getting pushed out. And hearing that his wife wasn’t exactly having the time of her life only amped up his anxiety about everything.  "Everyone's been way too far up in your personal space, though?"

"Yes," She groaned before holding one hand up, squishing her fingers together so close there was almost no space between them, "and I'm this close to stabbing someone with a spork if they don't knock it off."

He scowled. "I'm pretty sure that would go against the doctor's orders to avoid any strenuous physical activity,"

"Pssh, no," She said with a small roll of her eyes.

"I think you're underestimating the amount of force you'd need to do any real damage with a plastic fork,"

“Well, I think you're underestimating my ability when pushed to my limit," She retorted. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, pal.”

"Have they been that aggressive? Do you want me to go set them straight?" He offered, glancing down at her and then peering over his shoulder. The crowd had moved towards the present table, most like debating whose gift would be opened when, and a small part of him was glad that they seemed oblivious to Pidge slipping away.

"It's less that they're aggressive and more that I don't know everyone and they're just kinda... Coming right over and touching all up on this," She said with a frustrated huff, indicating her swollen belly with a wave of her hand. She shifted to press a little bit closer to him, letting her head drop against his chest and eyes close. "And it's not like I don't get it, because I do. They're excited because this is why they're here and they want to see if they can get a feel. And I wouldn't necessarily mind if they just asked me first. Or, you know, listened when I told them she doesn't like moving for just anyone, and moving your hand around my belly like a bloody crystal ball isn’t gonna change that."

He laughed and shook his head. "She's a picky little stinker already,"

"More like she's Daddy's little princess already!" She laughed, poking him in the chest to drive the point home.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "I think it's more that she's indecisive; never knows when she wants to be the center of attention. I mean, she can't pick favorites when she's still baking,”

She looked up at him with a raised brow of her own. "Can't she, though?" She said before letting her head drop again, raising one arm to point at the crowd through the sliding glass door. "All those other people were poking and rubbing and patting my belly and she doesn't do a thing! She doesn't turn, she doesn't kick, nothing! The minute I came out here and started to talk with you, though? Now she's kicking around like I chugged two cups of coffee!"

"Really?" He asked skeptically.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his other hand, placing it against the left side of her stomach, and waiting. Under his hand he could feel the distinct shape of a little foot under his palm. "You feel that? That is all for you. She wouldn't kick for me, Mom, Dad, Krolia, nobody else! She's gonna be your little shadow once she comes out, I just know it," She hummed softly. There was a halt in movement under his hands.

“She really didn’t kick at all before?” He asked, words trailing a bit when the kicking started back up the minute he spoke.

“What did I just say?” She sang, tone filled with self-satisfaction.

Keith chuckled a bit, gently moving his hand in soothing circles where the baby had been kicking. "She's really having a blast kicking you right now, isn't she?"

"I swear she's going in timeout the minute she's born. We do not hit in this family," She said, plastering on a fake scowl and no-nonsense tone.

"You can't punish an infant for what they do in the womb," He laughed.

"Fine," She said with an exaggerated sigh. She then gave her belly a small pat on the other side. "You hear that, missy? Daddy bailed you out of a hard sentence."

"Maybe she already knows I'm the reasonable one,"

"First, say that lie again and I'll make sure Baby Girl here learns all about your time with the Garrison. And the Red Lion. And the Blades. And your first year and a half with Black Lion. Second," She trailed, holding up a finger for each point, "it's more likely she can smell that you're going to be soft on her."

He choked on another laugh. "I don't think she can smell much of anything, so probably not,"

"Oh, you say that now, but once she's here? She's gonna have you wrapped around every single one of her chubby little fingers; betting you 20 buckaroos on it,” She said, closing her eyes again and relaxing a bit more.

And, a few weeks later, when little Amber Rose Kogane was there, in his arms, he resigned himself to shelling out a cool 20 to his wife.

[phantomphangphucker]

A King For Tonight’s Fentertainment - Chap. 3: The Fright To Defend His Might

Summary:  Danny's just done with all of this shit, seeing as Knights, apparently, don't understand secrets

Quite a few people glare, mostly looking pissed off at the agent. That is until the shot gets batted away by a sword as the Fright Knight lands his steed, Nightmare. Agent G falls to the ground as Nightmare bucks and neighs loudly, Fright Knight bellowing, “YOU DARE TO LAY ARMS AGAINST HIS MAJESTY WHILE GIVEN REFUGE WITHIN HIS LANDS. YOUR KIND HARDLY HAVE PLACE AMONGST HIS DEATHLY SUBJECTS AND ARE BEHOLDEN TO EVEN LESS RIGHTS TO REST WITHIN HIS CLOSER DOMINION. I COMMAND YOU, IN NAME OF THE HIGH GHOST KING, TO REMAIN ROOTED AS YOU ARE, UNTIL SUCH A TIME THAT HIS GRACIOUSNESS RETURNS YOU TO YOUR KEEP”.

Nearly everyone gapes at the large ghosts sudden appearance and booming voice. Those who actually took in what he said are confused and only grow more confused as Danny smiles loosely and straight-up punches the ghost in the arm like he’s some old friend.

“Pfft, ones like them don’t have keeps, you stupid old school knight. Would it kill ya to say “home” or “house” or even just “town”?”, Danny pats imaginary dust off his pants before putting a hand on his hip, pointing at the Fright Knight, “and ‘beholden’? are you even using that right? I mean I guess, sorta. Whatever. Anyway, don’t stab him. Traumatising the bastard ain’t gonna do much. Their nightmare fuel faces and nightmare inducingly incapable ghost hunting abilities will not improve by giving them literal nightmares. I think all this already counts as a frightfully bad time anyway. Add in fearsome in shining armour...wait”, Danny snorts and falls on his ass laughing, “oh my Ancients! You literally just played my knight in shining armour! My prince on his steed! Oh man, that is frighteningly cliche!”.

Danny has a feeling the Fright Knight’s face looks equal parts disgusted and judgemental, with twinklings of amusement, “I do not serve you like that, my highness”. That only serves to make Danny lay on his back laughing, while everyone else watches on utterly slack-jawed, “and here I thought I was granted your servitude to its fullest extent”. The Fright Knight lowers his sword and turns sideways to glance at Danny, “my liege, I’m beginning to be of the mind that you ought grant your kin access to your mind”.

Danny springs up from the ground and makes a show of mock offence, hands on his hips, “ouch, now that was a low blow Frightmare. Very ghostly, I approve”.  While the Fright Knight grumbles about how his highness never calls anyone by their actual names, Agent L goes to shoot at him but gets kicked in the face by Nightmare. Which seems to be enough to shake the crowd out of their stupor.

Maddie goes up and yanks on Danny’s sleeve, trying to pull him away from the ghosts, “young man what are you doing? That is a ghost”. Maddie puts herself between Danny and the Fright Knight, glaring at the Fright Knight, “and how dare you address my son, ghost!”.

Danny groans, at this point he might as well just say fuck it. Sighing, “yeah fuck it”. Danny forms a ghost portal behind himself, the shock of it opening up is enough for Maddie to loosen her grip; easily allowing for Danny to slip inside it. Popping out a second portal right behind the two GIW agents. Danny punches the bent over agent L in the face, smirking devilishly all the while, “heeeeeere’s Danny!”, before twisting to punch agent G in the face; knocking both fully to the ground, again. Danny flips to land in front of them and bends down, perching on his toes, to look down at the two groaning men, “now see, the point of that was to point out that Amity’s getting its ghostly lair of an ass back to the Human Realm via one motherfucking big portal. Like Ancients, this fucker’s gonna be massive. Oh, and getting to punch you white suit scum”.

“The only scum is ectoentities!”.

“Daniel James Fenton!”.

“What the fuck Danny...”.

“Oh my god, Fenturd has ghost powers!”.

“That’s likely the only option, your excellency”.

Danny chuckles as he straightens up, “indeed, this excellencies idea is most excellent”, then rolling his eyes at everyone else, “it’s just manipulation of the Ghost Zones free-floating ectoplasm, don’t get your knickers in a knot. Anyone with my positio-”. Danny gets cut off by Red, wearing her visor again, shouting and pointing aggressively at the air above his head, ��GHOST KING!!!”.

Danny sighs as Red comes stomping over to him, though chuckles as she blatantly intentionally steps on one of the downed agents. Danny rubs his neck, “uh yeah, Mr. Unliving Knightmare over here has pointed that out, like, five times”.

“Six, now seven, my Lord”.

The two agents struggle to get up and scoot away from Danny, while Red comes to stand in his face a bit, “WHAT THE HELL! HOW COULD YOU BE A GHOST KING! YOU'RE NOT EVEN DEAD!”. Danny has to bite his tongue to keep from muttering about being halfway there; the chances of Red overhearing him are too great.

Dash crosses his arms and sneers, “Fentoad couldn’t be a king anyway, he’s too scrawny and pathetic”, earning glares from most of the crowd, no one else even willing to entertain the idea that someone who walks up to guns without a care, was pathetic.

The Fright Knight goes to speak but Danny raises a hand to quiet him, “you don’t need to speak, or more likely bellow, for me. Especially at some Highschool bully who’s bark and bite is closer to puppies than to a Rottweiler”, turning to Dash while Red sputters about him commanding a ghost. Danny sticks out his tongue and pulls down one lower eyelid, “you’ve got too small a brain to lead half a pencil stick, lack the courage to take charge of my dad’s fudge supplies, and have the political capabilities of a squirrel that’s been half-drowned in knock-off cheese whiz”, smirking, “you’re hardly the judge of kings. And you’ve hardly got the place to judge one”.

Danny easily hears someone mutter about how Dash is the most dangerous kid at school, not a freaking Chihuahua. Now Danny’s firmly captured everyone’s attention, based on the disbelieving stares he's getting. Though Danny’s pretty sure the Fright Knight is over the moon over Danny’s little verbal display; a full blood red All Hallows’ eve moon but still.

The Fright Knight nods strongly as he pats Nightmare’s flaming mane, “indeed, I agree with his highnesses judge of character”, the Fright Knight turns to Red, “and you, skilled huntress. Of course, I follow my lieges desires, such is the place of any Dread Knight; and infallibly that of the High Dread Knight. Further, I said The High Ghost King, and while his grand eminence may take preference to referring to himself as simply The Ghost King; “High” is part of the title. To show rank beyond all others, the King of Kings”.

Danny sighs, “add there you go, laying it on thick”, Danny walks back over and leans against the Fright Night, who’s crossed his arms and stands stiff. Danny speaks to Red calmly, “regardless, Mr. Walking suit of armour and a creepy level of insight into everyone’s darkest fears, is right. “a” and “the” have two very different meanings”, glancing up at the Fright Knight, “and “High” is just embellishment. Fucking fanciful, unnecessary, extravagant, arguably pretentious; yada yada”.

Maddie shakes herself off and storms up, yanking Danny away from the Fright Knight yet again, “Daniel! What are you doing! You don’t even have on protective gear and-”.

Danny’s loud groan cuts her off and he can tell the Fright Knight is restraining an exasperated sigh, “mom, holy guacamole, dear gods, sweet Ancients. I’m fine, this is fine, everybody here is fine...well except those two idiot agents”, glaring at the agents, who’ve got their guns out again and stand on shaky legs, “who are about thirteen seconds away from me just straight up jacking their guns. And they will certainly not be getting them back without Jack Fenton’s face on them”. Both men cringe and instantly drop their guns, while Danny turns back to Maddie. Sighing at her, “I’m doing something to deal with the twats who caused this bullshit. And-”.

Danny gets cut off by Mr. Lancer, who’s more interested in the art of words than teenage and family bickering, “you keep mentioning ‘Ancients’, you've said it plenty over the years. Where’d that come from? And king, Daniel? I would expect a king to be far more bold and with vaster knowledge...though you’ve shown to be more bold than previously thought”.

The Fright Knight can’t restrain a scoff, one part annoyed, one part amused, and one part impressed, at how little these humans understood his king; which was largely due to his majesty’s skilful secretiveness. Danny smiles fondly, “dear Ancients, sweet Ancients, oh my Ancients, Ancient blessed, etcetera. They’re Ghost Zone terms, similar to ‘oh my god’ and ‘dear god’”. The Fright Knight nods, “quite so. I, however, am not one for such colloquialisms myself. Though many also make such terms of his most high royalties title and name. For, after all, Realms blessed be those under The High Ghost Kings joyous resplendency”.

“Oh come on! Who did Fentoast pay to pull this crap?!?”, Dash cries out and gestures at Danny.

The Fright Knight speaks at Danny, “I’m starting to see where and how you acquired your eccentric naming of everyone by names not of their own”. Danny coughs and gapes, “okay, that is a genuine insult, I’m nothing like that bleach brain fried twat. I’d get more outta eating sporks and footballs than talking to that”.

Dash doesn’t even get a chance to snap back as Red beats him to it, “first off, ew. Second, there’s no way you’re any kind of ghost royalty. I mean Danny, you’re well, you. You’re Danny. Danny Fenton. Ghost hunter protege”.

Maddie nods, grabbing Danny’s shoulder, “yeah sweetie, Fenton’s hunt ghosts. Not lead, that makes no sense”.

“Oh for the love of- goddamnit”, Danny shakes his head, slightly annoyed, “Hunt? No. Fight? Sure. Insult? Definitely. Lead? Yes. Guide? Yup. Aid? Okay. You get the point, maybe”. Danny tilts his head up at the sky, muttering to himself, “how is any of this solving our green goo sky...”.

Maddie puts her hands on her hips, “you being friendly, none the less aiding, a ghost is more of an issue. We’re protected by the shield so it-”. Danny butts in, “my shield”. Maddie nods, “yes sweetie, which while thanks, it is hard to get. But if it takes longer to get home, to Earth, because we’re sorting out this, then so be it”.

Danny chuckles, science and family did always come before safety with his parents. But there was no problem to be sorted out, and she was still too anti-ghost to really accepted this. However, Danny flicks his gaze between his mom and the Fright Knight, muttering, “though if she’s tolerating my second in command, I guess that’s something”.

Maddie and Red both blink at him, Maddie opening her mouth to speak while glaring at the Fright Knight but gets cut off by agent L. “Ok that’s enough of this crap. You’re either playing some strange joke, kid. Or you’re a damn ghost that looks human”.

Danny facepalms, “oh for fucks sake, Ancients give me strength, Realms power cometh, Zone grant deathly lease. Neither”, Danny smirks and digs into his pocket. Pulling out an 'I can’t believe it’s not a ghost' meme sticker and slaps it on his forehead, “you literally said I can’t be a ghost. Literally impossible. Ghosts need to be in the Ghost Zone. I live in Amity, in the Human Realm. Ghosties can’t do that. And also, fuck y’all”. Danny does a dramatic finger snap, allowing his cape, ring, and crown to blink into visibility.

Unsurprisingly the only human who doesn’t jump is Star, who’s wearing the visor. Star blinks, “why’d everyone jump or whatever?”.

Danny chuckles, “take off the visor”.

“Oh”.

[loveinthebones]

Not On My Watch

Alrighty! It’s a little late but Merry Christmas, @kthnwss. Christmas is the time for fluff before we jump back in with our project. XD I was originally going to write some more Florist! Phil but decided to change it up once I stumbled across this post and well..

I hope you like it. <3 

Title: Not On My Watch

Rating: T 

Tags: Alternative Universe- Video Game Shop and Suit Shop, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Jealous! Dan {I am weak. Sue me.}

-Not On My Watch-

If you would have asked Philip Lester a couple of months ago about the shop across the way, he would have hummed a noncommittal response before adding, “They seem like nice lads.” with a courteous tooth-bearing smile.

If you would have suggested that he’d be staring out the window of Lion’s Games, chin propped in hand, to wait for the boy with the three-buttoned, fitted silhouette jacket… he probably would have giggled with pink cheeks and a quiet, “Yeah.” However, if you continued on to insist he would see him every day, well… he would have denied it with a hearty laugh and disbelieving, “No way!”

He would have been wrong, of course. (But that’s not a bad thing. Not at all.)

He doesn’t know when it became a thing but Phil was glad that it did, indeed, become routine.

-

It had started with the determined click-click-click of dress shoes clacking against the bright linoleum of the hallway that hadn’t been crossed until that day and really, why would it have been?  

Phil wasn’t a suit guy. He preferred his soft, loose well-loved but zany t-shirts and his faded dark jeans. Somedays, there would be a hint of skin peeking through a hole he had been too unmotivated to fix and on the day, Daniel waltzed into the store…he had been in one of his oldest, hole-ridden pair as he shelved the games a few little ones had scattered about, singing quietly to himself.

“Hello.”

Phil sprang a full foot into the air, slippery cases running through his fingers as if they were water instead of plastic. He groaned lowly but smiled as he turned to face the man with the carefully gelled quiff and tired eyes, putting on his customer service persona with ease. “How may I help you?”

“Uh-well-“ The man stared at his polished shoes, flicking the last button of his jacket nervously. “My boss was wondering if we could use your microwave until ours comes in? It might be a while though…” He reached up before stilling his hand from touching his styled hair, clearing his throat. “And I would like to not starve. That’d be great.”

Phil chuckled at the dry, level delivery of that last sentence and bent to pick up the fallen games when Chris rushed out of their backroom, arm still littered with cellophane and colored stickers with a: “I’ll be back as soon as possible! Pray for safe travels!”

“Safe travels,” Phil replied absently, waving a hand at Chris. “Bring me back some popcorn if you’re going to flirt with that caricature artist again.”

“It’s not my fault the bathroom is on the other side of the world!” Chris hollered, trainers squeaking on the floor outside the shop already. “Sorry, Phil!”

Phil only rolled his eyes with a huff that lacked any true irritation in response, standing with the games shoved into the crook of one elbow. He extended his free hand to the man from the suit shop. “I’m sorry about not introducing myself properly. I’m Phil.”

“Daniel.” Daniel shook his hand briefly and Phil caught the flash of a dimple carved into the apple of his left cheek as he straightened the lapel of his suit exaggeratedly. “Charmed.”

Phil laughed, tongue slipping between his teeth. “Likewise and yes,” Phil spun on his heel, motioning for Daniel to follow him to the back room. “You guys can use our microwave.” A soft whoosh of air left his lungs as a couple wandered into his shop, holding hands. “Too bad you guys don’t have a bathroom. Chris is going to take forever and I can’t man the floor and do inventory.”

“Actually…” Daniel blurted out, eyes sparkling. “We do. Let me talk to Harry. Maybe we can strike up an agreement?”

“Symbiosis,” Phil commented distractedly, hand curving over Daniel’s side as he gently guided him around the boxes strewn across the floor. “Sounds good to me.”

“Y-Yeah,” Dan replied and if Phil didn’t move his hand until they reached the red microwave, well… Phil would neither confirm nor deny anything.

-

“Hey, man,” Harry called out to Phil as soon as he crossed the threshold, glancing up quickly, before gently scolding the small boy with fair hair when he dropped his arms. “No, no. We’re almost done, buddy. Just a few more things, okay?”

“My arms are tired,” The little one whined, sticking out his full lower lip and Phil giggled. The boy narrowed his eyes as did the mum sitting cross-legged in the corner with a jiggling foot but his eyes widened. “Your shirt is so cool! Gengar is my favourite!”

Phil grabbed the hem of his purple shirt to stretch it out, nodding. “Gengar is pretty great. Very troublesome.”

“I know!” The boy squealed, letting Harry raise his arms without a fuss, completely focused on chattering to Phil. “I’ve been working on training my Ghastly but you have to trade to get a Gengar and I don’t have anyone to swap with…”

Phil fought the urge to fidget and ease his full bladder, lamenting sympathetically with the obviously disappointed child. “That’s no good.”

“No, it isn’t!” The boy agreed instantly, squeaking in surprise when he wobbled unsteadily. “Ah-“

“It’s alright, buddy,” Harry reassured as he steadied the boy. “I got you.” He peeked at Phil from his peripherals with a small nod and Phil dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, mister!” The boy beamed at him, showing the gap where a tooth was missing.

Phil weaved through the racks of carefully positioned jackets and pressed pants rapidly, feeling that uncomfortable pressure in his mid-section that told him he had waited a tad too long.

“Never seen you run so fast,” Dan’s sardonic and amused observation dampened as he sped past him and without a second thought, Phil raised a hand to wiggle his fingers…taking care to draw attention to the middle one.

Dan’s laugh echoed behind him, obnoxious and riddled with snorts, and Phil couldn’t help but think to himself that he wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.

-

“Philly!” Dan slanted into the corner of the bright purple couch, laying the galaxy pillow across his lap. He held the instant cup of ramen between both palms and inhaled deeply, eyelashes brushing his skin as his eyes closed. His pushed back hair had fallen into a slightly curled fringe and Phil’s fingers twitched with the desire to stroke it. “Steaming silk is just- put me out of my misery.”

Phil watched as Dan stabbed at his noodles with his fork, letting the pasta slip from the tines. He waited for Dan to take a bite but he didn’t, stirring the juice as he complained: “It’s just…there’s so much you have to do to make sure the material doesn’t have even the faintest crease. I swear, there’s always a fucking crease.” Phil watched as the noodles splattered into the broth again. “Nothing can be touching it on either side and-“

“Dan,” Phil interrupted, warmth curling in his chest like a sleepy cat soaking contentedly in a ray of sun at the exasperated venting of the tired brunette. “Are you alright?”

“Yes?” Dan answered, raising an eyebrow at Phil’s unexpected question. “I’m just having an off day.”

“I have those, too,” Phil nodded compassionately before scooting to the edge of the stool he was perched on, ghosting the very tip of his index finger under the slight purple tint under Dan’s eyes. “Are you not feeling well?” He laid the back of his hand against Dan’s forehead.

“Phi-“ Dan tried, cheeks darkening to resemble a freshly bloomed rose. “Y-you spork. I’m fine- I just haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll be fine once I get over it.” The last part was garbled with the slight slurring of words that Dan was doing.

He must really be tired.

“Get over what?” Phil wondered out loud, hand still resting against Dan’s skin. Dan reached up with a puff, wrapping his fingers around Phil’s wrist to pull it away before playfully swatting at him.

“Nothing,” Dan dismissed before disarming Phil with a small but genuine smile, “What is one of your favourite games?”

Phil’s eyes instantly lit up and he jumped to his feet excitedly, “What consoles do you have?”

-

Spending snippets of time every day with Dan and Harry must have rubbed off on him because when the man with steely grey eyes sauntered into his shop, Phil’s eyes catalouged the nearly unnoticeable but off-putting fit of the man’s navy suit- the way it sagged sloppily off his shoulder line and the fact that the lower of his two buttons was fastened.

“Oh my god,” Dan gasped and Phil could practically hear his teeth protesting from the subtle grinding he was surely doing. “He can’t be serious.”

“Bear,” Phil said pointedly, utilizing the nickname like a weapon, and Dan’s pupils flicked to him immediately. “Be nice.”

Dan stared at him with a jutted jaw and wide incredulous eyes for a second before he composed himself- the strained, gentlemanly show of teeth reserved for customers coming into play as the man drifted closer.

“Hello. I’m the manager for the jewelry shop that just opened up,” The man dipped his head at them before raking his eyes slowly down Phil’s form and back up to his face again. “I was wondering if the manager was in? I would like to meet him.”

Phil forced his shoulders to stay loose, widening his stance behind the counter unconsciously, while he struggled to mirror the man’s polite tone sincerely. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Phil,” He reached for the man’s hand, relishing in the flash of surprise that crossed his face. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”

Dan squirmed restlessly on the solitary black stool Phil had in the store (that Dan had drug behind the register so he could sit beside him while they talked) and Phil adjusted his weight to his left leg so he bumped Dan with his thigh, warningly.

Dan kept quiet (if only just barely by the shifting of his lower jaw) and if his knee bumped Phil’s hip from his perch, he didn’t react to the touch.

“I’m Richard,” The guy introduced as he accepted Phil’s handshake then continued: “I’m sorry.” His scrutinized Phil’s outfit. Phil tugged on the pocket on the front of his bright yellow Jake hoodie to pull the hem a bit lower over his tight skinny jeans, an unpleasant writhing feeling creeping up the notches of his spine. “You look quite young to be a manager.”

Phil managed to fake a laugh as Dan cut in smoothly, “Phil is young. He’s only twenty-four but he has some of the best sales in the shopping center.”

Phil gaped at Dan, taken aback by his adamant words. He had no clue if the information was accurate but he wasn’t about to correct him while Richard attempted to pin Dan under his stern stare. 

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” Dan drug out the ‘s’ for a second too long and his knee jammed itself even more into the flesh covering Phil’s hipbone. “The casual atmosphere of his shop and his friendly, approachable presentation draws people in. He should really get some more help and he’s a bit stubborn but,” That last line was fired at Phil, dripping with fond annoyance but still saturated with respect for his business choices, and Phil scoffed habitually. “He has a knack for business.”

“I see,” Richard’s eyes darted between them. “Are you his partner then?”

“Oh, no.” Dan clicked his tongue as he swiveled his head. “I’m Harry’s problem, fortunately for him.” Dan lowered his legs to the floor and stood. “I should get back actually.”

He clapped a palm on Phil’s shoulder, pausing briefly, then retrieved his jacket from where it was hanging from the only wired shelving unit neatly.

“Tell Harry to let you measure this time!” Phil teased as Dan made his way out, ignoring the pang in his chest. Dan froze in his tracks, swaying from foot to foot uncertainly, before making a purposeful beeline for Phil.

Phil’s breath stuttered as Dan cupped his cheeks, thumbs caressing the sharp arc of his cheekbones. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as his eyes drifted to Dan’s own, heart drumming a staccato rhythm against his ribs painfully.

“Teal is a horrible color,” Dan whispered as he gently turned Phil’s face to kiss him feather-light on his cheek. “If he’s going to be condescending, he needs to learn how to be in season.”

Phil could only grin, love drunk and dopey, as Dan patted his cheek with an audible, “I’ll see you later, dear. Let me know about dinner tonight, yeah?”

-

Later (when they have shoved their too tall legs underneath the cramped space of a table in the mall’s food court), Phil stroked Dan’s cheek softly with a low, “What was that?”

“He was a prick with a bad suit,” Dan grumbled, leaning into Phil’s chilly palm. “I couldn’t let him try and bring you down. Not on my watch.” A hot gush of breath drifted around Phil’s thumb as Dan nuzzled into his hand, fringe flopping into his face.

He’s trying to hide.

“Never on my watch.” Dan confessed finally when Phil combed the strands back into their usual position.

“Why’s that?” Phil coaxed, skimming his fingers over Dan’s lips.

“I like you, duh.” Dan deadpanned, that rosy glow staining his cheeks like diluted watercolour on a canvas. “I have for a while. I never got over it.”

“That’s what you were trying to get over!” Phil burst out, giggling. “You are an absolute idiot!”

“Hey!” Dan protested half-heartedly and Phil leaned forward, ignoring their second rate but yummy mall Chinese food to press his nose to Dan’s.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dan bit his lip, nodding and Phil connected their lips. 

Dan’s lips were rough and the chapped pieces slid against Phil’s own but he didn’t mind. It was a pleasant sensation that had butterflies whirring crazily in his stomach.

His heart fluttered erratically as they kissed unhurriedly and Dan reached out to curl his fingers in the strands of hair at the nape of Phil’s neck.

Phil slowly pulled away to sit in his seat once more, tongue smoothing over his lower lip in a daze. “Want to go on a date?”

Dan snorted, red-faced. “Is that even a question?”

-

Richard and Dan are civil to one another but there’s always an undercurrent of well-worded snark. It’s just another thing that has become routine and Phil only questions his boyfriend when Dan has decided to lean against his back, heavy and heated. His own personal blanket.

“Why is whatever there is between you and Richard…there?” Phil tilted his head back to rub the back of it against the top of Dan’s. Dan gave a derisive snort as answer, pulling away a centimeter. “Seriously, love. I don’t get it.”

“Besides the fact that he has a high horse so tall that aliens are using it as a landing pad?”

Phil vibrated with the effort it took to reign in mirth he was containing. “Besides that.”

“And the fact that he can’t wear a suit to save his life?”

“You’ve already told me many, many times that he is an uprofessional slob,” Phil jostled Dan as he fought to slice open the box he was trying to unpack. Dan took the bright orange tool from him and with a deft jerk of his wrist, the flaps popped up. “How do you do that?”

“Magic,” Dan joked, laying the cutter carefully on another box. He drummed his fingers on the carboard before tapping a single finger in the center of Phil’s scalp. “He wanted you, you know.”

“What?” Phil exclaimed, jerking his head up.

“Richard. It just…rubbed me the wrong way.” Dan’s gaze darted everywhere but Phil as his thumb traced the curved of his nails. “It still does. The way he looks at you sometimes- it’s just- ugh.” Dan scrunched his nose for emphasis and Phil instinctively tugged lightly on Dan’s shirt so he would hunch down to Phil’s level. “It doesn’t matt-“

Phil silenced him with a messy, heated kiss, yanking Dan’s shirt from his pants, as they crashed to the floor unceremoniously.

(Dan was right. It didn’t matter...Not when Dan was gripping his hair and a high pitched note of need skittered across Phil’s mouth, causing his nerve endings to tingle.

No. It didn’t matter at all.)

[3yeballs]

i voted for @mermaidgf!! also, i don’t really have any music recs, sorry :( congrats on 200 though!!

ty!! ily mika:((

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ty for the vote!! ur blog is so nice tbh im jealous://

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[sunnybimbo]

Read the chapter on ao3!

Prompt:  Painfully Polite - (character) has very strong feelings about how one should behave, and they are even more mindful when they’re not at their best, talking through a sore throat, trying not to cough, attempting to stifle sneezes, etc.

Allura’s body jerked for the fifth time that morning, and Lance narrowed his eyes.

“Are you alright, Princess?”

The other conversations around the table halted almost immediately, but Allura just smiled brightly as she turned her head in his direction.

“I’m perfectly fine, Lance. Thank you.” She cleared her throat, and they could almost hear the phlegm shifting around.

Truth be told, she was miserable. Her head felt ridiculously heavy, like it’d been filled with water. Speaking of, her eyes twitched at every movement, heavy with tears that she would not allow to fall as her throat twinged with every breath. Despite how wet everything else was, her throat felt dangerously dry, like someone had left it out in the sun until it was a cracked, leathery mess.

Still, she wouldn’t allow her neatly built persona to topple over so easily just because of an illness. Breakfast was always something the team did together, and she was a sucker for tradition.

That, and princesses should show no weakness.

Lance raised a brow, but decided to let it go. Hunk opened his mouth to ask again, but Lance quickly interrupted and had him roped into a conversation about sand versus salt as a weapon with a figurative snap of his fingers.

Pidge, of course, cut in about how salt would be more painful, what with the chemical reactants with the blood.

“It would totally suck to get shot by, say, a laser, and then a bunch of salt comes pouring out of nowhere. All of your neurons would go on the fritz, I’m telling you!” She scowled. “Salt is no joke.”

“You would know.” Lance teased, and Pidge flicked a piece of food at him.

“Yeah, but sand. Not only is it uncomfortable, but it would be absolutely bananas to get out of a cut. Have you ever cut yourself on a shell on the beach or something and had to walk to get it cleaned?” Hunk shuddered, arms crossing around himself as his face morphed into dread. “I had to go to the hospital like twice for that!”

“But discomfort doesn’t mean much in the middle of a fight.” Keith cut in. “The salt will make it hurt more, like an added distraction. They’d probably have slowed reflexes, too.”

“Okay, but - and just hear me out - sand comes with a bunch of bacteria.” Lance said smugly. “They would totally be down for the count if they caught something.”

“Yeah, if. ” Pidge said. “There’s only a slight risk, if they have a suckish immune system. Plus it would take forever to get infected, not instantly in the middle of a fight.”

The four overlapped as they argued their point, breakfast nearly forgotten as they more or less crawled on top of the table to illustrate their points.

“Calm down, guys.” Shiro said exasperatedly as he stood, gathering his dishes.

“Wait! Which would you choose, Shiro?” Lance said, diving to cling onto their leader’s arm to stop him from leaving so suddenly.

“Yeah! Team Salt or Team Sand?”

Shiro looked up into the ceiling as he thought about the silly question. But he would humor them, if only to get them to drop the subject.

“Both.”

“Cheater!” Lance pouted as Shiro tugged away. Before they could squeeze a reason out of him, Shiro escaped to the kitchen.

“Nice job being the tiebreaker.” Keith muttered under his breath as he slumped into his seat, arms crossed.

“It sounds to me like the salt is the better choice, if you’d like my opinion.” Allura butted in, and the four heads turned simultaneously towards her.

“Traitor.” Lance whispered accusatorily.

Allura blinked back her blurred vision, pausing as she forced her lungs to settle when they twinged. Coughing was so unsanitary, especially in the middle of a meal.

“However, if you have a choice between the two, wouldn’t it be better for each of you to pair off and attack with both?” She added as an afterthought.

Pidge lifted a finger, as if to argue again, but her mouth hung open noiselessly.

Then she shrugged, “She’s right! I mean, assuming that we all get to choose before we go into this hypothetical battle.”

Soft, murmured agreements echoed around the table.

“Heck yeah! Teamwork!” Lance jumped up and lifted his hand for a high-five. Hunk followed quickly, and pulled Pidge in at the same time. They turned to Keith, who paused with his spork halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lifted his hand to join the jumbled pile of fingers.

Then, they turned to Allura, who paused in the subtle massaging of her throat. She eyed them thoroughly, before standing and placing her hand in the circle above their head.

A few beats of silenced ticked, before Lance burst out in a grin and yelled out an excited, “Teamwork!” and dropped their hands.

“Teamwork!” The others echoed, a bit less enthusiastic. Allura followed a few beats behind, and much more subdued.

Heavily, she leaned back in her seat and her eyes fluttered shut. The conversation around her lulled, and it was only when it was completely silent that she opened her eyes again to regard them, straightening her spine like a steel rod.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Princess?” Hunk spoke up this time. “Tired, maybe?”

“No, no. I’m doing perfectly fine.” She said, though her voice sounded thick and just a tiny bit hoarse. “Please, continue on.”

“I dunno, Princess. You’re looking kind of red around the…” Lance gestured vaguely to her cheeks. “Tattoos? Birthmarks?”

Allura touched her cheek, and the heat radiating from them had her pulling her fingers back quickly.

She awkwardly cleared her throat, but a cough caught and her lungs struggled as she held it in. “I’m fine.” Allura repeated, slowly inhaling so that her nose wouldn’t honk, what with it being congested.

Coran chose that moment to walk in, and his reaction of pointing at her in horror and stumbling over his own words had everyone jumping out of their seat.

“Princess! I thought I ordered you to bed rest today.” He griped, flying over to fuss like a mother hen. “You’re much too sick.” He reprimanded.

“I knew it!” Lance shouted triumphantly. “Wait… she’s sick? ”

“A small case of the Paformium, I’m afraid.”

“The Paf-what?”

Coran continued over them, “Not to worry! It doesn’t easily spread.” He turned back to the Princess. “I do hope you weren’t talking excessively.”

“I only spoke -.”

“Ah! No words! Sore throats need rest.” He gathered her up along with the remainder of her breakfast. “Come, come. I’ll put you back to bed.”

She stumbled a bit on the stairs out of the room, but Coran was there to level her out and lifted his bicep for her to hold onto.

“Consider this a free day, paladins!” He called just before the door shut with a soft click.

The four looked at each other, expressions varying levels in confusion.

“I hope she’s going to be okay.” Hunk said finally, plopping back down in his seat.

Keith, Lance, and Pidge all nodded. Then, Lance stabbed his spork into Keith’s breakfast to steal a bit (seeing as he’d already cleaned his own plate) and the two broke off into an argument.

It echoed through the halls, loud enough to reach even Allura’s bedroom. She could make out the noises- or at least the vibrations- if she focused on them as she snuggled into her mountain of pillows and blankets.

It was strange to think of them as ‘defenders of the universe’, but they were a pretty good team. Her team.

Of course, they would need a strong leader to guide them. Not a sick one.

Before she drifted off to her dreams, where Altea was still thriving and her people were happy, she wrote a mental note to herself. Find some salt and sand, and a weapon to use them with.

Zarkon would never see it coming.

[globalsource-blog]

Rotterdam -> Berlin, Part 2

Welcome back to Global Source! Apologies for the long wait between this post and the last; this blog is supposed to be a well-oiled machine but sadly life gets in the way sometimes. I have spent the last week recovering from a pretty gnarly collision where I was bashed off my bike and into the air by a taxi (Manchester city centre is far from Dutch in terms of the respect afforded to cyclists). I’ve been on painkillers and wearing a sling for a dislocated shoulder, but am RECOVERING and OTHERWISE UNHURT. Having taken a few days off my studies / pretty much everything else that requires movement or concentration, I’ve ended up spending a lot of time on more creative pursuits - look out for an upcoming post where I’ll share some of the bits I’ve made.

Anyway, enough excuses, let’s get back to it. When we left off, myself, Stan and Arthur had just settled down for the night in some beautiful Dutch woodlands. Feeling pretty fresh after a surprisingly comfortable night’s sleep (cycling 100km will work miracles for your sleep cycle), I woke around 6:30am, shivering a little in my thin summer sleeping bag (ever the optimist, I went for ease of transport over warmth). After not long, my better-equipped companions had also yawned their own greetings to the rising sun, and we were soon stood around stamping our feet and peeling a handful of satsumas each. 

A quick morning stretch and a vague attempt at a jog through a very misty field led to us being ready to start the day’s ride with a quick ten or so kilometers down the road to the historic town of Amersfoort. We spent about half an hour cruising around, admiring the medieval buildings, canals and cobbled streets (nicer to look at than to ride over), while hoping to stumble across a shop (or indeed anything) that might be open on a Sunday. Eventually a friendly local barman pointed Stan in the right direction, and not only did we acquire the components necessary for a round of sandwiches, but also made the acquaintance of a colourful local character who insisted that he was in fact the king of England. In deference to his noble heritage, we made him a gift of a can of Grolsch, and he sent us on our way with blessings.

A few miles down the road we came across a really special sight, something which I’m sure none of us will ever forget. Having chosen to head North-East through a national park, we came to a junction with a strange signpost; one of the arrows, decorated with a small plastic gnome, pointed down a thin, winding path straight into the trees. Following this path for about five minutes brought is to what I can only describe as a gnome forest. On all sides, posed in miniature castles and on the branches of trees, were hundreds, if not thousands, of miniature gnomes of all descriptions.

What a magical (if slightly disturbing) scene. If only Stan had learnt the ways of pig-taming from this fella, his trackies might still be in one piece. 

Moving swiftly on....

After escaping the enchanted forest, we stopped for lunch next to a beautiful clearing full of what looked like heather. Cheese sandwiches with the last of the sriracha sauce which Stan had brought with him in a special keyring (fantastic idea, if anyone is reading who plans to get me a Christmas present) and a round of Frisbee added up to an hour well spent under some glorious sunshine. As Dutch tourists and locals cycled past, we exchanged greetings, smiles and waves, with many approving nods at our piles of tents, bags and other gear. 

We spent the afternoon navigating a series of gravelly trails, firstly uphill for what felt like a long time having had nothing but flat since Hook of Holland, then soon after into a very long downhill stretch, taking us flying down into Apeldoorn like three runaway locomotives. On the edges of town we came across a lovely park with a bridge in the style of a Japanese garden and a strangely beautiful green lake.  

Obviously, this called for nothing less than a Solero (greatest ice-lolly of all time, I will fight any man who disagrees) while listening to this song (greatest ice-lolly-eating soundtrack of all time; same rules apply as above):

Once we’d spent a very pleasant hour or so in the park, and once Stan had finished trading insults with some local scallywags (”swear to God, mate, if that kid comes any closer he’s going in the lake”), we carried on our merry way into Apeldoorn. Once there, Stan bought more ice creams, since the gorgeous weather more or less dictated this as mandatory, as well as getting us some free sporks and some outstanding own-brand Snickers bars (among other more nourishing bits) from Albert Hein, a very fine chain of supermarkets to be found in most Dutch towns. With dinner bagged up, we headed out of town along a pretty tree-lined avenue, on one of Holland’s many excellent bike paths. Having now more or less found our rhythm, we were steaming along at around 25km/hour, feeling fit and fast as the countryside flew past in greens and flashes of yellow rapeseed on either side. 

However, it was not to last. As we came to a narrowing in the bike path, disaster struck: with Arthur safely in front, myself and young Sands soon became aware that the friendly proximity within which we’d been laughing and joking for several miles was no longer workable; we were going too fast down too narrow a path to be laughing any more. We straightened up for a few seconds, but then somehow we managed to hook our handlebars together, and in less than a millionth of a nanosecond, so quickly that even a hundred video referees couldn’t have decided whose fault it was, we came crashing to a very abrupt halt. 

Besides a few scrapes and scratches up my left side and a couple of bruised egos, the only thing damaged was Stan’s front wheel, which as you can see was turned into a giant mechanical Pringle (this is his favourite Pringles flavour hence the joyful expression). Obviously, this meant we’d need a new wheel, and being around 6pm already it was unlikely we’d get back to Apeldoorn in time to find a bike shop still open. As luck would have it, a friendly Dutchman who was giving his son a driving lesson had seen our crash, and came rushing over to help, even driving Stan back to town and helping him negotiate with the manager of an already-closed shop. Playing the charity-bike-ride card seemed to work; about half an hour of roadside frisbee later, Arthur and I were rejoined by a very happy Stan holding a shiny new wheel. We cycled down the road a little way and decided to pitch up for the night in the corner of a lush green field, where we’d seen a huge white stork flapping about the long grass.   

Free sporks being put to great use 

This long grass stabbed us in the back. Gorgeous and green in the evening, cold and covered in dew (but still green in all fairness) in the morning. This kind of thing is all about learning curves. 

With very soggy feet, we set out quickly the next day after a couple of brioche rolls each, hoping to shed the water in our shoes and socks by blazing a trail along some long, open roads with huge green fields on either side. We stopped and had instant noodles for lunch in a playpark, just across the road from a petrol station with the alarming name “Firezone”.

As we ate lunch the sun managed to break through the morning clouds, and pretty soon we started to regain feeling in our feet. Setting off again, we were all feeling pretty strong as we followed signs to the German border town of Nordhorn, rapidly ticking off the final kilometers we’d be cycling on Dutch soil (towards Berlin at least). As if to lead us to the Brandenburg Gate, as we came within touching distance of the border an honest-to-God eagle flew right over our heads and straight on to the East. Admittedly, it was a very straight road, so in terms of giving directions the spirit of Germany could have chosen a trickier spot to manifest itself, but the excitement it inspired as we crossed the border was worth any number of wrong turnings down the line. Once in Germany, we bought food for dinner and breakfast (we’d been in the country for at most five minutes when we found a Lidl) and pitched the tents in time to enjoy the sunshine of our first evening in Westphalia. As the sun set, the waxing moon became brighter and brighter in the sky, bathing the grove of trees around us in a silvery light that was more than enough to see by.

The next morning I woke early again. The night had been a cold one; when I went into the adjacent field to stretch my legs, the furrows were frozen solid. A cold mist hung over Germany’s western edge; we had another 500km to cycle, and all our bodies were just beginning to feel the strain. However, without a shadow of a doubt, all three of us knew we’d make it one way or another. As Stan had told us earlier in the day in a moment of doubt, “Lidl’s that way mate”. 

Find out how we got there in the next post.

P.S. Our JustGiving page is still live. If you’re reading this and have enjoyed the blog, but still haven’t made a donation to Doctors Without Borders, it’s not too late!

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/standelakersey

[honeybooboothefool]

Questions I Have abt Louise’s Latest Vlog:

why is she so good i lov her?

why is phil so adorable can he not?

why does dan want me to die?

why does london always look like an accurate representation of i feel abt life?

where do you get a keyboard purse?

is dan aware of how inhumanly attractive he is?

if i start a yt channel, will i get free chocolate as well?

can someone stab we with a spork preferably dan?

[thiiick-thiiighs]

a wip

im putting it here so no one can see it

besides moe kiss emoji

((Side note a lot of these characters are trans and this is a kid fic so there will be scenes before their transition/coming out, here’s a keyyy

Naomi – Ziker, Barney – Traci, Carlos – Gloria, Theresa – Oscar, Darell – Adelaid, Otis – Vicky))

Also this is a domestic au ish ? I was feeling nostalgic so I wanted to do a writing of sikey through childhood ft other people’s characters so ,, there’s ocs who are normally paranormal or whatever who are just ordinary people !!))

Baxter jumped when he felt the tap of a finger on his shoulder, the coins he had been clutching in his pasty hands nearly dropping to the dingy cafeteria floor. He whipped around, ears burning as he braced himself to spit out yet another, ‘no cuts!’, but his voice failed him when he saw Sikey standing before him, her thumb and index rubbing the pad of her index finger on the opposite hand.

           “What do you want?” Baxter grumbled, subconsciously straightening up so he could emphasize how he was taller than her; his green eyes trailed past her, spotting Naomi seated at the table, surrounded by a group of her and Sikey’s friends. There was an extra lunch next to her, and an empty corresponding seat.

           “You don’t need lunch money, you get free lunches, I know it. Naomi’s over there an’ I can see her lunch, so you’re not foolin’ anybody.”

           Sikey’s brows furrowed, and her dark green eyes – they always reminded Baxter of being lost in a forest during summer, deep in the trees, where the foliage is dark and ripe with life – remained glued to the floor.

           “Do you wanna come over on Thursday?” She finally got out, not even looking at Baxter; one of Baxter’s own brows lifted up as he stared hard at Sikey, finally drawling out with a smug sneer, “Why? You gonna chop me up and eat me for dinner?”

           Sikey’s eyes snapped up to glare wide-eyed at Baxter, as if she were shocked by the verbal audacity he had to even utter such a sentence; her round, dark cheeks grew darker as an angry flush spread across them. She opened her mouth, as if to shout back at Baxter, before clamping it shut; she whipped around and stormed away, feet stamping loudly across the tiled floor as she stomped her way towards the table. Baxter watched as Sikey practically flung herself in the open area of the bench that was designated as her seat; she shoved her tray towards the center of the table, arms folding where it once was and her head dropping to hide her face under. The table’s mood shifted, faces growing concerned as they tried to reach out to Sikey – Baxter couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see their mouths moving. Isabella extended her arm across the table, one hand resting in Sikey’s black hair, while Grey scrambled around the table and settled in a seat next to Sikey, leaning her shoulder against the hunched girl’s shoulder.

           Baxter felt a twist in his stomach – guilt? Why would he feel guilty? – but he didn’t harp on it, or he didn’t have the time to, at least. One kid behind him shoved him, right between his shoulder blades, and huffed, “Move forward! You’re holding up the line!”

                                                             ---

           “Sit with me.”

           Razz looked up from his DS, reaching one hand up to shove a fistful of his ebony hair back so he could look up at Baxter, “What?”

           “Sit with me.”

           Razz’s eyebrows tilted a bit, shooting Baxter an almost concerned look, “What did you do to make Sikey mad this time?”

           Baxter balanced his Styrofoam lunch tray on the palm of his left hand, pointing with his free hand to the window that showed the outside eating area and the playground; he kept pointing at a specific table, second to last, which was empty, “I’m gonna be sitting there. Sit with me.”

           “Fine.” Razz’s voice dropped to a mumble, soft brown eyes wandering to focus on Sikey’s table yearningly.

                                                           ---

           “Are you going to Sikey’s slumber party on Thursday?”

           “What?” Baxter perked up with interest, pale green eyes landing on Razz to inspect him over his sporkful of mashed potato, “What slumber party?”

           “The one Sikey’s gonna have for the end of the year. She did it last year when third – err, fourth grade ended.” Razz explained, correcting himself when he mixed up his numbers – technically he was right, third grade had ended for him, but Sikey and the rest of the crew was a year above.

           On one hand, Razz loved to brag about all his cool older friends. On the other hand, it sucked not having any classes with them.

           “I think she’s gonna make it a yearly thing. That’s what Naomi said.” Razz continued when Baxter just stared at him in shock; he fidgeted in his seat, starting to get uncomfortable with how silent Baxter was being.

           “Naomi said Sikey was gonna invite you this time, ‘cause that’s what Miss Amorosa told her to do.” Razz rattled on, cheeks getting hotter with embarrassment. Was he not supposed to share the detail with Baxter? Was it a secret?

           There was a cascade of footsteps as Baxter suddenly got to his feet and suddenly started running down the concrete pavement, leading to the door back into the cafeteria. Razz got to his feet and followed with his lunch slowly, hoping he wouldn’t be in trouble with the group when he got back.

           It’s not like any of them had ever been mad at him before.

                                                                       ---

           “Where’s Sikey?” Baxter shouted as he raced to the table, noting the two missing spots where Grey and Sikey had been; he slapped his open palms on the flat surface of the gray table when no one answered, “Where is Sikey?”

           “Nobody tell him!” Isabella ordered in a booming shout, voice lifting to show her authority with the order and also kinda because it was really loud in the cafeteria, “Nobody tell him! He doesn’t need to know! Nobody tell him! He was mean to Sikey! Nobody tell him!”

           “Alright, Isabella, we get it.” Alejandro mumbled, stabbing his spork into the Styrofoam of the trey, adding more holes to his already poked trey.

           “She’s at the band room with Grey,” Naomi spoke up after a moment of tense silence, “Grey forgot her pencil pouch so Sikey walked with her to go an’ get it.”

           “Naomi!” Isabella shrieked, slamming her palms on the table like Baxter had done earlier; Naomi shrank back in her seat, and Gery defensively scooted closer to her.

           Baxter was already racing off, Razz soon taking his spot; Naomi patted the seat next to her to invite him to sit.

                                                                       ---

           Sikey and Grey were, as Naomi had said, by the band room; Sikey was leaning her shoulder against the wall as she spoke idly with Grey, who had a pink tiger-striped pencil pouch hugged to her chest.

           They both lurched around at the sound of sneakers squeaking down the hallway, but Sikey was still blindsided by Baxter placing his hands square on her shoulders and shoving her.

           “What’s your problem with me?” He all but wailed, and Sikey wasn’t sure if he was enraged or hurt or both.

           “What’s your problem?” Sikey retorted, and Grey fell silent, taking a step forward so that she was standing next to Sikey; she pulled a sour face at Baxter, obviously siding with Sikey for the time being.

           “Why didn’t you invite me again to your slumber party that you apparently also didn’t invite me to last year?”

           You kinda said that twice in the same sentence, Sikey thought for a moment, though she didn’t say anything out loud because Baxter was talking again, “I thought – I mean we’re not, but – I thought - !”

           “I did try to invite you!” Sikey interrupted, “You were jus’ bein’ a big fat jerk about it! You – you – you were acting like a dick!”

           “You cussed!” Grey squealed, voice mingled with excitement and horror at the same time, “You said the d-word!”

           “Yeah, and I’ll cuss again, dammit!” To add extra emphasis to the word ‘dammit’, Sikey stomped her foot against the floor; Grey squealed again with delight.

           Baxter stared at Sikey, mouth gaping and brows lifted, his light green eyes wide and shining with shock; Sikey wasn’t sure if it he was more shocked about the fact that she cursed or that she was going to invite him in the first place.

           “I – oh.”

           “Yeah, oh.” Sikey huffed, placing her hands on her hips as she stared at Baxter.

           “Yaknow, if you just apologized to Sikey, she’d let you come over.” Grey piped up; Sikey whirled around, dark foliage-green eyes widening with offense and brows curving downwards, “I would n-!”

           Grey elbowed her in the side, and she fell quiet, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the wall.

           “I’m not gonna - !” Baxter began, but Grey reached out and thwacked her pencil pouch against Baxter’s chest. His eyes fell down to the floor, focusing on the toes of his sneakers as he scuffed the floor, “I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

           “I can’t hear you.” Sikey’s voice grew smug, chin tipping up as she eyed Baxter complacently, “Say it again, wouldja?”

           “I said I’m sorry.” Baxter spoke louder, not even looking up at Sikey.

           “S’better.” Sikey hummed, “Do you wanna come to my house on Thursday after school?”

           “Yeah.” His voice trailed.

                                                           ---

           “Your mama doesn’t look like you.” Sikey voiced loudly as Baxter stood awkwardly on the flat area slab of concrete that was connected to the front door; Carrie was chatting with another woman, whose sleek black hair was tied into a neat bun.

           “’Cause she’s not my mom. My mom’s on a trip again with my dad.”

           “Your parents are on a lotta trips.” Naomi murmured from where she stood; Carrie whipped around finally, her green eyes narrowed furiously as she scolded, “Entrambi, non essere scortese!”

           “Sorry, Baxter.” Naomi uttered gently, hands wringing nervously in front of her.

“Siamo spiacenti, Mama.” Sikey mumbled, at the same time. Carrie quirked a brow, staring down at Sikey, her eyes flitting to Baxter before settling on Sikey, and Sikey, as if she had communicated with Carrie through her thoughts, whirled around with a flush crossing her face.

“Sorry, Baxter!” She echoed Naomi in a rather unnecessarily loud manner. There was giggling from inside. The babysitter chuckled quietly, and a soft puff of air came from Carrie’s nose, her own lips pulled up in a small smile, before she turned and gave the babysitter a nod.

“You can pick him up tomorrow whenever you like. I can have him call to let you know, too.”

“That’d be great, thank you.” The babysitter grinned, before glancing to Baxter and grinning at him, too, “Have fun little man.”

With that, she was off, stepping down the concrete walkway down to her car. As the car revved up, the four people on the concrete slab waved in the babysitter’s direction, before Carrie turned to Baxter, offering him a warm smile, “It’s nice to see you here, Baxter. Glad to see you and Sikey are starting to get along.” Her voice was smooth and maternal, flowing from her like honey and heavy with her Italian accent. Baxter looked at her with admiration, cheeks growing as warm as he thought her voice was.

“Why don’t you come inside now, yes?” She spoke again after Baxter failed to respond. Sikey shot him an incredulous look. Carrie herded the kids and ushered them inside, and Baxter was kind of startled by the amount of people already there. There was Alejandro his older siblings, the twins Esmeralda and Carlos – who were already in the sixth grade, and now moving into the seventh grade. They both promised to show the gang around the middle school the day before school started so they wouldn’t get lost. They lived a walk away, so it wasn’t a surprise they had gotten there so fast. Barney and Garrett, who practically lived at Alejandro’s place, were there too; Grey and Gery were sitting with the group, Naomi joining Gery’s side after she rejoined the group.

“Who’s coming?” Baxter blurted out; Sikey shot him a grin, “Everyone.”

                                                           ---

“I don’t like mister Fabrice.” Sikey grumbled beneath her breath as Carrie announced Razz was walking up with his parents; Naomi’s eyes shone with concern, “Me neither.”

The group was quiet for a moment, solemnly agreeing in their own silent ways.

                                                           ---

Everyone in the friend group did show up. Razz had shown up before, running straight to Sikey’s arms – Sikey straight up hollered like Razz was her son who just won the world medal in being amazing. Then it was Isabella, then Banner had showed up later, walking hand in hand with his BEST-FRIEND-FOREVER-FOR-LIFE Theresa, trailed by Otis and Darell.

Baxter wasn’t sure if he should be overwhelmed or not.

It was four thirty by the time Darell walked through the door, and Carrie announced that dinner would be at six, promptly. That gave the group a good hour and a half of play time before settling and then going back out again; Sikey led them into the back yard.

It was no secret that Carrie wasn’t exactly wealthy – in fact, she was the opposite. She was a single mom with two kids who had to pay off a house – not an apartment. She didn’t have help from her parents, either, but she did get help from a. the government, and b. Rosita, Alejandro’s mom. The two were rather close after Carrie moved to America.

Still though, dinner and snacks for – what the hell – fourteen kids wasn’t exactly easy.

“Sikey, how did you afford this?”

“Wasn’t easy,” Sikey responded to Baxter around a mouthful of watermelon that her mother had set out for the kids to snack on while they goofed off, “I don’t think mama’s eatin’ tonight.”

“Sikey,” Naomi whispered, “She doesn’t like it when you say stuff like that.” There was a hint of guilt in Sikey’s face, and she didn’t linger much on the money situation that was behind the party.

Baxter didn’t have the heart to ask, either.

                                                           ---

“Isabella,” Sikey giggled as she pulled her friend to the side, “Did you make sure everyone brought a bathing suit?”

Isabella beamed cheekily, “Yes.”

“Good,” Sikey’s voice lowered, “I’m gonna go get Mama to get everything ready, you tell everybody to change.” Isabella grinned cheekily, turning on heel and bounding towards the group, arms extended as she ordered them all, “It’s swimsuit time!”

Sikey ducked into the back door and veered into the kitchen where her mother was preparing some portions of the dinner. Carrie had started early for this particular reason; when Sikey tugged on her shirt and crooned ‘Mama’, she turned around with a knowing smile, “Give me a second, baby, there’s a couple more I gotta fill.”

                                                           ---

“What – what is happening?” Garret got out as he hovered next to Alejandro, watching with intrigue as Sikey dropped a tub to the ground.

[xtheingenue-blog]

lonely hearts club

who // rachel berry && mason mccarthy @wayoutmason when // monday, october 1st where // chicago, il what // rach & mase explore the city and bond over their disaster existences a/n // uncomplete but wanted to post anyways ~

mason.

Mason linked his arm through Rachel's as they left the art museum; it had been refreshing, and educational, which were once things he would have turned up his nose at, but with the chaos of tour so far - he'd appreciated the relative quiet, and the no-pressure, no strings company that came with Rachel. Plus, she talked almost as much as he did, so there weren't any uncomfortable silences; just thoughtful ones, spent in front of the installments, and even those only lasted until Mason decided that they should play 'keep, screw or toss' for each painting, to judge whether they'd keep a certain painting for themselves, screw the subject, or throw the whole thing away. Needless to say, it was hilarious.  "So what're we feeling for lunch?" Mason asked, double-checking the map on his phone to make sure they were heading the right way - toward the Bean was their only direction, and Mason didn't want to take a wrong turn and end up getting stabbed in a back alley of Chicago. Especially not with Rachel - he'd feel so bad if she got stabbed because he got them lost.

rachel.

To say things had been hectic was one hell of an understatement; Rachel had tried to calm most of the storm down since her fit, but even she couldn't fix everything. She still hadn't apologized to Tina - her feelings were, admittedly, very hurt after their fight - but everything else seemed to be righting itself. She felt better, more comfortable. Happier. "Italian," Rachel demanded, because it was her favorite and when she was feeling any sort of strong emotion, she wanted nothing but carbs and more carbs. "At a cute local place, preferably - I don't want to hit a chain we can go to anywhere." Her nose scrunched up as he looked up options, Rachel leaning over his shoulder to pursue them herself before pointing at one, "here, Bella Notte - it's got a cheesy name, so I'm sure the bread is delicious. You in?"

mason.

Mason glanced at her, quirking an eyebrow. "No, actually, I figure you'd scope it out while I hit the Chipotle down the block," he deadpanned, though the grin on his face clearly said he was kidding. "I never pass up Italian. I love any food I can eat my weight in and barely notice. Plus I feel like we should do a compare/contrast thing for when we're actually in Italy," Mason added with a laugh, leading the way to the restaurant; the Bean was apparently just down the next block, and they had plenty of time.  "Think this is like, owned by Nonna, goes back for generations to the Italian Chicago mafia?" Mason asked as they stepped into the restaurant - it was dim and everything was richly colored and, in Mason's opinion, bordering on tacky, but fortunately Mason lived for tacky, so he just smiled. It wasn't crowded, which Mason was also grateful for; while he was hardly ever upset about being recognized, it was nice to just be a person sometimes. "Two, please," Mason said to the server who greeted them; he thanked her quietly as they sat, and Mason let his attention drift from the menu to Rachel and back again. "You said you'd been to Chicago before, right? With an ex?"

rachel.

It was nice to be with Mason, he could make her laugh with dumb jokes and she never had to worry about if he was making fun of her or not. She could see what Kitty and Ryder saw in him; he had such a genuine heart, it was hard to imagine him ever hurting anyone he cared about. And Rachel was pretty sure she was lucky enough to consider herself in that spotlight now too. "Nathan," Rachel nodded, the name only barely leaving a bitter taste in her mouth - though that probably had more to do with Sebastian's sudden appearance in her daily life than anything else. "He was from Chicago, so we'd come and visit when we had time. He wanted to move to the city, but I could never leave New York. Not permanently. Not even for someone I was engaged to." She chewed on her lip for a moment, debating her next question; he claimed he had no deeper feelings for Ryder, none that would be reciprocated at any rate - but she was more concerned about his feelings for Kitty. "What about you?" she ventured carefully, "any exes whose hearts you've broken that I should keep an eye out for?"

mason.

Mason's eyes flicked up to her, a sly smile on his face. "I object to the accusation," Mason said, playfully haughty, as he set the menu. "I try not to break hearts," Mason said carefully, "and the people I've been with aren't gonna be coming at you with a spork or anything." Mason shrugged. Usually, Mason would leave it at that or further avoid the question, but. But Rachel already knew about Kitty. And that made everything more complicated. "Is that what Kitty told you?" Mason asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched Rachel's face. "That I broke her heart?"

rachel.

"No, of course not!"

She probably objected too fast, but it wasn't what Kitty had said at all. But there was a thin line between discussing something that wasn't her business in the first place and overstepping her bounds completely - she didn't want to betray Kitty's confidences, but if Mason liked her and was holding back -

"I can just tell, how she talks about you. She cares about you a lot. But as fun as you are, you keep a lot to yourself. Maybe it's because you're not front and center like us - we wear our hearts on our sleeves. You can hide things better." She met his eyes, hoping he could see the earnestly in her own. "I just want her to be happy, Mase. And if you want her, I just think you should go for it. That's all."

mason.

Mason tilted his head the other way, perhaps just slightly unnerved by her entirely correct observation. It wasn't the first time someone had called him evasive, and it wouldn't be the last, but it had nothing to do with the position of the limelight - and everything to do with the audience. Too many times he'd been singing for the rafters, only to have the house lights come on and reveal he was alone, again, so he'd learned that it was far, far simpler and far less costly to save his breath. "It's not that simple, is it?" Mason asked with a wry smile. Even setting aside Kitty's 'boyfriend' being on a one-way path to the friendzone, they'd never worked as a couple. It was like they always had all the pages of their story, but half of them were in the wrong order or glued in upside down, and it never seemed to take long for them to make each other crazy. Mason wasn't exactly dying to bring that to tour. Even more than that, there was part of him that knew he was being cowardly - that for however much it made him feel like the king of the world when Kitty looked at him the way she did, it came with pressure, and with pressure came failure, and with failure came being alone, again, and Mason definitely wasn't sure he wanted to bring that to tour. "But that's what I want too," Mason added with a soft sigh. "And I know she--she thinks that I'm..." Mason gestured vaguely with one hand, then sighed again. "I guess that I want her to be happy more than I want to risk making her unhappy." Mason finished, kind of lamely, then shook his head, shaking himself out of the confusing back-and-forth that started in his head every time anyone so much as mentioned Kitty's name. "What about you? I can't help but notice you're here with me, and not sitting down with Mr. and Mrs. Evans for afternoon tea?"

rachel.

Rachel listened intently, but she had learned, many times over the years, that it wasn't always what was said, but what wasn't. There was more to the story, she knew - she was only getting to know Mason, to know Kitty. She had their best intentions at heart, but maybe pushing them to be together would only hurt them both in the long run. And that wasn't what she wanted at all. Her nose crinkled as the tides turned to her - she was afraid of that, and grateful for the arrival of their food. She took a moment, spinning spaghetti on her fork while she thought about her own answer. She could be just as evasive as Mason when she wanted to be. "I told Sam I was sleeping with someone," Rachel admitted, "not who, of course, but I think it might have made things better while simultaneously making both of us a little less excited about this venture. It seemed so nice in theory, back in New York while drawing up contracts and paperwork for it. But in reality...tour is crazy, and I'd rather be with someone I can be with, instead of just someone who I appear to be with. You know?"

mason.

Mason nodded thoughtfully - he'd never considered a fake, PR relationship as something people actually did - he heard gossip about it, obviously, but he thought that was just the fans going nutty and reading too much into little looks, or lack thereof. But here Rachel was, talking about contracts and describing it as 'nice', when to Mason it sounded hellish even at that point. "Can you get out of it?" Mason asked, after swallowing his generous bite of garlic bread - Rachel was right, it was delicious, and obviously fresh-made. "Like, if neither of you are vibing it. Can't you go to your people and shred the whole thing?" Mason shrugged. "People break up all the time. You can tell everybody it's nobody's business but the two of yours and that you're still good friends. Or that tour made it impossible to date. 'Cause that's actually true." Mason chuckled and took a bite of his food, free hand absently tapping out a rhythm on the table as he thought. "Do you actually wanna be with the person you were with?" Mason asked, his mind drifting back to his own escapade the night before - sex made things so much clearer and so much more confusing, all at the same time, and Mason wasn't even someone who put that big a premium on it.  "Like, even if it's not, y'know, public knowledge or whatever. Like do you want to be with them in a non-naked way?"

rachel.

"I suppose we could," Rachel shrugged, "but I haven't asked him if that's what we want. I just told him if he wanted to sleep with someone, or be with someone, we could call the whole thing off, no bad feelings. I'm sure we will before we were supposed to - it's only been two weeks, and we're already barely spending time together - but for now, we might as well keep up appearances, right?"

She froze when he mentioned Sebastian. Not by name, thank god, but it was bad enough that anyone knew about it. That he was back in her life, wrecking havoc just like he had years ago. A bad habit she never quit after Nathan, just like smoking. "Absolutely not," she scoffed, dipping some of the bread in her sauce, "he's a child. He's never someone I could be with in any real capacity. We fight, we fuck, and that's about it. There's nothing real there. It's habit, that's all. When I find someone else I'm interested in, that's when I can let him go - for good this time."

mason.

Mason thought maybe the lady doth protest too much, but he decided to take what she said as the truth - she clearly seemed to believe it, and Mason knew even less about her situation than she knew about his. "Habits that make you feel good are the hardest to break," Mason observed - he'd seen enough people's habits end them in rehab or the cemetery to know it was hardly ever that easy to change destructive behavior. "Does he feel the same way about you?"

rachel.

"If he feels anything about me, I'd be surprised," Rachel rolled her eyes. Emotions were not something the two of them did, not in any capacity. Not with one another, at least. She'd never actually asked if he'd ever been in any serious relationship before - or if he'd had one while they were together, either. She didn't really know a lot about Sebastian. "Do you ever think that maybe we're just not capable of having that normal, happy love? That we're too high maintenance, or too dramatic, or too...something? I mean, every time I even get the chance, I sabotage it anyways. Maybe I'm not meant for it."

mason.

Mason watched Rachel, a slight frown creasing his brow as she spoke. It was his instinct to deny what she said, at least on her count, but it was the 'we' that threw him - he'd said too much the other night. "Maybe," Mason said with a quiet sigh. He was definitely too something; nobody could stand him for long all at once, and he'd never been able to figure out why. "I dunno. I don't even know what I'd do with--with like, a normal relationship, y'know? Like, I'm not--god, this sounds so Hot Topic 2009 Edgy, but like, I'm not normal, and I dunno how to be, and I don't know how to like...do the white picket fence thing." Mason shrugged one shoulder - it'd be nice to settle down someday with someone who loved him for and in spite of his many, many flaws, but he wasn't holding his breath. "What do you mean, though? About sabotaging it?"

rachel.

"Nothing about our lives is normal, Mase, it's not just you." She didn't mean to drag him into her own worries, but the two seemed so similar that sometimes it was hard to ignore that he was probably going through the same thing she was.

She thought about his question, taking a moment before giving him an answer and letting the waiter clear away their finished plates, tearing up the last piece of bread as she did so.

"Okay, it's like this - I know that I'm not meant for monogamy, right? The idea of one person, for the rest of my life - it's restricting. I also know that I am very, very swayed by how much attention is given to me at any point in time - and that's where I tend to focus my own attention. So I cheat, and find it hard to express myself to those I think I could have anything real with, and make terrible decisions that end up blowing up in my face. Or letting other people do it for me. You know?"

[turnabouttoothbrush]

Snake is a bit rapey

Gonna just get this out of the way up front: I’m, like, 90% sure that I’m the single largest producer of ‘Liquid Snake gets raped’ fanfiction on the entire internet. So take this sporking as you will.

Today’s sporkers are Fallen and Aziz.

(Now THAT’S what I call an opening statement!)

Fallen: Well, it’s true, so...

Aziz: Why are we in here for the second time in a row...?

Fallen: Probably because of that comments you and I made during Twins Help Out.

Aziz: ...at least that immediately clears up which Snake the title is referring to.

Fallen: The BBLiquid fics are found elsewhere.

There they were fighting with Meryl dying on the wayside.

Fallen: Which means she isn’t dead yet!

Aziz: Ah, it’s the straight ending, I see.

Solid giving it everything he had and Liquid slowly getting beat down. His brother punched him in the jaw, warm blood trickled down into his mouth.

Aziz: From his... jaw?

Fallen: Is he upside-down?

He growled and threw a punch back knocking Liquid on his hands and knees. 

Fallen: So... I guess Snake was behind him.

Aziz: Behind him, upside-down... what is he doing?

Fallen:

Obviously.

Aziz: Of course.

Before he could get up Snake was on top of him, his body pushing down on top to keep Liquid from standing. The men were exhausted but Liquid was feeling it worse.

Aziz: For reasons that will not be explained because fuck you.

Fallen: Well, I mean, Snake did just kill his boyfriend dude he had a Harmonian-style soulbond with, and also like all his other friends except Ocelot (who stabbed him in the back anyway), so...

Aziz: He’s having a bad day.

Fallen: Yep!

Aziz: Granted, he was trying to nuke everyone...

Snake was going to make him pay for what he did to Meryl and revenge pumped through his veins as he punched Liquid again in the cheek.

Fallen: ...? Isn’t he flat against REX?

Aziz: Maybe the side of his head is against the ‘floor’...

Fallen: Yeah, that would make sense!

His brother buckled his knees

Fallen: That doesn’t!

but Solid grabbed him by the hips and held him up.

Solid started undoing his belt and dropped his pants just low enough to reveal the already hard cock between his legs.

Aziz: ...well, that went from zero to a hundred real quick.

Liquid tried to turn and look but Solid’s firm grip on his hips gave him nowhere to move. Then with a quick, fluid motion Solid yanked Liquid’s pants down.

Aziz: With what hands? He can’t keep his hands on both of Liquid’s hips if he’s using one of them to pull down his pants. If he’s only grabbing his hip with one hand, that’s not going to stop him from going anywhere.

Fallen: Y’know, I don’t think grabbing Liquid’s hips would stop him from going anywhere. I don’t think it’d even stop someone who isn’t a trained soldier.

Aziz: Yeah, that still leaves his arms and legs free and all...

His ass was pale

Fallen: Objection!! Liquid has a dark complexion!

Aziz: Maybe it’s just a tan.

Fallen: Dude runs around shirtless in Alaska in February, do you really think he doesn’t tan naked?

Aziz: No.

and bare

Fallen: Huh, I guess the FOXHOUND commander was going commando!

Aziz: *is not going to dignify that with a response*

and the mere sight made a trickle of precum escape the head of his dick. What the fuck am I doing?

Both: Good question.

Aziz: Better question: What the fuck is the author doing?

“Brother, what are you doing” Liquid spoke for the first time, almost yelling but sounding somewhat concerned,

Fallen: Concerned enough that he forgot his question mark, apparently.

his words parroting Snake’s exact thoughts.

Aziz: *TPP Ocelot voice* I’m not saying it’s telepathy, but it’s telepathy.

Fallen: Or bad writing. (<-- not a joke about the writing in MGSV)

Aziz: Either one.

“Making you pay for what you did to Meryl” Snake grunted, his tip now teasing Liquid’s asshole.

Fallen: Did he even do anything to Meryl? Or if he did, I don’t know if this is a good way to, uh, pay him back.

Aziz: Maybe that Snake Tales doujin was right...

Fallen: Oh noooo, don’t bring back “I can’t believe Liquid Snake is a cuck,” I thought we were done with that joke!

Liquid resisted the touch with a strong effort but he was too weak from their battle to put up much fight and Snake held him down easily.

“Don’t try to get away, Liquid.” he barked.

Fallen: *record scratch noise* *Solid Snake voice* Yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got in this situation.

Aziz: *Solid Snake voice* Sometimes, you just have a really bad day, and you end up raping your exhausted twin brother.

Fallen: *Solid Snake voice* Hey, we’ve all been there, right?

Aziz: *Liquid Snake voice* No!!

He pressed and the head slid in. Liquid winced but tried to hide any sign of being in pain. Solid figured he didn’t want to look weak or submissive, a fact proven whenever Liquid offered a half-hearted attempt at escape.

Aziz: Somehow, I think escape attempts during rape probably have more to do with not wanting to be raped than not wanting to appear submissive. Just my two cents.

All the while Solid pushed himself in deeper - filling his twin brother up completely, the hot tightness engulfing him all around. He let out a soft moan of pleasure and lustfully started rocking his hips. This is amazing…So hot… So tight… I won’t last long… 

Fallen: Hey, Aziz, you know what would be nice?

Aziz: Hm?

Fallen: If I had a nickel for every time we read something where the author doesn’t quite grasp that rape is way more about power dynamics than sex.

Aziz: Yeah. We could pay for college. Wouldn’t have to worry about student loans.

Both: Sigh...

Liquid’s upper body fell against the hard metal they were atop and buried his face in his arms. 

Aziz: Again I wonder: Why doesn’t he just punch Snake?

Solid could hear him grunting and complaining but with a firm, well timed thrust a soft moan escaped the blonde’s lips.

Fallen: >blonde >with an e

Aziz: Femsnakes confirmed.

Fallen: Snake’s dick was already directly mentioned... Futafemsnakes?

Aziz: That’s going a little far...

He’s enjoying this?

Aziz: Well, that makes one of us.

Eager for more, Solid pulled up on long blonde hair, Liquid’s face tilting backwards so he could get a glimpse of those blue eyes as he pounded into him. So good. It felt so good. His twin brother moaned under him which each eager thrust, bringing them closer and closer to the edge…

Fallen:

He growled for a second time, trying to hold back the release that each thrust brought him closer to. Just a little more and….

“Aaaahhhh!!” he cried but his climax was cut short but a loud crashing noise.

Aziz: It was canon, violently reasserting itself.

Solid woke up in a cold sweat.

Fallen: *Solid Snake voice* What the fuck, brain.

He shifted uncomfortably to tame the tent in his pants with no luck. What was that dream. Liquid? He asked himself, shaking his head to remove any thoughts from his mind. The image of Liquid’s piercing blue eyes was burned into his thoughts. That hair, that body… He felt nothing but lust.

Aziz: On one hand, same, but on the other hand-

Fallen: Is this genetic sexual attraction or narcissism?

Aziz: With twincest? Usually both.

That’s your own brother, Dave. What are you thinking. Stop. You can’t think like this.

Aziz: That’s just out-of-character.

Fallen:

Aziz: Hey, that’s not Hiimdaisy...

He was just about to head to the bathroom and take care of this little problem when there was a knock at the door. He sighed deepy before quickly stumbling into some pants and stumbling to the door and opening it.

“Snake, are you ok?” Otacon asked him immediately and Snake realized he must look flustered.

Fallen: That’s one way of putting it.

Fuck it. He grabbed Otacon without warning and pulled him into the apartment, closing the door and pinning him against the wall in one motion. He wasn’t sure if Otacon would agree to this and he didn’t really care.

Fallen: Yikes!

Aziz: The author’s note said they were considering doing a second chapter with Otacon.

Fallen: That explains why Otacon was tagged as a character... but not Liquid.

Aziz: But they never did. Fic was posted in 2014, too.

Fallen: The evil is defeated!

Aziz: Anyway, that was just pretty stupid.

Fallen: Yup!

Aziz: And now we’re done.

Fallen: And now we deserve a break!

(And so today’s sporking comes to a close. Tune in next time for WHO KNOWS EVEN. Geez I really need to clean out my Trigun and Ace Attorney badfic subfolders, they’re fuckin’ huge!)