#oh im probably quitting ao3

[mirrorscoveredwithflowers]

im rising from the dead for one last time just to say

I award the "most pathetic fandom on tumblr and ao3" award toooooooooooooo

*drumroll pls*

TLM!

(slander time)

ANYWAYS MOST OF YALL ARE OLDER TEENS/ADULTS RIGHT?

WHY ARE YOU ALL SO BAD AT ACTING LIKE IT THEN??

Like y'all can't handle a single bit of drama in a healthy way that an adult or older teen should be able to

I bet the mha fandom could do better

I know you all probably can't take me seriously because I'm 13 but like

I know people younger in this fandom and they deal with smaller controversies against them better then y'all can lmfao.

I've been meaning to say this for like a month

But

This fandom didn't change my life for the better

It ruined my life in a way

I have no self confidence because of 90% of you all

And don't even try and cancel me for this because I don't care.

I'm going to say the facts you all just can't admit for some gosh darn reason.

All of you who have become popular out of nowhere in the past few months...y'all don't seem very grateful.

This is my biggest pet peeve

I can't stand it when people come out of nowhere and just take the spotlight bc of some stupid sketch

And I know you can't control how popular you are

BUT CMON MAN? IVE BEEN IN THIS FANDOM FOR 2 YEARS, THE MOST IVE GOTTEN IS LIKE 18 NOTES AND 20 KUDOS AND YALL GET LIKE 100 AND YOU ARE LIKE

"awwwwwwww tyyy!1!1!1!1!1!1!1"

LIKE BESTIE TRY HARDER TO SOUND LIKE U ACTUALLY CARE

And you wanna know the worst bit??

There are people who get no notes and no kudos at all and that's because practically everyone here is so self centered and think their whole status in their fandom revolves around them and whatever popular people are 'friends' with them

Also most of the 'friendships' I've had here were literally the worst decision I've made- like I think people care about me then they just move on bc I'm "not well known" is that my fault???

I just wanted friends who liked the same movie as me

I've got that but, it was way harder then it should've been.

Youre probably laughing cause nobody here takes me seriously

And you can say im selfish for saying all these things about my 'friends' but it dosent apply to everyone. There are some nice people here, but not enough

Just...tlm fandom, you're full of adults and "mature" teens, please, start acting like it.

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ epilogue

note: im kinda sad to say, but this will be the final part of this series! im so so grateful for all the love and support for it, this was honestly so fun to write! i hope everyone enjoys and have a wonderful day/night!!!!<3<3<3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

no use of y/n

reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: your night in date with simon :)

warnings: domesticity, so much fluff, soap and gaz are wingmen again, tiny bit of light angst

ao3

【prev】

of all the things in this world that could be considered intimidating, flowers were the last thing simon would put on that list; but the brightly coloured flora seemed to have a paralysing effect on him as he stands in the tiny flower shop.

with a quiet, defeated groan to himself, he dials johnny's number and presses his phone to his ear.

"what flowers am i supposed to buy?" he blurts no sooner than soap picks up, not even bothering to greet him in his haste.

"hello to you too?" johnny mumbles, his confusion evident. a moment passes before he registers what simon asked, "oh! wait," he laughs, his voice getting further away as he lowers his phone to call out, "gaz, get out here! lt.'s buyin' sting flowers!"

simon considers hanging up then and there, but he's severely out of his depth and unfortunately, soap and gaz are his only hope.

"oh i see, he needs an expert opinion, does he?" kyle's teasing gets louder as he approaches soap, and he can hear the smile in both the sergeants' voices.

really, simon should've known they wouldn't let him off easy.

"christ alive…" he keeps his voice as low as possible, pinching the bridge of his nose in the corner of the small shop. "just help me, you pillock." the cashier has been staring at him since he walked in, and honestly, he doesn't blame them; a giant man in a mask isn't exactly the regular clientele for a florist.

"uh, probably their favourite?" soap suggests, the sound of gaz's muffled chuckling just about audible in the background.

"they don't have 'em." simon replies, his eyes darting over the vibrant display one last time in the hopes that the answer would somehow appear.

"nah, you want roses, mate." gaz interjects, and he hears soap make an agreeing noise.

simon hums. "aren't they too… cliché?" he asks, stepping over to the large display of rose bouquets. it's the classic choice, he's aware of that much, but whether or not you'd prefer something more unique was weighing on his mind. this was something he never expected to have to worry about.

"no! they're romantic," gaz insists, his amusement still very evident in his voice, "trust me mate, sting'll love them."

simon contemplates his point for a moment, staring at the deep red petals and trying to imagine the look on your face if he gave them to you. you'd been happy with a handful of squashed flowers he'd stolen from the flowerbeds on base, so he doubted you'd turn your nose up at them. it doesn't take him long to make a decision.

"alright, cheers." he mutters, grabbing a lively looking bouquet of a dozen from the display and making his way over to the cashier – who was quickly trying to pretend they hadn't been staring.

"you'll need to give us a debrief–" soap begins, but he's cut off by simon hanging up and shoving his phone back in his pocket. he gets the feeling he won't be hearing the end of this for quite some time.

✹✹✹

it's only when he's standing outside the door to your room that the nerves finally start to set in. he can't help but feel like an idiot, fidgeting on the spot about to knock on your door like a lovestruck teenager, almost crushing the stems of the roses with his iron grip.

he knocks twice, before he has the chance to change his mind and back out. not even a second later, you're pulling the door open and regarding him with that warm look that has his palms sweating.

you're wearing casual clothes, and so is he, as per the agreement you made to keep this 'date' simple. it doesn't matter what you're wearing though; he's seen you covered head to toe in blood, sweat, mud, and whatever else, and you still manage to be utterly breathtaking in every way.

with a nervous cough, simon holds out the rose bouquet to you, hoping you don't notice the way his hands are shaking.

"wha…" you blink in surprise at the flowers, taking them from him and admiring them with a tiny smile. "you bought these, right? didn't just rip 'em out of someone's garden?" you raise a teasing eyebrow at him, your smile turning more playful.

"yes, i bought them." he grumbles lightheartedly, a smile of his own forming under his balaclava. the way you effortlessly diffuse the tension has his anxieties melting away.

"thank you." you breathe, softly caressing the vermillion petals. "they're lovely, i love them."

simon let's out a quiet sigh of relief at your affirmation. "good; cost me a tenner, they did."

the laugh you let out is like music to his ears. "well, i'm sorry to bankrupt you." you grin, turning back into your room and carefully putting the bouquet in the vase on the mantle. after making sure the arrangement looks nice, you come to stand in front of him again.

simon's not sure how to continue, the nerves from earlier resurfacing as the conversation fades. the way you're watching him expectantly, he feels the urge to take you by the hand – and as if you read his his mind, you hold it out for him. he places his hand in yours, squeezing gently and leading you the short distance to the kitchen.

he'd set the table earlier, having found an only slightly discoloured tablecloth buried in the back of the cupboards. it's a little sad, but it was the best he could come up with.

"wow," you tease, the same playful smile as before on your lips as you meet his eyes, "so fancy."

he snorts, ushering you over to your chair and pulling out for you. "only the best for your majesty." he preens at your happiness when you laugh again, glad for the mask covering what he's sure is an obvious blush.

he occupies himself by grabbing the two plates he'd finished preparing a minute ago, just before he'd met you at your door.

"i made spag bol." simon mutters as he sets them down on the table. he keeps an eye on your expression as he takes his seat opposite you, anticipation of whatever response you may have.

"fine by me," you say, an easy smile lifting your features. "it's almost the perfect candlelit dinner, all we're missing is the candle."

simon blinks. "you don't like candles." he replies, a hint of confusion in his gaze when he meets your eye.

"no," you smile fondly, looking down at your plate. "i don't."

a comfortable silence falls over the room as you both start to eat. the warmth and normality of it all makes simon’s heart swell with affection. he's happy, content, being here with you, even doing something as monotonous as eating dinner. you make it worth enjoying.

"how is it?" he asks once you've both finished, once again waiting apprehensively for your reaction.

"it's great," you give him a lopsided smile, resting your chin on your hand as you look at him. "thanks for cooking."

simon quirks an eyebrow at you. "you don't have to lie." he mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn under your intense gaze.

"okay, well, don't quit your day job." you chuckle, standing up and making your way over to the sink with your plate in your hands.

he huffs a small laugh, and joins you at the sink with his own plate. "you're crushin' my dreams here."

"sorry, chef." you grin and gesture to the washing up in the sink. "you wash, i'll dry?"

"if your majesty insists."

you turn on the radio for some quiet background noise, and the two of you start cleaning up in tandem. it's nice, how you can work together so seamlessly with no need for words. he's struck again by the thought that if he were alone this would be a chore, but with you beside him, he finds such a tedious job surprisingly pleasant.

simon hands the last dish to you, and as you take it your fingers brush against his hand. the way he flinches away from your touch is unconscious, and when he looks over to you he expects you to pity him, or be offended by his action – but your face holds neither of those things.

you're just drying the dish he handed you, the same content expression on your face that had been there all night, as if you didn't even notice.

"sorry." he mumbles, his gaze falling from your face to your hands as you work.

simon loves you. he shouldn't be afraid of your touch. he wants to touch you, and for you to touch him. he doesn't know why he reacted like that.

"don't be." you utter, soft and compassionate, and his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. for the third time that night, he's hit full force with how wonderful you are.

there's no judgement, no probing questions, nothing. you understood him, even though you had no idea why he acts this way.

you turn away, your back to him as you store the dishes in the cabinets. you hadn't been looking at him before, but now he was sure you couldn't see him, he feels his throat constrict with the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

simon takes your free hand and you pause, still facing away as you wait for his next move.

he takes a small step closer, minimising the space between you, and rests his forehead against the back of your head. with his eyes screwed shut, he takes a deep breath and inhales the familiar scent of you. his grip on your hand tightens slightly.

you lean back into him, a quiet sigh escaping you as you squeeze his hand in return. neither of you say a word, but you don't have to. he feels how you love him in the way you never expect more from him than he can give.

it's the most peace he's felt in years.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness ,

@madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @batmanunicorns523 , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology

[joshusten]

honeysuckle (guy/honey, redacted audios)

Guy is having not-so-wholesome thoughts about his recently turned roommate-to-lover.

NSFW CONTENT!! (minors dni pls!)

(suggestive, making out, dirty thoughts, implied sexual content at the end)

3.2k+ words [ao3 link] [masterlist]

[cw/notes: idk man guy is horny and theres a lot of horny stuff but it's not SUPER explicit (i think) and plsplsss im asking for feedback bc this is the first time writing something this suggestive hope u enjoy!! OH also as always theres probably grammatical errors and guy might be OOC]

A HUGEEE thank you to the wonderful @slushiepizza for all the amazing suggestions and support throughout writing this fic!! this rlly would not be finished without ur help thank you for ur service in providing quality guy/honey content SHAKING U RN ILY!!!

Guy is a daydreamer.

Ask anyone who knows him, from his grade school teachers to his apartment neighbors, and they can attest that Guy never seems to run out of topics to talk about. Never a dull moment, much less a dull idea to mull over when he’s around.

In fact, his imagination is something he prides himself in. After all, as an aspiring writer, it’s what gives the very soul of all of the stories he wants to share with the world—whether it’s the exciting plot of a potential novel he has been writing (and rewriting) all night throughout the week or an epic fantasy he was able to make up on the top of his head and narrate to the kids by the playground of the middle-school he makes deliveries to.

Guy is a daydreamer. 

And it might be the very trait that would be the root of his current predicament.

Slow hands, languid movements

“Does this feel good, Honey?”

Heavy breaths, sharp gasps

“You can get r-rougher, babe. I can take it…”

Warm bodies, warmer lips

“M-mhm, Guy…”

Fuck. Their lips…

“Guy?”

Fuck.

“Guy!”

Fuck.

“Hello? Earth to Guy? You with us, buddy?”

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit.

“Wh-wha-what? H-hi! Yeah, of course I am. I am here. On the earth. Present. With you guys,” Guy cleared his throat awkwardly after seeing the unconvinced, deadpan looks on his co-workers' faces. Rosa specifically had her brow raised in suspicion to which Guy responded with a nervous smile. “Uh, what’s up?”

“What’s up,” The woman repeated, “Is your constant staring into space! You almost burned the dough if it weren’t for me keeping an eye on you! I’m used to your head in another world but you’ve barely said a word for the past few hours!” The others nodded in agreement. 

Rosa's hard eyes softened, “Is everything okay with you? Something botherin’ you or what?”

Right. Dough. Pizza. He’s making pizza. He’s kneading dough. The flour clinging to his hands suddenly felt heavier, the scent of basil overwhelmed his nose and the chattering of the customers increased in volume but that meant that everything was starting to make sense. He took in his surroundings, which were quickly clearing up for him, to finally decipher that he was still in Max’s, in the kitchen and it was still his shift.

Definitely not with his recent roommate-to-lover and definitely not in their dimmed bedroom, straddling them on their bed with a delightfully sinful expression painted on their face as his shaky hands slowly creep up between their—

Oh my god.

The very thought of them already leaves Guy's legs feeling like jelly. These daydreams had been a problem for him for quite some time. It wasn't like it was a crime to get all hot and bothered over his partner! Yet, lately, an unexplainable sense of shame builds inside him whenever his mind wanders to more…impure scenarios with them. 

Because despite what anyone might think of him and how he jokes about it, he's a little scared of being intimate with someone—no—with Honey.

Oh fuck, someone asked him a question.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a lil’ tired, I guess.”

And he isn’t lying, really. The fatigue of making pizzas and serving tables was no joke and, with all the very interesting fantasies occupying his mind, his shift slightly just got more difficult to get through than what he was used to. (Thank god he's not on delivery duty right now. He's self-aware enough to know he would get into an accident with his current situation)

His co-workers still looked suspicious but accepted his answer nonetheless, hurriedly going back to their tasks to avoid the wrath of their manager. The man let out a sigh of relief as he resumed his own tasks for the day.

As his grueling shift came closer to an end, he was more than ready to take the apron off and get the absolute fuck out of that kitchen.

—

Guy might actually be the first person in all of Dahlia to dread coming home to an apartment that he shared alongside his (literal!) dream partner who was waiting for him after a long, tiring day at work.

Honey, who was all bundled up in a blanket on the couch, paused the show playing on the T.V. to face their boyfriend and properly greet him, “Hey, welcome home. How’s work?”

“It was shit. Did you eat already?”

He saw them already heading their way to their small kitchen, reaching for something in the refrigerator. “Yeah, I left some for you in the fridge. We can heat it up if you want?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I ate back at the restaurant. What are you watchin’?” But before he could get a reply, Guy’s body stiffened when he felt a light shock from where Honey had suddenly touched his upper arm. 

Light touches.

Heavy panting.

Hot air.

“Oh, f-fuck, Guy. Do that again, hon. Please. Don’t stop, don’t—”

“ —think I didn’t hear you, mister! What do you mean your day was shit?” If Honey had noticed their boyfriend flinching at the mere tap on his shoulder, they didn’t comment on it. 

“U-uhm,” He coughed and shrugged lamely to hide his reaction. “Just the usual stuff.” The man put down all his stuff on the nearby coffee table. “C-can I just lay on your chest for a while? If it’s okay with you.”

Despite Honey’s aloofness, they can recognize when their partner is truly in need (And who could say no when their boyfriend’s usual chaotic self sounds so adorable being shy?) The gentleness in their gaze was enough to calm Guy’s frazzled mind, even just for a bit, before sitting on the sofa and patting on the empty spot beside them, albeit looking quite unsure on how to comfort him.

“C’mere. Do…do you wanna talk about it?"

Guy simply shakes his head before letting himself crash onto the couch and into his beloved's (with the second "e" pronounced!) welcoming arms—or, at least, what welcoming might look on Honey. He can feel the rigidness of their posture, remembering how awkward they can be with physical touch, yet here they are, going out of their comfort zone just to make sure he feels better. 

It makes him guiltier to know why he was acting like this in the first place.

“Can you…talk about your day instead, Honey?” 

They rolled their eyes with a fond smile, “Fine, but don’t think I’m letting go of it that easily, m’kay?” 

As Honey recounts the events of their day (which honestly isn't much), their stiff demeanor eventually relaxed to the point where they were more comfortable with absentmindedly giving affection, unaware that they’d been playing with Guy's hair for the past few minutes. The gentle massages on his scalp were a much-needed distraction for his mind.

That is until he felt a sharp tug from Honey in an attempt to untangle their fingers between his messy locks.

Fistfuls of hair.

Skin on skin.

Arched backs.

"Fuck, keep doin’ that, Honey. Oh–” 

“—shit! Sorry about that. Did I pull too hard?” Honey was already moving their fingers away from his head before Guy quickly (a little too quickly) halted the movement. Guy guided Honey’s hand back to its original place on his head, squeezing ever so slightly.

“No! It's okay, Honey. Just…keep it there.”

Honey gives him a knowing smirk, “You are acting so weird, you know that?”

“Just indulge in a poor man’s wishes, will you?” Guy dramatically lamented, really wanting to avoid the conversation and go back to relaxing and getting some rest. 

“Whatever you say, man,” They replied, resuming from where they left off with their story. 

As much as Guy would love to listen, his focus started wandering elsewhere as his mind drifted to sleep. 

The ticks of the clock, the scent of Honey’s body wash, the number of their eyelashes.

The texture of Honey's soft blanket.

Messy sheets.

Desperate thrusts.

Sweat dripping.

"Oh god, G-Guy, I think–I think I'm g-gonna–"

"--come?"

"H-huh?" Guy hadn't realized how hard he was gripping the throw pillow on his lap. At this point, he’s going to expose himself one way or another if he keeps being out of it. He tried his best to compose himself, hiding his distress behind a laugh. "S-sorry, Honey. Could you repeat that?"

Honey did a face, softly chuckling for a bit, before repeating their question. "I said; 'I'm gonna go buy a gift for Ollie’s birthday tomorrow morning, do you wanna come? It’s your day off tomorrow, right?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Of course. I’d love to, Honey!”

Honey stared for what felt like forever before making a face again, this time, looking like they had just been enlightened by something and letting out a snort that was so adorable, Guy almost forgot why he was avoiding their gaze.

"Pfft– Guy, you—" Honey said through their stifled giggles (that was a tell-tale sign of the belly laughs they only share with him and no one else). They never got to finish the sentence, trying but, ultimately interrupting themselves with their own laughter.

He smiled, happy to see them show this much emotion towards him when to others they tend to be more closed off (albeit, a little confused about what caused it so suddenly). “I'm what, Honey? Hey! I'm what? Do I have something on my face?”

“You’re—pfft!” 

Familiar playful slaps targeted his thighs with a faint sting he’s too far used to. He notices that their smile had their teeth showing, too busy laughing to cover it with their hand like they often do. 

Guy’s crumbling.

He knew his desires were seeping through the cracks and it took all of his willpower to resist tackling them then and there—to feel every inch of their body and give them every last bit of pleasure they rightfully deserved. But he can't. He shouldn't.

So, he opts for a kiss on the cheek instead. 

Something sweet enough to mask how hard his mind was reeling with overly aggressive affection. As he continued with his fleeting, featherlight attacks on Honey's face, his lips felt the smile that their mouth formed (accompanied by an out-of-breath “Guy, that tickles!”) and he found that pulling away was more difficult than he thought.

After a while of innocent pecks and bubbling snorts, Honey raised a hand to wipe a tear from their eye. They were looking directly at him now, eyes soft with their lips slightly parted and panting from laughing too hard.

Lips. Their lips.

“Guy, you good?”

A man can only have so much self-control before he breaks.

The next few moments felt like a blur. A hitched breath, a tightened grip. His lips hungrily meet theirs and the moan he immediately lets out was almost pathetic. But he couldn’t give a damn about anything other than the pleasurable weight grinding down on his crotch. 

They felt so good. Everything felt so fucking good. The spinning in his mind paired with the aching throb of his cock were all too much to handle that he can’t even tell if this was real or if it was the same fantasies that had been torturing him all day.

No. It’s real. It’s all real.

Despite the haze in his surroundings—despite all the noise—the only thing occupying Guy’s thoughts were the whimpers coming out of Honey that were better than anything he could have ever dreamed of. 

“Fuck,” He swore under his breath, the friction against his growing bulge breaking down any sense of sanity he had left. Guy squeezed their thigh a little harsher than intended, making Honey loudly moan out in surprise.

He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into their mouth, lapping up all the sounds he managed to coax out of them. Honey’s hands found their way to his hair, tugging like last time with more intent than before and it dragged out a needy whine from his throat muffled between their lips.

Unfortunately, the breathlessness he was experiencing isn't the same type he feels when he's around Honey and he remembered that humans do, in fact, need oxygen in their system. He pulled away from them for a quick breath, taking pleasure in how they desperately chased his lips with a soft whine, before immediately aiming at their jaw, sucking, licking, and biting skin as it trails down on their neck. 

Honey is quick to respond, their fingers ghosting the hem of his work uniform before sliding them up, keeping his squirming body steady by grabbing his waist with one hand as the other roams to his chest, the shirt riding up with it and they feel his heartbeat speed up against his ribcage.

The sensation leaves Guy lightheaded. He swore he could see stars, especially after their warm palms stroked past a particular spot he didn’t even know he was sensitive to. The action had him writhing under the weight on his lap and Honey’s sudden thrust against his clothed dick brought out a stuttered gasp from him with his hips bucking up involuntarily. 

“Shit, baby,” Honey whispered, the strain in their voice evident as they grind down harder just to hear Guy’s wanton moans one more time. “So fucking needy.”

Hot breaths.

Bare skin.

Intoxicating scents.

This felt like Deja vu.

Guy had seen this before. He dreamt of it so much that it felt like second nature for his body. During nights when his partner hadn’t been home yet and he was feeling oh so, lonely—so desperate. Nights when his imagination had gone truly wild, the same scenario that he had been replaying over and over again. The one where he would have them in a panting mess.

He vividly remembers what goes next. The movement is practiced—etched into his memory. Every bone, every nerve in his system practically has it memorized in its core. 

He pins them on the arm of their sofa, the air is hot and heavy. One final passionate kiss, one final slip of his tongue, one final grind between their legs, and his hands would reach down, down where they needed him the most to—

“A-ah, Guy, w-wait!” 

And just like that, Guy’s mind snaps back to reality. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I-it’s okay.”

“No, no, I’m really sorry. I–” He hurries to back away, pushing off his body and sitting upright with an arm’s distance away from an equally disheveled Honey. Fuck, they looked so pretty with their lips swollen like that. His eyes guiltily avoided the abundance of purple marks he wasn't even aware he left on their neck. Shit, focus!  “I don’t know what came over me. I’m–”

“Guy, it’s okay, I like it!” Honey cuts him off, not allowing their boyfriend to give himself to blame for something that didn’t even need his apologies. “I like it a lot. I was just…worried. Ever since you came home you were acting kind of off and I don’t want you to go through with this when I feel like something’s bothering you.”

Honey reaches out to him with concerned eyes, which should probably be an indicator for Guy of how odd he has been acting as of late. Their fingers find his knuckles, gently tracing circles on them as they patiently wait for his response.

Guy never knew his heart could beat faster, given how…intimate their latest activities were, but here he is, out of breath and falling in love all over again.

“I-I know this is kinda weird and I’m being really weird and everything is weird right now but I…uhm. Well, I guess you were right about me being all bark but no bite after all, eh?” He cringes at the way his voice cracked at the end and clears his throat for the nth time today.

“Okay, what I’m trying to get to is that…I've…been thinking about you…in a not-so-wholesome way for a while now. And I know, I know, this isn't new. I've flirted with you before and you already said you were okay with it, even with the raunchier ones but I'm just…"

Guy nervously looks away to the side, his eyes downcast to avoid Honey's curious stare. "This feels like a whole new thing now that we’re actually together and it really means a lot to me. Us. You're actually one of the best things to ever come into my life and I don't want my lack of…keeping it in my pants…to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner."

The deafening silence that followed his vulnerable confession might possibly be one of the worst things he ever had to experience. Then, a sudden giggle tore through the tense atmosphere.

Honey was laughing again.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh but w-was that the thing that’s been bothering you?”

They moved closer to their boyfriend, that's currently sporting a comically betrayed look on his face. “I've noticed your hard-on already, Guy. And don’t worry, I've been…thinking about you like that too for a while now.”

Guy wished nothing more than to get swallowed by the ground beneath him.

“I–What the fu–YOU—!” Guy sputtered, not quite sure if he should feel relieved or embarrassed at the moment but one thing stuck to his thoughts, Honey felt the same.

“Honeeeey! You can't just say that and—I can’t believe you would—! Oh, you have no idea how much I've been through today!”

“I'm sorry!” But their shit-eating grin says otherwise and Guy can't help not to get mad anymore with that face. “Besides, it was kinda cute seeing you all flustered for once. Serves you right, you brat.”

“Oh wow, I’m the brat in this situation? You…torment me and now you degrade me with such scornful slander?” The man places a hand on his chest melodramatically. “I’m heartbroken, Honey…and still hard!”

"Hm…Well, then," Honey's half-lidded gaze directs itself to Guy's lips. The sultry tone of their voice tickles his brain in the best way possible. "Do you want me to—"

Guy lets out a surprised squeak as his back suddenly hits their sofa with a forceful 'thump!' Their hand is placed on the side of his head, fingers twisting around his curls. The other found its way on his thumping chest, carefully sliding downwards at an antagonizing pace.

"—lend you a hand? After all, I must’ve been quite the headache for you, in more ways than one." 

“Oh no,” Guy started, easily maneuvering their positions to have his partner on their back “No, no, no, you’ve been teasing me for far too long, Honey.”

“Let me," He drags his hips across theirs and he revels in the way Honey chokes on their breath. “Handle this. Is that alright with you, baby?” He wishes he could take a picture of this moment. Seeing them writhe under him was a sight he never wanted to forget.

Honey gulps before their lips form a nervously excited grin. Their pupils are blown wide in anticipation. "You better get to work then, Guy." 

Then, they slowly lean towards Guy to whisper their next words to his burning ears, “And don’t worry about being rough, hon. I can take it.”

Guy is a daydreamer.

But no daydream can ever compare to the reality he's going to be experiencing right now.

[rockingrobin69]

First things First

“Not this again,” Harry murmured, with the eyeroll and the tragic sigh and the telling quiver in the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” Draco grinned.

“You know I hate it when you—” gasped when Draco took his hand, pressed a kiss to the back of his palm. “Malfoy.”

Draco batted his eyelashes. He’d heard from a very credible source they were devilishly long, and awfully convincing. “What? Am I not allowed to court my partner?”

“Allowed isn’t really the issue. We’ve been married for three years, arsehole. There’s no need to court me.” Still, with a slightly-trembling hand, he took the flower. “Where’s this from, then.”

Grin widening: “A village near Halifax. Got rid of the nastiest case of Knottivites you’d ever seen, the poor lamb was barely even visible underneath it. Got her trimmed and happy by tea-time, and the field was just lovely on the way back, all blossoming. Made me think of you.”

“Because the grass is just like my eyes,” Harry said, in a tone that was probably meant to sound mocking, failed miserably. “No, let me guess, a flower reminded you of my lips.”

Such cheek could only be met with decisive action, Draco thought, and grabbed his husband by the waist, brought him close-close. “It was actually a tree,” with a huff, and a kiss to the tip of his nose. “A specific curve in a branch. Perfect, just like your arse.”

“Oi!” Harry squealed when Draco pinched, “get your—honestly! Draco, that tickles, you son of a—ha, ow, ow, stop!”

Flushed-cheeked and in his arms, unbearably sweet, laughing and squirming. “Never,” Draco said, and he meant it. “Harry, I—”

“No! Stop it! You silly thing, I know,” breathless, “I know you’re a sap and I know you’re relentless and I hate how, how,” stopped there, shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re like this. Can’t you just, insult me a little or something?”

“In a minute,” Draco promised, nudging until he had access to Harry’s neck, to kiss it and kiss it. “I think I kind of like you like this.”

“Shut up,” still laughing. “You like me any way.”

Draco hummed. “It’s possible.”

“And you’re im—Draco, ha ha, stop!” to the probably-ticklish nips up his jaw, behind his ear. “What about dinner, you git. Stop with the bloody, attack, okay, we get it, you like me!”

“Do we,” with a lick just to drive the point across. “Do we get it. That I like you. Honestly, Potter, sometimes I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing wh-hat!” the cry turning into an actual shriek when Draco picked him up, legs automatically fitting around Draco’s waist. “What the fuck!”

Harry was heavy, and Draco’s whole body was sore from casing all day in the field. Happy, happy, he carried his husband to the sofa, and dropped him there with a thud. Climbed on top of him, crushing a bit. “Do we get it now?”

“That you’re a twat? Yeah, baby, we knew that already.”

“Mm-hm,” with a helpless grin. “And you hate it, of course.”

“Despise it,” this fire in his eyes, truly unbearable.

Draco traced his bottom lip with a gentle thumb. “Abhor it,” he added nonsensically.

“Detest it,” nodding, spreading his thighs wider, wiggling so Draco slid closer. “C’mon, Malfoy, quit nattering and kiss me already.”

“You fiend,” with affection thick in his throat. “Do you get it, though. How much I like you. How I think you’re the loveliest thing in the world, and the prettiest, the most precious—”

Harry put his hand on Draco’s mouth, then replaced it with his own. “Yes,” in between kisses, breathless, “yes, I got it, okay. I’m lovely and precious and you’re a prick.”

“He truly does get it,” ducked, still laughing. “What about dinner.”

“We’ll get to it,” getting himself comfortable on the sofa, red-cheeked and the dearest thing Draco’s ever seen. His husband, who’s so easily flustered and so incredibly sweet. “What about my kisses.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” raising an eyebrow, “I thought perhaps it’d be too sappy for you to—”

Harry smiled against his lips: dinner would have to wait. This was more important.

(Flufftober day 14. Find the soft AO3 collection here). In this ficlet, Draco is a Magi-vet in honour of @unleashed-fest, a wonderful fest fluf-full of magic, animals, magical animals, and lots of fun. Go check it out!

[philtstone]

title: check yes, juliet

Summary:

It doesn't matter that Juliet is a freshly-minted, top-of-her-class field agent (alright, so she hasn't actually been in the field yet) or one of the few women working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation's cutting edge check fraud department (just last week, their 20-year-old coffee maker broke and they ran out of number two pencils to mark up their overhead projector notes with): every time her mother calls, all she does is lament that her beautiful, intelligent daughter isn't meeting any eligible bachelors.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Maryanne sighs eventually. “All O’Hara women fall for liars, Julie. It’s our curse.”

Juliet has to wonder if she didn't scoff at her mother's claim a little bit too soon.

my brother & i had the earth shattering realization a month ago that the plot of "catch me if you can" (2002) is almost to a tee just a mildly alternate psych timeline and that thought has lived in my head rent free to such an insane degree that eventually 14 thousand words poured out of me in au fic form. im posting it so as many other people as possible can see the vision. and also because im sure theres one person other than me who revels in early seasons shawnjuliet's frankly insane levels of chemistry, lol. enjoy!

READ FULL FIC ON AO3

Excerpt:

“Your average bounced check would be routed to the bank it originates from, so you’d only really have a few days in one place before you were discovered. This guy’s been filing off the routing numbers, changing ‘em somehow – so cleanly and neatly that it’ll take a real sharp eye to notice. It’s all about the branch you’re cashing it in. A check cashed in at Chase Manhattan with the one changed to ten’s gonna bounce halfway around the country before anyone figures out it’s rotten, and by that point this asshole is long gone. The numbers go East, Central, West – you see how they cover 0-60, 70-80, and of course they require a special kind of ink to be recognized as real checks, which you’d all know if you’d read the report I circulated …”

Juliet doesn’t notice the full cup of orange juice in front of her until it’s too late. 

Her head’s still full of Carlton’s two hour long briefing this morning, during which she learned more about check fraud than she’d have ever thought a single person could in one lifespan. Certainly not Juliet, who’d originally studied literature at Florida State. Then again, back then she’d have never expected to end up an FBI agent, either.

Then there’s the wired, tense feeling in her gut that probably won’t go away ‘til this sting is over and they bring in the pathetic local guy Carlton’s been tracking for the last week. His MO is pretty girls in pastel dresses, which made Juliet the right man – woman – for the job. At least maybe doing this’ll help the guys in the office take her seriously as a field agent. And, well … she does love a nice peachy pink cardigan. The color goes well with her complexion.

“This idiot’s no real con man, he’s just a clown who can’t be bothered to work an honest job. Child’s play compared to the real thing. ” Carlton tends to pause here, angry that he’s got to acknowledge it like that – the real thin g. “ You know what they’ve been calling him in the papers these days?”  

Him . Always him. They don’t have a name on the subject yet, despite over a million cashed in fraudulent checks. Juliet hums and nods so her partner feels acknowledged. 

“ The skywayman . Pathetic. Like he’s some magician or something, instead of a two-bit liar who thinks he’s smarter than me. ”

“This isn’t personal, Carlton ,” Juliet says tiredly. “ It’s not like he knows who you are to be deliberately toying with you.”  

“Oh yes he is. I know he is. I know him .”

Her hands aren’t quite shaking, because that would be stupid; this guy, their local guy, shouldn’t have a gun on him, and if he does he’s not the type to shoot a woman. Juliet focuses on the paper in front of her and tucks a lock of her hair behind one ear. A window of ten minutes – that’s what Carlton said. Unlike Carlton’s unsub nemesis, they know plenty about this one. He’ll come in, dressed like the middle-aged schlub he is, loose tie probably, gray slacks, thinning hair. He’ll notice her, buy her a soda she’ll accept with a faulty check and then pick her pocket for the cash. The string of pearls at her neck makes her a sweet college girl whose parents have money. She mentally forces herself to stop chewing her lip and instead moves her right hand down to her lap, where she can pick at her nail polish without anyone seeing. 

“Well, obviously we wanna catch him,” Agent Dobson says, when they’re a third of the way through the morning briefing and half the room is asleep or dreaming of lunch. Juliet, of course, has been furiously taking notes. He means the Skywayman; he means the real thing. “But you gotta admit, Lassiter, there is a bit of a magic show to a good con, isn’t there? The press has that one thing right.”

“It’s not magic. It’s lies and deceit and a healthy helping of audacity, and a damn good typewriter. O’Hara, write that down. We’re gonna go through that list of makes and models again, see what we can come up with.”

Deep breath. Her purse, orange to match the cardigan, is in her lap. The gun’s in the purse. She’ll draw it, but not to shoot. This is the kind of work she’s begged the Chief for, and she’ll be just fine.

Maybe Juliet would feel less desperate to prove herself if this diner wasn’t in Miami, and her father didn’t gift her the only string of pearls she owns.

A voice clears itself quietly above her.

“Uh, excuse me? Hi, yeah, hi. That’s my seat.”

READ MORE

[janeths]

Period Month

since I’m on my period and thought “how would Bowser feel about it? ” Since ya know turtles don’t have menstrual cycles, and since he also doesn’t know much about the human anatomy either. So ye, this happens when Y/N accepts Bowser as his loving partner after the period storm.

Also I have so many one shots between Bowser and Y/N not written just brainstorming , I’ll just write them here, and then I’ll write them on AO3

I hope I don’t make Bowser too ooc, but if I do I’m sorry.

Gender neutral pronouns but ya know, it mentions periods. So ye

It was a beautiful morning, waking up in a kingdom. Especially waking up next to the most powerful and most gentle man, Bowser. “Bowser?! How long have you been up?” Y/N turns around and sees him looking at her, smiling. “Hmm..? Hours probably. I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so tired yesterday, thought I let you sleep more.” Y/N blinks then smiles. “You didn’t really had to do that… wait.. what time is it? “

“Hm? Oh I don’t know.“We got time still. I already have your clothes here. It’ll be hot over there, so I chose some light colors.” “Oh ye-.” Y/N suddenly grabs her stomach. “Uh… could I wear something more dark colors?”

“Is there something wrong with them?” He looks worried. “Oh! No no! It’s just that I’m not feeling the cool colors today that’s all.” “Can I choose them for you?” They both stood up and walked towards the huge closet. “Of course! Either way I don’t know what to wear.” Y/N feels a slight cramp. Don’t worry Y/N, just a small thing. It’ll go eventually.

“Are you ready to go, love? We’re gonna be late if we don’t go.” He says as he mutters under his breath, “Peach hates it when people are late…” Bowser breathes in, and gets a strange strong smell. I haven’t smelt that before, it’s quite strong though…

Couple of minutes passed, Y/N hasn’t gotten out of the room. Bowser was a bit worried and quickly ran upstairs to the room and found Y/N laying on the bed. “Y/N? Why are you still laying down? We’re gonna be late. If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to.” The strange smell is much stronger here, is it them? “Hm..? Oh Bowser… I uh..don’t feel too well… I think I’ll stay today. You could go.” Y/N covers herself and presses their stomach. “I’m not going anywhere but here.” Bowser calls Kamek to discharge the carriage, closes the door and sits next to Y/N. “What’s wrong, dear? Is it a headache? Fever? Stomach ache?” He touches their forehead gently. “No…I’m on my…Achoo!” Y/N sneezes unexpectedly and felt something wet and warm. “Oh no…” Y/N quickly takes the covers off and sees the forsaken storm they created. Feeling a bit of shame that Bowser has seen them in that position. THATS-! That’s the smell!

“Y/N! You’re bleeding! Let’s to go the hospital right away!” Bowser picks them up gently holding them with a blanket, and running towards downstairs. “Bowser! Calm down! Im fine!” He stops mid-track almost dropping Y/N. “But you’re bleeding! From down there!” “Bows..Let me go to the bathroom, and I’ll explain everything once I’m changed up. Just bring me clean clothes, alright love?”

Once Y/N cleaned themselves up, threw the dirty clothes and sheets onto the washer, they sit next to Bowser on the bed. “Have you calmed down a bit?” They chuckle as he blushes. “But Y/N what was that? You scared me! I thought you got hurt! I thought you were going to die on me! I kept thinking of horrible thoughts.” He frowns, hug them gently tight due to his figure and not wanting to hurt them. Y/N kisses his snout. “I’m sorry I scared you that way, I should have told you before.” “So what is it then? Because to me it looks like you were bleeding.” “Well… it’s sort of like that. Some mammals have to go through it. Turtles/Tortoises don’t since they are reptilian. I have it since it allows me to reproduce.” “Huh..” “But I don’t want to reproduce right now,so that means that this part right here.” Y/N points under their stomach. “Is what causes it. There’s little tiny eggs, which helps to make the child. But like I said I don’t want kids right now, so they kinda like erupt making me bleed and the consequences of not having a child, is that I have to suffer cramps, headaches, sleepiness, crying. It’s awful. Does that make sense now?” Y/N looks at him,not realizing their leg is shaking due to the cramps.“I do now, and feel much more relaxed. But…still, if you don’t want to reproduce, why do you have to suffer? Why go through it? Why.. everything?” “That’s just how it is…” “Is there anything I can do? Anything to help? I want to make you feel better.” “Well… I’m still cramping and I’m really tired… Do you think-” “Yes! Of course, come here.” They both lay on the bed and pulls them into a hug, their back facing Bowsers stomach. “Mhm.. how does that feel?” “Wonderful. Are your hands warm?”

“Yes, why ask?”

“Could you put them around my stomach? It’ll calm my cramps a bit.” He gently pulls them and puts his hand onto their stomach for reassurance. “I’ll stay here as long as I need too, don’t worry alright?”

“But what about-”

“Love, the kingdom can wait. My priority is to be here with you.” How did he know I was going to- never-mind I want to sleep.

“Y/N?” Fast asleep they went, and here comes the snores they offer. Bowser just chuckled to himself.

Those snores are so cute.

Bonus:

“Mario, I’m glad they didn’t come. It would have been such a terrible thing to send them back home.” Peach sighs, Mario walking back towards her with a warm towel and water. “Don’t worry about it, here…” Mario puts the warm towel on her stomach. “Thank you, Mario, but I really should-” “No, no. You need to at least rest. If you continue, your cramps will get worse. Ill take care whatever is necessary in the kingdom.” He kisses her forehead. “Now just rest my princess.”

Hmm… I never written anything here before. So uhhhh : I like Bowser :3

[loversj0y]

this is me trying

coming back to london and being away from wilbur was hard. fighting your own coping methods and trying is harder.

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

angst, hurt/comfort

TRIGGER WARNINGS: fighting, yelling, broken bottles, lots of tears, and alcoholism, plus the briefest (one line) insinuation of suicidal thoughts.

note: this is part of the 'tis the damn season universe, but doesn't particularly have to be read alongside it (though you'd probably be very confused if you didnt read it). this part is pretty heavy. not even going to lie, i had to stop writing a few times to keep myself from getting too stressed, really heed the warnings. at least im getting better at writing fights? ao3 version

word count: 5.7k

You and Wilbur hadn’t seen each other in months. It was May, and the warm air was making the days feel a bit more pleasant if it weren’t for the glaring guilt in your chest. 

The last time you and Wilbur had seen each other was Valentine’s Day, when he’d taken a train up to London to visit you and surprise you with some takeout and roof access to your apartment — you didn’t actually know you could get up there. He wasn’t able to spend too much time with you, mostly due to your own time constraints, but it was a nice trip nonetheless. When he left, you’d promised you’d come down to Brighton to visit him soon.

That didn’t quite work out. You were going to visit for a full week at the end of the second term, however, once you’d met with your advisor, you learned just how behind you were on your final dissertation. It was incredulous because you had thought you were on track with it, but regardless you had to spend break trapped in the library, trying desperately to catch up on writing your paper on Lord Byron’s work. Then, you were supposed to visit during the Easter weekend, but you were given a paper, due in a week, that blocked any opportunities for travel. 

But you were determined this time. You had to do this. You devised a plan, and you found a perfect weekend where you would be completely free of assignments if you hustled. You even got Tommy in on it. 

“Hey, Tommy, sorry to call you like this, do you have a moment to chat?” 

You heard a laugh through the phone, “Yeah, hold on,” he mumbled something off the phone, and you could make out the sounds of him walking to another room. 

“What’s up?”

“I want to surprise Wilbur, and I need your help.” You smiled as you started launching into the details of your plan, each piece meticulously planned out for a wonderful weekend. 

He grinned, “Aw, he would love that. Why d’ya need my help though?” 

“Well,” you faltered a bit, “there’s a flaw in my plan, and it’s that I don’t know where Wilbur’s apartment is, and I especially don’t know how to get there from the station. So, I was wondering if you’d be able to pick me up and take me to Will’s?” 

“Oh, yeah, no problem, plus it’ll allow me to annoy him a bit as well, so yeah, sounds good.”

You cheered a bit, “Thank you so much, Tommy, you’re the best. I’ll text you all the other details, yeah?”

“Aw, I am the best, thank you. And yeah, that works.”

“Perfect, bye, Tommy!”

He responded with a quick bye in return, and you felt yourself grin. You had been trying so hard to find time to be able to go see him, and this was it!

You got a call a few minutes later from Wilbur himself, and you worried immediately that Tommy may have spilled something accidentally. You didn’t even have a chance to speak before he questioned you.

“Why did you call Tommy with something he will only describe as being ‘important’ and ‘for cool people only’?”

You snorted out a laugh, rolling your eyes a bit, “Well, hello, to you, too, Wilbur.”

“Hi, darling, I hope your classes went well today,” he rushed out, “Now answer my question.”

“I just had a question for him, Will.”

“One that you couldn’t ask me?” You could hear the pout in his voice.

“Nope. As he mentioned, it's for cool people only.”

He let out a gasp, indignation clear in his voice, “Darling, how could you? I am much cooler than Tommyinnit.”

You could faintly make out the sound of Tommy yelling at Wilbur in the background. 

“Don’t worry, alright?” You laughed, “It was just something only he could really answer.”

“Are there questions that exist that only that gremlin child can answer?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”

Wilbur whined on the other side of the phone, “Love, you know he’s going to hold this over me for months, right?”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“So, why?”

“Well, if I’m going to ask a Minecraft-related question,” you lied cooly, “it’s better to ask a professional, isn’t it?”

He was silent for a long moment. “...I am a professional.”

“Will, we’ve played Minecraft together for years. You’re good, but even I could beat you at PVP.”

He groaned, “Is this some ploy? Are you messing with me?”

“Is it wrong for me to try and get closer to your best friend by asking him questions about his interests?” Okay, truthfully, that was a low blow. But the surprise would make it worth it.

“I guess not.” He chuckled, “Sorry, I’m just annoyed about how smug he’s going to be about this.”

“Don’t apologize. You know I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to chat with you, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t either, love,” you could hear the smile in his voice, and the vague sound of Tommy speaking to someone. From over the phone, the room sounded louder than before. 

“Is… something going on over there?” You chuckled, trying to hide the nervousness in your tone. You didn’t even know why you were nervous. Something was just gnawing at the back of your brain, and for some reason, you just felt… tense now.

“Oh, uh,” he paused, and you could hear more people talking now, “sort of. It’s nothing big or anything just, uh, Tommy’s having some friends over is all. He and I have been hanging out for a bit today, but we’re just at his now, so he invited a few people over and stuff.”

You nodded quietly. You couldn’t help the sadness you felt fill your chest. You were trying to be there, but it was still hard to hear about all the things you were missing out on, all the times you missed him, and stories and inside jokes you would never truly understand. 

“Right, okay. Well, I-I’ve got to get back to studying, anyway, so.”

“Darling, it’s nothing, really-” “No, it’s not an excuse or anything,” It was,  “I-I just… ‘m busy, is all, so I’ll let you hang out.”

You were both silent. He knew you were lying, and you could tell. But he wouldn’t call you on it. Not now. Not when you hadn’t seen each other in months and every slight felt like a balancing act, trying to keep the other from pulling away. You were so excited a moment ago, and you didn’t mean for the sadness to overtake your entire conversation. You just couldn’t help sometimes how every conversation, every time you heard him talk about the things he was doing, cut you open more and more. He didn’t mean to, and you would never hold it against it but almost every conversation opened the wound a bit further. 

He spoke up after a minute, “Okay, well… good luck studying, and text me when you’re done,” he paused, voice softer, “I love you.”

You bit your lip, unable to hide the guilt bubbling in your chest at his solemn tone, “I will. I love you too.”

You hung up quickly, setting your phone down on your desk. You placed your head in your hands, taking a shaky breath and fighting off the tears in your eyes. It would be easier, soon. You’d see him in a week. You tried to console yourself.

 You wouldn’t admit it out loud to Wilbur, no matter how much he asked, but you weren’t entirely adjusting well to being back here, without him. The first week, you could only fall asleep if he was on the phone with you. Then, there was one night where he fell asleep before you could call. You ended up turning to an older sleep method, knowing that you needed to get to bed in order to be able to make it to classes. Before you knew it, your room became littered with empty bottles you barely had the energy to clean up. It was an interesting dichotomy, the clear vodka bottles piling on your nightstand and the white Panadol bottles piling on your sink and in your backpack. You were mostly lucky the weekend he came for Valentine’s Day, because you had forced yourself to clean up your room a few days before, meaning there was only one half-empty bottle of vodka on your shelf, and a single bottle of Panadol left on your sink (though there were numerous more inside your school bag). 

You weren’t completely lucky, though. Your weekend with Wilbur was almost entirely perfect. Until the end. Every time you thought back to the end, you watched the memory as if it wasn’t you, as if you were a watcher, not the one actually there.

You’d walked back in with Wilbur, around midnight. The apartment was mostly quiet, except for one of your roommates who was standing in the kitchen,  fixing themselves a drink. When they heard you enter, they turned, perking up a bit.

“Y/N, hey, could I borrow some vodka? I ran out.”

You’d nodded, “Yeah, I’ll grab it, hold on.”

While you’d gone to grab the bottle, Wilbur took his coat off, your roommate lightly chatting with Wilbur while you walked to your room and back. You’d only caught the ending of their brief conversation, listening in as you walked slowly from the hallway back to the kitchen, trying to not wake up your other roommates. 

“-mean, seriously, Wilbur, they can even drink me under the table. Every week, they come in with a new bottle.”

“Wait, every week?”

“Yeah!” Your roommate was laughing, and it hadn’t even crossed your mind yet that they were talking about you, “I mean, seriously, once a week, they walk in and one hand has a bag with vodka from Tesco, and the other hand has a bag from the chemist’s.” 

You walked back over by the time your roommate finished speaking, placing the bottle in front of them. Wilbur gave you a strange look as you did, going uncharacteristically quiet as you said a quick goodnight to your roommate, bringing Wilbur, and the bottle, back to your room. 

You placed the bottle back on the shelf while Wilbur closed the door. With your back turned, he spoke up finally. 

“Darling…” he seemed to struggle to find the words, “Are you… okay?”

You’d chuckled, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” he spoke, and you turned to face him. He had a sad look on his face, almost pitiful, and in the moment, it made you feel sick. “You’ve apparently been going through a bottle a week.”

Your entire body had gone rigid, eyes had gone fearful for a moment before you’d defaulted to being defensive. “That doesn’t mean anything is wrong, Wilbur. It just helps me relax, and you know that I can handle my alcohol.”

“Love, you can’t seriously expect me to just accept that answer,” he scoffed, and he almost looked mad. Looking back, you knew he wasn’t mad at you, more just concerned that you were trying to hide this from him. Even so, in the moment, you thought he was mad. While you couldn’t really place why he would’ve been mad, you knew that it made your own blood heat up. 

“Well, it’s- the fucking truth, okay? So just- leave it.”

“How many bottles?”

“Wilbur, what-”

“How. Many.” He looked tense, walking to your bathroom and grabbing the bottle of Panadol, “How many weeks has this been going on? How many bottles have you gotten? If you’re struggling, you should–”

“I’m not fucking struggling, you’re reading into this!”

“Oh, am I? Really?”

“Yes, Wilbur! I am fine, better than fine, in fact, and don’t act like you haven’t been drinking too. You always text me when you do!”

“I’m not against you drinking, but you know how insane going through a fifth a week is. I know that’s not normal for you.”

“How the fuck do you know that? Hm?” You’d practically yelled out before you spoke out again, each word spitting venom at him, “You haven’t been here, Wilbur, you don’t know anything about the way I am when I’m here! Please stop fucking acting like you know everything about me.” You’d gestured with your hands while you spoke, eyebrows raising as you looked at him incredulously, “Yes, okay, fine, you win! I have been drinking more! Basically every night, but that doesn’t mean that something is wrong with me, Wilbur. I am trying my hardest just to fucking exist enough to finish the school year, I am allowed to have vices without it being some big, stupid conversion. Now, let’s just drop it, we’re both exhausted. It’s not going to help to just stand here and argue, okay?”

You’d panted softly as you’d finished. You watched as waves of hurt appeared on Wilbur’s face, and now that the moment had passed, you’d felt just complete, immediate regret as you watched his face fall, staring down at the floorboards. 

“Yeah. Fine.” He spoke out flatly.

You two went to bed that night next to each other, still sharing a kiss and exchanging “I love you”s, but feeling tenser than ever before. 

In the morning, you two had been able to patch things up, but not before Wilbur made you agree to just call him anytime you needed to relax instead of immediately turning to alcohol. You agreed, and you’d been doing a pretty good job of it, even if you still drink sometimes. But ever since the fight, there’d been this tense air in your relationship, lingering in each conversation, both too scared to overstep and lose the other all over again.

You stared at the bottle on your desk as if it was taunting you. You couldn’t call him, so it was that or sleeplessness. You sat up, shaking your head slightly and wiping the tears from your face, taking a deep breath. You couldn’t. Wilbur would call before bed, he always did now. Instead, you distracted yourself, pulling up your laptop and writing out your list of due dates for this week and the next two weeks, albeit the tears in your eyes made it a bit harder than usual. You wrote the list on a sticky note, placing it on your laptop. Some of these things were easier to knock out than others, for sure. Three big assignments and three small ones, plus whatever reading you had to do in between. Thankfully, only two of the big assignments were due this week, the last one could be left for after you came back from visiting him. 

You got started, working on a poem analysis for your Romantic Poetry class and letting your own thoughts fade in the noise of Wordsworth and Keats. 

You’d started working on your second small assignment when he’d called later that night. You set your phone up against your laptop, accepting the video call with a gentle smile on your face. 

“Hi, darling,” he grinned, and with a quick listen to his voice, you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober. You didn’t bring it up.

“Hi, Will. Did you have fun at Tommy’s?”

He nodded quickly, turning to get comfortable in his bed, “Kid’s a menace, for sure, but yes,” he frowned, getting a better look at you, “Babe, are you still studying?”

You sighed, “Yes, Will, I am.” “It’s been like three hours, how dare they? How could they possibly assign you so much?”

“God, I wish I knew. It’s like they all just decided that everything would be due this week. I might not be able to do our video chat dinner this Friday. I have a huge project due on the 21st.” In reality, you would be taking an hour train to his place and having real-life dinner, but he didn’t need to know that yet. 

“That’s not for so long though,” he whined out, pouting.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes a bit, “Yes, but it’s Professor Brian. He makes us all come to his office hours, so he can make sure we’re on the right track, and I need to go in early before the other students can take up all the timeslots. I need to make sure I have everything prepared for that.”

He sighed, relinquishing, “Okay. I know how important all this is, anyways. Plus, graduation isn’t too far now, so you need to finish strong.” He smiled, nothing but supportive towards your academic goals. 

“Graduation will be here before we know it. Still gonna host me that party?”

You both laughed, and he nodded, “Oh, absolutely. We’ll have two parties, a moving party and a graduation party all in one.”

You smiled fondly at him, nodding, “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

He gave you a look, eyes full of love and adoration, “I miss you so much, love.”

You sighed wistfully, “I miss you too. We’ll see each other soon enough, I’m sure. We’ve waited years, we can do months.” 

He grinned, repeating your words, “We can do months.”

The rest of the conversation was standard, asking “How’s your day”s and sharing loving words. He tried to convince you to sleep once more, but you told him how important your work was, and he eventually gave up the topic. You wished each other a goodnight, saying “I love you”, before he eventually headed to bed fully. After you hung up, you looked back up at the bottle. The urge to drink was gone now. And if you weren’t going to get any sleep, you may as well continue working.

The rest of the week went by smoothly. The stress and weight of assignments and your plans for Friday kept you from sleeping properly, which at least gave you more time to work on your assignments. 

Friday approached quickly, and you couldn’t sit still in a single class the entire day, let alone Professor Brian’s class. He taught your Victorian Literature class, and he was a genuinely caring professor, despite being a bit intimidating. You could barely focus throughout class, far too excited. When it was time for class to be dismissed, you stood eagerly, but Professor Brian stood in the way for you to leave.

“Do you mind staying a few minutes?” He asked, a kind smile on his face.

As much as you didn’t want to, you really liked this professor, and his opinion of you meant a lot to you. So you nodded, following him to pull a chair up to the other side of his desk. 

He sat down, giving you a gentle smile, “I wanted to ask how your paper is going. You haven’t come in for office hours yet.”

Wow, and you thought you were the early prepper. “Well, I was planning to come in on Wednesday since it would give me a week until the project was actually due.”

He frowned, “What day is the paper due?”

You gave him a confused look, responding simply, “The 21st.”

His head tilted back, and he nodded slowly, “Right, I’ve found the problem then. The paper is due the 12th, not the 21st.”

You felt your heart stop. You pulled out your laptop, looking at the sticky note you had taped to it. You had certainly written the 21st. Fuck, you thought, realizing quickly that it must’ve been a consequence of your own mental state since you’d been crying when you wrote the list. 

“Oh. Oh, god, I’m-” You struggled to continue your sentence, too distraught. The paper was due in three days, not twelve like you’d thought.

“Hey, don’t fret,” he pulled out his calendar, humming for a moment, “It’s an honest mistake, and you’ve always been on top of your classwork. I can’t offer a major extension, but I can give you until Wednesday the 14th, but that’s only if you come to office hours first thing on Monday. I can help out with some more of the editing work for the paper, but only on that day, and you’ll need to have at least most of it worked out. I trust in your abilities to create a well-thought-out thesis, especially given your passion in previous classes when we’ve discussed Wilde. Does that work?”

You nodded quickly, fighting tears as your entire plan crumbled around you. “Yeah, yes. I-I can do that.”

“Alright.” He offered you another kind smile, though it did nothing to stop the feeling of the world-shattering around you, “And are you alright? You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t wish to, but you were much more quiet in class today than usual.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing now, anyway.” You sighed, biting your lip to keep it from quivering too much. You stood, pulling your bag on while he nodded slowly.

“Keep your head up, alright? You’re a brilliant student. I don’t like to see you falling behind.” 

You knew he meant no harm with his words, but it added to the pit of self-hatred that you were slowly sinking into. 

You just nodded, turning and heading towards the door, “Thank you, Professor.”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

“You too,” you spoke, trying to put more enthusiasm into your words than you actually felt. 

You practically ran out of the hallway, the air feeling like it was choking you. You walked to a random bench outside, on the edge of campus, unable to stop yourself from completely breaking down. You’d been planning this for weeks, how could you have fucked up this bad? You sobbed, head in your hands. 

The tears didn’t stop. The sun was starting to set, and all of a sudden it felt like there were too many eyes on you, so you stood and ran. You ran all the way to the water, panting heavily as you stared out at the river, standing on the old bridge that was always abandoned this time of night. You stared at the water as you sobbed, chest heaving as you struggled to breathe. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

You had to call Tommy. You already felt like enough of a fuck-up, you could at least prevent him from wasting his time picking you up.

With shaky hands, you took out your phone, dialing Tommy.

It rang once before he picked up, your sobs immediately carrying over the phone.

“Y/N?” He asked, panicked, “Are you crying, did something happen?”

You heard some arguing over the phone, but you could barely hear it over the sounds of your own crying as you began to speak, “Tommy, don’t- I-” your voice quivered, biting your lip hard enough to bleed. 

There was still some arguing happening on his side, but you paid it no mind.

He tried to say something, but you cut him off before he could as the words broke through your sobs. 

“Don’t- don’t bother p-picking me up,” you sobbed out, “I f-fucked it. I fucked it all up.”

“Y/N, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“It’s- it’s stupid, I- I’m sorry. I can’t- I can’t come anymore. I fucked up,” there was sarcastic laughter behind your words as you continued speaking, tears streaming down your face, “I can’t, fuck, I- I fucking ruined everything, I- I was trying, I am trying, but I-” you gasped for breath, one hand clutching your chest weakly as you sat at the edge of the bridge. 

“Take a deep breath, come on. What are you talking about?” It almost sounded like he was pleading. 

“I just-” you sobbed, trying to muffle your cries to get your words out, “Tell Wilbur I’m sorry.” You pulled your phone away from your ear, ending the call despite hearing his panicked voice through the phone. You shoved your phone in your bag, curling up into a tight ball as you sobbed until you could barely think.

Unfortunately for you, you could still think. Your sobbing had been reduced to slow tears and the occasional hitch in your breath. As the sunset faded into the night sky, you became so acutely aware of how you’d fucked up your relationship. The one you’d spent years pining for, that you wanted to work so hard for. You let all of it fall apart. Even when trying so hard, your trying just wasn’t enough. You stood up, walking to the railing and staring down at the water. 

The rushing water felt like it stared back at you. 

You gripped the railing tightly, and you suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe all over again. You slowly backed away, letting go of the railing and trying to collect yourself. 

Once you were calm enough, you turned, walking the slow trek back to your apartment. Your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and it’d be impossible to hide that you’d been crying even if you tried. You realized off-handedly that you had no clue how long you’d been there sobbing. The sky was your only reminder that time had even passed. 

You walked to the apartment slowly, body feeling drained. When you opened the door, you were met with all three of your roommates in the living room, staring at you with concern. One of your roommates, Jayden, sighed softly, speaking into the phone and looking away. 

“What’s going on?” You asked softly, voice cracking. You didn’t have the heart to be embarrassed. 

“Wilbur called,” your other roommate, Quinn, spoke up softly. 

You didn’t bother responding, just nodding and walking to your room. They didn’t fight it, watching you quietly. 

You grabbed the bottle, laying down in your bed, and staring at it. There was barely anything left, probably about a shot’s worth. Your hands shook as you stared, mentally waging a war over whether or not you’d take that final sip. A sob wracked your body, and instead of drinking it, you threw the bottle against the opposite wall, watching it shatter and spill over the floor. You couldn’t be bothered, turning away from the door and curling up into a tight ball. You heard movement outside your door, but you didn’t move, and eventually, the footsteps departed. You closed your eyes, lying drained on your bed and letting yourself drift in and out of restless sleep.

When you came to at one point, you could make out the sound of someone picking up the pieces of glass you’d shattered. You wanted to turn, to mumble a thank you to whichever roommate had cleaned it for you, but you felt frozen in your own sadness. You listened, though, keeping your eyes closed. The sounds of each shard falling into a bag, the sound of a towel wiping at the wet spot left by the vodka. Then, there was a pause before you heard the gentle sound of footsteps moving toward your bed. You felt the bed dip, and you couldn’t fight the confusion that creased into your brow. An arm slowly wrapped around you, and you let your eyes open, taking a moment to process. You thought you must be dreaming.

Your voice sounded weaker than you’d hoped it would as you spoke. 

“Wilbur?” You turned, looking up and seeing the face of your lover staring back at you. He looked as exhausted as you felt, and it looked like he’d been crying as well.

You sat up slowly, and he did the same, brushing back some of your hair. 

“Hi,” He sighed softly, sitting across from you, “You scared the shit out of me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and your hands reached for him as if to make sure he was actually, really there in front of you. He held onto your arms gently as well. 

“What- what are you doing here?” “You were on speaker when you called Tommy.” He sighed softly, “We could only come for tonight, but we really need to talk. We could wait til the morning if you’d prefer.”

As much as you’d like to have one last good night in his arms, you’d rather rip the bandaid off now.

“No, let’s talk now.” You sighed.

He nodded, watching you quietly, “Can you tell me what happened, then?”

You took a shaky breath, nodding softly. “I was going to come down this weekend. I spent weeks planning it, making sure I could get everything done in perfect timing. But that night I called Tommy, after you called me, I started crying, and I wrote down one of my due dates wrong,” you sniffled, chuckling sardonically at yourself. “God, it’s so stupid. But my professor stopped me after class, and he extended the due date, but he could only extend it by two days. So, I couldn’t come to surprise you anymore, and,” you sobbed, biting your lip and trying to hold yourself together, “I called Tommy and let him know that he didn’t- he didn’t have to pick me up anymore.” 

Wilbur nodded as he listened to you explain. He knew you better than you ever wanted to admit. “On the phone, you said… you ruined everything. You weren’t just talking about the plans, were you?”

You shook your head, moving your hands to hide your face behind them, “No.”

“Did you… think that I would stop talking to you because of this?”

You took a shaky breath. It felt like your last chance to be honest while you still could. So, you let the words spill from your mouth in endless streams.

“I just- I haven’t been doing well, Wilbur, ever since I got back here. I was drinking every night, really heavily, and I know it wasn’t good. And I’m sorry for how I talked to you that night, I was just scared and defensive, and,” you took a shaky breath, “every time we’ve talked after that fight, everything would feel different, and I was just getting terrified that my time was running out, that you were going to finally decide that you’ve had enough of the fucking mess that I am. Every time you would tell me about the cool things you were doing, I just couldn’t help but feel like it was cutting me open, no matter how happy I was for you, and now, I just I feel like I’m an open wound that can’t close no matter how much I try. And I am trying. You have to believe me, really, I am trying. I didn’t,” You cried softly, head still in your hands, “I didn’t drink it. The rest of the bottle, I-I didn’t drink it. I am trying.” You felt like you were pleading for him to believe you.

“Hey, hey” he spoke softly, gently holding onto your forearms, “Let me see your face. Please.”

You let your hands fall, looking up at him. You never felt smaller than in that brief moment where you could feel him seeing you in your entirety. 

He gently moved a hand to your cheek, wiping at your eyes softly. 

“I know you’re trying. I’m proud of you for not drinking it. Really, I’m insanely proud of you. I can see that you’re trying. I’m not going to leave you or stop talking to you because you’re struggling. That doesn’t mean what happened is okay, but darling, you need to communicate with me. Neither of us are going to be perfect about anything, and I know I’m not perfect with it either, but when you start having these thoughts and ideas that I’m going to leave you? That’s when you need to come to me and talk to me. I know it’s hard, and I’m not expecting it to be an easy or quick fix, but I need to know that you know that you can come to me. That I’m someone you truly trust. Because if not, it will just hurt us both.”

You nodded quickly, leaning into his touch, “I’m sorry. I’m going to try, I just- I get so in my head sometimes, I just-” You took a shaky breath, and he carefully moved forward, pulling you into a tight hug. You hugged him back just as tightly, burying your face into his chest.

“I do trust you,” you whispered, “I’m just scared you’re going to see me the way I see me.”

He took a shaky breath, kissing the top of your head. “And I’m just trying to get you to see yourself the way I see you.”

You sobbed softly, clinging onto him tightly. He held you just as desperately, rubbing your back.

“I love you,” you spoke softly once you’d calmed down enough, “so much.” “I love you so much too.” He pulled away, only to pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The kiss felt like breathing, a strong sense of relief in the physical confirmation that despite everything, you didn’t lose him.

When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, and you both sat like that quietly for a few minutes.

“I missed you,” You spoke softly, looking up at him. “You said you’re only here for tonight?” 

“I missed you too. Even if it didn’t go as planned, at least we still got to see each other this weekend,” he lightly joked before nodding, “We are only here for tonight.”

“Wilbur, I can’t go to Brighton anymore, I have to write my paper,” you sighed.

“Oh, no, I know. I wasn’t talking about you.” “What?” “Tommy insisted on coming with. He was really worried too. He’s currently sleeping on your couch.” 

You chuckled, your chuckle soon turning into full laughter as you imagined Tommy’s lanky limbs leaning off your cheap couch. Wilbur started laughing as well, arms still wrapped around you, slowly rubbing up and down your back.

Once you stopped laughing, you leaned into him, relaxing against his chest. He moved both of you into laying down. 

“I’ll talk to him in the morning. Today’s been exhausting. Can we just sleep?” Wilbur nodded, kissing the top of your head once more. “I would love nothing more than to sleep with you right now.” 

You groaned, lightly hitting his chest, but you couldn’t deny the laughter that bubbled up in your chest. 

“Goodnight, love.” He grinned.

“Goodnight, Wilbur.”

taglist: @shubblelive / @superioritycomplexes / @your-shifting-gurl (send an ask/dm me if you want to be added)

[tennessoui]

may ko-fi: mer au part 3!!

ok so technically it is june now and officially no longer mermay but a girl was busy last night and watched challengers instead of writing mermaid sex and she's very sorry (disclaimer: there is no actual mermaid sex in this final part)

but i'm only a day late and i consider it a solid win!! the last part of the mer au fic has finally been posted on my ko-fi for monthly supporters to read and it puts the whole mer au at a completely unintentional 19k (that's not a special number i just thought the original fic would be like. 6k. so. whoops.)

here's a little snippet!:

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees. “For mers, usually when they’re courting, they—well. I suppose you know how mers court their intendeds.” Anakin blinks. “How would I know that?” Obi-Wan can feel his lips thin out for a moment, his eyes tighten. “You were the queen’s intended,” he reminds him carefully. “She must have courted you in the only way she knew how.” “Oh! Oh,” Anakin says. “Yeah, alright. She brought me things, yeah. Pearls and jewels and, uh. Fish at one point. So I gave her, like. A fork?” Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a long breath through his nose. “She really liked the fork,” Anakin adds, defensive. “I’m sure,” Obi-Wan says, and the truth is he thinks she probably did love the human object. The queen has always been fascinated by the human world. Perhaps if she were born as any other mer, she would have tried, as Obi-Wan had tried, to live among them. Anakin looks over him critically. “You don’t have a fish, right?” he asks, sounding hesitant. “Only it was all bloody, and I’m not really…hungry. Right now.” “No, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says.

as a quick reminder to how these ko-fi fics work, every month i post at least one new ficlet (from 4k to apparently 19k) to ko-fi in the gallery section - each gallery post contains a link to a google doc in its image description, and you have to be a monthly supporter to access those image descriptions! there are quite a few at this point if you're interested but this is absolutely not at all something i expect or demand or any other hard action verbs from anyone who likes my writing (but im so so grateful and thankful for anyone who does ofc)!! im still posting fics on ao3 and on tumblr. it's just new and different fics up on ko-fi! they're all a bit silly, like superhero anakin x journalist (maybe villain?) obi-wan, jedi werewolf obi-wan and jedi anakin, divorce lawyer obi-wan x serial-groom anakin, etc etc

[arthropod-concoctions]

(AO3)

Grian's ears were still ringing when he respawned, back at home. He closed his eyes, buried his face in his hands, and groaned.

“I'm so sorry, Scar,” he muttered to himself. He'd decided to go make an apology to the man himself as well, as he would also be waking up right about now. Grian opened his eyes-

And immediately noticed that he was not in his own base.

He sat up and looked around to get his bearings. He was lying in a soft green bed, in an organically-shaped room with walls of living wood and beautiful wood-carved furniture. Jellie was lying in a cat bed a few meters away.

Scar's base. Why on Earth am I in Scar's base? He thought. “Scar?” he called out, then cleared his throat, because his voice sounded incredibly hoarse. There was no response.

He got up to go find Scar, but barely made it two steps away from the bed before collapsing onto the floor. His legs felt like he'd walked a marathon. That was concerning; respawn pain wasn't supposed to be this intense, even after exiting a hardcore world, and he'd barely even hurt his legs when he died. His ears were the part that got hurt-- and they still did. He rubbed his ears, hoping to make the ringing stop. It didn't, but Grian noticed something else: his ears had pointy tips.

“Wait a second...” Grian suddenly had an idea of what might have happened. He hastily dug through his horribly unorganized inventory for something with a mirrored surface. He eventually found a hand mirror with golden decorations, which he'd never seen before, and looked into it. A scarred face with dark green eyes looked back at him.

“Oh no,” Grian said, in Scar's voice.

He was in Scar's body. That must be why his legs hurt so much, he realized. He looked around and quickly saw a cane carved from spruce wood leaning against a nightstand, with a large green crystal worked into the design. Grian grabbed it, and immediately felt the pain lessen; slowly, he stood up again. For a second he tried to rebalance with his wings, but of course they were gone now.

This was a very big problem; seemed like something had gone wrong separating his and Scar's soulbond. He should probably check how his own body was doing; he closed his eyes to Watch elsewhere--

And nothing happened. He just opened his two regular eyes again.

He sighed. “Right. Scar's not a watcher.” he'd have to go check things out the old-fashioned way, but before then, he decided to send a quick message to everyone online. He pulled out his chat; the device was colored cyan and orange.

Grian joined the game

GoodTimeWithScar joined the game

<Cubfan135> heyoo

<Zedaph> Hi there!

<GoodTimeWithScar> guys

<GoodTimeWithScar> there's a big problem

<Cubfan135> need some help, Scar?

<GoodTimeWithScar> not right now

<GoodTimeWithScar> but

<Grian> no im having the time fo my life lol

<GoodTimeWithScar> im not scar

Grian experienced kinetic energy

<GoodTimeWithScar> that is

Well, at least Grian's questions of what had happened to his body and Scar's soul were answered now. He decided to go find Scar, and see if he had any idea what to do now. He left Scar's treehouse, opened his elytra-- mechanical elytra, he'd have to get used to those again-- and took off.

He flew towards Scarland's main street at first, before realizing his mistake; he set his own spawn point at his own base, so that would be where Scar was. Sure enough, when he approached his base he also saw a figure with black-and-white wings circling around the rocks floating high in the sky. It was a surreal sight.

Grian ascended up to where Scar was flying around-- quite clumsily, he should add-- and called out to him: “Scar!” he landed on top of a rock, nearly losing his balance but regaining it by using Scar's cane. Scar, who had been singing to himself, looked in his direction.

“Flying around, so gracefully on the wings of a- WHAT IN THE WORLD!” Scar shouted, the sight of Grian spooking him so much he involuntarily flexed his wings, and he began to fall down.

Grian watched Scar plummet down and try to recover, frantically flapping the wings but not letting them catch any air, before eventually hitting one of the rocks floating lower down and dissolving into white smoke. Grian winced, and began gliding down again, towards his bed this time.

He touched down just in time to see himself rolling out of his own bed, visibly shaken. Scar looked in his direction and startled again, falling back onto the bed.

“That was hard to watch. Hello, Scar,” Grian said to him.

“I don't- who are you and how have you- wait.” Scar stammered, before stopping to think for a second.

“...Grian?” his expression on Grian's face was dumbfounded. I hope I don't look like this much of a loser when I'm myself, Grian thought to himself.

“Yeah. It seems we've done a bit of a switcheroo for some reason. What, did the wings not give that away to you?”

“Yeah, but I thought we'd just merged together for some reason! I didn't think you would be in my body!”

“And that didn't concern you for even a second?”

“No, I was having too much fun for that. Look, dude, I have wings now!” Scar said, and spread his wings out again.

“Yeah, I know, those are my-” Grian didn't finish his sentence, distracted by the sight of Scar jumping up and flapping the wings, not gaining any air at all, and faceplanting into the ground. He groaned.

“You just respawned. You have to give them a few minutes before they work again.”

“That's lame,” Scar said, sitting up. “Anyway, what should we do now?”

“I dunno. Maybe we should go check on some of the other people that've come back, see if they're- what's so funny?” Grian said to Scar, who was giggling.

Scar stifled his laughter, and waved his hand. “Nothing, nothing. Keep talking.” His smile looked very out of place on Grian's face.

“Right. So, check on the other peeps, or maybe we should talk to X and see if- why are you laughing?”

Scar's giggle had evolved into a full-on laugh now. “I'm sorry!” he said between wheezes, “It's just... I sound so stupid with a British accent.”

Then he added, doing a terrible imitation of Grian's accent: “'maybe we should go see X to-' see, I just sound normal now!”

Grian pursed his lips, then whacked Scar on the shoulder with his cane. He half-expected to feel the impact in his own shoulder as well, but fortunately that wasn't in effect anymore.

“Hey, back off!” Scar said in response. “You know, technically you're hitting yourself when you do that. Self-harm is very unhealthy, don't you know?”

“Oh- you're one to talk, mister powdered-snow-baths!” Grian responded. “Anyway, I think I'm going to go check on Tango and Etho now. You wanna come with, or...?”

“Okay!” Scar said, before standing up again. “Let's fly, bird boy! Wait, no I'm the bird boy now. Let's fly, elf boy!” With that, he spread his wings out once again, and successfully took off this time. Grian grabbed a firework rocket and followed suit.

“Remember, Scar, I'm using regular elytra now. So if you fall, I'm not gonna be able to catch you.”

“Oh, you think I'm gonna fall? Of course not, I am an expert at flying with wings now! Did you not see me practicing...” Scar's voice faded into the distance as he moved closer and closer to the ground, too distracted by talking to keep his altitude consistent.

Grian heard his own voice yelp from below, and burst out laughing. Server-moving bugs aside, it was nice to be flying again. It was good to be back.

(next)

[altraviolet]

Hello! I'm not sure if its okay to send asks rn. I'm sorry if they aren't open. I was curious about something small and was hoping to ask you. (If it isnt, pls feel free to ignore me and im sorry again).

I was re-reading some chapters of The Echo Garden and Rodimus mentioned learning Soundwave's Cybertronian so they can have a secret language. (So cute!) I was wondering if they were going to do that? And also, are there any details you could share about the differences between 001 dimension cybertronian and Soundwave's Cybertronian? Also also, the explanations you have for 2938 Cybertronian are very fun to read about.

Hi! It's totally ok to send asks :) I open anon asks every once in a while for people who are nervous about asking not-anon. But asks are always open to people who are signed in.

>if they were going to do that?

Oh yeah... they should, shouldn't they? ;) Good reminder.

>any details you could share about the differences between 001 dimension cybertronian and Soundwave's Cybertronian?

I don't have any really hard and fast rules in mind. Sometimes with worldbuilding you can get away with making general statements without having details sorted out, and that's the case here. If I think about it for a lil bit I can give you this:

-I imagine the LL's NeoCybex has more influence from human language than Soundwave's, due to those mechs being wayyyy more open to conversing with organics, as well as the influence of Movie Night and the movies that they get from Thundercrackers as they travel

-in terms of grammar and structure, I think of the two methods of speech as truly being accents. they can absolutely understand each other. the biggest difference is found in writing. An Earth example would be something like: Urdu and Hindi are mutually understandable via speech, but they each use a different alphabet. 0001 and 3244 have different slang, and the body-based aspects of their language use (field pulses and biolight signaling) are quite different.

I didn't have the time or points of view to get into it in TEG, but every time an alt dimensioner boards the LL, at least a tiny bit of their culture gets absorbed. You've seen it via the 2938 "glittering polymorphy" in Ch 45. I honestly don't have Ambulon or Trailbreaker's influences fleshed out. Those would be interesting to think about and either touch on in this fic, or perhaps in a sequel or related story. This is inspired by the phenomenon that happens in the real world- cultures meeting and swapping ideas/fashion/food/language/etc.

>the explanations you have for 2938 Cybertronian are very fun to read about.

Thank you! After the fic is done, I'mma have an Afterword with a FAQ, and I'll explain the inspiration for that (it's the same as the 'meaning of Soundwave' thing).

This does give me a chance to do something I've been thinking about for a few months: visually representing the way they speak in an economical manner. I wish there was a way to represent in text how the 2938 mechs spoke, while keeping the text accessible to screen readers. If I knew a way to do it, I would've done it throughout the fic in a way that looks something like this:

That would probably be exhausting and annoying to read, but 2938 Megatron is exhausting to comprehend. I didn't play around much with opacity in the examples here, but if there was an accessible way to do this, I'd love to do it with color and shape and tilt and opacity. Make it as otherworldly as possible.

The only way I know to do this on AO3 would be through images, but they would really stick out against whatever default formatting any particular reader might have. (there's mouse overs as well, but eh, doesn't give the spatial property)

If the fic were being read aloud, you could whisper those words around their 'root' words. But, here we deal in pixels ;)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed that little trip into my brain! I love languages and culture and all the good things. Thanks for the ask! :)

[silverskye13]

just binged all of redstone and skulk in one go. HOLY SHIT!!! i left some comments on ao3 but that wasn't enough. i needed to come to your tumblr too bc this fic has Changed Me A Little. it makes sense- i've been subscribed to you on ao3 for a while (remember hound's tooth? i think that was when i started following your writing. and monsters splitting hairs, although i'm not quite caught up on that one), and that was for a good reason- but tanguish and helsknight are something else! part of why i like fanfiction is because i get to see more of characters i already like- it takes a special fic to get me so invested in characters i've basically just met! and you do it so well! like. the subtle character things! the way i can pick out the hermits' (and martyn's, but i'm calling him a hermit for the sake of convenience) traits in the helsmits, but warped and twisted around like a funhouse mirror? fantastic. i love it. im eating that shit up. the ilttle differences and similarities between tango and tanguish, helsknight and wels (bc he isn't acting very knightly right now), impulse and the demon- it's so cool to see! i also saw the other ask you got where you talked about your process, and how you give your characters a list of traits as a guide to writing them- i'm definitely going to have to borrow that trick. it works! so well! it shows in your writing in the consistency of how the characters behave!

some other thoughts i had while reading:

helsknight being religious probably has a lot more to do with him being a knight than wels being a lutheran irl (which is where his name comes from and i find that hilarious), but still. if it's unintentional it's hilarious and if it's on purpose then it's a fun easter egg!

i relate to and understand tanguish, because i too would want to befriend helsknight, and also because if a bunch of big scary people basically adopted me and tried to teach me how to use a knife i would be so pathetic about it.

i relate to and understand helsknight and tango, because tanguish is the weirdest little cat ever and i too am captivated by his pathetic little freak charms, and i want to be his friend.

i neither relate to nor understand wels, because 1) if i saw my friend's presumably-evil counterpart skulking around the shopping district i would likely call them first (just seems like the polite thing to do, and also bc if helsknight showed up and the ppl who found him didn't call wels about it i feel like he'd probably be more than a little pissed), and 2) look at tanguish. he's just a little guy. he's a little guy and it's his birthday. how could you be mean to him.

tl;dr: redstone and skulk has compelled me to the point that leaving comments on ao3 wasn't enough, i needed to ramble straight into your inbox because it's just so good.

Oh my gosh! Firstly: thank you for all the kind words! I'm glad you're liking my writing so far, and thank you both for the comments and the scurry into the inbox. I love hearing people's thoughts, even if I don't have the spoons to respond to everyone all the time :'D

For your bullet points:

-- I didn't know Wels was Lutheran! I knew he was ex-military, and at least in my family's trends, military and religiosity go hand in hand, so it makes sense. But still! Learning new fun facts! I know nothing about the Lutheran Church [I was raised Baptist.] Probably gonna do some reading later.

-- I feel like Tanguish is going through that phase of "all the biker/military uncles have decided I'm one of them for some reason" and as someone who has gone through that before, for the same baffling non-reasons [used power tools in their presence once, a la Tanguish barely participating in a fight once] I sympathize. Very interesting somewhat scary people. Why did you invite me to sit at your table. Why do you keep slipping me tequila and buying me knives like I'm in on the joke.

-- Tanguish is such a specimen we all just want to look at him under a microscope. He is so scared yet so brave. He thinks knives are scary but he leaps off buildings. He's scared of getting hurt and seeing blood but he has no regard for his personal safety. How do you fit so many oxymorons in such a tiny body---

-- Wels please, he's a little guy and it's his birthday! Stop bullying him!!

Addendum: I agree Jackrabbit is very Tanguish coded. It is now on the playlist.

Want to live like an animal?

By the skin of your teeth?

Put your good face on, you're foolin' no one

You're a jackrabbit underneath

One step forward, step right back

Run for the hills, honey, run for the hills, honey

Run for the hills, don't look back

[mirandapriestlyswife]

Mirandy Apocalypse Fic- Chapter 1

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Hi everyone! Ive decided to make the first part of this released fic into a prologue and this will be the first official chapter. Hopefully I’ll be able to upload to AO3 soon. Enjoy! :)

read prologue here- https://www.tumblr.com/mirandapriestlyswife/747204446805704704/mirandy-fanfic-apocalypse-au-prologue

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Miranda fucking Priestly. The bitch lives. Well.. Kind of.. She didn’t look older per-say… More broken maybe. Her eyes looked hollow. As if they’d witnessed the worst that was to come. Her gorgeous white hair somehow remained almost perfectly styled. Did this woman have some kind of hair department she was keeping in a bunker to avoid infection??? Andy had just assumed that alike every other rich asshole, Miranda had purchased some underground bunker upstate. Yet here she stands. Staring directly into her soul.

“Andrea..?” Mirandas voice sent shivers down her spine. Andy gaped in disbelief that this woman was somehow still alive. Young, relatively healthy Lily had passed in a matter of hours. Yet 54 year old Miranda Priestly stood in front of her looking as healthy as ever. She noticed how Miranda was eyeing her up and down, probably trying to determine if she was a hallucination or not. Andy swallowed but it seemed her mouth had gone dry, “Miranda..? I-.. You’re alive.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of an observation. Was she happy to see Miranda alive? Absolutely! If this was quite literally any other person alive Andy would’ve ran straight at them and given them the biggest bear hug she could muster. But this was no ordinary person, no, this was Miranda fucking Priestly.

Miranda pursed her lips slightly which made Andy wince. She should’ve been kinder with her greeting.. The older woman cleared her throat “I am? I hardly noticed.” She said with disinterest. How could anyone be disinterested to find out they are in fact not the last person on Earth?! Unless Miranda was actually still making every single Runway employee come in to work everyday. ‘Yes im aware there’s a global pandemic but is that really an excuse for our swimwear shoot to look so lackluster?’ Andy could practically imagine her saying. She attempted to swallow but was once again met with cottonmouth, “I- I- are you- are you real..?” She practically choked on her own words.

“Am I real?” Miranda scoffed. “Of course Im real. If anyone here is a hallucination its you.” Andy was almost offended by this woman’s lack of shock. Did Miranda really think so little of her? That she wasn’t even worthy of a proper acknowledgement of ‘Hey! It’s great to see Im not the only person here! It’s been months since I’ve had someone to talk to!’. She took a deep breath and then she felt the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. This was all too much. The death, the loneliness, but now she had someone, someone to make her less lonely, but of course that had to have been the one person that wanted nothing to do with her. She wailed. Having no shame of fully breaking down in front of her former boss.

Mirandas eyes displayed… Sympathy.. almost. She stared at the crying woman.. Before eventually walking closer to Andy. Close enough to touch, close enough to hug. But.. Hugging would be too much. For the both of them. Or at least that’s what Miranda had decided. Instead, she placed a firm hand on Andys shoulder. “…Im glad to see you.” The way Miranda says it so slowly, so firmly, it puts Andy at ease. She doesn’t stop crying, but the wailing ceases. She took a deep breath and rushed to Miranda, throwing her arms around the shorter woman. In any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have dared touch Miranda. But this was quite literally the end of the world.

Andy sobbed into Mirandas shoulder. Oh how wonderful it felt to hug someone. Someone that was alive. Someone that she knew. She knew once they’d both gotten over the shock of seeing someone breathing that Miranda would probably kill her for getting tear stains on whatever designer blazer she was sporting midst of the fucking apocalypse. Leave it to Miranda Priestly to still be fashionable as ever even when there’s quite literally no one else to see.

Eventually she felt Miranda put her arms around her already trembling body, causing more sobs to erupt from Andys mouth. She pulled away quickly and wiped her tears with shaking hands, only to put her hands back on Mirandas shoulders, for some assurance that she was in fact real.

“How are you- how are you alive? I- im so..” Confused? Happy? On the verge of a panic attack?? Miranda took a deep breath and with surprising gentleness, removed Andys hands from her shoulders. “I would like to ask you the same thing.” Even with her gentle touch, the older woman’s voice still contained some bite. Perhaps she was still upset over Paris? Couldn’t she put aside their petty differences and look at the real problem at hand? They were possibly the last two people left on Earth. “Are there.. any other survivors with you..?”

Miranda went dead silent. Andy wasn’t even sure if she could hear her breathing. She looked absolutely broken, she then scoffed, as if to hide her moment of vulnerability. “‘Survivors’ you say that as if we’re in some sort of fictitious zombie apocalypse.” She let out a deep sigh as the sorrow to her voice returned, “No.. There’s no survivors with me.”

Andy felt a pit in the bottom of her stomach. That must mean- oh God.. “Oh Miranda.. I’m so sorry..” That must mean the twins had passed. Miranda looked teary eyed, she gave Andy a curt nod and looked away, of fear of crying. “Yes well.. I’m sorry as well.” She sniffled and Andy practically saw Mirandas heart break. She sighed and gazed at Miranda sympathetically, she opened her mouth to say something when she was interrupted. “What are you doing at Elias-Clarke?” Andy was almost offended by the question, it was asked so accusatorially. What was she doing at Elia-Clarke? What are you doing at Elias-Clare?! “..Just looking for some familiarity. Something nostalgic to fill the day, you know.” Miranda looked at her from head to toe, just as she had her first day on the job. It made her feel small, even it was done out of habit. “‘Familiarity’? You haven’t worked here for 2 years.”

“3 years.” Andy corrected. It’s been 3 years since I- um.. since.. Paris.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow, “Well I have much more important matters at hand then remembering when my second assistant abruptly resigned in disgrace.” Andy cracked a small smile, “From what I remember you gave me a pretty damn good letter of recommendation.. I mean good coming from you.”

Miranda gave her an unamused look. “I called you my greatest disappointment, what about that to you screams ‘pretty damn good’?” Andys smile widened, oh how she missed this. Having a conversation is something she really took for granted. “Actually you said ‘biggest disappointment’.. And you also said that anyone would be a fool not to hire me..”

The other woman smiled almost fondly at the thought. Maybe she missed conversations too? She never pictured Miranda as an extrovert in her free time, but surely everyone craves some type of human interaction from time to time. “Yes, yes, do remind me of my generosity after you left me stranded at a show with no assistant.” Ohhh the bite was back. “Mira-“ She started, but was abruptly cut off when she heard the sound of a microwave going “ting”.

Andy froze. “…You have… You have power?!” She’d been living on expired chips and cans of beans for months!! And this woman was having fucking microwaved dinners?! A luxury in retrospect.

“Of course I have power?” Andy was in utter shock. How?? How did this woman have power?! “But- the power companies.. I-I- mean I’ve been living in the dark for months! Besides battery powered stuff and-“

“..Stuff..?” Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Well I have no idea why you would do something as barbaric as that.. Half the buildings in this city have some sort of generator.. Elias-Clarke’s has been running strong for a few weeks by now.”

“A few weeks?!” Andy scoffed

“Yes Andrea, thats what I said isn’t it?”

“Do you even know how long generators last?! It’s less than 3,000 hours! I mean-“

“Did I say it was running constantly?” Miranda scoffed and turned on her heels, walking towards the microwave that was positioned behind Emilys old desk. Since when did Runway even own a microwave? And since when did Miranda Priestly eat anything that even so much as touched a microwave? Andy watched in wonder.

“I turn the damned thing on for less than 30 minutes a day. I figure when it eventually stops working ill simply.. Move to another place of residence.” The way Miranda spoke with such ease, as if this all came naturally to her was a bit unsettling.

“‘Another place of residence’? You live here? Why would yo-“

“Honestly Andrea, do you think I would want to live in the house where my daughters died?”

Andy froze. The way those words flew out of Mirandas mouth with such hostility.. Underneath the that frigid mask, Miranda was in fact a grieving mother. It made Andy’s heart ache. She no longer felt as if she was staring at the untouchable queen of fashion anymore, but a human being. She watched Miranda pull out the steaming microwaved dinner, God it smelt delicious. She hadn’t had a hot meal since the power was cut in New York.

You know how in zombie apocalypse movies they usually have an estimate that all of New York City would be infected in around 24-48 hours? Well they weren’t too far off in all honesty. Once the infection had reached its peak, it was swift to take the lives of pretty much anyone that hadn’t caught it already. God knows Andys run into her fair share of corpses. Thats part of the reason she tried to not move around a lot, fear of running into the corpse of someone she knew.

“You relocate a lot?”

Miranda rolled her eyes as she peeled back the plastic of her microwaved meal. “I’ve moved around from time to time. I prefer to sleep in my office.”

“Really?”

“No, im clearly lying to entertain you.”

Andy cracked a smile, which Miranda caught and stiffened, almost as if she were flustered. The older woman cleared her throat as she focused her attention back on her microwaved meal, moving it onto some of the fine china she always kept in her office. Though this set looked newer than the one she used when Andy worked there.

“Well, I stay in my friend Lily’s old apartment.. Its about.. An hours walk from here? Not sure-“ She laughed awkwardly, “Ive kinda stopped keeping track of time..”

Miranda hummed.

“Lily? Is that a relative of some sort or-“

“My best friend.” Andy interrupted. Miranda looked shocked at the fact that Andy had the balls to interrupt her, which made her smile a bit brighter. Miranda shook it off and picked up her plate of hot microwaved mush, briskly walking to her main office.

Andy froze up for a moment, did this woman seriously walk away mid conversation?? I mean sure, she hadn’t talked to another person in months, but she still knew her manners! Her smile faltered and she followed Miranda, who was now sat at her desk, poking at the hot still partially frozen “steak” on her plate.

Miranda looked up, unsurprised that Andy was still there. Probably looking as disgusting as ever in her unwashed jeans and sweater that was over 5 years old.. Yet Miranda gazed at her fondly. Not in the way someone would gaze at a long lost friend or even a former coworker. No, she gazed at Andy as if she were some souvenir from some vacation from a better time. As if she were some cherished snow globe.

“Well..” Miranda began as she cut into her unappetizing meal. “If you’re truly an hour or so away from home, I recommend you be on your way.”

What?? Was Miranda seriously kicking her out?! I mean.. She didn’t expect she’d ask her to stay the night.. But downright kicking her out?! Andy let her frustration simmer in the back of her mind. Can’t allow herself to get in a fight with quite possibly the last person in all of New York left alive.

“…Right.” Andy sighed and straightened herself upright. “Well I’ll be on my way.” She turned to leave, making it as far as her old desk before Miranda called out.

“Oh, and Andrea?”

She stopped and turned around. Miranda cleared her throat. “Be back here tomorrow at 7 AM. Thats all.” She then turned around in her creaky office chair to gaze out at the empty city.

Andy was absolutely livid. Now she had a damn schedule to follow?! She took a deep breath.

“Yes, Miranda.” She said through gritted teeth, in which Miranda only made a small noise of approval at, which to Andys annoyance made her heart flutter.

She grumbled to herself her whole walk down what felt like a thousand flights of stairs. What a shitty situation. It’s the end of the goddamn world and the only company she has is a woman that shes sure hates her guts. But at least for the first time in months she had something to look forward to.. Which made Andy smile.

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Hope you enjoyed!! :)

[space-apples]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47493238

if you want to read it here and not on ao3, it’s under the cut !!!

The sun was just rising from the horizon, but Mumbo was awake. It wasn’t the first time– it wouldn’t be the last either– yet he could feel his eyes ever drooping. Despite that, he remained awake, not particularly doing anything but observing, noticing, discerning. Scar was asleep, of course, next to him, and it was times like these that Mumbo was reminded just how beautiful Scar was. His long brown hair, slightly tangled but still woven around his head so delicately that Mumbo could trail his fingers through his husband’s– husband, husband, husband, oh gods his husband’s– hair. The sun’s light was not quite reaching his face, but Scar had still radiated warmth. Even the things that weren’t typically seen as “perfect,” or what wasn’t societally deemed charming, Mumbo paid attention to each detail as if it was the last thing he’d ever pay attention to. Mumbo could only hope that he gave as much warmth to Scar as he did him.

What if Mumbo didn’t? What if he wasn’t enough?

A short yawn and a couple blinks broke Mumbo from his trance, and Scar slightly jolted, giggling softly to himself.

“Well, hello there,” he said groggily. “It’s so early, why’re you awake already?”

Mumbo’s soft smile grew ever more sheepish as he tried to think of a legitimate reason other than ‘I thought my husband was pretty.’ or, ‘I thought you were pretty.’

“Oh, uh– I dunno– Uh– I was– I was looking at– Looking for uhm–”

Scar was waiting patiently, although his eyes were still half lidded, and his blinks were getting longer each time he started to close his eyes.

“Oh geez. I’ve bored you already.” Mumbo brang a hand up to his forehead, probably attempting to hide his face, but Scar grabbed it before he fell down a self-hatred spiral.

“No, my love, you’re not boring me,” he started. “It’s just that it’s five– six o’clock in the morning, and I was too busy staring at you last night to actually go to sleep.”

Mumbo could only get out one word of surprise.

“Oh.”

But his thoughts clouded and interrupted each other in a fit of… excitement? Being Flustered? Either way, all he could think of was oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, he was looking at me, he was looking at me, he was looking at me, I want to hold him and never let him go. Mumbo cleared his throat.

“O-Oh,” he repeated, simply. His ears had turned bright pink.

“Oh,” Scar also said, another giggle escaping his lips. Scar kissed his forehead, and Mumbo’s ears turned even redder as he went back to sleep.

Mumbo flipped out his communicator, quite almost immediately, in a frightful mess.

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian… Oh my gosh, dude. What do I even do, oh my gosh.

< Grian > Whispers to you... well. you could always use tnt?

< Grian > Whispers to you... give them a little scare. touch their redstone. start wars.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling softly to himself. Mumbo supposed he should have given context, because of course Grian would suggest something like that if he didn’t know what was going on. To be honest, Grian probably would suggest something like that even if he did know what was going on.

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian… Sorry. I’m talking about Scar.

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian… He’s just so sweet, Grian.

< Grian > Whispers to you... oh

< Grian > Whispers to you... im guessing youre not going to use the tnt then?

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian…Definitely not.

< Grian > Whispers to you... boring

Mumbo rolled his eyes, and thinking that was the end of it, he closed his communicator. Until it buzzed again.

Grian blew up.

< Grian > Whispers to you... see? im not boring like you gay people

He cackled before putting it away– really, this time– and traveled quickly to see if Grian needed any help getting his stuff back.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The day had started out well enough, but that high of being near his husband and having fun with Grian was slowly fading. Mumbo needed to finish this stupid project. It was so close to being finished, all he had to do was set all of the redstone to be in its place, but Mumbo’s head started hurting after a few hours. He couldn’t really understand why. Sure, he was sleep deprived, but it shouldn’t have been as terrible as he felt at this current moment. He felt a buzz from his communicator, and while he really did want to check it, he decided against it in an attempt to stop the repeated pulsing that was going on in his head. He needed to focus on trying to get this redstone pulse to start going, anyways.

The comm buzzed again, and he forced himself to place it where he couldn’t see it; he couldn’t finish this project if his migraine got worse, and he didn’t want to think about how bad it would get if he stared at his electronic device for too long.

It faintly buzzed for a third time while Mumbo put it in his bag, and he bit his lip, wondering if it was important. He faintly wondered if he didn’t answer now, would he get in trouble? Would people be mad at him?

What if whoever was messaging him was in trouble, and all he was doing was setting up pointless redstone contraptions. What if whoever was messaging him was dying, was asking him for help, and he wasn’t looking because if Mumbo so much as blinked too hard, his head would scream at him.

This was stupid. He was stupid. He should just check the goddamn thing.

And– No. It would be fine, Mumbo thought. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal. People don’t answer messages all the time, and so far nothing tragic has happened. Mumbo compelled himself to keep going, to avoid checking whatever messages he had gotten, and to just take a deep breath. It would be fine. He would be fine.

Still, still, that nagging voice that had stuck into his brain kept asking him the same thing; what if he wasn’t good enough?

.

.

.

.

.

.

Mumbo, per usual, wasn’t sure if he knew what was going on. His migraine had alleviated over the next few hours, albeit slightly, but coming back home had made it spike right back up again. Scar was sitting at the table, spinning the small spoon in his tea. Scar looked at the cup so intently, it was like he was trying to memorize each individual tea leaf. Normally, Mumbo would come home before Scar. Normally, Mumbo would notice the slight tremble in his partner’s hands, the slight quiver in his voice as he said his greetings, the nervous and terrified look his eyes seemed to possess.

Normally, when Scar would ask Mumbo about his day, he’d go on about all the different changes in the flowers scattered across his and Grian’s base, about the changes he made in his vault, the work he’d done, the redstone that gave Scar a headache when Mumbo would try to explain. But now–

“It was good,” was the short and simple reply to Scar’s question. Scar seemed to deflate in response to his words, and normally– normally– Mumbo would notice. But his head felt like it was splitting into pieces, and he couldn’t act the way he ordinarily would. On any other day, he would have wanted to ask what was wrong, what he could do, but right now? All Mumbo wanted to do was sleep.

“Have– Have I done something wrong?” It was so quiet Mumbo almost missed it. Almost.

“What?” Mumbo finally, finally truly opened his eyes to see Scar nervously fidgeting with the different sets of earrings. “Not– Not at all, dear. Have I done something to make you feel like you’ve done something wrong?”

Scar shrunk a bit more into himself. Ah. So that’s a yes. Guilt poured through his chest, and despite not knowing what he did, Scar was upset. He was the one who made Scar upset. He wanted to cry, he wanted to berate himself and never show his face ever again. Mumbo’s head was screaming, shouting at him– not enough, not enough, not enough, not enough– before he shut that down. This was about Scar. He could resolve his own guilt later.

“What’s going on, love?” Mumbo’s voice was soft– partly because saying things too loudly made his headache worse, mostly because he didn’t want Scar to feel more upset than he already was.

Scar bit his lip, as if he was hesitant to share. At that, Mumbo continued, trying to ignore the blaring spikes in his head.

“I want to help soothe whatever is making you feel–” Like you’re not enough. “–whatever it is you’re feeling right now. But– But I can’t stop doing something that makes you feel bad if– if you don’t tell me. I’m a genius, but erm– I haven’t figured out how to read minds yet. Unfortunately, erm– Unfortunately Minecraft Redstone For Dummies doesn’t exactly cover it.”

Scar gave a half smile, and that should have been enough to make Mumbo’s headache go away, if that was at all how headaches worked. But– he frowned again, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I don’t want to make a big deal–”

“Sorry to interrupt, my love, you know I really enjoy hearing what you have to say– But this is a big deal,” he said, and rushed to his next words upon seeing Scar’s expression. “And that’s alright! Things are– Things are allowed to be a big deal.”

A few seconds passed, then a minute. And though Mumbo’s migraine was getting ever so worse, he stayed, patiently waiting for Scar to share however little or however much he wanted to.

“We– Gods, this is going to sound so stupid, but I got really– I got really nervous when I woke up by myself this morning, because I– I didn’t know where you went.” Scar wasn’t looking at Mumbo in the eye, yet Mumbo hoped Scar knew that he wasn’t angry at him as he was talking.

“I’m not– I don’t really know why it bothered me so much, but then I messaged you after I had a scary time in the nether, but I didn’t get a response, and then– I guess– I guess I’m just used to hearing a lot about your day. I love hearing about your day, because you just– you have this contagious excitement whenever you’re talking about random redstone mumbo jumbo that I have absolutely zero clue on what you’re talking about. Redstone mumbo jumbo–” he repeated the words. “–it makes you so happy, and you, Mumbo Jumbo. You make me happy. But today– it might be an off day, or something, because I just– I was worried that I wasn’t making you feel happy anymore.”

Near the end, Scar became more quiet, slumping even more, and looked down at his hands self consciously. In return, Mumbo gently cupped Scar’s face with his own hand, tracing his cheek lightly tracing one of Scar’s horns with the other.

“Scar, I don’t think you understand how happy I am when I’m with you, Just– just thinking about you makes my chest beat a little bit faster.” Mumbo gently grabbed his husband’s hand, putting it lightly against his own chest. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you can feel it. I don’t know how that works, but I– I hope you get the sentiment.”

Scar’s face crinkled in small amusement, and Mumbo continued.

“I– I’ve had a horrid migraine this whole day,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I didn’t communicate that.”

Scar’s eyes widened, and he broke Mumbo’s hold by placing his head in his hands.

“O-Oh gods, that– Makes a whole lot more sense.”

“No need to be upset with yourself, love–”

“I’m not– I mean, I slightly am, but only because I didn’t notice.”

“Scar, it’s not a physical thing, I don’t expect you to notice a physical thing,” Mumbo said lightly.

“It’s not a physical thing, but you do physical things when you’re in pain,” Scar murmured. “You furrow your eyebrows sometimes. You– you do this thing where you pinch your nose with your fingers. Your voice gets really strained when you try and talk, and–”

Mumbo’s ears were turning pink in embarrassment.

“I– I didn’t realize how you– how much I– Am I that predictable?”

“Mumbo, I don't think you understand how much I love you.” Scar softly smiled, lightly bonking his forehead against Mumbo’s. Ow. “You’re not predictable– Well, maybe you are a little bit– but that’s only because we’ve been together for so long.”

Mumbo’s ears turned a darker shade of red.

“O-Oh,” he fumbled over his words. “G-Gosh darn it, Scar, I was trying to help you, and now you’ve– Oh gosh–”

Scar stifled giggles before responding.

“You have helped me. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

“...Really?” Just like Scar previously, Mumbo was hesitant to believe it. He didn’t think he was particularly helpful. He didn’t think he was particularly good enough. Scar pulled away from the hold to kiss him lightly on the forehead, as if that would cure his blazing headache.

“I mean– all of my silly little insecurities won’t go away in an instant, but I– you being around me at all just makes me feel a bit better. You don’t even have to do anything, if I know you aren’t tired of me or something.”

“I could never be tired of you,” Mumbo hastily said, and Scar softly smiled.

“And I could never be tired of you, sunshine. You– You make me happy, is what I’m trying to say. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s made me as happy as you have.”

Oh. Oh. That. Oh.

Mumbo didn’t know how to respond, and apparently Scar knew that, because he stood up, walking with his cane over to the kitchen. He came back after a few seconds, holding a couple of Advil pills and a glass of water.

Mumbo was amazed, to say the least.

“Can you– Can you mindread?”

Scar giggled.

“No, sunshine. I’ve been married to you for two years,” he said fondly. “Now go to sleep.”

Mumbo wanted to stay up later, but the pain in his head made it pretty difficult to argue, plus, Scar was warm, and he didn’t want to leave that alone.

Sometimes Scar’s heart was so warm it burned himself, and Mumbo knew this.

He was really hoping Scar wasn’t deflecting his own issues to comfort Mumbo’s, but once he remembered the words his husband had spoken he couldn’t stop thinking about them.

“You have helped me. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

And maybe– just maybe– Mumbo’s worries about not being good enough lessened.

And as Mumbo snuggled in closer towards Scar, maybe his worries about being unloved had lessened, too.

Like Scar had said earlier, it wouldn’t be rid of right off the bat, but maybe– maybe they didn’t have to get rid of their “What if”’s– at least, not completely.

Because, as much as Scar wonders, “What if he doesn’t love me?” he should counter with, “But what if he does?”

Maybe that would be good enough for now.

Either way, Mumbo would be good enough– not just for now, and he wasn’t just good enough– he was more than that. He was Mumbo; and that made him ethereal.

[swifty-fox]

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬!

thank you @antiquitea for the tag! ✨ sorry I made u feel oldTM

tagging in @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @bitchsister @sig-nifier and @avonne-writes!

questions and responses under the read more to save your dashboards 😉

how many works do you have on ao3?

only eleven!!

what's your total ao3 word count?

115,430 (and most of that is probably kfak and one old guard fic lol)

what fandoms do you write for?

Currently only for Masters of the Air but I've also written for The Old Guard (my bewoved)

and wolfstar and aftg but i wont touch those again for various reasons lol

top five fics by kudos

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder - Buck x Bucky (Masters of the Air) 528 kudos

Make Me A Saint - Joe x Nicky (The Old Guard) 448 Kudos

press your tired hands against my lips darling - Buck x Bucky (Masters of the Air) 432 Kudos

Little Beast - Buck x Bucky (Masters of the Air) 368 Kudos

The Calcification of a God - Joe x Nicky (The Old Guard) 294 Kudos

do you respond to comments?

yesss i try to respond to every single comment. After the first 48 hours of a fic/chapter being posted I do get lazy with it but I do get around to everyone eventually!

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

In another life maybe you and i will be walking down the aisle in white (The Old Guard (Movie 2020)) (18,264 words) lol It's got MCD in it cause I was #coping after losing my grandmother. It was really well received though

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

uhhhmaaaa....Kfak WILL be?? probably????? Or Little Beasts AU but im so far out from finishing that. The first two endings are pretty emotionally ambiguous I wouldn't quite call them happy.....so maybe

Oh Captain, My Captain! (Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling) (1,612 words) (wolfstar) even though its angsty and kinda implying Remus is dying lmfao

do you get hate on fics?

I got like one comment on a recent chapter that I wasn't sure was hate but otherwise no not really! People seem to receive my stuff really well

do you write smut?

LOL if you asked me four months ago I would have said no <3

craziest crossover?

I don't really do or read crossovers! I did a few years ago start concepting a Wolfstar x Eastern Promises au though

have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope! I've had art stolen though. Someone even got it tattooed without my permission which pissed me off pretty bad lol

have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah I have lol. I orphaned it though cause the fellow author and I had a massive falling out over Peter fucking Steele of all things

all time favorite ship?

Always and forever Malec from The Mortal Instruments (BOOK ONLY) or DaveKat (Homestuck)

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I started a really fucking awesome supernatural horror that took place in rural Maine for Wolfstar as well as actually a Fae/WWII au (inspired by the Bastogne episode of BOB) that I will not be finishing for... reasons.

The ringing in Remus’ ears is so loud he almost doesn’t hear Sirius. There’s a sharp pain on his tongue, rot and muck coating his taste buds. He cannot breathe, his hands shake. He thinks he may be making a noise. In his head there is a voice. His mothers his voice except he doesn't have a mother does he? Not since he was seventeen and whole. His mother’s voice crooning in his ear as she once did around the green 1960’s kitchen.

There’s a bird who sits on a tower. There’s a bird who sits on a tower - who sits on a tower, with beady eyes so clever.

Where did that scar come from?

“А bird who sits on a tower…” He mutters. 

“Pardon?” Sirius asks, snapping Remus out of his thoughts. 

He starts. 

The cabin is up ahead, peeking between the snowy trees like a warm wooden refuge and even at the sight of it Remus feels an uncurling of nerves in his gut. His flesh settles back onto his bones and the ringing eases back to a manageable level. He watches a sodden bloody bee drag her dying body across the dashboard. 

“Cults...you were saying?” - Factis ut credam facis

-

“Hello there Sir Raven.” He says with a chuckle “I don’t suppose you’re one of the King’s are you? Or Churchill perhaps. That would be quite a long way to travel.” 

Sirius puffs up his feathers and clacks his beak at the Man because even though he didn’t quite understand what the Man meant, he knew a compliment when he heard one. Bravely, he hops closer, the warnings of his parents and even of James ringing in his ears. But the shiny thing is dangling free and curious from the Man's neck and he must know what it is. 

“Haha. What a handsome fellow, handsome indeed. Much more well fed than we all are.” The Man laughs, setting aside his Paper and rummaging around in his Clothes. “Still, I bet pickings are getting a bit slim nowadays, even for a clever old Raven. Have you had digestives before?” 

He holds out a hand, nearly as large as Sirius himself and as elegant and pretty as the branches of a willow. All of the Man was like a tree, sharp lines and slightly less sharp curves. There was something in his hand, sweet-smelling and crumbly. Sirius turns his head first one way then the other, regarding the hand with both beady eyes as the warnings of his people ring in his ears. James' voice be careful plays at the forefront and he shakes out his wings in irritation. Man would catch him. Man would hurt him. Capture him and take him away never to be seen again like his Uncle Alphard. Man did not understand magic and magic did not like Man and so Sirius too, did not like Man. Men who burned and tore apart forests, who killed his kinfolk and killed animals and killed each other. And really, Sirius just wanted to understand. It could not be this man, with his quiet words and his offer of food who had destroyed his people. Surely there were other men, cruel men, who had done this and so it would be okay for Sirius to be brave and a little bold. 

“That’s a handsome old boy.” The Man whispers. 

Well that does it then, surely no evil Man would notice how beautiful I am. He must be like my other man with the Paper. Sirius thinks, leaping into the air just long enough to snatch the prize from the Man’s hand and retreat far enough away to devour the sweet treat with his clever beak. It was delicious, dry and crumbly and so sweet that it makes him shiver. He hops boldly onto the Man’s hand, searching for the last crumbs of the food between the cracks and crevices of his skin. - untitled WWII/Fae fic

what are your writing strengths?

Apparently heartwrenching angst <3

what are your writing weaknesses?

I think i don't linger over things long enough, I feel like i can dive more deeply into feelings and scenes if I just stopped and contemplated over them lol

thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I think when done right it adds a lot! I like when authors put the translations at the bottom of the fic/chapter though

first fandom you wrote in?

ouughaaa Probably Maximum Ride back in the late aughts

favorite fic you've written?

Sorry y'all it's definitely Kingdom for a Kiss haha

[slutshamethesquirrels]

~Welcome to the Shamesy Show~

hello my fellow lames <3

for those of you who don't yet know me, my name's Shamesy, i'm 25 and i got ONE (1) anon bully on tumblr when i was 14 and never returned to the platform lmao

now that im a big girl and not scared to throw digital hands, i'm working on expanding my little fandom corner of the internet and figured there was no better place than right here where i was always meant to be.

i predominately write jjk fanfic, make jjk centered playlists and tiktoks, simp for geto, you catch my drift. i have a problem.

if you want quick access to all my socials, you can go here

if you're not interested in me as a person and just want that sweet sweet jjk x reader fic, you can go on and pop over to Ao3 where you'll find a variety of different works.

other wise, stick around and i'm gonna give you the low down on me and answer some FAQ's!!

pictured: a bastard

ah, yes. the short answer is: i got beef with them.

long answer? my childhood best friend had a huge tree in her front yard and the squirrels quite literally used to intentionally throw nuts at us while we waited for the school bus in the morning. since then, i have wished nothing but pestilence upon them, their mothers and their cows. however, i am an animal lover through and through so slut shaming seemed like a good medium between my loathing and my adoration. not enough malice to cause any actual harm, but enough to let them know i find them distasteful.

yes, and no.

shamesy is good at some things: cooking, singing (debatable) , and being dependable in a crisis. what she is not good at is keeping in touch. so if you're trying to be my online buddy please understand that i will probably ghost you for days, weeks, sometimes months on end. i have no excuse for this behavior, my lizard brain just works like that. i have a friend who i literally message and say "hi this is my bi-annual check in, how're ya bud?".

alternatively, if you do not explicitly state that you are over 18 in your bio you can forget it. i was a child on the internet once so i understand i may seem like an asshole when i say this, but there is z e r o. good. reason. for an adult to be friends with a minor. point blank. period. if you are a minor and you have an adult friend you need to block them now. trust me. (and dont come at me with that "oh what about 17/19" or "what about 16/18" yall know what i mean)

however, i am ALWAYS down to be moots with other adult weirdos on the internet so <3

please drop it in my asks! i am always down to answer questions, take feedback, and build and establish lore!!

do keep in mind that i am one humble dumbass from the Appalachian mountains in small town USA, so my writing and grammar isn't always gonna be perfect. far, far from it actually! but i love stuff like this (yes, even the critiques) as long as it's polite.

fair warning: if you're a dick i will also be a dick.

example of a not dick critique:

"hey shamesy, i would really like it if you could flesh out scenes like (x,y,z) more"

this will earn you a not dick response

example of a dick critique:

"hey shamesy your writing sucks and you're annoying"

this will earn you a dick response

that is the plan, stan. eventually.

tbh im still figuring out how all this works. you'll probably see me fartin' around reading some of your own lovely works to get the hang of it! if anything, probably just my shorter drabbles and one shots for simplicity's sake. seeing y'alls hella layered multi chaptered posts make me sweaty from anxious. i have the runs trying to wrap my brain around how to do that and make it all aesthetic and pretty. y'all are goated ig idk.

yes! i would love to read your writing! however, i am extremely picky about fics i recommend so please don't be offended if it's not put on my list!

anywhore, why am i still here?

why are you still here?

any additional questions can be dropped in my asks!! <3

love you and hope you don't pee your pants anytime soon

xoxo gossip girl

[ageless-soul-au]

HIHIHI OKAY. i absolutely love flicker. do you accept fanart (might be a silly question but im 16 and want to make sure before i actually draw/send in anything. im here for my boy /lighthearted)

but besides that. ive never seen anyone else actually hc that downfall hero of time DIED AS A KID and i am SO GLAD other people feel the same. like dont get me wrong everyone has their own opinions and none are wrong but. I LOVE FLICKER. i love that the gods didnt quite catch him in time to put him to sleep and he took the sword to ganon and held his own until beast ganon. it makes me do a little happy wiggle.

he was not a "valiant, noble man, tragically lost to evil" he was a misguided child told the world rested on his shoulders and because of that, he was killed. and i LOVE that kind of tragedy

so. flicker supremacy, thank you very much.

Hi hello!!!! Omg you had so many great points, thank you for the enthusiasm!!

Mostly for the 18+ warning, we're trying to keep minors away from the main fics bc there are heavy, potentially triggering topics and NSFW-ish things there. As long as you have your community labels set up right on the blog tho, it should be safe to browse/interact with (though main blogs are different, Kio's is strictly 18+). I'm not your dad etc etc, practice caution online, we really only ask that minors don't read the fic or view the NSFW. We'll still probably be writing ASAU by the time you turn 18 tho so maybe see u on ao3 then?? XD

TLDR, it's up to you if you wanna make art of the lil guy. We appreciate everything that comes our way!

The decision to keep Flicker 9 years old came from a discussion on why the hero failed in the downfall timeline. Bc if things progressed like they had in OoT, then Link would have still won! So what needed to change in order for him not to win? It wasn't bc the player just went out to play basketball instead of beating the game /ref

The sages put Link to sleep bc he wasn't ready to wield the sword. But nothing changed except his size. He was in a 17 year old's body, but his mind hadn't matured any. Somehow he was able to pull it off tho, and everything turned out fine (or... It depends on your definition of fine).

So the sword didn't put Flicker to sleep. He didn't get stronger. And he's a tough kid, but that only goes so far. He also rushed to get to the final boss, which Time didn't do, so Flicker got there underprepared in his haste. He died, then the goddesses went "oh shit, that shouldn't have happened!!" and reset the timeline. And as we know, a reset doesn't mean that the original timeline goes away, now there's just two versions of the story.

Poor lil guy... His Zelda (Aria) and the sages managed to pull it together, but the timeline was still pretty fucked. I can't wait for when we get to what happened to it in the fics, but that won't be for a while. Flicker is still out there tho... In the forest... Doing his little guy things....

Thank u for ur interest! Maybe we'll have gotten to Flicker's point in the story by the time you're 18 hchdhdj

-Kio & Mizu