#probably will cut that down to three for the sake of my sanity but like. yknow. LOL.

[hideyseek]

OH BOY GUYS. OH BOY. MY THE FIRST SHOT MUTUALS ... OH BOY. the coda fic is going to be ...............probably actually fucking good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

I'm writing out my Hazbin Hotel Theory because I'm already seeing a lot of hate for Lilith and praise for Lucifer and that's not it and I think I'm about to break some hearts... So here we go:

Your favorite duck boi is a fuck boi. After giving Eve the apple, he's the one who wanted a bite, went back, and cheated with Eve... While he was still married to Lilith.

Lilith eventually found out about Eve and Lucifer's affair because Eve eventually became pregnant... With Charlie.

Lilith was devastated by her husbands infidelity because she saw it coming from the moment Eve was given that apple but she eventually forgives Lucifer and agrees to raising Charlie as her own child with the caveat that the family cut off all contact from Eve after Charlie is born and they never see or hear from Eve ever again.

Eve, however, does not like this and wants Charlie to know who her birth mother is, wants her claim to her throne, since she's carrying Lucifer's only heir, and probably just wants Lucifer to divorce Lilith and marry her altogether.

But no one can know about this of course because that would just make Charlie a bit of an illegitimate bastard child, now wouldn't it?

Lucifer, being the depressed, conflict avoidant people pleasing pushover that he is, suggests a fun little "game" the ladies could play wherein they could sometimes "switch places". Meaning that when Lilith got particularly sad or sick of looking at Lucifer or Charlie because of constant reminders of betrayal, she could fuck off for a little while for the sake of her own sanity, while Eve could come on down and momentarily fill Lilith's place, as Lilith, get to be with her biological daughter, Charlie, for a little while, even if Charlie can never know the truth that it's all a little bit of farce but most immortally, Eve can get a little bit of a taste of what it's like to be royality every now and then. It's a done deal, according to Lucifer.

Lilith had never been entirely happy with the new arrangement but she lets it take place if only because she knows that she had never been faithful to her First Husband ether to begin with and she also knows that childbirth is supposed to be a cruel and unusual punishment and she starts to feel kind of bad for Eve because she feels like Eve has suffered enough without being allowed access to her biological daughter... So Lilith agrees to the idea of getting at least some vacation time away from this man who was unfaithful to her in the first place so that Eve can have her access to Charlie even if it's through a cheap imitation of her. One day Charlie will figure out not to be so trusting, all three of them will tell Charlie the truth, Charlie will learn that Lilith's love for her is stronger than Eve's blood connection to her, and Charlie will never want to see the face of the woman who impersonated her True Mother, and was really only in it for the glamour of it all ever again.

Every time Lilith would try to remind them that they eventually need to cut the charade and just tell Charlie the truth though, Eve and Lucifer would keep refusing, Charlie never figured anything out despite growing older and Eve would make cutting remarks that because of Lilith working so much, Charlie could barely tell the difference anymore between ether of her mother's faces so, she might as well not come home at all.

This causes a HUGE rift in the family and for Lilith and Lucifer to become separated, after all, she begins to become doubtful of Lucifer's loyalty, wondering if he and Eve might be sleeping together again behind her back, and she begins to wonder if Charlie is stupid for not noticing all the times when her beloved mother would "change", or if Charlie knew about the arrangement all along, preferred Eve as her bio mother, and never cared for Lilith being her 'True' mother at all? Lilith is extremely hurt by this and ends up spending less and less time at home anyway, it's not as though Eve is gonna start making her own contracts as Lilith in Lilith's place, right?

So anyway, Eve gets cocky and power hungry and makes a contract as Lilith in Lilith's place... Eve makes a contract with Alastor, also tricking him into believing she is Lilith.

At which point Lilith has officially had enough because Eve has stolen her husband, her daughter, who Lilith took in and loved and protected more than she knew Eve ever would or could in the end, and now, Eve was deceiving and stealing Lilith's own worshipers, and this was the last straw for Lilith. As soon as she finds out, she whisks Alastor away for seven years and draws him up a counter contract, explaining everything to him in the process, including some choice slang.... Like, she gave him all the tea, babes! All of it.

The terms of Alastor's counter contract state that Lilith will help Alastor out of Eve's original farce of a contract of course if Alastor agrees to protect Charlie and "Help" with that farce of a Hotel... But that Alastor in turn must never speak a word to Charlie about her True Parentage or her status as a kind of illegitimate bastard heiress that Lilith simply agreed out of the goodness of her own heart to take in.... Because that's gonna be the hardest part for everyone when it comes to it, (expect maybe Alastor) because that's gonna have to be Lilith's job.

The reason why Alastor hates Lucifer so much is because he knows the truth, that Lucifer cheated on Lilith, and let's be real Mr. Mama's Boy Respect Woman Juice probably murdered several men in his mortal life just for doing that to his own mother? So he probably wanted to murder Lucifer on the spot for being an unfaithful cheater cheater pumpkin eater the moment he saw him? But more than that it's the fact that he's being forced to watch over the illegitimate bastard heiress of hell and the woman this unfaithful man conceived her with owns his soul because he decided to be a cheater in the worst way possible and he knows he wouldn't be in this mess if this short little bastard man didn't decide to just fucking cheat on his beautiful wife, Hell's Queen, in the first place ...

Anyway, Eve is probably in Lesbians with Roo to begin with.

Lilith probably made a deal with Lute to kill Adam because she's coming for Eve and Roo next. Kill Bill style.

Alastor probably made a deal with Charlie so he can use her to try and void both of her mother's contracts with him and then spill the beans to her and thus become her advisor and the only person she can trust so he can use her sensitivities/vulnerability over her new found fucked up familial situation and "Guide her potential" and asdfghjjkll;.... Can we stop hating on Lilith now? She might be played by Lady Gaga and it's giving misogyny, guys...

[hurricane-heatt]

FIRSTLY i do not know how i hadn't seen your ao3 before now and i'm losing my MIND i'm about to read it all bc i just read casualty of you and now i'm SCREECHING secondly... the fic writer questions: 11, 4, 30, 49! x

FIRSTLY AWAHHHH THABK YOU SO SO MUCH!!!! i hope u enjoy <3333

secondly gonna stick these answers below the cut!!! just because i started rambling ehe

11- Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

oh absolutely pairing-wise it will always be sebmark for me… i think i am just entirely struck by the different phases of their relationship? 2009 is an entirely different vibe to 2013 who is an entirely different vibe to 2017 and that makes fic writing them sooo fun for me its never a chore to write sebmark. beyond this teammate rivalries are just absolutely compelling to me i think the dynamics and intricacies are so so interesting, especially gaining more insight on that from marks book was just eeeee i loved it (fuck u helmut marko for everything you ever do). personality wise too they both suit each other well in terms of rpf and they dynamics that i’ve always written and like writing.

character wise i love writing seb. i rlly hope i do him justice because i just love his voice and his humour and his mannerisms. he’s my love ever and i love him so any pairings with him in i am always heart eyes over.

4 - What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

i’m gonna take this as any fic i’ve written so! i think anything in good men die too verse i am hugely proud of. i did a bit of research for crush about street racing (a lack of in thoroughfare which i often get annoyed about but oh well) and so i think i got the car types right. either way it sounds professional so shrug!

an unreleased fic i have a bit of detail on is my siren!seb fic, its entirely unfinished but i did some research about mythology surrounding mermaids and sirens and think it’s pretty good in that!!!

30 - Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

oh boy most of my ot3 fest fics (i have three fulfilled hopefully! haha 3) were quite a new experience. i won’t spoil a ton but writing threesomes is hard man. lots of limbs

49 - What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

ehehehe. its a another fucking sebmark au! heir to father’s business seb nearly gets assassinated and his driver mark (annoying, gets in the way, keeps making fun of him) saves his life and thus is made his bodyguard in order to protect him. he hates mark already but this really pisses seb off, a constant shadow. also it’s called bad for business yes like the sabrina carpenter song

it’s going to be my first multi chapter and i’m anxious as balls about it and i really kind of hate the tone at the minute so it needs reworking. first chap is basically done but want three written before i post anything just for my own sanity. but here’s a little snippet of them winding each other up

+

Why has Britta put the medicine on the top shelf, for fuck’s sake, she knows he’s not that tall. He gets on his tiptoes, but the box is pushed further back by the tips of his fingers, rather than grabbing it.

“Let me, Mr Vettel.”

And then, the lean body of Sebastian’s driver against the back of him, reaching up to the shelf with zero effort. His fingers dash against Sebastian’s, and it’s a much more successful retrieval, bringing down the box of pills to his height.

Sebastian turns, putting his back to the countertop, the bare skin under his hoodie just brushing the cool marble. He’s close enough that he can smell Webber’s cologne - sharp. Masculine. Like the rest of him, ever predictable.

Webber takes a short step back, probably assessing how abnormally close they were. He puts the box into Sebastian’s open palm. The pills shake inside upon impact. He’s pleased, but through gritted teeth, like a dog finally being allowed a treat.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

+

so yeah!!!! i rlly hope i do finish it and get it out because the idea has been brewing for months.

thank u so much for all the questions and ofc the love for casualty of you <33

[a-tale-of-legends]

Night Call

Summary: Night terrors are a bitch.

Notes: Just wanted some hurt/comfort between Ramona and Arven. You can see their relationship however you want, I just care them. Also for the sake of my sanity, I'm just referring to Sada, since Scarlet was the first version I played.

~~~~

Ramona groaned as her Rotom phone rang in her ears, her peaceful slumber abruptly ending. She lazily reached over for her phone from her bed, squinting as the light hit her face, causing her already sour mood to sour even more. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she looks at the caller: Arven. The fuck is he calling for this late at night? Fucking hell.

Too upset to ignore, Ramona answers the call, rubbing her eye as she's about to give Arven a piece of her mind.

" What." She hisses out, her annoyance front and center. She was expecting some sort of rebuttal, a typical Arven quip if you will. She wasn't expecting to hear a choked sob on the other end of the call. Shit.

"S-sorry-" Arven starts, but Ramona cuts him off immediately.

"No!" she quickly responds, catching herself to lower her voice, since it's so late. Her previous tiredness and annoyance have evaporated completely, her body now on high alert, ready to move if needed.

" No, no, it's alright Arven," she clears her throat, ".... What's wrong, Arv?" she asks gently.

" I-" Arven doesn't finish, another sob replacing the words. Ramona can hear the soft whine of Mabosstiff from the speaker. That's good, at least. Whatever happened, at least Mabosstiff is able to help keep Arven relatively calm.

" Are you hurt?" Ramona redirects, and Arven sniffs.

" N-no....not physically,"

Ramona feels a wave of relief washed over her. Of course. Of course, he's not hurt, he's in his dorm with Mabosstiff. Of course....okay.

" Do you want me to come over?"

Silence. She hears Mabosstiff gruff a little, and if Ramona knew any better, the dog was giving his trainer a small nudge.

" .....You don't have to," Arven says softly, his voice still strained.

" Yeah, well I want to," Ramona tch's, a slight annoyance coming back, " But do you want me to?"

".... Yes please,"

Ramona smiles for the first time in this entire conversation.

"Okay. On my way,"

~~~~

Ramona knocks on Arven's door in three gentle raps. This is probably the most gentle she knocked on anyone's door since-

Nevermind.

The door opens slowly, Arven's frame coming into view. A full inch taller than her, yet he seems so small. His eyes are red, clear tear strains down his cheeks, with more tears threatening to fall. Behind him is Mabosstiff, eyeing his trainer carefully as if he's about to break.

" Hey there bud," Ramona says softly. She steps into the room as Arven moves aside. The vegetables and other fresh products always made Arven's room smell, well, fresh. The moon shone through the window, adding a pearly white glow to the dark room.

Ramona hears the door close as she walks to Arven's bed. She sits down, signaling him to come over,which he does. The two sit on the bed, Mabosstiff laying on the floor next to Arven's feet. Neither of them talk.

Ramona knows she's not the best at being comforting. She can hardly really take being comforted herself. She never really got that. Especially from her parents. Every interaction was a minefield,every action had to be precise ( three knocks, no more no less). Looking back, it was pretty pointless. Her parents were always angry with her anyway, regardless of what she did. So now, with Arven, what can she say? What does he need right now? How can she ask without sounding like an asshole? The best she can do is just think.

" I had a nightmare," Arven is the first to speak, one hand clenching the other. Ramona nods, immediately connecting the dots in her head.

"About Area Zero?"

" I...I guess? I just-" Arven's face scrunches up, a familiar frustration spreading across his face, " I thought I was over it, you know?! I went ahead and tried to understand who she used to be, and decided what I wanted to be in spite of that,and I thought I was done. No more living in their shadow o-or worrying about far off what ifs!"

" And then you had your nightmare," Ramona finishes. Arven's anger deflates, slouching down and burying his face in his hands.

" I just want it to be done. I have you guys now, I don't know why this keeps happening," he croaks.

Keeps happening? Has this happened before?

"..... You're allowed to grieve her, you know that right?"

Arven doesn't reply, only leaning on Ramona's shoulder,the side of his head touching hers.

"Arven?"

" Do you have nightmares? About....them,"

"Yeah," Ramona says coolly, choosing to ignore the blatant redirection of the conversation, " Not as much as I used to, though. Maybe cause I'm here and they're-" she waves her hand absentmindedly, " wherever the fuck they are.....still get scared they might come back,"

" None of us will allow them to touch you if they do,". Arven's statement is accompanied by a very soft ruff from Mabosstiff, even showing off his insanely sharp teeth. Ramona snorts despite feeling genuinely touched.

" Thanks," Ramona yawns, the fact that it's late at night finally catching up to her, " But seriously, you allowed to grieve her. It's not just a one and done deal,"

" I mean," she yawns again, " I grieve over my parents, despite them not deserving it,"

"....Really?"

"Mmhm," Ramona hums, the tiredness is really settling in now, " Sometime....I wish things were better,"

" Yeah....me too...," This time Arven yawns, which is then followed by Mabosstiff, causing the two teen chuckle.

" I guess that's our cue to get some sleep,huh." Ramona only hums as she scoots on Arven's bed, laying down on the soft sheets. Arven raises a brow at her.

" You're not going back to your dorm?"

" Are you going to carry me there?"

" No,"

" Then there's your answer,"

Arven rolls his eyes affectionately, leaning down the bed side to give Mabosstiff a good night scratch.

" Fine, fine. But you're helping with breakfast tomorrow,"

" Kaaay," Ramona yawns for the uptenth time, closing her eyes and Arven lays besides her.

" ....Thanks, by the way. And sorry for calling you so late,".

No response. Arven turns to see Ramona already fast asleep, causing him to chuckle.

" Night, R.B," he says, as he himself is lulled into a nightmare-less slumber.

[gignikinszz]

anakin is on the train and this dipshit infront of him has been humming christmas songs everyday on his morning work commute for the past week and it’s the middle of fucking august so he’s ready to confront this motherfucker for his crimes against humanity and his eardrums then boom obi wan meet cute

anon. im obsessed 💍💍💍💍 ficlet under the cut xx

i took a few liberties with this, but i hope u still like it :)) modern au, annoyances to lovers but only from anakin's pov, 1.3k. mentions of christmas music and horrible hours of the morning beware

It was 5:15. Five-fifteen in the goddamn morning. It was six in the goddamn morning, and it was the middle of August. The seventeenth of August, to be exact.

The third week, to the day, of Anakin’s personal hell.

Some context: Anakin was on the train, just trying to get to his job at a local bakery, still trying to wake up. He’d been late that morning and hadn’t had time for coffee, and was therefore grumpy. Grumpier than usual. So fucking grumpy.

And that same motherfucker from the past three weeks was singing. Again.

Now, Anakin wasn’t a cold-hearted monster, okay? He wasn’t against singing, not at all. Not even at 5:15 in the goddamn morning on a Thursday. Not even on the train. No, what he was against, morally and spiritually and on all levels (including physical), was the fact that the stranger was singing Christmas music. In August.

Today, it was Jingle Bells, though really, the song should’ve been named Jingle Hell. Overly jaunty, reminiscent of fifth-grade showcases, jarring and horrid, even when sung with a voice as nice as Christmas Music Man’s. A disgusting display of Christmas cheer, absolutely murdering Anakin’s poor eardrums, making him wish for the fiftieth time in the past twenty-one days that his stupid dog and stupider cat hadn’t totally destroyed his earbuds fighting over them, and that he wasn’t too busy (lazy) to go get new ones.

God, he was going to lose it. If he heard one more annoying-ass sing, he was going to—

… you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special…

Last Christmas. The stranger, who always, for some sick and twisted reason, sat directly behind Anakin, was singing Last Christmas.

“Yo, dipshit, can you, like shut the fu—ck.” Anakin choked as he finally got a glimpse of the stranger. “Not up. Um. You can keep singing. Bye.”

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit. He was hot. Oh, fuck. Oh, god. He was so fucking hot and Anakin had just called him a dipshit. And spazzed out. And, worse, told him he could keep singing his awful Christmas music. He’d told the most attractive asshole motherfucker he’d ever seen that he could keep singing Last Christmas. At 5:15 in the goddamn morning. In the middle of August.

Oh, fucking shit.

Anakin spent the rest of that (thankfully not-very-long, after his outburst) train ride in silence, rethinking his life, wondering how someone so hot could be committing such heinous crimes against humanity. It didn’t make sense, at first. The man had looked nice. Or just hot. Anakin didn’t know. He’d been wearing a sweater vest with nothing underneath, showing off his very muscular arms, and he’d had very soft-looking hair. How could someone who dressed like a slutty 80-year-old have such poor taste in music? Have such little respect for Anakin, and Anakin’s eardrums, and the world at large?

It didn’t make sense, but when Anakin talked to Ahsoka, who was opening with him that day, she told him it did.

“You know,” she said, “if he’s really that hot, there’s gotta be something wrong with him. So the universe is fair and shit.”

And Anakin had to agree. There truly was something wrong with the man. Deeply, deeply wrong. Disturbed, even. Not that it made it fair that Anakin still had to suffer every morning. Or that his eardrums felt like they might die.

The next morning, he resolved to put a stop to it, good looks aside. For the sake of both his sanity, and for the world. Well, the world of the train at 5:15 in the morning. It was important to him, okay?

So he steeled himself the next morning. Got up early so he could get coffee and fix his hair, because presentation was important in these sorts of confrontations. Not for any other reason. Anakin also wore his nice work shirt, the one without too many stains, for the impending argument, of course. He would’ve looked his best while telling any asshole to stop fucking singing Christmas songs on the train at ass-o’clock every morning, whether or not they were hot.

Okay, maybe it had something to do with the fact that the guy was hot. Whatever. Sue Anakin for wanting to make a better second impression.

When he got to the train, he felt all wound-up, just waiting for the inevitable. For Holly Jolly Christmas or All I Want for Christmas is You or Chestnuts Roasting on the Open Fire of Anakin’s Burning Hatred for Christmas Songs. Or whatever that last one was called. His knee was bouncing, fingers tapping, heart pounding in anticipation. For the inevitable confrontation, of course.

It began five minutes after Anakin sat down. 5:18 in the morning.

Fucking Spooky Scary Skeletons.

An insult to Anakin’s pride, to his honor, to his family, to the month of August, to Halloween, and to the world at large, that’s what the man behind him was singing. An insult of the highest order, and Anakin had only had one cup of coffee.

So he did something wild, something insane, something totally out of character for him.

He waited.

He waited until the train made its next stop, the one before his, and he moved quickly to sit across the aisle from the man.

“Hey,” he said before he could chicken out. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Hot Asshole turned to look at him slowly. “What do you mean?” He asked, all posh and British and refined, and wow, Anakin was beginning to understand the appeal of those love-hate, enemies-to-lovers, 100k slow burn type relationships. That was hot. Despite, or perhaps even more so because of, the man’s infuriating little eyebrow thing, it was really hot.

“Your stupid music,” Anakin heard himself saying, refusing to back down despite the sight in front of him. “Sir, are you aware that it’s August?”

The man smiled. Pretty, Anakin’s mind supplied. Shut up, he snapped back.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, folding his hands over one knee, crossing it over the other.

Anakin blinked, slowly, trying to let his brain catch up. “Well, you’re. It’s. That’s a Halloween song,” he said, feeling dumber by the second.

“And?” The man was still smiling, all innocent, and Anakin was suddenly unsure if it was nerves or annoyance making his face flush.

“And, um—well—whoever you are, you’re singing Halloween music. It’s August.”

“I’m Obi-Wan,” the man said unhelpfully. “And I don’t see what the issue is. Spooky Scary Skeletons is about bones. The human body. Personally, I think bodies are relevant year-round, don’t you?”

No, it was definitely annoyance.

“That’s about spooky, scary skeletons. It’s a fucking Halloween song. And even if it was applicable, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been singing fucking Christmas music every day for the past three weeks.” Anakin gave the man his best glare, but it didn’t seem to phase him. On the contrary, he just smiled a little brighter.

“It’s just what’s been stuck in my head,” he said, sounding innocent. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

“I—just—I—I want you to go out with me!” Okay, so Anakin didn’t mean to say that. In the slightest. And Obi-Wan was looking at him weirdly, and also, that wasn’t even a good solution to what Obi-Wan was asking, so Anakin opened his mouth to backtrack, but before he could—

“Okay.” Obi-Wan shrugged, smiling slightly. Anakin’s heart did a funny little somersault. “Is this your stop?”

And shit—it was, and Anakin hadn’t even gotten past the initial asking. No time to ask for horrible, hot, annoyingly heart-pounding Christmas Asshole’s number.

But that was fine. After all, Anakin was probably going to have to tell him to sing an appropriate song the next day, as well.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of October. We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) You Control Me (Even If Its Just Tonight) | Explicit | 1591 words

Louis rides Harry and thinks he's in control.

2) Save a Horse | Explicit | 2400 words

Louis goes to a rodeo with Liam, and gets a lot more than he bargained for. Featuring bull rider Harry, obnoxious t-shirts, and one hell of a night.

3) El Comienzo De Una Vida | Teen & Up | 2779 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. This fic is the second part of a series. 

After being bartered to Harry to save his kingdom, Louis is on his way to the Alpha's homeland and he would very much like him to stop being so cautious and just kiss him, god damn it!

4) A Treat For You And A Treat For Me | Explicit | 3416 words

Louis blushed at Harry’s flirty tone. “You’re just saying that to get in my pants.” He giggled, half joking. “But thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

“Not just to get in your pants, baby. I’m being honest. You’re always cute. Are you wearing mascara?” He asked, licking over his lips. Louis in makeup always did something to Harry. He loved it.

Louis nodded, leaning forward. “I am. Do you like it? I’m also wearing some cute Halloween panties under my costume.. if you wanna see them later?” He murmured, letting his lips touch Harry’s lightly before pulling away, a tiny smile on his lips.

Harry’s mouth opened a bit, but no words came out. Instead Louis was lifted up and carried in Harry’s arms, up the stairs. “Later? I wanna see them now.” He whispered into Louis’ ear, hot breath sending shivers down Louis’ body. “Missed you so much since last time.”

5) A Kiss For Then, A Kiss For Now (And A Million More) | Mature | 6073 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. This is the sequel to this fic. 

A collection of moments from Petal's life with her mummy, the stinky alpha and their new baby boy.

6) Terror At Our Door | Explicit | 6201 words

A hurt man comes to Harry's home on Halloween, bringing in a world of mystery that Styles didn't want at all.

What a shame that feelings are involved too.

7) Fight Me Breathless | Mature | 7596 words

Louis Tomlinson has no idea why he’s in a London hospital for asthma, but enter Harry Styles, his doctor, who he definitely doesn’t think is hot, and he’s left wondering if asthma is why he can’t seem to breathe properly with his doctor around.

8) This Ain't Red Wine | Explicit | 9054 words

It’s not until he gets a whiff of the contents of his glass that Louis realizes his grave mistake.

That’s not red wine.

It’s blood.

It’s probably not the most rational, but his first thought is what people are going to think when they discover his body. On the list of stupidest ways for a human to die, accidentally turning up to a Vampire party has to be pretty high up there.

9) Colder Weather | Explicit | 15132 words

Note: Please remember to check tags for any trigger warnings.

Louis doesn’t know what comes over him. “Please H-Harry, take me,” Louis looks back at the farmhouse, swallowing once as his skittish eyes fall onto the master bedroom window, “Take me with you, please.”

Harry’s scent flares, the tinged anger so noticeable that Louis draws back out of the alpha’s space.

“Is he hittin’ on you?”

Louis’ right hand rests briefly against the bruise forming rapidly over the right side of his rib cage, the darkness of the night hiding the movement. “No.”

10) Those Who From The Pit Of Hell, Roam To Seek Their Prey On Earth | Explicit | 17636 words

1889. Louis Tomlinson is a student at the prestigious Harrow School for Boys, nurturing his passion for forensic medicine under the care of a particularly mysterious and dark teacher, Harry Styles, who has set his main focus on a series of gruesome murders, all of them reflecting the year 1888, when Jack the Ripper went rampant in the poor streets of Whitechapel.

11) The Shining Distraction That Makes Me Fly Home | General Audiances | 19397 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

An omega Louis and an alpha Harry find themselves in a forced marriage that gives Louis the freedom he desires in exchange for Harry being chained up a bit more.

12) Welcome to The Rivalry | Mature | 19671 words

“Welcome home!” Niall yelled, clapping his hands in excitement. “Isn’t it great?”

Louis looked between Niall and the house, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t understand,” Louis finally managed to say. “Aren’t we a little old to be living so close to campus?”

Niall scoffed. “You’re only twenty-four for fuck’s sake. There is still plenty of partying left for us to do. What better place than one street over from where a car was set on fire after the Michigan game last year?”

“Is there proof of that? Did the car have Michigan plates or something? Is there a photo I can send in a DM to Wolfie?”

As if on cue, a Twitter notification popped up on Louis’ Apple watch. He had tweeted again.

13) Welcome to the Bottom of the World | Not Rated | 20859 words

Louis is an American musher/expedition guide, Harry is a scientist from England. They meet in the middle of Antarctica, what could go wrong?

14) Reach The Heavens Own Blue | Explicit | 21070  words

He steps up to the plate, eyes glazing over as he watches Harry chew sunflower seeds, his jaw moving obnoxiously and exaggeratedly. His eyes drag down Harry’s body, settling on his large bulge, accentuated in those sinful pinstripe pants. The lines cut across it just right, curving where he’s thickest. Louis wants to crawl across the dirt on his knees and just take what Harry gives him.

Louis shuts his eyes for a moment, opening them to find Harry staring at him with a smug expression. He fucking knows. Louis gets into position and waits for the pitch. He swings when Harry throws, missing the ball just barely. Strike one.

15) Terror Of Surrender | Explicit | 31566 words

Harry instructs them to step into Crescent Lunge, stopping when he gets to Louis to adjust his hips. “I think you can bend a little more.” He helps Louis deepen the stretch, his hands tight on his hips. “Good boy.”

Louis gasps quietly, his eyes snapping to Harry’s, his heart pounding in his chest. Harry’s eyes drop to his lips, his hands smoothing down Louis’ stretched thighs, then he’s turning and walking to the front of the class.

16) Eyes Off You | Explicit | 39396 words

A Charlie’s Angels inspired fic where Louis is the brains, Harry is the charm, Liam is the muscle, and Niall drives the getaway car - and Zayn is there, too. sometimes.

17) Puncture | Mature | 43383 words

Note; This fic has mentions of BH.

An alternate universe where Harry bites Louis and hates the taste of his blood but is still obsessed with him anyway.

18) Your Touch Shouldn't Make Me Feel Like This | Explicit | 48883 words

Uni AU in which Alpha Harry has been in love with his omega friend for the longest time and one motorbike trip to the countryside with Louis made him realize that he could no longer hold back his feelings.

19) Just A Flicker In The Dark | Explicit | 57191 words

Harry Styles is his case partner. High and mighty, annoyingly smug Harry Styles who’s known him for years and has fucking seen him naked for fuck’s sake.

He glances at Venus who’s blinking up at him with curious eyes, no doubt sensing the agitation sparking in his magic.

“This is not happening,” Louis says loudly. “This is not fucking happening. I am going to kill Liam, oh my god.” He doesn’t even know if Liam is responsible for this but it feels like something he’d do to drive Louis absolutely insane - exes don’t just show up to your assigned haunted house out of nowhere. “Fucking fuck!”

He nearly jumps when Harry knocks again, his muffled voice carrying through the wood. “I can hear you, you know,” he drawls, sounding frustratingly amused.

Louis exhales, resisting the urge to scream.

20) Wild Thing | Mature | 65962 words

Harry doesn’t think love is for him, until Louis shows him just how wild love is.

21) Three Days in February | Explicit | 187642 words

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 9 ~The Mediation~

Previously in Light Vs Dark ...

Tears streamed down her face as he grabbed his phone and keys and made his way out. He couldn't get out of the cottage fast enough. His heart hammered, his ears started to ring, his lungs squeezing out the last air. He'd hurt her. He'd seen the bruises with his eyes, and now she's crying because of him. He needed to get out fast to clear his head.

She followed him closely behind. "Please tell me where you're going, Jamie. At least give me that," she pleaded.

He couldn't stand to see her tears anymore or hear the plea in her voice. He was doing what's right for her because he loved her too much. He wasn't even sure where he was going or if anyone would be safe in his presence. All he could think of was how frightened his sister had looked at him and the bruises he'd inflicted in Claire's arms. He needed to get as far away as possible, away from the people he loved.

He got into his car, slammed the door, and started the engine.

Claire banged on his window, her face wet with tears. "Don't do this, Jamie. We can fix this together. Please don't go. I'm begging you."

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The sun blazed through the windows, but instead of feeling delighted with the promise of a beautiful day, Claire felt hollow.

Earlier, moving on autopilot, she'd numbly climbed out of bed, showered and gathered all the will and strength she could summon and prepared to face the day. Though a part of her would rather curl into a ball under the duvet until Jamie returns, she made a Herculean effort to stay positive for sanity's sake. It should have given her comfort knowing Jamie was safe after Willie had informed her he'd been spotted at three in the morning at Lallybroch's driveway in his car and was now resting in his childhood home. But her eyes would prickle with tears every time she stood still and stared into space. So Claire kept herself busy, feeding Jamie's pets, letting them out of the house, doing a bit of laundry and setting up her work station for the day on the dining table. Currently, there were things that needed attending to, like her own work, and anytime soon, Willie would be arriving.

She was just about to open her laptop when there was a knock on the kitchen's back door.

She knew it was Willie. "Door's open," she croaked.

Willie walked in and stopped. A line formed between his brows, reminding her so much of Jamie she felt the beginning of tears welling up. "Hey, how are ye?" he asked.

With more enthusiasm than she had in her, she gave him a small smile. "I'm hanging in there. How's Jamie?"

"He's asleep ...last time I heard from ma."

"How about you? You look like you didn't get much rest either."

"Knackered," he replied, shoving his hands into his jeans' pocket. "The bloody git sent us on a merry chase. And now he gets to sleep the whole day while I'm left to pick up the slack at work."

Claire knew Willie was trying to make light of things. Needing to move, she stood and made her way to the kitchen, having the sudden urge to keep her hands busy. It would have been easier if she'd asked Willie to take her to Lallybroch. But there had been a reason for her decision to stay put. She needed to remind herself, there's a probability her presence could make Jamie's condition worsened after having seen his reaction to her bruise last night. Even if in the light of day, nothing seemed good enough excuse to be separated from him.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea?" she offered. "I could use a strong cuppa."

"Coffee would be grand."

Conscious of Willie watching, she went through the motion of taking out cups and switching on the coffee machine. When she opened the fridge to retrieve some milk, she accidentally nudged one of Jamie's magnets on the door, sending a post-it note to slip down. Automatically bending down, she picked up the piece of paper from the floor.

As she turned it the other way round and read it, a cross between a sob and a laugh broke passed through her mouth. It was a note Jamie had written to her just the other day.

Gone to work. Bought some croissants, and they're in the bread bin just in case Adso gets his grubby paws on it first. Can't wait to see you later. Missing you already. Love you. X

"Oh, damn it." Claire leaned over the countertop, pressing the note with one hand on her chest. "I-I can't do this."

Willie came up behind her and touched her elbow, gently turning her to face him. "Ye cannae do exactly what, Claire?" he asked, a look of concern etching his face.

"Pretend Jamie is fine." She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, she let out a lungful of air. "When we first met, he was in a good place. And I have this strong feeling that I am making his condition more frequent and worse."

"No, Claire ...dinnae speak like that."

She glanced down at Jamie's note, and when she felt prickles behind her eyelids, she slipped the piece of paper in her jean's pocket and shook her head. "How can Jamie and I be together if I'm the one triggering his nightmares and anxiety? Before I came along, his episodes were a rare occurrence. And now here I am making that classic mistake of attempting to fix a man." Her breathing suddenly became laboured, like she'd raced ten miles. "I wish I could be by his side. I know it's selfish wanting to be with him right now when I'm the reason for his distress. But I do. On the other hand, logic tells me, it's probably a good thing all those memories he hasn't dealt with are finally coming to the surface, so at least we have something to work on. I just wish there was a less unpleasant way for Jamie to handle all of these." She glanced out the window, unseeing the beautiful view in the sun.

When the silence dragged on for too long, Claire turned to face Willie and was surprised to see him smiling. "Cannae ye see it yet, Claire? Ye are not making Jamie's condition worse. In fact, ye have been helping him heal all this time."

She frowned. She was confused. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

Willie took the portafilter and began filling it with coffee for her. "Ye said it yersel'. The suppressed memories are coming to the surface." He shrugged as he worked the coffee machine. "Meaning, after all these years, Jamie can finally confront them head-on, deal with it and lay it to rest once and for all. Isn't that what his dreams are trying to tell him? He's forgone dealing with grief and issues that it had nowhere to go to except present itself as this monstrous nightmare and panic attacks. And then ye came along, and somehow, ye've extracted more out from him than all his therapists put together."

A nervous laugh gurgled from her throat. "I might have been able to do that, but at what cost? Jamie could've hurt himself last night." She'd worried at the speed he'd taken off, thinking if anything grievous had resulted from it, she would have been so utterly devastated, she'd blamed herself. "He needs professional help, Willie. It can't go on like this."

"He does," he agreed, pressing the button on the coffee machine. "But Jamie needs you too, more than ever ...even if he believes he's a danger to ye."

"But he didn't hurt me."

He pushed the stop button on the coffee machine. "May I see the bruise?"

"Of course." She rolled up her sweatshirt sleeves. "I told him I bruise easily. I have an iron deficiency which I'm taking supplements for."

Willie studied the markings on her arms. "They're not that bad."

"No, they're not. I tried to convince him, but he won't listen. I only need to pinch my skin, and I bruise. It's a symptom of being anaemic."

Willie sighed. "Jamie won't be easily convinced, though. Weel ...at least not until he's calmed down."

"He used to have a therapist. Why isn't he seeing one now?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "I know he's against taking pills for his condition, but surely talking to a professional would help him a lot."

"He has nothing against seeing a therapist ..." he replied matter-of-factly as he handed her the coffee. "...just a particular one."

"Oh!" She took the cup from Willie and watched him make another one for himself. "May I know why?"

"Her name is Geneva Dunsany. She's the only available therapist in Broch Mordha. She took over Jamie's former therapist after he left for England." He paused to look at her. "Ye see ...a few years back, my da remortgage Lallybroch and then when the recession came, our family was hit hard financially and had trouble paying the bank. To cut a long story short, Jenny, our meddling sister, knew Geneva was infatuated with Jamie. Since Geneva comes from a well-off family, Jenny thought by playing matchmaker, she would solve everyone's problems single-handedly. Ever since then, my sister has been trying to get them together. So when she heard Jamie's therapist left for England, she encouraged Geneva to take the job even though she already had one in another town. Jamie is quite perceptive, though and knew what our wee sister was up to. Hence he refused to see Geneva."

"That's a bit sneaky."

"Ye can say that again. Geneva might have a wee crush on Jamie, but I dinnae think she's aware of Jenny's meddling, even though they're friends. Jenny thinks she's doing Jamie a favour by finding him a lass who lives here and can help him with his condition. Jen is practical like that."

"I've met her, actually. The therapist that is. We were introduced ...just before I went back to London," she explained, thinking back to the day when she first met Jenny and Geneva. And she's beautiful too, she thought grudgingly. Although Jamie had never given Claire reason to feel jealous before, every muscle in her body had gone rigid, hearing Willie's account on Jamie's would-be therapist. Jealousy continued to roll in like a lick of a flame as the image of Jamie pouring his heart out to a beautiful woman burned hot in her guts. The sudden urgent need to see him made her want to sprint out of the cottage at full speed, but a dose of decorum kept her rooted on the spot. "So, Jamie wasn't interested, huh? Not even the teeny, tiniest bit?" she squeaked, annoyed at the sudden change in her voice.

She thought she saw a muscle twitched along Willie's jaw, but she must have imagined it. Looking like he was sucking the inside of his cheek, he shook his head. "No. Never. And ye have nought to worry about, Claire. Jamie only has eyes for ye."

She swallowed the bitter taste of doubt. "Not worried," she lied, sipping her coffee. But in the true sense of the word, she already felt loads better after the enlightening conversation with Willie. It had taken the edge off her worry over Jamie's condition, even though she still couldn't erase the thought of Jenny pushing Jamie towards Geneva.

"Maybe ye should attend a therapy session with Jamie ...at least initially," he suggested, eyeing her closely as if trying to read her thoughts. "That way, it would put Jamie at ease, and Geneva would realise he's taken already."

Claire slowly placed her cup on the countertop. "Why do I get the feeling this meddling thing is inherent in your family?" she asked, feigning disapproval.

Willie put his own cup down. "Not inherent, Claire. I have my own selfish motive. Ye're the best friend of my Annalise, and I wouldn't be helping my cause if she finds out I've done nought to help ye." When Claire gasped, he grinned. "Kidding aside, even if Annalise wasn't my girlfriend, I want ye to know, I really like you for my brother."

Claire could barely see through the tears she hadn't been aware that was building up. "You sound so sure."

Willie placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. "Are ye sure about my brother?"

"With all my heart," she whispered.

"That's all I need to know."

..........

Jamie slowly opened his eyes and took in the familiar surroundings of his old room. His heart throbbed when he realised the last time he'd slept here had been on New Year's eve, with Claire tucked snuggly on the crook of his arm. Bracing himself up on his elbows, he heard his mother talking to Jenny and his da downstairs. They were probably in the kitchen discussing his state.

He rubbed his face with one hand, feeling the beginning of a day-old stubble, exhaustion washing over him in waves. A mixture of self-loathing and guilt rose within as he replayed the incident from the night before. He couldn't decide what pained him the most, the bruises he'd inflicted on Claire or the fact he'd left her in tears standing in his driveway.

When he'd taken off from his cottage, his heart had been heavy and thoughts dark, not having had any clue what he wanted to do or where to go, only determinedly pushing himself to get as far away from Claire as possible. A few hours later, he'd found himself parked outside his childhood home after Willie and Murtagh had woken him up in his car. So far, he'd only talked to his older brother Willie, and he hoped it would be enough to keep the rest of his family's questions at bay.

Sitting up, he realised he was still in his clothes. He searched for his phone and found it on the nightstand. Swiping the screen, he saw he had a few missed calls from clients and a voice message from Claire. Willie must have switched his phone to silence.

I should call her, he thought. It wouldn't be that difficult. Her voice would soothe him, and her lack of judgement would make him feel like he's on solid ground. He could show his worst, and he knew she'd still be there, smiling and soothing him with words, just like last night. Every hour that passed without seeing her or hearing from her put him a little more off centre, and he could see how too reliant he was becoming on those breaths of fresh air that sprung from her. He shook his head. She was too precious to be with someone who had this nonstop ugliness embedded in the insides of his head. It would only be a matter of time before he dragged her into his hell. He couldn't do that to her.

He was about to tap on Claire's voice message when he was alerted by a double knock on the door.

"Jamie, are ye awake, son?" It was his father.

"Come in," he answered, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

The door opened, and he saw his mother walk in first with a mug of tea. "My darling boy," she smiled, placing the hot brew on the bedside table. "I thought ye could use a bit of something warm in yer belly. How are ye feeling?" She stooped down and kissed him on the forehead.

Jamie scooted back to the headboard to make space for his mother while his father took the chair. "Exhausted," he said honestly. Although he'd slept all morning, it hadn't been a restful sleep.

His father, Brian, cleared his throat. "So ... what's going on with ye, lad?" he asked, cutting to the chase as usual.

Ellen sent her husband a warning glare before refocusing her attention back to Jamie. "Whenever ye're ready, darling," she reassured him, patting his thigh. "Willie vaguely told us what happened, and Jenny is beside herself thinking she triggered yer panic attack yesterday. And Claire ...ye never told us she's here. She's worried sick about ye."

Jamie sighed. "What's there to tell." He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "It wasnae Jenny's fault. It's just the same old, same old. The only difference this time is, I made a stupid mistake getting Claire involved with me. And I'm hurting her in the process."

Ellen briefly looked at her husband. "I find that hard to believe, Jamie. Ye're such a gentle soul, ye could never ever hurt a fly even if it's bugging ye to bits. Did ye two have a fight? Did Claire say ye were hurting her?" she asked Jamie gently.

"No. I just know I am."

"Oh, darling ..."

"So that's it ..." Brian raised his hands in the air before letting them drop to his sides. "Ye're giving in to this condition ye've fought hard against all yer life when the chance for happiness finally present itsel' to ye because ye THINK ye are hurting Claire. Is that what ye're trying to tell us? Because believe ye me, we didnae raise a violent or abusive son. So enlighten us ...where in heaven's name is this all coming from?"

"Brian!"

"It's a futile fight," Jamie blurted before taking a deep breath. "Trust me ... I'd like to have what ye both have. But at what cost? Look at the state of me. Is this the kind of man Claire deserves? She's willing to turn her life upside down for me, and for what? Only to find out later she'd saddled herself with a mentally ill man. So perhaps it's for the best she lucked out early before its too late for either of us."

His mother moved closer to his side and took his hand. "So let me get this straight. Ye're staying away from Claire because ye like her a lot, and ye're afraid to hurt her." Pain clenched tight on his vocal cords, incapacitating him to answer, but she interpreted his silence as a yes. Even though it's far more complex than that. "Oh, sweet lord, how youth is so wasted on the young," she clucked.

"Aye, perhaps." He rubbed a hand behind his neck. "But trust me, I ken fine what the problem is."

"Oh, is that so?"

His father's sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but he ignored it in favour of the pressure sinking into his chest. "I ken I hold back a lot from everyone, and I ken too that's wrong. When things get too much, I keep my mouth shut. And I dinnae realised at first that suffering in silence damages, instead of helping. Though it's easier said than done, I'm working on it. All I ever wanted was no' to be a burden or be the cause of anyone's pain. Claire deserves more."

Ellen sighed. "Jamie ...Jamie ... ye're never a burden. Ye're a delight, and we're so proud of ye. Ye need to understand, ever since ye were a wee bairn, ye've always needed a purpose, like fixing everyone's problem because it gave ye satisfaction to see ye've righted someone's world. Whenever someone was hurting, ye're always the first to reach out." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I thought it was endearing at first until it began to take over yer life. The trauma you've gone through only amplified yer true nature to a point it wasnae healthy anymore. And the guilt that came with it when ye can do nought and thought you've failed ...almost destroyed ye every time." She shifted on the bed. "Jamie ...ye have to stop denying yersel' a chance for happiness because ye're afraid of hurting or failing someone. Pain is part of life. It's inevitable. Though it's good of ye to think of others first, sometimes, it's also good to let others carry that burden for ye and help ye. Running away because ye're afraid of hurting someone is no' gonnae to do anyone any good. Ye'll only end up hurting yersel'. And when that happens, who's going to help ye?"

His mother's logic made sense, but the chatter in his brain continued to hold its ground. "Claire's been through a lot, ma."

"And so have ye, son," Brian interjected, firmly.

"But what if I make things worse for both of us?"

"Oh my sweet boy, what if ye end up happy together?" Ellen smiled. "I ken a crystal ball would come in handy right now, but because we dinnae have one, the only way to find out is to take the risk and hope for the best. Just like what Claire is doing."

Jamie shut his eyes for a while and pictured them together. Every fibre in his body was screaming to get in his car and drive back to Broch Mordha and start making it up to Claire. But his mother was right ...he needed help. He didn't want to put Claire through all that misery again, so he decided right there and then he would start attending therapy afresh. It was the way forth, and he'd held off attending therapy for too long, which might have worsened his condition. But first things first. He needed to be in the right headspace to start doing anything.

"Fine, I'll call the clinic later for an appointment but do ye mind if I rest some more. I'm still feeling a bit off."

The chair scraped the wooden floor as Brian stood up. "Aye, of course. Ye look worn to a frazzle."

Ellen reached out and pulled Jamie into her arms and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be downstairs if ye need anything." She got up and ruffled his hair as if he was still a wee boy. "And I've made leek and tattie soup in case ye're hungry."

"Thanks, ma."

His parents were just about to walk out when Jenny strode in. "Hey."

Jamie rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Jenny, can we talk later? I'd like to be alone for a bit."

Brian and Ellen gave his sister a warning look as they left the room, but she just shrugged. "I promise this willnae take long. Please, Jamie?"

Jamie waved a hand. "Fine. What is it?"

He watched his sister retrieve something from her jeans' pocket. "Mrs Fitz from the Airbnb gave me this. One of her clients staying over her place left an Oxford Mail newspaper a couple of weeks ago. As she was browsing through it, she came across Claire's name." She handed him a newspaper clipping. "Looks like yer wee girlfriend is an heiress."

"What? Let me see that."

Jamie skimmed through the short article about some property in Fox Lane, Boars Hill in Oxford. It said it was formerly part of the Berkeley Castle Estate. The original part of the house had been designed by the celebrated architect Sir Ernest George for Lord Berkeley, a family ancestor from her mother side. The house had apparently garnered loads of interest among the local rich after being recently vacated by a local MP. It mentioned the original owners' name as Henry and Julia Beauchamp, deceased, and the heiress as Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

Was this the South Lodge property Claire had been talking about she'd inherited from her parents? He hadn't really given it much thought ever since she'd casually mentioned it. This was a far cry from the cabin in the woods he'd envisioned.

"Three million pounds for a house!" Jenny broke through his reflection. "Doesn't it make ye wonder what else she inherited?"

Jamie looked at the paper again. That's what the house is worth? Ach, Christ! Even the Oxford gossip found its way to Broch Mordha. He knew Claire would be mortified if the news of her assets became everyone's favourite topic of conversation.

Folding the note, he handed it back to his sister. He saw Claire a little differently now. All that money in the world and all she only ever wanted was a place to belong to. Suddenly he felt awful for leaving her last night. He shook his head at his sister. "Not a word about this to any of yer mates!" he warned her. "Or else ..."

Jenny's eyes widened. "What do ye take me for?"

"A babble merchant," he ribbed, unsmiling. "Now, let me be."

"Ye're no' angry at me still, are ye?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm just exhausted."

"Can I do anything for ye?"

He puffed out a breath. Jenny was looking at him earnestly, and he knew she only wanted to reach out. "Aye, in fact, ye can. Ye can arrange that appointment with the therapist for me."

She smiled, seemingly happy to please. "Right on it. If ye need anything else ..."

"Aye, aye, I'll let ye know."

Jenny left, and somehow, he felt a little less heavy in the heart than he did when he woke up earlier. Grabbing his phone, he tapped play on Claire's voice message.

"Hey, it's me. Just letting you know how much I miss you. I felt a little sad earlier, so I wandered into a cafe in the village centre after Willie left. They had this upbeat music playing in the background. It's an old song. Probably from the eighties or nineties, I'm not quite sure. It's pretty cheesy, but it brought a smile to my face. And now I can't get the music out of my head. Maybe if you listen to it too, it will bring a smile to your face. It's from Rick Astley, Never Gonna Give You Up." There was a pause before she spoke again. "Right, I'll let you rest. Willie told me that's what you've been doing. I'm going to take Rollo out for a walk now and try to get some work done. I'll text and send you a voice message later. I love you."

Ah, Sassenach! He swiped the screen to phone her, but his phone beeped and died. Ah, shite! He wanted to go and see her now but stopped. He had to take steps to make himself better first. He needed to put in the hours to help himself. She deserved the extra time he would put in because she's not getting half-arsed from him again. But for now ...

He scrambled out of bed and opened the bedroom door.

"Ma!" he called out.

"What is it, dear?"

"Do ye still have all yer old music from yer university days?"

"Anything in particular?"

He cringed inwardly. Ah, fuck! "Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley?"

He thought he heard females sniggering downstairs.

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for your patience with the previous chapter and, mostly, the feedback and beautiful comments. I hope this latest update felt a lot lighter to read. I'll keep this short as I'm drained today; nevertheless, I wish you a great weekend.

Looking forward to reading what you think of this update. Take care always, and keep those love vibes rolling. Much love. X

[astromechs]

keep whatever it is (that's compelling you on)

HERE IT IS, my matrix resurrections spec fic, completed and in under the wire before the trailer! i think i'm ready to quit fussing over this, and i'm really excited to get it out into the world!

also here on ao3!

01.

Every single morning, Thomas A. Anderson is jolted awake at approximately 8:15 AM by the shrill of the same alarm, shovels in the same shitty cereal before stumbling into one of the same five shitty suits that he has to remember to get dry-cleaned, takes the same seat on the subway on the way to work — where he sits in the same chair for eight hours straight with minimal breaks, staring at his computer screen (or, more often, out into nothing) until it’s time to take the same subway back to his shitty apartment, order from the same rotation of shitty takeout, and find some mindless, banal distraction while he ignores texts that don’t even matter anyway before he falls asleep to eventually wake up and do it all over again.

It’s nothing special — just the average life of an average mid-grade programmer at the average tech conglomerate. Comfortable, sure, and a dream many would kill to achieve; he knows this, knows this every time he passes the poor old woman who’s feeding pigeons in her ratty coat from the battered metal bench on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. He slips her whatever spare change he has on him — a $20 bill, on the days he’s lucky, but often less than that — and, without fail, she always accepts, with a warm smile and kind eyes that seem to stare right into his soul, seeing the deepest parts of it.

Like she knows him. And that’s what’s weird.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, because, honestly, he tries not to put too much thought into anything at all; he’s found that to be the most effective way to navigate the machine that systematically runs his rhythmic, mundane life.

But even so, there are things that he knows he can’t shake.

One afternoon in late February, when the cut of the wind had not remotely suggested that spring would just be a month away, he’d passed the woman on the bench as always, but he could’ve sworn that the whole flock of pigeons scattered on the sidewalk at her feet had frozen for a split second. Like they’d been… glitching. In a blink, everything had returned to normal, and he’d spent about three days (and three sleepless nights) trying to convince himself he’d been seeing things, that he’d just been spending too much time actually working on his assigned program for once and that maybe he should take some of his accumulated vacation days? And the following week, he had, but….

No time off to try to clear his head would ever change the fact that this hadn’t been an isolated incident.

Because sometimes — he swears he sees pieces of code fall through his field of vision; a blink and then they’re gone, but it happens too often not to be a pattern, and no matter how much he might want to for the sake of his own sanity, he can’t just brush that aside. Sometimes, flashes come to his mind like barely-remembered dreams, in idle moments and just on the edge of the line that separates sleep from waking consciousness, so real that he knows they’re memories. Dark tunnels that haven’t seen the sun for centuries. Cold, so cold that no amount of warmth, human or otherwise, can really combat. Running, desperately bounding up the fire escape to the third floor of a rundown motel, three men in sunglasses and perfectly-tailored suits in close pursuit, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he can barely hear the phone ring from Room 303, the place he has to get to, because everything depends on it. A barrage of bullets in his chest, one right after the other, back slumping against the wall as his heart gives out, vision fading to grey and then to black, but a voice, reaching through it all to call him, tether him….

Neo.

There are things that he knows he can’t shake, and sometimes, he thinks he had another life. Another name.

Another purpose.

He’s haunted by the ghost of it.

It’s the second of April — at least, that’s what the screen of his phone tells him, because otherwise he wouldn’t know, or care to know. A Friday, and all the faceless commuters are packed like sardines into this subway car, headed home for weekends that are sure to be as inconsequential as his own. Today, he has to stand holding the rail for the ride home; a woman trying to juggle both a baby and two bags of groceries had just barely managed to stumble onto the train before the doors had closed, and he’d sprung up, more than glad to give up his seat to someone in greater need.

She tries to thank him, profusely and repeatedly, but with where he’s standing, he would have to twist to keep facing her, so, with a nod and the barest hint of a smile, he turns away to spend the trip the way he always does: in solitude.

The route back to the station just down the block from his apartment building is never smooth, by any stretch of the imagination, but today, it’s bumpier than usual; the train car jerks and jostles, until, eventually, it sends him colliding into back of the passenger standing next to him.

He’s just about to stammer out some automatic, awkward apology, but then —

Blue eyes meet his, clear, crisp blue, and a jolt strikes him right to the core.

He thinks — no, he knows, he knows — he’s seen these eyes.

Neo. In the darkest corners of his mind, the voice whispers again.

Time freezes, glitches, around him, around him and this stranger with familiar blue eyes. He sees the light leave them, and then come right back. He sees warmth, what something is telling him had once been the only thing able to keep the cold of the real away; that warmth spreads through now, to the tips of him, and he has a sense, one he doesn’t entirely understand, that something has just clicked into place.

Behind sunglasses, another pair of eyes watches them from across the car.

“You all right?” Neo.

He sees brows knit in concern, and for the first time, he pays attention to the face that the eyes belong to. Probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in… more than one life, he’d have to guess, is now in front of him; he isn’t so detached and disconnected that he doesn’t notice that. Her short dark hair is cut into a severe bob, and she’s dressed in black from head to toe — from her coat and gloves, to her boots. It suits her, somehow.

After a beat, he finally remembers to speak. “Yeah. I — sorry.” The subway jerks to a halt; he glances up, and adds quickly, after clearing his throat, “This is… my stop. Excuse me. Sorry.”

Pushing past her, pushing past everyone in his way, he disembarks to the station, and when his feet touch solid pavement, he takes off at a sprint. Up the stairs (third floor… Room 303….), down the sidewalk (agents, just behind… he can beat them, if he just runs faster than he ever has…), not stopping until the mundane certainty of his shitty apartment building is within his sights.

Just before he makes it safely inside, he catches a glimpse of the old woman on the bench watching him, her smile wider than he’s ever seen it. Maybe, even, almost inhumanly wide.

10.

Her name is Natalie.

That’s what he learns about a week later, when he bumps into her again in front of the grocery store on the corner down from the subway station, the one he always chooses out of convenience. Quite literally; he’s distracted, disconnected, and before he even knows what’s happening, he’s collided with another body, contents of the two bags under his arms spilling out onto the sidewalk. His apologies are hurried and stammered, but her hands are gentle as she moves to help, brushing his more than once. Her smile is soft when their eyes meet.

Over the next several months, he learns a lot of other things, too.

He learns that she takes her coffee with cream and no sugar, and that she always leaves the barista a generous tip. He learns that she’s a genius with tech, better than him and his two computer science degrees and half-cushy corporate job could ever hope to be, and has his whole apartment practically rewired in an hour one day. He learns that if he’s quiet and still, her black cat has no qualms with being his friend. He learns that her lips curve up in just a certain way and her eyes crinkle when she’s just about to laugh.

And he learns that kissing her feels like coming home, as familiar and peaceful as it is new and strange. He learns that with her, coming together, becoming one with another person, is like nothing else.

For the first time in what he can remember, he knows what it feels like to be alive.

(Only it isn’t… is it? The first time. Somehow, just like he knows that he sees the same person walk past him twice, like he knows that those glitches start happening on a near-daily basis, like he knows that the old woman on the bench is smiling at him more broadly than ever….

Their lives have collided, and given each other meaning, purpose, before.)

11.

In his dreams, he sees a city entirely built from light. Spires touch the sky like fireworks, blindingly bright, and with every step, flames ripple out from his feet, making the next one all too clear.

Inevitable.

This is where his path had always led.

In his dreams, he can’t see her face. He can only hear struggling gasps for breath, and a voice that only grows shakier. He can only feel the metal that pierces her stomach, the blood that pools on her shirt. The faint heartbeat he can do nothing to restart.

Inevitable.

(You were right, Smith. You are always right.)

He wakes with a start, drenched in a cold sweat (as cold as their last kiss), gasping for breath. Next to him on the bed, Natalie stirs and shifts closer; when he reaches out a tentative hand, lets his fingers graze over her stomach, she’s warm.

His eyes scrunch tightly shut. Code falls behind his lids like the rain that patters against the windows outside.

100.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary on this day in early fall. A breeze rustles the trees as they walk hand in hand through the park, and provides the first hint that cooler weather is on the way. Children’s laughter from the nearby playground fills the air. Dogs chase each other on the grass. Natalie sips her coffee, cream with no sugar; they enjoy the contented silence that falls between them, only punctuated by her soft smile.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary — except for everything that is.

They meet each other’s eyes, her blue to his brown, and in an instant, everything changes.

It’s hard to tell who sees it first, but — the flash of recognition envelops both of them. Vague memories, the ones that have floated over him like a constant cloud, just out of reach, are in his hands, in his brain, in his heart. He’d had another life once, another name. And it’d been —

“Neo.”

She whispers it on an awed breath, tears forming in her eyes. The coffee cup slips from her grasp, long since forgotten; she lifts that hand to his face, fingers tracing the rise of his cheekbone.

Tears swim in his vision, too, tears and strands of code, falling. Falling. Nothing makes sense and yet everything makes sense, no more so than when the name falls out of his mouth, the last piece of a particularly jumbled puzzle: “Trinity.”

But a thousand words he doesn’t know how to say don’t even begin to get a chance to form. He feels the eyes watching them more than he sees them; both hands drop to his sides, and he tenses, ready to fight.

He’s barely aware that the old woman who’s usually on the bench near his apartment building approaches on the sidewalk. She looks between them, nods, and:

“They’re coming, kiddo,” she tells him, voice severe, with none of her usual warmth, as she grips his arm. “You need to run.”

101.

At sunset, a man in a white suit, tall and imposing, joins the old woman on a park bench near the playground, but says nothing; from all appearances, it looks as though he barely acknowledges her at all. They remain, just like this, as people filter out one by one under the steadily darkening sky, returning to their lives.

They always remain through every iteration, the Mother and Father of the Matrix.

Preoccupied with purpose and the inefficiency of wasting time, as is his programming, the Father is the first to break the silence.

"I informed you it was a dangerous game.”

The Oracle says nothing in response.

She merely smiles.

[agathaharknes]

yennaia + gamer au

This was supposed to be three sentences and definitely not crack but I just had to... sksjsjssksjjs.

Yennaia prompt: Gamer AU.

LINK TO ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN IN THE REPLIES.

Word count: 1.8k+ Pairing: Yennaia. Rating: T.

Tissaia really had no idea why she was doing this. Perhaps to appease Rita. Perhaps because her addiction to nicotine had worsened over the course of one year of a bloody Continent-wide pandemic and she was loath to use her credit card every time she needed a new pack of cigarettes. Perhaps she was going through a midlife crisis to cope with the fact that being the Chancellor of Aretuza College was already stressful enough without half the generations there trying to fool her subordinates into thinking cardboard replicas or even mannequins counted as attendance or simply because the rest of the Board of Governors (Stregobor) couldn't differentiate between what could be said through an email and what required her to clean her entire house so the background of her call was pristine.

Her controller vibrated in her hands, (Why, for the love of the Gods, couldn't that setting be turned off?) her knuckles turning white from gripping it so strongly. "Oh, for fu- heaven's sake." There, she had been ambushed. Again. A funny and wholly unexpected thing happened, though, one of the users turned on her companions, offing the lot of them with clean headshots the brunette definitely couldn't pull off in the span of twenty seconds.

"Uhh..." What does one say when your virtual saviour just betrayed her entire party on a whim and was being cursed at obnoxiously loudly and vulgarly for it?

Yennefer ignored Sabrina calling her names that absolutely applied to her and her hormonal reaction to a lovely blue-eyed MILF the likes of which she had only seen in her dreams. "No thanks needed, love. I was getting tired of seeing you frown like someone had keyed your car every time you got killed. A pretty thing like you should only have cause to smile." Oh, Gods, now she sounded like a creepy old man that lived in his mum's basement. Great. Good job. Her Social Studies major was an absolute hit. Fuck her life. Fuck Oxenfurt College. And fuck Sabrina's witch-like cackling while she was at it. "Name’s Yennefer." She choked out miserably.

Tissaia scowled at her laptop. Hackers. Amazing. This was the best day of her new normal life. "Mind telling me how you broke through the most expensive antivirus in the Continent, dear? Because now I really need a refund." Now she also needed to contact Aretuza’s IT team on a Saturday night, because she was not about to mess any further with these blasphemous machines, thank you very much.

Wait, what? "That wasn't me... You left your camera on." The woman legitimately squealed at that, her oversized jumper sliding down her left shoulder and exposing just a glimpse of her collarbone as she pinned up her hair into a bun with... were those pens fashioned as swords? Oh, bugger, this was so not the time to get turned on! "Are you alright?" Mercifully Sabrina, Renfri and Phillipa were already accosting someone else, else she was sure the brunette would've completely lost it, more than she already was doing, anyways. "Hello?" No answer.

Tissaia was fishing for her boots when she started ranting, “Oh, don’t you worry! I’m fine! Just dandy! This is exactly how I wanted my life to go.” She motioned with her hand to the space around her. “I wished for nothing more than dealing with complete morons from nine to six, five days a week, whilst trying to make sure my sanity doesn't desert me.” Biting her lower lip for a moment she began checking that the ends of the laces were the same length when she pulled them up. “Running right after to my local grocery store to buy more instant meals that are probably going to give me cancer in five years if the bullshit articles my mother keeps sending me-”

Yennefer had told herself she wasn’t going to allow this wasn’t going to get any creepier than her misguided comment but she still had a gift code for that nice liquor store which conveniently had retailers popping up every six blocks everywhere for the last few months, especially in Thanned isle, only Gods knew why. “This bloody succubus of a twat that is my best friend has been forcing me to constantly use this cursed game by changing the password for my email and then Aretuza’s server and then-” Bingo. One text to Philippa and they had her IP address, with a mortified Triss already calling Jaskier since she was the only one that had managed to get a decent scholarship at that posh college.

This was her future wife who was about to jump from a bridge from the looks of her and they just had to do humanity a great service by saving her from herself and from sobriety.

“Can you believe that tosser? I am a lesbian! I spent my teenage years clad in flannel until my girlfriends staged an intervention kind of lesbian! Yes, Vilgefortz, I will sue you for harassment in the workplace and I will blacklist you. No, Vilgefortz, I don’t want to break quarantine to go on a date with you and I definitely do not want your disgusting cologne anywhere near my-” Tissaia’s head shot up, her doorbell was ringing and she pinched the bridge of her nose, reaching for a new, disposable, mask.

“You stay right there.” She threatened the girl, who had the most beautiful violet… Perhaps she really ought to let Coral get her a therapist. It rang again. “Gods-damn-it.” She thought.

Her plan was going marvellously. She would only have to sleep with a knife under her pillow for a few weeks for blackmailing Sabrina (Who honestly hadn’t the slightest talent to pass off plagiarism as a sudden stroke of genius in her final project without her aid.) into going along with this. The blonde was lighting the candles around the monitor without trying to burn her hair off and had given away her best bottle of cheap but still good wine for the cause. Thanks to Renfri and her frankly psychotic, owl obsessed, girlfriend she already knew what she would be replacing her trauma-ridden last name with! Splendid!

The brunette shut the door on Jaskier’s face after taking the brown paper bag from his hands, spraying the bottle of vodka inside it with so much disinfectant that it dripped down onto her carpet. Taking off her gloves and disposing of them, she grabbed a knife from the counter and ignoring the annoying blue light that came from the kitchen table, “Oh, shit. You’re soulmates. I’ll tell the rest of the girls we’re all fucked.” Tissaia cut off the upper part of the glass in one smooth hit, like Calanthe had taught her when the then teacher could still be considered fun by her groups of friends.

“Shut up, tiddybug!” She heard Yennefer sing-song.

Feeling like being crass the blue-eyed woman took a rather large swing directly from the bottle. Sitting back down, she sighed. Yennefer took a dignified sip from her wine; she could do balanced when her significant other to-be needed to let loose. “Did you like the bottle? It has good reviews from… wait a minute… apparently several alcoholics who don’t know what a budget is.”

Tissaia’s face paled. “I thought you weren’t a hacker.” The woman muttered. She didn’t fancy getting kidnapped and… No, no, no. Fucking Rita. What was the cost of moving, again? If she slept four hours less a day and split her cleaning time in two she could probably trade this house for Stregobor's in-

“I am not!” Yennefer cried. Bloody hell. “You just mentioned that you worked at Aretuza and-” Sabrina had probably started a group call and Phillipa was indeed hacking into her computer to save her arse. The Redanian was currently writing a script for her to follow. “Your username in the game is your surname. My friends and I tried to get into that school a few years back and I do remember that the Chancellor is a woman and that her last name is de Vries.” Her username wasn’t her last name, it was actually something that suggested she was an Ice Queen of the highest order. Queen Elsa from the movie Frozen would be intimidated kind of Ice Queen.

“Everyone is aware the highest-ranking members of the faculty live in chalets near the castle, pardon, the building.” True. According to Triss, that was a part of their contract that if unfulfilled prohibited them from working there ever again. To Yennefer that seemed borderline cruel, forcing them to be available at all hours like circus animals for juniors that didn’t deserve their spots.

“My best friend is a student there and she knows which one is your home because she wants to eventually be a teacher.” Partially true. Until that day came, Triss, like any rational individual, avoided the Chapter’s Village like the plague lingered inside, and wouldn’t be caught dead there unless she had to stop Sabrina from doing something stupid because of the anarchist phase she was going through. Jaskier was an acquaintance of hers of sorts because Triss had tutored his boyfriend Geralt in Biology and being daddy’s boy, he knew which one was Tissaia’s house because he had almost gotten expelled like fifteen times.

“I honestly just wanted to do something nice for you, you sounded like you needed it and… I know quarantine hasn’t been lifted once in Temeria since it all started.” Philippa wrote then that she would probably make for a decent actor without flashing her breasts to the audience every five minutes. She pursed her lips and replied in the mock post-it note to fuck off.

“I… I… Thank you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed- I’m sorry, darling.” Her pale cheeks flushed at the term of endearment that slipped her tongue and Tissaia bowed down her head, red-painted nails caressing the glass bottle almost reverently. “Say, why don’t you tell me what your email address is and I send you my mobile via chat? The explosions in the background aren’t that, uhm, comforting to listen to when I’d much rather be hearing your voice.” Should she have looked up she would have seen the smile that threatened to split Yennefer’s face. “Only if you want to, of course! I- what am I even saying? Never mi-”

“No! Wait!” She placated. Sabrina squeezed her shoulder as she went to retrieve her phone charger, offering her a genuine smile. “I’d love to.”

“Okay.” Said Tissaia, an awed sound leaving her throat when blue finally meet with lilac. Gods, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Rita could have whichever bottle, all the liquor she wanted from the school’s cellar for indirectly enabling this.

Was one week a proper enough courting period to then buy the engagement ring? Or should she just have Philippa get her the best, costliest one from that jewellery eshop they all liked through some minor fraud that would take her like half an hour at most, today? “Good.” Yennefer de Vries had such a nice ring to it.

[half-bakedboy]

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “I’ve recently found myself with a lot of time on my hands and since you don’t seem to have enough to romance someone,” Buck began, settling his drink on the table, “I think it only makes sense for someone to romance you.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and shot back, “Yeah, and how are you going to find someone willing to put in that effort?”

“Oh, you’re lookin’ at him.”

Or… Eddie gets the romance he deserves in the form of fluff-filled dates with Buck.

For @911fluffweek - day five: Love confession // Breakfast in bed

(read chapter five on ao3 or start from the beginning)

The nights Buck spent over at the Diaz home had slowly become the most important ones. Eddie hadn’t been ready to make a home in L.A. In fact, he had tried his hardest to avoid that at all costs for the sake of his own sanity. He moved from Texas to avoid the pressure that his family had put on him when he came back from Afghanistan and that Shannon had forced upon him when she decided to leave. There was nothing Eddie wanted less than to have something so intertwined into his—and by extension, Christopher’s—day-to-day life.

Buck had become exactly that before Eddie could stop it, and he realized after a few months, that he wouldn’t have put in the effort to try. He knew it would be energy expended to push Buck away because at every turn, there he was; buying him flowers, twirling him around a dance floor, tossing pebbles at his window to take him on late-night adventures, entertaining Christopher with trips to the movies with and without Eddie there. Buck was proving to both of the Diaz boys that he was there to stay and Eddie wasn’t as scared as he had prepared himself to be.

He was definitely not regretting his decision to have Buck stay over when he woke up to the smell of bacon wafting through his room. He pressed his hand to the other side of the bed, still warm but emptier than Eddie wished it was, and he rolled over to shove his wide grin in his pillow. He could hear the clash of pans, the music playing at a volume that Eddie knew both his boyfriend and his son wanted to raise, and the joyful laughter of the two most important people in his life echoing down the hallway.

Eddie could get used to waking up happy. He could get used to having a family that consisted of more than just Christopher. He could get used to being in love.

When did he start smiling so much?

He shook the thought away, deciding that it was a question he already knew the answer to and therefore, didn’t need to think much about, and sat up in his bed. He reached for his phone, a force of habit from when he didn’t wake up with Buck beside him, and instead, his hand met heavy construction paper. On it was Buck’s chicken scratch and multiple small drawings that he recognized immediately as Christopher’s.

Text me when you wake up and don’t get out of bed. Christopher’s orders.

Eddie laughed and ran his hands through his hair before propping himself against the headboard and doing just as he was told. It was the first time in a long time that he had an entire weekend to spend outside of the one-eighteen and he had no other plans but to be with Buck and Christopher. He shot off the text, grinning when he heard a squeal that resonated with joy, and waited as he heard the tiny patter of crutches down the hallway.

“You didn’t get out of bed, did you?” Christopher yelled through the door, knocking excitedly.

Eddie shouted back, “I was instructed not to by order of the obvious king of this household!”

The door flew open and a few short moments later, he had his arms full of his son. His hair tickled against Eddie’s nose and his knee dug painfully into Eddie’s hipbone, but he didn’t bother to try and move him. He was quietly content that at eight years old, Christopher was still willing to wrap him up in such an exuberant embrace no matter where they were.

“We have a surprise,” Christopher explained once he pulled away and settled next to his dad on the bed. Buck peeked around the corner of the door frame as if waiting for his cue and in his hands, was a tray containing Eddie’s favorite breakfast foods.

“He says ‘we’ but this was all Christopher’s idea,” Buck countered, directing a wink at both of the Diaz boys. Eddie grinned up at him as he handed over the platter. He eyed the plates suspiciously, noting that there were entirely too many scrambled eggs, strips of bacon, and hash browns for him to consume by himself. Christopher vibrated beside him just as Buck pulled out three forks from his back pocket.

“Buck said I had to ask you if we could all eat in bed but I thought since it’s a good surprise, you wouldn’t be able to say no,” Christopher said too matter-of-factly for Eddie’s taste. He stared at his son who had the largest and cheekiest smile on his face and hated that Christopher clocked him that well. Without waiting for an answer—or possibly seeing it on his father’s face—Christopher grabbed a fork from Buck and dove in, scooping some eggs from the plate and filling his mouth. Eddie slid over just enough for Buck to squish into his other side and Buck glanced over at him almost ashamedly.

Buck began rapidly, “I’m sorry for the ambush. He just came in here so quietly and you were so tired after your shift yesterday that I didn’t want to wake you. Then Christopher mentioned how you guys used to do breakfast in bed for his mom and we both decided that you deserved to start your weekend off right—”

Eddie cut him off with a kiss. It was quicker than either of them wanted it to be but both were very aware of the tiny set of eyes watching their every move. Christopher groaned and crunched loudly on a piece of bacon causing both Eddie and Buck to erupt in laughter. Instead of shying away like Eddie had expected, Buck leaned forward and placed a messy kiss on Eddie’s cheek before leaning over and doing the same thing to Christopher. The boy blushed and rolled his eyes, wiping away the remnants of Buck’s lips away with the back of his hand. The smile never left his face.

“So, breakfast in bed, huh?” Eddie began, scooping up a forkful of hash browns. “What step in the romance handbook is this?” Buck laughed and stabbed a few eggs, battling Christopher’s fork with his own as they went for the same bundle.

“There’s a handbook?” Christopher asked, peering up at his dad almost shyly. There was a look in his eyes that Eddie hadn’t seen before and it intrigued him to no end.

“There’s not a real handbook but Buck, here, is very good at bringing the romance,” Eddie commented. He figured that was the safest way to put it and blushed when Buck pressed a gentle kiss to his temple when Christopher wasn’t looking, as if punctuating Eddie’s point.

“What would be in the handbook? If there was one?” Christopher asked, breaking off little bits of his bacon and chewing on them slowly. Eddie hesitated to answer, a bit too long if Buck’s elbow in his side told him anything.

“Um, lots of things. Romantic gestures, mostly,” Eddie said, sending a pleading glance at Buck because he was the expert. Buck held back a laugh, probably for Christopher’s sake, before leaning forward enough to meet Christopher’s gaze.

“Sometimes, people like to feel like someone thinks they’re important and there are little things others can do to make them feel that way,” Buck began as Christopher nodded along, eyes focused like Buck was giving him the secret to the entire universe. “I gave your dad flowers when I picked him up on the first date and he turned all red because he appreciated them,” Buck teased, poking at Eddie’s cheek.

“Flowers made him feel special?” Christopher asked, scrunching his face like he didn’t quite understand. Eddie watched him carefully, wondering where the sudden interest came from, but Buck was speaking again before he could ask.

“It wasn’t the flowers, really. I think it was the fact that I went out of my way to bring him something beautiful when he expected nothing,” Buck stated and he was right.

Eddie was pretty sure that when he tossed the flowers in a vase when they got home, they were already half-dead and wilted, but that didn’t matter to him. He would’ve kept them until they were black because somehow, that little gesture showed Eddie that Buck wasn’t playing around with him. Whatever they were starting was real and as fragile as the bouquet crushed between their chests.

“I think I understand,” Christopher said, picking at the eggs with the end of his fork again. Eddie and Buck shared a look of intrigue before staring back over at Christopher expectantly. For a moment, he was silent. Then he seemed to notice their eyes on him and that blush on his cheeks darkened as he actively avoided their gazes. “What?”

“Oh, you know what,” Eddie said, wrapping an arm around Christopher’s shoulder and squeezing his arm tightly. “Where are all of these questions coming from?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Christopher whined bashfully, filling his mouth with food as if that would give him a reason not to answer. Eddie raised his eyebrows at him before glancing over at Buck who was pressing his lips together and pretending to not be a part of the conversation.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Christopher?” Eddie urged, brushing his hair back from his face gently. Christopher nodded and pulled away from Eddie, taking a deep preparatory breath.

“Do you think, after we have our fun weekend together, I can maybe get some chocolate for someone at school?” Christopher asked after a few contemplative moments. Eddie’s heart clenched in his chest and he nodded back, leaning into the arm Buck had thrown around his shoulders.

He knew his son was only eight, but the fact he had formed a close enough relationship to want to treat them to something special made him so incredibly happy. He had stressed himself out for weeks--months even--when he had decided to move them to L.A., but to have confirmation that Christopher was finding his own place solidified that maybe Eddie had done the right thing for his family. Seeing Buck grin next to him helped, too.

“I never ever thought of chocolate?” Buck complained, gaping at Christopher who beamed in response.

“Everyone loves chocolate and dad always gets me sweets when he wants me to know I’m special,” Christopher explained, glancing up at Buck as if waiting for more praise for his good idea.

“You’re absolutely right, buddy. Chocolate is a wonderful gift and maybe you can help me pick something out for someone I think is pretty special, too?” Buck asked with a wink. He held up one hand in front of his face and used his other to point at Eddie as if hiding the motion. Christopher giggled wildly and Eddie couldn’t help but join in.

“Uh uh, it’s my turn to pick out something for my special someone, don’t you think, Christopher?” Eddie angled his upper body blocking Christopher from Buck and used his thumb to point at his shoulder, knowing that Buck could still see the motion in his direction.

Christopher devolved into a fit of laughter, his hands waving as he leaned back against the pillows behind him. Buck moved the almost empty tray off of Eddie’s lap carefully and when there was nothing in his way anymore, he raised his eyebrows at Eddie in silent question. Eddie nodded and on a quiet count of three, the two men attacked. They poked at Christopher’s sides and his neck where both knew he was most ticklish, working together to make sure Christopher was thoroughly tickled.

The laughter seemed to echo through the room, resounding through Eddie’s mind like a sweet symphony of joy and wonder. Soon, all of them were breathless, panting through their leftover giggles. Buck had landed himself on the other side of Christopher so the small boy was tucked in between them, the smile on his face never faltering. He was gripping onto both Buck and Eddie like he never wanted to let go and honestly, Eddie understood that.

His stomach muscles ached from sheer happiness and he was sure the smile on his face would last the entire weekend because he was spending it with the two people beside him. If he could wake up to his son and Buck for the rest of his life, he would choose to do that. He would choose Buck a thousand times over if it meant seeing those smiles on both of their faces day in and day out.

“Alright, who’s ready for the fun-filled weekend I have planned?” Eddie asked excitedly.

Christopher groaned and cuddled into Buck’s chest as he responded, “Just a few more minutes?”

Yeah, Eddie could get used to that.

[linastudyblrsblog]

Burnout, unfortunately, is everywhere. If you haven’t experienced it personally, you probably know someone who has self-diagnosed.

 Defined by the World Health Organization as a syndrome “conceptualized as resulted from chronic workplace stress,” it causes exhaustion, “feelings of negativism or cynicism,” and reduced efficacy. That’s a big umbrella, and the condition has become something of a catch-all for chronic, modern-day stress. 

Here are 11 of our favorites to help you create your own escape plan:

1. Figure out which kind of burnout you have.

The Association for Psychological Science found that burnout comes in three different types, and each one needs a different solution:

1. Overload: The frenetic employee who works toward success until exhaustion, is most closely related to emotional venting. These individuals might try to cope with their stress by complaining about the organizational hierarchy at work, feeling as though it imposes limits on their goals and ambitions. That coping strategy, unsurprisingly, seems to lead to a stress overload and a tendency to throw in the towel.

2. Lack of Development: Most closely associated with an avoidance coping strategy. These under-challenged workers tend to manage stress by distancing themselves from work, a strategy that leads to depersonalization and cynicism — a harbinger for burning out and packing up shop.

3. Neglect: Seems to stem from a coping strategy based on giving up in the face of stress. Even though these individuals want to achieve a certain goal, they lack the motivation to plow through barriers to get to it

2. Cut down and start saying “no.”

Every “yes” you say adds another thing on your plate and takes more energy away from you, and your creativity:

If you take on too many commitments, start saying ‘no’. If you have too many ideas, execute a few and put the rest in a folder labeled ‘backburner’. If you suffer from information overload, start blocking off downtime or focused worktime in your schedule (here are some tools that may help). Answer email at set times. Switch your phone off, or even leave it behind. The world won’t end. I promise.

3.  Give up on getting motivated.

With real burnout mode, you’re too exhausted to stay positive. So don’t:

When you’re mired in negative emotions about work, resist the urge to try to stamp them out. Instead, get a little distance — step away from your desk, focus on your breath for a few seconds — and then just feel the negativity, without trying to banish it. Then take action alongside the emotion. Usually, the negative feelings will soon dissipate. Even if they don’t, you’ll be a step closer to a meaningful achievement.

4.  Treat the disease, not the symptoms. 

For real recovery and prevention to happen, you need to find the real, deeper issue behind why you’re burnt out:

Instead of overreacting to the blip, step back from it, see it as an incident instead of an indictment, and then examine it like Sherlock Holmes looking for clues.

For example, you could ask yourself: What happened before the slip? Did I encounter a specific trigger event such as a last-minute client request? Was there an unusual circumstance such as sickness? When did I first notice the reversion in my behavior? Is some part of this routine unsustainable and if so, how could I adjust it to make it more realistic?

5.  Make downtime a daily ritual.

To help relieve pressure, schedule daily blocks of downtime to refuel your brain and well-being. It can be anything from meditation to a nap, a walk, or simply turning off the wifi for a while:

When it comes to scheduling, we will need to allocate blocks of time for deep thinking. Maybe you will carve out a 1-2 hour block on your calendar every day for taking a walk or grabbing a cup of coffee and just pondering some of those bigger things. I can even imagine a day when homes and apartments have a special switch that shuts down wi-fi and data access during dinner or at night – just to provide a temporary pause from the constant flow of status updates and other communications…

There is no better mental escape from our tech-charged world than the act of meditation. If only for 15 minutes, the ability to steer your mind away from constant stimulation is downright liberating. There are various kinds of meditation. Some forms require you to think about nothing and completely clear your mind. (This is quite hard, at least for me.) Other forms of meditation are about focusing on one specific thing – often your breath, or a mantra that you repeat in your head (or out loud) for 10-15 minutes…

If you can’t adopt meditation, you might also try clearing your mind the old fashioned way – by sleeping. The legendary energy expert and bestselling author Tony Schwartz takes a 20-minute nap every day. Even if it’s a few hours before he presents to a packed audience, he’ll take a short nap.

6.  Stop being a perfectionist; start satisficing.

Trying to maximize every task and squeeze every drop of productivity out of your creative work is a recipe for exhaustion and procrastination. Set yourself boundaries for acceptable work and stick to them:

Consistently sacrificing your health, your well being, your relationships, and your sanity for the sake of living up to impossible standards will lead to some dangerous behaviors and, ironically, a great deal of procrastination. Instead of saying, “I’ll stay up until this is done,” say, “I’ll work until X time and then I’m stopping. I may end up needing to ask for an extension or complete less than perfect work. But that’s OK. I’m worth it.” Making sleep, exercise, and downtime a regular part of your life plays an essential role in a lasting, productive creative career.

7.  Track your progress every day.

Keeping track allows you to see exactly how much is on your plate, not only day-to-day, but consistently over time:

Disappointing feedback can be painful at first – research shows that failure and losses can hurt twice as much as the pleasure of equivalent gains. But if you discover you’re off course, reliable feedback shows you by how much, and you then have the opportunity to take remedial action and to plot a new training regime or writing schedule. The temporary pain of negative feedback is nothing compared with the crushing experience of project failure. Better to discover that you’re behind and need to start writing an hour earlier each day, than to have your book contract rescinded further down the line because you’ve failed to deliver.

8.  Change location often.

Entrepreneurs or freelancers can be especially prone to burnout. Joel Runyon plays “workstation popcorn,” in which he groups tasks by location and then switches, in order to keep work manageable, provide himself frequent breaks, and spend his time efficiently:

You find yourself spending hours at your computer, dutifully “working” but getting very little done. You finish each day with the dreaded feeling that you’re behind, and that you’re only falling farther and farther behind. You’re buried below an ever-growing to-do list. There’s a feeling of dread that tomorrow is coming, and that it’s bringing with it even more work that you probably won’t be able to get ahead on.

List out everything you need to do today. Try to be as specific as you can…Next, break that list into three sections. Step 1: Go to cafe [or desk, a different table in your office, etc.] #1. Step 2: Start working on item group #1…Once you finish all the tasks in group #1, get up and move. Close your tabs, pack your bags, and physically move your butt to your next spot. If you can, walk or bike to your next stop…When you get to the next cafe [or spot], start on the next action item group, and repeat…

When you’ve completed everything on your to-do list for the day, you are done working. Relax, kick back, and live your life. Don’t take work home with you because that won’t help you get more done – it will just wear you out.

9.  Don’t overload what downtime you do get.

Vacations themselves can cause, or worsen burnout, with high-stress situations, expectations, and sleep interruption. Use it to help in recovery from burnout instead: 

Make a flexible itinerary a priority. [A] study from Radboud University found that effective vacations give you the choice and freedom to choose what you want to do. That means two things: Try to avoid structuring your vacation around an unbreakable schedule, and plan on going somewhere that has multiple options to pick from depending on the weather, your level of energy, or your budget.

10. Write yourself fan mail.

Seth Godin uses self-fan mail as a way to keep motivated instead of burning out on a project that seems far from completion:

I define non-clinical anxiety as, “experiencing failure in advance.” If you’re busy enacting a future that hasn’t happened yet, and amplifying the worst possible outcomes, it’s no wonder it’s difficult to ship that work. With disappointment, I note that our culture doesn’t have an easily found word for the opposite. For experiencing success in advance. For visualizing the best possible outcomes before they happen. Will your book get a great testimonial? Write it out. Will your talk move someone in the audience to change and to let you know about it? What did they say? Will this new product gain shelf space at the local market? Take a picture. Writing yourself fan mail in advance, and picturing the change you’ve announced you’re trying, to make is an effective way to push yourself to build something that actually generates that action.

  11. Break projects into bite-sized pieces.

Taking a task on in one entire lump can be exhausting and provide little room for rest in between. Breaking up your projects into set chunks with their own deadlines provides a much healthier, and easier, way of completing a large project:

The default take on deadlines is typically to consider them to be cumbersome and stressful. Yet, from another perspective, a deadline can be viewed as a huge benefit to any project. Without the urgency of a hard deadline pushing a project to completion, it’s easy for you, your team, or your client to lose focus. We’ve all worked on agonizing projects where the timeline just bleeds on and on, merely because the flexibility is there…

It turns out that the manner in which a task is presented to someone – or the way in which you present it to your brain – has a significant impact on how motivated you will be to take action. A study led by researcher Sean McCrea at the University of Konstanz in Germany recently found that people are much more likely to tackle a concrete task than an abstract task… It seems to me like the difference between being handed a map versus following the step-by-step instructions of a GPS device. Not everyone can read a map, but everyone can follow the directions. By breaking your project down into smaller, well-described tasks, the way forward becomes clear and it’s easy to take action.

[dotsayers]

20 Questions: Writer’s Edition

tagged by the beloved @myrmidryad 

this is a LONG one so here’s a cut to avoid do you love the colour of the sky syndrome

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

101 after a recent purge... no one may know about my Past

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

329004! used to be about 350k but again... purge

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

on ao3 i’ve written for (chronologically) doctor who, skyfall, discworld, les mis, star trek, lord peter wimsey, marvel (various), in the flesh, red vs blue, roosterteeth rpf, check please, hockey rpf, star wars, daredevil, rivers of london, dishonored, emmerdale, dirk gently, holby city, hot fuzz, kj charles, guardian, the covert captain, taskmaster rpf, good omens, ghosts, roswell new mexico, leverage, schitt’s creek, the magicians, 9-1-1, it chapter two, the magnus archives, the old guard, the mandalorian, the ritual, the locked tomb

way back on the pit of voles i wrote for twilight, harry potter, hetalia and xmen first class. and on the newsround chatrooms i wrote exclusively harry potter fic about my oc neville and luna’s daughter

as you can tell i am not prone to staying in one fandom writing wise, i tend to end up with one complete fic and seven abandoned wips concealed deep in my google drive

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

finally see what it means to be living (captain marvel, carol/maria, i really hit the zeitgeist with this one i think i was something like the fifth fic in the ship tag)

do whatever you think (the magnus archives, this series is actually #2-7, then #8 #9 and #11 for me so i’m going to cheat a bit)

standing in a world of my own (daredevil, matt/foggy/karen, another zeitgeist hit! really miss writing for daredevil actually... it’s a perennial fave)

a winding road that stretches towards the truth (iron man, tony/rhodey, i STILL don’t know when this got so many kudos. i swear i looked away when it was at 100 and suddenly it ended up here)

where the long shadows grow (star trek aos, kirk prime/spock prime, thank god some people are checking the prime kirkspock tag is all i’m saying!)

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i don’t really Do angsty endings... possibly a blanket of stars just because i ended it on something of a cliffhanger and then completely zoned out of rnm for long enough that i forgot where i was going with it. there was definitely the intention of fixing things but then i just... did not do that. and now the show is on s3 and i’m over a season behind! life comes at you fast

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

where the long shadows grow, because it reunited kirk prime and spock prime and they DESERVE TO BE HAPPYYYY. i’m a complete sucker for presumed dead/back from the dead stories, actually, so on a similar theme i have two (TWO) daredevil fics which follow the trope, one about ray coming back post-s2 (might never be normal again) and one about foggy and matt reuniting post-endgame (in the corner, taking up space). this is the only time i will ever acknowledge endgame ever again

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

i do write crossovers! in fact i am often roundly mocked by my friends for the increasingly esoteric nature of my crossovers. way back in secondary i wrote a twilight/labyrinth crossover where angela was sarah and jareth’s daughter  because i had a massive crush on a girl who liked both twilight and labyrinth. however, since that has been comprehensively scrubbed from the internet, i think my craziest crossover is probably part three of ‘traced upon the skies’, already an esoteric crossover of rivers of london and hot fuzz, when i added in a crossover with the horror movie ‘the ritual’ just because i wanted rafe spall’s character to be happy 

8. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

EXTREMELY rarely and only with extreme embarrassment. i will not be any more specific than that

9. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i used to really struggle with doing this, to the point that i had over 300 comments just. lingering in my inbox unanswered. so i decided to give those up and just commit to answering them from then on, which has been working fairly well for about a year and a half now. i love getting comments but i get overwhelmed really easily and struggle with replying in a way which feels meaningful without getting in my head about it! 

10. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

yes lmao it was for a harry potter fic on ff.net where harry got sorted into hufflepuff instead of gryffindor. it wasn’t a very good fic but i think the fact it was clearly written by an 11 year old should have scared off at least some of the less flattering comments.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t... think so? i don’t know how i’d find out to be honest, my vanity googling is rarely very effective

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! as bronze may be much beautified (skyfall, mallory/bond) got translated into chinese, i was extremely pleased. i think it’s mandarin but the ao3 page for the translation doesn’t say and my mandarin is.................. extremely poor

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

also yes! me and jess little-smartass have written a lot together, although only our star trek/les mis series has been published, more’s the pity. we spent a lot of les mis fandom time workshopping aus and we were always extremely correct about all of it, imo

14. What’s your all time favourite ship to write for?

oh god. i think probably kirk/spock, although there’s some recency bias to that since i reread space manhattans recently and was reminded of my love for them. i really like writing jon/martin but i’ve mostly done that from outsider pov which is a bit different to writing shipfic, i think. joe/nicky from tog was also something i really liked writing but i struggle with plotting longer fic with them

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i recently went through my abandoned fic folder so i actually have a few options for this. the obvious choice would be ‘any of the hockey ones’ but i did delete most of those just for my sanity. more recently i started writing a vaguely smutty pre-the thing mac/fuchs fic for alex @milkdrinker5000 which i really WANT to finish but am struggling with. most obscure answer (even beyond the thing) and most likely to remain unfinished is the insanely in depth post-tog booker/copley fic i had planned out back in about october. i wrote a good 6-7k of that one and then i realised it was going to be, like, difficult, and decided if i was going to put that much work into something it may as well be the novel im meant to be writing

16. What are your writing strengths?

once a friend told me i had an excellent facility for dialogue and ive thought about it every time i write ever since. i love writing dialogue and i think i’m good at knowing what sounds ic and what is right out. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

one of the things i struggled with for a really long time, and honestly still have trouble with, is depicting action in words. once i wrote a hockey fic which featured multiple hockey games and i spent probably four times as much effort editing those to make sense and be interesting that i’ve ever done on a talkier scene.

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i’ve done it but only when i knew more or less what i was talking about - i did italian at school so i felt confident using it for nicky in something particular and real. i try not to italicise when i drop in words from other languages, which is what i usually do when i’m using a language i haven’t studied in depth (for example, joe’s use of arabic in some of my fic), and to only use words which i’ve heard used by native speakers in that context. i think if you don’t feel confident using another language, generally speaking, you shouldn’t do it. and for god’s sake don’t use google translate for a full sentence

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

harry potter on the newsround chatboards. ariana lovegood-longbottom my sweet child

20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

this used to be an easy question because hands down the fic i was proudest of on posting it was i’ll be seeing you. i spent a year and a half on research and writing! but these days i do cringe a little at my hockey fic, and i think i’m prouder of some of my shorter works. let’s do a curveball and say layer on layer, down on down, which is my favourite of my rnm fics and the one i like most from a narrative voice perspective. getting michael right was stressful and i’m still proud i got it down for a TIME LOOP FIC, my absolute favourite trope

tagging @little-smartass and @leescoresbies just in case they want to try this

[thechatsmeow]

So um... does anyone have any links to theories abt the graham/bourgeois/tsurugi/agreste connection?? I know I saw someone bring it up once but I can’t find it again and I’m having a hard time finding stuff on it in general

Tinfoil hatting under the cut (warning, it’s a long and disorganized post)

I remember seeing someone spitball about the possibility of some kind of secret society/conspiracy with them and honestly I’m?? Kinda seeing it holy shit

First I’d like to bring up this symbol

this first appeared (to my knowledge) in Gorizilla. It flashed prominently on the screen before the movie, obviously meant to come across as a pre-movie ad. However it’s placement feels VERY deliberate. you’re supposed to notice it

when it zooms out, we see the name on the car is tsurugi

this symbol also appears in Ikari Gozen, in the Tsurugis’ smart car. 

I feel like this is important. Some kind of triangle with three pieces in it. The symbols inside of it remind me of halves of a yin yang sign. (it also reminds me of sharingan but my weebism is not relevant)

While we don’t know very much about Tomoe Tsurugi, we do know that she is well acquainted with Gabriel. She also, like Gabriel, has a “perfect” child that’s being groomed to be the perfect successor. (A side note, I can’t help but feel like Kagami’s ring is important also, but I don’t have anything to go off of with that.)

Interestingly, at the end of Feast, when the news shows that the Guardian Temple returned, the camera cuts to the reactions of 3 specific people. It flashes to Tomoe Tsurugi, Audrey Bourgeois, and Gabriel/Nathalie. Hmm. Sure Gabriel and Nathalie have a reason to be interested, but the other two? 🤔

What could they possibly have to do with it? 🤔🤔🤔

Back to Gorizilla. 

old news ofc, plenty of people discussed this. just throwing it in the post to solidify Audrey’s involvement in all... this since she hasn’t really had many other hints dropped about her that I’ve picked up on. I find it interesting though out of all involved parties Audrey’s the only one who’s kid isn’t being brought up into some freakishly perfect little golden child. Maybe she decided Chloe wasn’t worth the effort lmao. 

Onto the Grahams. 

An early reference to the Graham family twin rings brought up in Felix. We know those rings are important, somehow, but we don’t know how. They’re either super duper symbolic of something or literally magical. Given that one of them now belongs to Felix and all the little quips about him being such a little magician, and being super interested in the backstory of the rings, I’m inclined to believe they’re literally magical. Especially with how much Amelie wanted them back. I don’t think Gabriel knows the significance of the rings, he’s merely attached to them bc they’re literally his and emilie’s wedding rings. 

Gabriel’s relationship with the Graham family is actually super interesting in general. I’m fully convinced the Graham’s were up to some shady shit. Gabriel seems generally uninterested in interacting with them, and the fact that he didn’t let Adrien go to Mr Graham’s funeral shows some strain between the two families. I wonder if maybe Emilie tried to distance herself from them when she married Gabriel? I feel like Gabriel was pretty out of the loop in general, even with the Miraculous’, considering he didn’t even know how to activate Nooroo without asking. I think perhaps he got roped into Emilie’s magical bullshit.

This is probably just my super secret strong desire for Emilie to be The Real Villain shining through, but that’s neither here nor there.

We still don’t know why she was using the Peacock Miraculous in the first place, it would be super interesting if it had something to do with the Graham family and their potentially evil shenanigans. 

I want to know how the kids potentially play into this. All involved parties have a child around the same age. In Adrien and Kagami’s case at least (can’t speak for felix since we haven’t seen much of him) we have two kids with overbearing parents that isolate them and expect absolute perfection.

I’m ESPECIALLY interested in Adrien’s upbringing. Gabriel is a massive piece of shit but he must not be the only one, since he isn’t soley responsible for his isolation. His mom’s only been missing a year, his homeschooling, insane amount of extracurriculars, and complete isolation from people his own age is NOT new. Gabriel and Emilie deciding that Adrien gets to grow up as a repressed friendless ball of Perfection was a joint effort. We’re given the impression that Adrien was close with his mom and that she was sweet and loving in that vague Dead Mom kinda way but we really know nothing about her. Perhaps they were just insanely overprotective but I feel like there’s more beneath the surface here.

And isn’t it interesting that the only other kid he DID get to socialize with and befriend was none other than the daughter of Audrey Bourgeois? Who we know has to have at least some involvement in all this crazy shit? 

Another thing I think about is Gabriel mentioning his “promise” to Emilie. Now this could just be a vague romantic “I promise to bring u back wifey uwu” but wouldn’t it be interesting if she actually... made him promise to bring her back? (I’m sorry u can probably tell that i just rlly want her to be evil)

I’m not sure where exactly I’m going with all this but it’s been knockin around in my brain and i wanted to write it down for my sanity’s sake

[tenshindon]

despite the literal hours of research i did for this building, the accuracy of this structure is VERY debatable because of just how vague everything surprisingly was. not gonna lie in the full courtyard map below i took a LOT of liberties alongside the material i could work with. Also after a while I felt my sanity leave through my orfaces so not everything’s appropriately to scale.

as per usual I’m gonna put my thoughts below but I’m also going to put a map of the whole dojo grounds down below the cut. if you don’t care about all of the specifics or justifications and just want some kind of reference for a drawing, story, or just want an idea of Tien’s house, then please enjoy.

FULL MAP:

It’s surprisingly near impossible to find any pictures of existing courtyard dojos, Japanese or Chinese, so I had to get a Little creative and work with what I had. The thinking behind this was that Tien’s students potentially lived at the dojo with him. Admittedly I didn’t mark the buildings on the sides as being living spaces because I’m not even entirely sure, but I let it be a possibility. I also only put two buildings because Tien doesn’t seem to have all that many students (from what I was able to see, 12 students max, not yet counting Yurin), and if I were to divide the rooms appropriately and assuming two people slept in one room, then each student could be accounted for (About 6 students per building).

I knew that there was more to the building and the door in the back wasn’t just an exit because in a later shot the students are seen walking down a pathway to the left side of the building- it wouldn’t make much sense for them to leave the area then renter it. Additionally, when Tien dismisses his class for the day, they don’t make way for Tien’s doorway- they leave through the back, or at least walk to the side. As for where they’re going is an absolute mystery, especially considering the map. My justification was that they were just leaving the dojo for the time being to get some outside food or something- maybe just get out for a bit. Why were they still in their uniform? I couldn’t tell you and for that I apologize.

I put “private rooms” due to Roshi’s “private training” session with Yurin. They were placed at the bottom of the map because when Yurin is running across the walkway, she’s coming from the right- presumably the bottom. Not only that, Roshi is shown carrying Yurin towards the way she initially came. Additionally, when Goku pops in to find Master Roshi, you can faintly see trees in the background, and referencing all of the walkway shots there are a number of trees. It was also important to remember that when the students were walking away, there was no visible buildings behind them, so the final place I had to conclude to put the buildings was at the bottom.

By Tien’s house are simply just entry walkways; there’s nothing in nor special about either buildings. I’m not sure where I read this exactly- I forgot to save the page amidst my breakdown. But if I recall correctly and if this is correct, students are supposed to enter the area through the left while the teacher enters through the right. Either that, or the door on the left could be an entrance/exit and vice versa for the right side.

TIEN’S HOUSE:

The only room I was able to absolutely confirm existed was the room Tien and Goku sat in. Even then, this room itself is very vague on where it is. Judging the position of the camera, I assumed that the camera would be from the doorway’s perspective, seeing as no other wall visibly had any doors. Additionally, I knew they were in Tien’s house specifically because after their conversation ends, someone knocks on the door and the two look towards the left side of the screen, further fueling my theory the door was to the right side of the room. Also, the existence of two different types of windows gave me an idea that the room was absolutely in the top-left corner of the house. It couldn’t be the absolute left side of the house due to the lack of window- and I know there was no window in the room due to the shot that showed the wall directly behind Goku. Other than a brass frame, there was no window nor door- thus the door had to be on the right side of the room.

As for the rest of the house, I honestly just looked around traditional Chinese and Japanese homes as well as modern one-floor layouts and put rooms where I thought they were appropriate. Quick note about the bathroom, I promise there’s probably a curtain or screen of some kind so Tien and Chitaozu have privacy while they bathe. Since this is just a quick map, I didn’t put too much detail into the rooms and furniture.

I put a door in the back of Tien’s house because I figured he’d be pretty devoted not only to his school but just going to the courtyard to train.

Now for the screenshots I used and how I found my measurements as well as just providing visuals for what I’ve said before.

THE DOJO

I used Yurin’s height to measure the door (I used a different shot- the one where she’s ascending the stairs so I could get a better idea of her size compared to the door. I’ll also elaborate on how I found Yurin’s height in a later part of this post). I found that the door was about two Yurin’s high, which was about 10′6 feet high. An additional note is that all three doors appear to be sliding doors as they lack any visible handles. I extended the front doors being sliding doors to the rest of the doors inside of Tien’s house.

This shot was used to identify the ring pull doors in the back. Shots I didn’t include also exposed the fact that Tien’s doorway and the doors in the back were the only entrances in the courtyard.

This shot was used to measure the doorway. I expanded the size of the canvas I posted this on and drew the rest of Tien’s body, then sizing it so it was proportionate to be right next to the entrance. I deduced the doorway was about one Tien (6′0 ft) wide once I put him on his side. 

Using Tien’s height from the previous shot, I used the doorway size to measure the courtyard in total, coming to around 66 feet wide and presumably 66 feet long, as most courtyards are evenly square shaped..

I used this shot to not only acknowledge there was a gap in-between the courtyard and the walls of the dojo, but to also get Yurin’s height so I could use her as my main unit of measurement. Using the traditional heads-high method, I was able to get that Yurin was about 5′3 (5.25 specifically).

Shot used to identify the private room and the placement of the room in respect to the rest of the dojo. I knew this was a room in the dojo because there’s a sign that says “Tenshinhan Dojo” (or more literally, “Tianjin Dojo”)

Bringing back the first shot of the walkway from when Yurin first arrived to the dojo, I combined the two plus a flipped version of the first picture and came up with my walkway. Using Yurin from the shot where I got her height, I set her up lying down and proceeded to measure the walkway from the entrance of the courtyard to the entrance of Tien’s backdoor. I came to about 70 feet. 

Shot to show lack of buildings.

TIEN’S HOUSE

The inside of Tien’s tea room is pretty inconsistent; the identifiably octagonal window isn’t as close to the wall in the second shot as it is in the first shot. For symmetry sake, I technically shrunk the size of the room in the second shot. Since I wanted to establish this room as a tea room, I did a quick search to see how big tea rooms generally were and came to about 9x9. Not only so I could give the room some breathing room and so I wouldn’t have to do any more math because I’d done more than a studying psychologist should, I just took the size of the house’s front doors and used that as measurement for the room.

I included the storage room below so the left window would have an appropriate place to exist. That, and it allowed Tien’s house to be a bit bigger and I was able to make things more comfortable.

Shot to solidify the fact the left outside window couldn’t possibly exist in the tea room.

As for Tien’s radish farm, traditional Chinese farms are typically right on the ledge of mountains. Taking note of the mountains right behind Tien’s dojo, I assumed his farm would be there. Not only that, but the existing shots of Tien’s farm depict a mountain right in the back, so while his farm doesn’t follow the ledge format it at least exists by the mountains in the back. I didn’t see a dire need to illustrate this so I didn’t, but if you want me to then I’ll be happy to make an addition to this post.

Anyway, that’s the end of my work. If you have any opinions please feel free to tell me them. The way I formatted Tien’s dojo/house doesn’t seem right and feels uncomfortable personally, and I feel like it could look MUCH much better, so all input is welcomed!

[pinepickled-narutoblog]

If u are doing fics may I kindly request some of my fave feral boys kakazabu and I struggle to think of a prompt but. Maybe snowball fight? Or mistley-toe? Whichever you like better, I just want them to be happy

Ofc! Mistletoe under the cut~

Zabuza was seriously considering killing Kakashi. Who in this whole wide world would have thought that Hatake Kakashi of the Sharingan, Copy Ninja, would be so fucking stupid. Killing Kakashi may even appease the situation they'd gotten into.

It'd all started when Kakashi had snuck away from the village, three absurdly powerful genin under his arm, to spend the winter holiday with the rogue nin and maybe-probably yokai who was attached to him. They were going to go deep into the mountains and camp out in the snow- a relatively safe plan, considering that four out of six of them had an affinity for water and therefore ice, but no. An ever curious Uzumaki brat- those things were always dangerous, regardless of age- had wandered off and gotten caught in the hands of a yokai.

In all honesty, Zabuza should have known better. It was a frozen mountain in the middle of winter, and they were likely the only ones up there- the residents of the mountain were bound to go see what the fuck kind of idiots walked right into their home. Though, it was almost worth it to see how wildly uncomfortable Haku looked when faced with another yuki-onna.

But their troubles hadn't ended there. The Uzumaki brat had bit the yuki-onna in a bid to get free, but instead just annoyed the thing into going back to it's own plain of existence- and dragging the six ninja with it. And now Zabuza had problems.

All sorts of shit could happen in the yokai world. They were mischevious creatures, fond of putting up strange rules and customs everywhere they could. One such custom was that you should never attack a Hatake, and all yokai took great pains to uphold this rule for generally unknown reasons. Another rule was that you must always compliment a yuji-onna or the world itself will collapse, which resulted in a very awkward Haku receiving dull compliments from their companions. And now, Zabuza had found out another rule.

If you were caught under a mistletoe, you must kiss the nearest person.

The Uzumaki brat and Uchiha kitten had walked under it first, and had been trapped in a concentrated blizzard until they'd accidently knocked lips and been released- something that apparently happened often, if the two's grumbling was to be believed. Due to the damn mistletoe being right in their path- Kakashi had sensed a portal nearby with his freaky Hatake-wolf abilities- they couldn't go around it. They also couldn't find a way to counteract the rule, since while the Uzumaki brat was warmed by the kyuubi, the Uchiha kitten was a fire nin, and Haku, Zabuza, and Kakashi were already masters of water-style and resistant to cold, the poor civilian-bred girl was still an amateur at best with her own. Her lips were already turning blue from the cold, shivering violently as she desperately used small bits of chakra to warm up.

Surprisingly, Haku was the first to move, simply picking the girl up, walking through the mistletoe, placing a chaste kiss on her lips, and walked right on by the two gaping pups on the other side. Zabuza felt a small spark of pride for his strange adopted child, but pride for what Zabuza couldn't say. But the pride was quickly overshadowed by the dread of the situation- now only himself and Kakashi were left.

Zabuza was about to yell "fuck that" And find a way around the mistletoe, but Kakashi was faster. He picked Zabuza up under the armpits like a damn cat and ran under the mistletoe. Zabuza instinctively closed his eyes, heart pounding at what was to come. The blizzard instantly picked up as soon as the two were under the plant, and Zabuza felt cold fingers pull down his bandages and soft, icy, almost ethereal lips press against his own- and like it had never happened, Zabuza and Kakashi walked out of the blizzard, masks in place.

The Uzumaki brat was loudly whining about how he'd almost had the chance to see what was under Kakashi's mask, the other two being less vocal about it but still nodding in agreement. Haku showed no such inclination, an amused grin spread cheek to cheek that Zabuza ignored for his own sanity's sake.

After all, his heart was already pounding madly from what had just occured- he didn't have the time to reprimand his cheeky student.

~~~~~~~

Feel free to send as many requests as you want, and I'll get to them on their designated days! I had a lot of fun with this, and I hope you like it~

[almostxinnocent]

“Society wants to believe it can identify evil people, or bad or harmful people, but it's not practical. There are no stereotypes.” ― Ted Bundy Anyone who knows me also knows that I am a huge fan of true crime.  Even knowing that, it has taken me a long time to actually write about this, or maybe just fear at re-living it over again has held me back.  I figure if I don’t do it now I never will. It would be easier to simply do this as just another story.  So here we go.  (Part One)When I was fourteen other girls were reading Teen Beat and I was reading True Crime novels about Ken Bernardo, Jeffrey Dahmer and other serial killers no young girl should know about.  So when I stumbled across the address to actually write one of them it was no surprise that I jumped on the chance.  

For the sake of privacy and my sanity we will call him Mr. E.  A lot of people don’t even know about it but there is a place called J-pay where you can write to inmates and see if they respond.  I wanted to ensure a response so I included a couple of pictures of myself.  I was fifteen and throwing modesty aside, I thought I was pretty attractive. It had been a few weeks since I had sent my first message and I rushed home each day to see if there was a response. It had become a routine for me.  I quickly logged into the website and saw that I actually had a response.  I had only written one person and immediately I felt like a ten year old on Christmas morning.  I clicked to open it and greedily read what was inside.

“I have to say for a young girl you are not only intelligent, but beautiful as well.  I would be more than happy to answer your questions but if I am going to be nice to you, you need to be nice to me too.  I have a couple questions of my own.”

I read down further, scrunched my face up at some of the more personal questions like “How often do you bath” or “What does your hair smell like before a good wash” .  I knew he was highly intelligent, and I was sure he would smell bullshit from a mile away.  I can’t say I wasn’t nervous but it was more nervous excitement.  I was going to write my reply, but hesitation got the best of me.  I turned the computer off and went to drown myself in another book.  When I finally did sleep I was thrown into some pretty intense nightmares.  I woke up tired from the lack of good sleep I had gotten and rolled over in bed.  It wasn’t unusual to remember my dreams, but this time I would rather not have.  All night I had dreams of being visited by Mr. E.  They seemed so real that I actually decided I would not write back at all.

After a couple nights of not having any nightmares and scolding myself for being a sissy, I gathered enough courage to write back.  

“Mr. E,I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to see your response, even if you do ask some pretty weird questions.  To show you that I will be an honest pen-pal I will answer them but first I want to ask a couple of my own.  Do you ever feel sorry for what you did to the family of your victims?  I already know how you feel about the girls that you killed.  There are so many books written about you! What is it like not being able to be free anymore?  What is your day to day like there?  Do you get a lot of fan mail?  Do you think I am a fan??”

I went down his list and answered all his questions, providing as little detail as possible.  It did give me the creeps to think about a real life serial killer who tortured girls to death so close to my age having knowledge of my personal bathing habits and odors.   Sometimes knowing someone is locked up isn’t enough, it’s wondering what they do with their time that can be unsettling.  We had been writing for about four months before things started to get even more uncomfortable.  Mr. E had always given me the answers that I wanted, although I tended to not ask any graphic details about his murders. Then suddenly he started to give me details on his own, some of them that I had never actually read in any of his books.  I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t more jumpy than usual or that the contents of his letters were not giving me nightmares.  The truth was I had been plagued by them, but I just could not stop responding.  

I knew if my mother ever found out what I was doing she would probably take away my computer and everything else that provided contact with anyone in the world, and I think that was putting me on edge as well.I wanted to believe that Mr. E trusted me, but I knew his mail was being read.  Since the details were just descriptions of his killing rituals and habits I guess it didn’t matter.  It wasn’t like he was revealing where more bodies were or anything.  His personal questions started to became more intrusive too.  The minute I started to feel too uncomfortable, or there was a lapse of response, I would get a kinder letter of assurance which motivated me to keep writing.  I was playing a game of cat and mouse but was starting to feel I was more the mouse than cat.

Finally, in one of our conversations he asked for my address.  He told me that he had a few drawings and poetry he wanted me to have.  In this message he especially made it a point to compliment me and thank me for keeping him company.  He told me about how most of the writing he received was from distasteful and rude women (I assumed grown-ups) that he would never consider responding to.   I have to admit I was flattered and less uncomfortable but looking back I see I was being manipulated.  I gave him my address.  I figured being locked up forever would prevent anything bad from happening to me.  I was safe, so why not? It was only a few days later that a small package arrived, and I ran upstairs before my mother could see what I had.  I opened it carefully, and my heart was pounding so loud it seemed like it was coming from across the room.  I almost lost my breath to be completely honest.  Here I was, a teenager getting mail from a notorious serial killer!  Who would believe it!  

Inside the package contained two poems, with what looked like dried blood smeared across them.  A lock of hair tied with what looked like some kind of frayed rope and three drawings.  One of the poems went as follows; “Her lips looked like two berries. I knew I had to touch but my touch was so heavy off her face the lips I plucked I kissed the bloody space where they once used to be a beautiful and gaping hole but then she tried to flee I wrapped her up in ribbons I tied them like a bow Her mouth kept making noises So the hole I had to sew” I am sure you get the picture.  In my young mind I wasn’t sure what to think, but I guess I thought it was to be expected.  I wondered if there were any rules about what you could send someone so young, but then again I had never mentioned my age.  I had only sent photos since you had to be eighteen to use the website.  We had made an agreement that when his arrived, I would send my own.  That night my nightmares were so intense that I woke sweating and feeling trapped.  The next morning I cut off a lock of my own hair, pricked my finger and smeared some blood across it.  I can’t explain how or why but Mr. E had some kind of hold on me. At this point you might be wondering what kind of laws they had back then about what you could or could not send into prison.  I didn’t realize that we lived in a world with such liberties or restrictions.   I was in a state of being embarrassed about my nightmares and thinking I was some hot shot getting details nobody else had gotten.  Two more weeks went by and I did not hear from my pen-pal.  I was confused and constantly checking my inbox.  I wondered if what I sent had gotten him into some kind of trouble, but was more worried my mom might find out if someone from the prison contacted us.   Then a week or so later, another box appeared and I once again ran upstairs to open it.  I was lucky that the mail was there when I came home from school.  I did not want to have to deal with a confrontation with my mom about strange boxes at our front door. I opened the box and was immediately confused.  What I saw put goosebumps all over my body, not just my arms.  It was almost painful.  There was only a letter, and the box was too big for just a letter.  That was strange enough.  The letter was short itself was short.   “I hope you are as excited as I am.  It won’t be long now.” The more I thought about it, the less scared I was.  I was actually angry.  I felt like I had been betrayed. Then I realized how ridiculous that was.  Why would I expect honesty from a serial killer?  I bet this was his new way of getting his kicks now that he was locked up.  I went to my computer and was ready to write a bunch of insults but when I got to the web page it would not load.   That happened a lot, so I decided to just cut my losses and move on.  I was embarrassed that I had been such an easy target, so even weeks later I never told my friends and obviously not my mother.One night I was out with my best friend and we went to our favorite spot, the playground.  Yeah, I know.  Juvenile, but it was the best place at night because it was private and nobody bothered you.  After the usual talk about boys at school, and general gossip we decided it was time to head home.  My mother was almost always gone on the weekends, and it happened to be the weekend my little brother and sister weren’t at home with me either.  I tried to convince Lilly to spend the night but she said her dad would freak out since she basically spent every weekend at my house anyways. This meant flicking through television channels until I got frustrated enough to read a book and then go to sleep.My walk back home was short but it seemed like the perfect time for my mind to start thinking about Mr. E.  It bothered me that I was so foolish and even though I knew I had nothing to be scared of I still felt a little jumpy when I was turning the corner onto my street.  I finally got home and shut and locked the door and let out a deep sigh.  It felt like I had been holding my breath.  I had to laugh at myself as I walked upstairs to start a boring routine of spending a Saturday night alone. My little yorkie Koby was running around my legs wagging his stub tail excitedly.  I picked him up and opened my bedroom door.   “Hello pal, I told you it wouldn’t be much longer.”   I felt dizzy and nauseous at the same time but I could not move. It felt like the entire room tilted.  I stood there trying to process what was happening.  He made no attempt to move from the bed.  He was holding one of my stuffed animals in his hands.  I kept telling myself this wasn’t real, it was another dream.  This wasn’t him.  This was not happening.  This wasn’t him.  The voice inside my head became more frantic and I put my hands on both my ears.  I felt like I was losing my mind because there could not possibly be a man sitting on my bed, holding my stuffed animal. “Don’t be upset, I know I’m not who you are looking for but I promise I can give you much more than some man stuck in a cell could anyway.  We have so much to talk about.  I knew you were the one when you sent that hair back to me.  I said to myself, here is a girl who isn’t afraid to do things out of the ordinary.”   His voice was vibrating though me.  I knew my only way to get out of this would be to either do what he said, or make him think I would. At the same time that thought was going through my head I also realized there was no way I was going to talk my way out of this. This wasn’t Mr. E, and this wasn’t a nightmare.  I could tell this man was very tall from the height of him simply sitting there.  His black hair was straight.  He looked ordinary.  He didn’t look like a monster at all. “How?....”  I barely said the words as if speaking too loud might cause him to do something. “Well, I could insult your intelligence for not making sure the website you were using was actually the real website, but most of you young ones usually don’t bother.  Let’s just say you were never writing to who you thought you were and start fresh.”  All the terrible details from his letter came back to me.  The way he stalked the girls, kidnapped them and then held for days while they were tortured.  Like dolls, he played with them until they were no longer breathing. 

“I thought I could trust you.”  I whispered, still frozen in my place.  I could attempt to run but he would just catch me on the stairs as I tried to go down.  There wasn’t any feasible way to get away.

“Oh you can trust me.  I never lied to you did I?  Now come over here and sit on my lap and I will tell you all the fun things we will do together.  I know you like the park, did you want to go back and swing on the swings again?  You looked so fresh with your skirt flying up your legs.”

I shook my head and back into my doorway which was at the exact moment that he lunged at me. The fact that he had been watching me made me feel violated enough.  I didn’t even bother to take time to think about how long he had been watching me but now assumed it was from the moment I sent him my actual address.

I let out a startled yelp as we both landed on the ground. He was quick and before I knew it he had my arms over my head was straddling me.  He leaned down for a kiss but I kept twisting my head back and forth with tears streaming down my face.  “Please don’t let him kiss me, please.” I begged God inside my mind to make it go away.  

The next thing I knew he slapped me so hard across my face that I was seeing everything in two’s with blurred lines.  I was no longer frantically twisting, but slowly going back and forth, still reeling from the hand that had rocked me.  I was so dazed I could barely feel his mouth drooling on mine until he sharply bit down on my lip.  It was so hard I came out of my daze screaming as loudly as I could before he clamped his hand over my lips and shook his head.

“There will be plenty of time for that.”