#so until i get on t (which is unlikely to ever happen) i just?????

[hold-me-like-a-tourniquet]

what the fuck do you mean there's arsenic and lead in tampons. What the fuck. What. How did. What.

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[luveline]

how about spencer x badass reader and they are wearing couple or similar clothes intentionally or unintentionally?? I think that would be cutee

tysm for requesting ♡ fem!reader

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks, sounding like a kid in a candy store, a crisp twenty in his back pocket. 

Emily follows his line of sight and feels her cheeks apple unbidden, a delighted smile on her painted lips. "Oh, my god." 

"Yeah, Garcia?" Derek asks, phone to his ear, Penelope first on his speed dial. "You need to come and see this. Like, right now. Don't worry, baby, just come and see it for yourself." 

"I don't even know what to say." Emily stares at you. 

You usually dress in line with the other women in this profession: pants that aren't too tight so you can run in if needed, a simple blouse, and a blazer if you're feeling formal. 

Today, you've opted for something softer. It was a slow change, one day you were wearing a cashmere sweater, thin and fitted to your form. Another day, you chose to layer your shirt with a cardigan of a similar colour. 

Right now? You're all Spencer. Your slacks remain unchanged but your blouse has been swapped for a shirt with a stiff starched collar and layered under what can only be described as a grandpa sweater. It's not quite ugly, but it's almost identical to Spencer's. 

What's more, you've swapped your boots for converse. 

Spencer holds the door for you. He's chosen to wear a tie at least, clinging to that last strand of professional business attire. He has two coffees, one in each hand, while you carry a box. He's all elbows as he talks to you, and you, ever his fan, follow every word with a fond smile. 

"Hey, are you guys sharing a wardrobe now?" Derek asks, absolutely unwilling to hold back.

Emily piles on, "It's cute! You're totally an old married couple, you look like my grandparents." 

"What happened to your boots, lovergirl?" Derek asks, nodding at your cons, arms crossed over the back of his chair casually. "Don't get me wrong, I'm loving the sneakers." 

"You guys totally match," Emily coos. "You could be on a Christmas card." 

You smile —you smile, Emily might just call the news— and walk past them to your desk. Hotch has moved you away from Spencer knowing you'll encourage his endless chattering, which places you on a different island of desks next to Anderson and Agent Camille. 

Spencer put his coffee down on his desk, taking off his messenger bag. "Nice going, guys. She brought you donuts. You know, to apologise for calling you both antagonistic losers yesterday," he says, smiling at the mutual horror that crops up on their faces. "The fancy kind, too. She knew your favourite flavours without asking." 

From her desk, Emily can see you've opened the box and offered them to your desk mates, your expression unperturbed. "Just don't touch the chocolate sprinkle ones, they're for Spencer," you say.

No matter what they say, how sorry they sound, you give out the donuts to anyone who'll take one until they're all gone. When Garcia arrives, she finds you sitting in your desk chair with your head leaning against Spencer's stomach, taking alternate bites of the same sprinkle-covered donut like it isn't the most domestic, coupley thing you could be doing. 

Unlike Emily and Derek, Penelope genuinely thinks you look cute. "You guys are like Brangelina," she breathes, eyes wide, her smile infectious. 

Spencer fails to hide a grin, his hand on your shoulder. You're better at controlling your emotion, sliding a small parcelled package across the desk toward her.

"Thank you, Pen," you say. "I like the shoes. They're comfy. And the sweater was a gift." Spencer nods enthusiastically. 

That explains why you'd taken such an offence. Anything to do with Spencer raises your hackles. If you felt someone was making fun of his present to you, you'd defend him with your last dying breath, or, in this instance, punish your coworkers in his honour. 

"I'm sorry," Derek apologises again, "I was kidding! What do you want me to do, you want me to wear a sweater vest too? I can do that." 

You reach back to touch Spencer's side, levelling Derek with an impartial look. Not mad, not sad. Totally indifferent. "That could be a good start." 

Spencer hums. "I think so. You wanna borrow one of mine?"

The barest hint of a smile plays on your lips. "That's generous, Spence. You're a philanthropist."

"I am." He strokes the slope of your sweater-clad shoulder proudly. "You know me, I love sharing my wardrobe." 

[puppetwoman17]

Would you ever expand upon your joker junior thoughts more? I think that was such a well written idea and would love to hear what else you think about it

Oh my god yes. 100000% YES!

That post before was more of an idea vomit, didn’t cover all of what I thought, so I’m happy to hear someone wants to hear more.

So, JJ’s always been a tough convo for Tim. Obviously. But it’s not just because of how traumatizing the Joker can be, or about the shocks and psychological torture. It also reminds him of a grim time in his life. With Bruce still going through the motions post-Jason’s death, and Dick frequently spending all his time in Bludhaven, he hadn’t been watched much. Save for Babs, ofc.

That’s actually why they’re so close. She’s much more emotionally competent thanks to her dad, lol.

JJ wasn’t only a big thing for Tim, but for Gotham too. In a place like this, it wasn’t hard for whispers from the Joker’s men to travel to civilians and cops. Everyone knew why Robin was nowhere to be seen. Everyone knew why Batgirl looked the way she did, agitated and worried. Everyone knew why the cops searched that same warehouse over and over, never allowing anyone inside.

Which was also why no one was happy to see Nightwing, very obviously the first Robin, return after yet another sabbatical in Bludhaven. Of course, that stopped a little after everyone collectively realized that, oh crap, he doesn’t even know!

This begins a collective effort by the more clear-minded people of Gotham to NOT disclose anything JJ related. There has to be a reason, right? No way were they going to force Robin #3 to disclose anything he didn’t wait to. It didn’t hurt that a year or two later, a mysterious figure named Oracle began effectively making every news article or picture related to JJ disappear.

Everyone holds their breaths for the next few months. What if what happened to the second Robin happened to him? What if he was too crippled to go back out?

As the Batfamily grows bigger, it becomes way clearer that Robin #3 hasn’t said a WORD. Not even after they grow closer, when the screaming and murder attempts and arguments cease. He doesn’t say a word, so no one else does either.

Tim goes to great lengths to medicate himself against any variant of Joker venom or gas. The familiar smells just… bring things back to the surface.

He tries not to act like Jason whenever the Joker gets out of Arkham. It’s already hard for everyone to hold him back from killing the monster. Jason doesn’t need some second-rate copy of his trauma trying to get sympathy. Unlike Jason, he didn’t die. He didn’t come back differently, or lose footing on his life, his job, whatever.

It would just be better if Tim acted as aloof and concentrated as he always did. Not make a big scene, and follow Batman’s orders to a T. No need to worry anyone.

Honestly, the only reason no one notices the literal war going on in this boy’s head is because he doesn’t want to cause a scene.

Oh, and if you’re wondering what he says when one of the bats finds him the next night, still avoiding them…

Yeah, he full on denies EVERYTHING. Looks whoever it is, Jason, Steph, Dick, straight in the eye and says that what they saw was fake. Edited. Something to threaten Bruce with years ago. Tim just ran because…because…Anyway, he’s fine. Don’t worry about Tim Drake. He’s fine.

Babs groans over the comms when everyone hounds on her to tell them everything. Like hell is she gonna tell them a single thing until she has Tim’s full permission.

[hitohitonika]

nami x sanji but lesbian:

Nami rolled her eyes. She had wanted to get drunk. She deserved to get drunk and dumb for a night after all the trouble the men put her through. But, of course, Sanji had wanted to keep her company, and now she was stuck babysitting him.

Unlike her, Sanji was a lightweight. He was already absolutely wasted, his eyes were droppy, and his face was all flushed. Credit were credit's due, he looked pretty; she could acknowledge that much. And if she'd liked men, she might have made a move. Scratch that. Even if Nami was into men, that would be a bad idea. She would not have been able to get rid of him ever again.

And that's how she had made herself sad. Made her remember how long it had been since she'd gotten lucky. She missed being with a woman so much... This dry spell was gonna be the end of her. Which is one of the reasons why she wanted to get drunk in the first place.

"Nami," Sanji called for her, dragging her out of her daydreaming, "Do-on't tell aaanybory. Ssppeshially N-nami," he slurred over his words.

She sighted. "Uh huh?" Usually, she would gleefully hear the gossip coming out of a drunk crewmate's mouth, but all she was expecting to hear was Sanji confessing his love for her for the millionth time. He didn't seem to care how many times she's made it clear that she would never be attracted to him.

He rested his forehead against his bottle, "You kno, ssssometimess I-I wishh I wash a w-wo-man."

Well, that was new. Was this a new way of flirting with her? I know you like girls so I wish I was one?

But when he looked up at her, she saw in his eyes that he was waiting for some sort of reaction of approval or disgust or something. Nami raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything, making the effort not to show any emotion on her face to encourage Sanji to keep blabbering.

"Sssometimes I-I fffeel l-like one. Isssn't it weird?" They were on the side of the party, but even here, the distant reflection of the bonfire made it clear Sanji's cheeks were getting wet now.

'Shit,' Nami cursed in her thoughts, 'he's being serious about this.'

"Sanji?" She got close to his face. This was something she would have never expected. He never cried. He had never shown her his true emotions, not like this. And she had never realized how pretty Sanji's eyes were, or his lips, now that she was close enough to feel him breathing on her skin.

He groaned, getting away from her. "N-neverrmind, it'sss stupid. I-I'm sstupid." He slumped next to her, leaning his head on her shoulder, his empty bottle rolling from his hand over the ground. "I-I jussst thinkk it would ffeel ssso good t-to be a girrl in Nami's aarms." He whispered against her clothes.

It took a moment for Nami to compose herself. Did Sanji just come out to her? Did she want to kiss Sanji? What the hell had just happened?

Sanji’s snores made her look his way. Her way? The cook was sleeping against her shoulder, mouth open and dripping saliva on one of her most comfortable tops.

Nami should have been disgusted, but she wasn't. Nami should have probably gotten away from Sanji and wait until they were sober to properly talk, but she didn’t. Sanji looked so peaceful... she surprised herself wanting to stay like that.

She moved her arm so she could wrap it around Sanji, pulling the cook closer against her chest. She was effectively cuddling the blonde, and she had to admit it, it was true. Sanji felt good as a girl in her arms.

[sturn1olo-ffics]

- I WANNA HATE YOU SO BAD -

- Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

- Warnings: making out, angst, pining? (if you squint), swearing, use of y/n, Chris and y/n high key hate each other; NOT PROOFREAD

- About: Y/n had always been close friends with Matt and Nick, but she always had a hatred towards Chris. That is, until everything changes one night while sleeping over at the triplets’ house.

—————————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV):

“Hey y/n! Me, Nick, and Chris were gonna go to Top Golf later today, wanna come with?” Matt called me.

“Uh- yeah sure. What time?” I was hesitant with my answer because I know how competitive Chris gets when it comes to golf and it pisses me off.

“Probably about 5:00, I’ll text you when we’re on the way to your house… don’t worry, if Chris starts getting competitive I’ll make him leave.” He could sense the uncomfortableness in my voice.

“Alright, sounds good. Bye Matt.” I replied before ending the call after he said goodbye.

I was closest to Matt out of all three boys. We just clicked more than I did with anyone else.

I cleaned up the house and got caught up on some homework before finally deciding to get dressed.

4:30.

“Hey, we’re on the way” Matt texted.

I grabbed my stuff and turned out all the lights before heading out the door when they finally arrived.

“Y/n! What’s up??” Nick asked enthusiastically.

“Hey Nick!” I said, climbing into the backseat.

I never acknowledged Chris. It was a rare occasion that one of us actually cared to say hey to each other. I don’t even have a reason why I hate Chris so much, he just pissed me off and I never knew why. Apparently that was the same for Chris, though. Because he hated me just as much, if not more.

We got to Top Golf and started our game.

To my surprise, Chris wasn’t even being competitive tonight, which was unlike him. He was still being loud as ever, though.

“Chris would you shut the fuck up for 2 seconds so I can think-” I snapped, trying to come up with a response to my mom, who was asking when I would be flying back home next.

“Oh please y/n, like you could think anyway with your smooth brain” he rolled his eyes.

“Chris you’re the dumbest fucking person I know-” I started before I was cut off.

“Hey! Would you two stop? Chris shut the fuck up and y/n just worry about texting your mom.” Matt silenced both of us.

The rest of the night went pretty normal, Matt and I laughing over stupid things, Nick telling stories from the mall trip he and Madi had earlier, and Chris and I bickering ever so often.

Matt and I usually just hung out alone. Mainly because we were best friends, but also to prevent me and Chris from butting heads. But sometimes we wanted to do group things, so we had to deal with it.

On the way back to the boys’ house, Matt had asked if I wanted to spend the night.

Of course I said yes, we always had sleepovers and they were so much fun.

We got to their house and I changed into shorts and a t-shirt that I had left there a while back.

“I’m tired as fuck and I’m going to bed, no one disturb me please.” Nick said, walking up the stairs and into his room.

Me, Matt, and Chris sat on the couch on our phones.

“I’ll be back in a little bit, I’m gonna go shower.” Matt said, getting up and walking towards his bathroom.

I hated being alone with Chris. Even though I knew I hated him, there was always some unbreakable tension between us when we were alone.

A couple minutes passed by of us being on our phones in dead silence when Chris spoke up.

“I’m going to bed.” He groaned, getting up and walking towards the set of stairs that went down to his bedroom.

“Okay?” I replied with a sassy tone.

“Fuck are you always mad at me for anyway?” He turned around, walking back toward me.

“You just piss me off.” It was all I could think of. Like I said, I don’t really know why I even hate him.

Sometimes I look and him and think that maybe it’s my way of suppressing my real feelings because I’m scared of what could happen. But I hated admitting that, so I just went along with the fact that he pissed me off.

“Oh I piss you off?” He said, almost teasingly while continuing walking toward me. I was taken aback.

“Yeah, the fuck?” It was so obvious I was annoyed and wanted to be left alone.

“Is it because you have to look at me every day?” He teased, sitting down next to me.

“Look at what? Your ugly ass face?” I replied, desperately trying to turn the conversation into a normal one we’d have.

“Oh come on y/n. You know you love me.” He said in a low voice, placing his hand on my thigh.

“What the hell are you on about Chris-” I began before he cut me off.

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if I kissed you right now…” he smirked, tracing my jaw with his fingers.

My heart fluttered. Why? Why the fuck was this dumbass making me nervous?

“Christopher I swear to Go-” he continued interrupting me.

“Say my full name again.” He leaned in and whispered in my ear.

Where the hell was this confidence he had coming from?

“What? Christopher?” I questioned.

His eyes flickered between my eyes and my lips, which were parted already due to pure shock.

Next thing I know, he leaned in, moving his hand that rested on my thigh to my waist and the other cupping my cheek.

He placed his lips on mine, and before I could speak, our lips started moving in sync.

I practically melted into the kiss, which made Chris giggled when he pulled back before deepening the kiss.

His grip on my waist grew tighter as he guided me to straddle him on the couch.

He pulled away from my lips and began trailing sloppy kisses down my jaw and onto my neck, which definitely left marks.

I let out a small whine as he bit the skin on my neck.

“I wanna hate you so bad.” I stated, breathlessly.

“I know you do.” He pulled away from my neck, smirking.

We heard a door open, signaling Matt could walk in here at any moment, so I hopped off of Chris and he got up, walking toward his room.

“Surprised y’all didn’t kill each other in here.” Matt joked as he walked in the room.

“Yeah I’m leaving for a reason. I cannot be in her presence for too long.” Chris continued walking before turning around and winking at me without Matt noticing.

“Should’ve known nothing changed.” Matt looked down at the ground and laughed before asking if I was ready to go to bed.

I, of course, always shared a room with Matt at sleepovers because he was my best friend.

I got up and me and Matt made our way to bed.

All I can say is thank GOD I was wearing a hoodie which covered the hickies on my neck.

—————————————————————————————

A/N: I know I said this was gonna be multiple parts on the poll, but I changed my idea a little bit and it ended up just being one. If y’all want a second part, you can always send in a request with an idea for it and I’ll totally write one, but otherwise this is it. Sorry to all the Matt girls. I know, me writing so many Chris fics is killing me too, but y’all wanted them first on the poll 💔

[milestonekestrel]

STILL WAKES THE DEEPERS COME GET YOUR DINNER!!!

[BODY HORROR AND FLASHING WARNING]

Thoughts under the cut (it gets lengthy)!

So.. we´re finally here huh? Took me a little over a week, but its done at last!

I´ll be honest, the idea first came to me when I listened to the song. I was brainrotting so bad on Still Wakes the Deep, I think I could´ve twisted anything into being about it haha. But this song actually fits it super well. ¨You lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane.¨ fits especially well with Caz, as everything that sort of grounds him on the rig during the shape infestation, the things that make him feel sane (mostly his friends) are all things he loses. In many cases, right in front of him. He also loses his family, as he realizes hes never going to get back to them, and, at the end, he loses himself too.

I tried to draw Caz´s hair progressively worse as his mental and physical state do. At his very best, particularly in the flashbacks at the end, his hair is shaped very specifically. But the more he goes through, the worse it gets, until at the very end where its just a tangled mess. Also his emotions, obviously towards the end he is still super emotional and stuff but I had hoped to sort of make it more...subdued? Maybe that´s not the right word, but he´s been through so much that his reactions aren´t as big to things, he doesn´t quite have the enough energy. He still Goes Through It with Finlay, but after that he´s giving you a constant 5000 yard stare. The, ¨I just watched every single one of my closest friends die in front of me¨ look.¨

Even when he gets to the derrick, he can only stare at the shape abyss.

He´s also in terrible physical condition and I tried to illustrate that with the scene of him standing up after Finlay dies. He is literally on his last legs, he is so, so tired.

also!! three flashy sequences in very quick succession at the end! do you know why? because Caz starts to See. The first, after Brodie dies, is a bunch of unique images about Caz. The people, things, and parts of himself that he is losing or has lost. Accompanied by other things, parts of himself, his life, etc.

There´s also these two images of Muir and Innes that I love very much.

The second one happens as he holds the lighter above the oil abyss! This ones just people he lost. And the third is everything that happened in the pmv flashing before his eyes. Because it is Quite a journey he has been on.

But you know why these flash? because Caz realizes that every step he is taking is one step closer to his death. Because he realizes that he is never going to get off the rig. because he realizes that he is going to die here. So hes thinking about Everything. His life, his family, friends, the horrors he went through, the things he lost and the things he will never, ever get back.

He also hallucinates Suze a lot in the pmv, but unlike in the game its not flashback sequences and she is not normal Suze. Until the end, when he´s reflecting on his life, its Suze With Tendrils!! Shape infected wife!!

and then at the end, she becomes more normal. Because he is flashing through the events of his life. also because he misses her, but he knows that by doing what he is doing, Shape Suze will never, ever exist. She will be safe.

I had a fun time drawing all the scenes in the pmv, but a select few are my favorite.

For example: The Beira D Bookends!

At the beginning and the end of the pmv, you get a full shot of the Beira D!

I like these scenes because I love having secret things like this. The bookends,,, ough do u guys get it they´re bookends... The Beira D is where it all takes place, in the game, and in the pmv. It is the first and last thing you see as Caz, and the first and last thing he sees in the 24 hours this takes place in. It is a very significant location, which is why it bookends the pmv.

Addair and Caz at the Stack:

Getting to animate this whole sequence was a blast. It´s my absolute favorite part of the game! Followed closely by the ending, but still my most favorite. I just think its a really cool part of the game, and it plays a lot into my Addair headcanons so!!! pretty sick!!

Caz´s Memories:

After he drops the lighter, Caz and his family are shown again. You can see him and Suze reconnecting (as well as the fact that I yoinked @inky-ash´s headcanon about them meeting up after he got punched in the face). He also plays with a young Cait. and drawing the hug between them just about made my eyes misty, because he really loves his family,,,, auuuughh,,,

also. the wedding photo.

I didnt really try with their outfits honestly, but I still really love how this came out. the wedding photo means so much to me...

The Lighter:

a little extra bit about the lighter. I drew when it was handed to Finlay, and when she handed it back to Caz. There´s no real scene parellells between these scenes, but I do really love them, and the whole fact that the Lighter was originally given to Finlay before she gave it back to Caz.

The Scene That Is Most Definitely Not A Reference:

Just kidding. it is.

The pose and composition is indeed a self-indulgent reference to the first artwork I made of Still Wakes The Deep!

Sinking:

The first time you see Caz in the pmv? He´s unconscious in the ocean, and sinking.

and the last time you see him? Unconcious, in an ocean, and sinking.

boy I sure do love parallels and things.

The Helmet:

at the very end, his helmet appears in the waves, before sinking below the surface. This is another self-indulgent little detail that serves as a nod to my headcanon!

I also just generally enjoyed drawing Caz and his facial expressions. That man means so much to me, so it was awesome to draw him so much!

also, I think its funny you can tell exactly when I figured out what the Cadal logo looks like, or that there even was a logo on the uniforms.

If you watched the pmv, or read this far, thank you so much!! This game means so much to me, and I´m so glad I could make this pmv. I love all the support this fandom has given me so far, so thank you! Thank you so much! Couldn´t have done this without such an awesome fandom <333

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I feel like this is a horrible thing to say, but when I'm shown examples of when Marinette is having a hard time, it's hard for me to feel bad for her.

It's not like I think she deserves it and I certainly don't draw any joy from it, but I just don't feel any sympathy for when she's struggling.

My theory is that the show has toted her so much as the all-important one-and-only, all while ignoring everyone else's important moments and struggles, that I'm struggling to feel sympathetic for when Marinette is going through some sort of misfortune. Every single one of her struggles are always highlighted in such a way that it's supposed to be this incredibly-important thing that makes Marinette look so sad, but then she's comforted and validated until eventually, this struggle eventually gets resolved and she's all happy again.

But then there's Adrien. No closure about his mom, his dad, Natalie—nothing. He's slapped with all the responsibility of comforting and validating Marinette, who eventually gets her personal conflicts resolved without lasting impact.

I'm not saying Marinette hasn't done anything to comfort and validate Adrien, but his conflicts just feel largely brushed aside and/or downplayed in comparison to Marinette's, which are highlighted and emphasized as significant events.

I don't know if this makes me a bad person or something, and I do kind of feel bad about it, but I just struggle to sympathize with her when the show tries to make us feel bad for her.

Marinette is a fictional character. It's totally fine if the bad writing has completely turned you off to her and drained you of sympathy because the entire purpose of her existence is to entertain people. She's not some meaningful representation that you should want to connect with and understand to improve your world view or something like that. She's just a poorly written teenager in a bad kids show. As long as you're able to acknowledge that fact and own that this is mainly a writing issue - and it sounds like you are - I wouldn't stress about it. The writers have done a lot to make her unlikable! I totally get why someone would not want to watch a show starring her canon self. I struggle at times and I genuinely like Marinette! Her writing is one of the many reasons I just don't know if I'm going to watch season six.

I don't defend Marinette because she's done nothing wrong. I defend her because her faults are so clearly just bad writing and not some grand plan for the character where she's going to learn something, which makes me feel protective of her because I genuinely love the base character concept and what she could have been. It's annoying to see people treating her like she's the problem and not the writing because she's literally not allowed to learn lessons and change, so of course she keeps coming across worse and worse! Her flaws are genuinely fine for a serialized story, they just have no place in an episodic one where the characters stay largely stagnant.

For example, nothing about the season five conflict and final naturally follows the BS season four conflict where she supposedly learned to trust Chat Noir. As much as I don't agree that with that synopsis of what the conflict was, it is how Ladybug sums it up in the final:

Ladybug: Why don't you just give up on me? I've lost ALL the Miraculous! I'm the worst Guardian EVER! I wanted to control everything, I didn't listen to you, I lied to you, I kept you at a distance! Every time you offered me a helping hand, I never took it! I really made a mess of EVERYTHING! Cat Noir: We're gonna get them back one by one…until the very last. And we'll make sure this never happens again.

And yet none of this seems to impact season five. Chat Noir and Ladybug maintain all their secrets and they do absolutely nothing to track down the missing miraculous because the plot won't let them even though it really doesn't fit Marinette's character. She certainly hasn't given up controlling things because, once again, the show literally will not let her do that. The rare episodes where it happens always see her punished like when Alya handing out miraculous lead to SentiNino which almost lead Gabriel to knowing Ladybug's secret identity. Adrien suffers for similar reasons. So does Alya and so many other characters! I totally get why someone would not be able to look past canon's writing since it's not like the flaws are minor. I have the same problem with both Lila and Nathalie.

I just cannot stand Nathalie even though I know that she's as much of a victim as Marinette and all the other characters. None of Nathalie's flaws are her fault because she doesn't exist. It's just that Nathalie's bad writing hits me in a way that makes me despise her while Marinette's hits in a "protect and defend" way. There's no wider logic here. It's just a matter of what characters I connected with enough to look past the bad writing. The type of fanfics I read probably also helped...

My only real piece of advice on this topic is to watch your mental health and take a Miraculous break or even leave the fandom all together if you notice that your Marinette hate (or hate of anything in canon) is really messing with you. I've mentioned before that I'm debating about watching season six and a big reason why is that I don't know if it's going to be good for my mental health. Lila's writing has consistently got on my nerves, but she was a minor enough character that I was still having a good time. Given that Lila is our new big bad with the added bonus of how shitty season five was and the show may have hit a point where it's just not fun for me anymore.

Previously, I had issues with the overall writing, but genuinely enjoyed watching the show as the writers are pretty good at short form story telling, so canon was a nice mix of genuinely enjoyable moments and writing issues that were fun to talk about. That was not true for season five and I just can't picture how it will be true for season six. The only reason I'm even considering it is because I watch the show with my SO and he has a lot of fun listening to me rant about bad media, so I may still have a good time with season six. It would not be the first time that I suffered through a piece of bad media for the sake of a loved one who really wanted someone to rant about it with.

I'm not the kind of person who will tell people they're not welcome in a fandom unless they like X. That sort of gate keeping is ugly and often straight up bullying, so don't read this as me saying that you have to like Marinette to enjoy the show or that you need to disengage if you don't like X% of canon. As long as you're having fun and not forcing your dislike on others by sending clearly unwelcome asks or engaging with sugar posts in an antagonistic way or anything like that, then I'm going to defend your right to be in fandom even if we personally aren't going to get along and need to stay in our separate fandom bubbles.* All I'm saying is that it's important to know when to disengage from a piece of media. To keep track of when something starts consistently bringing you more sorrow than joy. When that line is crossed? It's time to move on.

The sad fact is that, while you may utterly adore a piece of media, you have no control of what that media will do, so you need to be very careful about trusting your mental health to total strangers. It's part of why I tend to be so critical of media. Analysis and plot pitches like I do on this blog are genuinely fun for me, but they're also a much healthier way to engage with a story than just trusting it to be good and getting burned when it isn't. There's a reason I avoid theory crafting. I've gotten really into that in the past and wound up hurt because I put way too much faith in strangers who ended up sucking at their job.

*Btw, the line about separate fandom bubbles was not aimed at you. It's just a general statement about how fandom works. All are welcome, but all do not need to directly interact. Curating your fandom experience is important self care. Blocking someone isn't some sort of value judgement. It's just sometimes a thing you need to do in order to keep from seething when you accidentally see their asinine hot takes.

[kitkats-and-kittens]

Spoilers for Pjo.

You know I feel like people should acknowledge how fucked up camp halfblood is more often.

Like everyone always makes fun of New Rome for being uptight and sticklers for the rules, but low-key living at camp halfblood sucks.

The barrier wasn’t even up for a decade before it was broken and before that literal children were sent out to fight monsters despite being promised safety (Ik Talias protection made it slightly better, but still) and during sea of monsters they are once again required to fight as literal kids!

Unlike New Rome there’s no university for the Demigods to go to. Year rounders get tutored by Chiron (presumably) and then what? They have no actual credentials or any records of them graduating from school. Since no one knows about Camp they technically don’t have an address either which sucks if your parents are dead or don’t want you.

We see hardly any adult demigods around camp and I don’t know if they choose to leave or not, but either way they are set up for failure. Chiron tells Percy about the success stories, the people who go on to be Olympic athletes or celebrities due to their half godly nature, but it’s more than likely those are far outweighed by the failures.

Those who died hungry on the streets with no way to get a job and no home to return to. Those who were torn down by monsters without the protection of the camp. Even those who made it constant live with the terror that one day they’ll be found and killed. And what if those people have family’s? Will the monsters hunt them too? And what happens when they get too old to fight?

That’s not even mentioning the trauma they’ll be stuck with their entire lives.

No wonder so many end up joining the Emperors in ToA.

And you know what. Chiron need to take some damn accountability for being a shit mentor. He fucked off for most of the books but even when he talks to Percy about how much he cares he does quite literally nothing about Luke. How did a child manage to manipulate an immortal centaur for years without anyone catching on?

And he doesn’t improve after the war either. Will is made Head of Apollo Cabin at 13. He has two younger siblings and is essentially expected to act as their parent despite still being a child himself. Not to mention he’s the camps head doctor. He’s performed surgery! Which is exhausting and long and something no child should be dealing with. Especially since we know Chiron must have some healing abilities since he literally raised Asclepius.

Will is not paid either. None of them are. He doesn’t get a salary, so free child labour (cough cough exploitation) and after he leaves camp he’ll have no way to prove his medical training to anyone and no way to pay for medical school or even to get in without the appropriate documents.

I don’t like to rant about books but Rick Riordan did not go dark enough with this series and I will say this about his books until the day I die. The light comedic writing style means fucked up shit like this simply slips through the cracks.

There’s still so much I haven’t touched on.

What about the Hephaestus cabin and their curse. How did Chiron just stand by and watch as these kids continually blew themselves up?

Fighting in two wars?

The Romans are a little more fucked up there because we know there are adults who can fight and are simply choosing to send children in their place.

Octavian being quite literally brainwashed into dying for his land.

Jason’s entire backstory.

The fact that most demigod children probably die before ever reaching camp is very much not touched on and it should be.

The fact that camp halfblood is hidden with the mist means that no one knows where the year rounders are. Which is weird when you think a lot of the reason people become year rounders is too many monster attacks or horrible home lives which further implies out in the real world there are genuine missing posters for these kids. Some might even be considered legally dead so what happens when they rock up in their early 20’s attempting to rejoin society?

In conclusion Camp Halfblood is fucked and Chiron is not some innocent fun loving centaur dude. His lack of action had a very big and very real impact on these kids.

[pocket-lad]

CH 1- Origin: Mystery Shack, Gravity Falls, Oregon (Gravity Falls g/t)

In which a borrower forms an unlikely alliance with Ford Pines.

~~~

Everything was fine until the new guy showed up.

Life wasn’t necessarily cozy beforehand - she still had to keep an eye out for the nosy humans that milled about (especially the boy) - but this guy took nosy to a whole new level.

One day, everything was normal. The next, gravity just stopped working in short bursts. The next, there was a new, mysterious man in her home that snooped around, studied the supernatural, and shared a face with the man that already lived here. Quinn’s life was certifiably weird.

Weird enough that one night, she found herself atop this guy’s journal, reading his musings. It was a bad idea. Quinn knew that well before she even climbed up the table. But she always had this yearning deep inside her, this need to know more. The town they lived in was full of strange, magical beings, and she wanted to know all about it. Maybe she’d finally find out where she came from or why she was so different. And it wasn’t fair that humans got to have all the answers, just because they were bigger. So a few moments of reading wouldn’t hurt.

At least, that’s what she thought. The more Quinn read, the more her mind strained, which gave her a massive headache. According to this guy, he came out of an interdimensional portal that he was stuck in for thirty years because his twin brother Stanley (the old man whose walls Quinn lived in) wanted to bring him back after accidentally pushing him in. There were mentions of a memory ray, the U.S. government, dimensional rifts…Oh boy.

The page ended with:

First, I must focus on the present and on the problems created by a man who is responsible for my latest twist of fate…

And that was it. That was all Quinn would get to read for now. She likely wouldn’t be able to turn the heavy page, and even if she could, the racket would definitely wake the sleeping human nearby.

Speaking of, the room was suspiciously quiet, outside the ever-present buzz of machinery. The man’s faint snoring had stopped while she was lost in the book.

As the reality of the situation set in, Quinn turned around just in time to be knocked off her feet by a solid wall longer than she was tall. It slammed into her with the force of a semi-truck, squeezed her tight, and swept her into the air. She then found herself freefalling, and at last collided with the ground.

Quinn thought she had a headache before, but the impact with the wall and the hard ground combined with the dizzying speed with which she was yanked around made it infinitely worse.

She blinked open her eyes, wondering what could possibly have happened. And the sight was so horrific that she retched, on the verge of throwing up. She was caught. She was caught by the human and was thrown into a jar and he had her right where he wanted her.

He studied her with squinted eyes, scanning her whole body up and down and up and down. He hummed to himself, then wrote some notes in his journal. The process repeated.

Quinn had to force herself to breathe. In and out. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. His face was so big, his demeanor so intense, his attitude so…detached. In and out. But all knowledge of how to breathe fell out the window when he addressed her.

“What are you? Can you speak?”

His voice echoed inside the jar, bouncing around and assaulting her ears. She cried out, covering them.

The man’s eyes widened. “Fascinating.” He wrote something down in the journal.

“Wh-What are you writing?” Quinn asked hesitantly. He couldn’t document her there. Nobody was supposed to know about her. She learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago.

The man’s head snapped back toward her at full attention. He looked at her expectantly, but Quinn didn’t know what he wanted her to do. “Say something else,” he prompted, his pen at the ready. So he heard her, he just didn’t listen to her.

“What are you writing?” she repeated, louder.

“Yes, yes, you said that already. Say something different.”

Oh, so he didn’t actually care what she had to say, too tickled by the notion that she could even speak at all. She could say anything in the world and it would have no impact. She watched as he thoughtfully tapped his pen to his chin. And that’s when she noticed perhaps the strangest thing she’d ever seen. “You have six fingers!” she blurted.

This seemed to delight the man, and yet again he wrote something down. “Observational skills…” he muttered under his breath.

Six fingers. As if she wasn’t already scared of a normal human hand. This one had one more digit just to knock her over with, to hold her captive, to obscure her from the world. “It’s like you were specifically designed to terrify me,” she laughed wryly.

“Tell me,” he said, ignoring her, “Were you a human that was shrunk? Did you find the crystals in the forest? Or are you some kind of wingless fairy?”

“What the heck is a fairy?”

“Hmmm.” With that, the man grabbed the jar with both hands, casting Quinn in a dark shadow. She eyed each of the twelve fingers coiling nearly all the way around the jar, the only barrier between her and the fingers, the only thing stopping the fingers from closing in. He picked it up and set it on a high shelf, then left the room.

“Wait! Wait, you can’t leave me in here! WAIT!” she cried. Once the rumbling footsteps faded, Quinn collapsed to a seat, defeated. So this was her life now. Some experiment of a mad scientist in a musky, old basement. Would he study her and poke and prod her all day? Would he take her through an ‘interdimensional portal’? Or would he forget about her and leave her here to die, distracted by some newer, more exciting creature? Whatever the case, it was completely out of her hands. Her life belonged to a crazy giant.

BANG !

The loud noise startled Quinn out of her pity party. Next to her, a large, green, slimy being with tentacles had thrown itself into the walls of its own jar. It had one menacing eye that told her all she needed to know. It wanted to eat her.

Quinn instinctively retreated to the other side of her prison, as far away from the monstrosity as she physically could. It seemed contained, but if it broke the glass, she was done for.

She sighed, watching it repeatedly ram into the walls. It was another one of the man’s specimens, just like her. She wondered if it had once been a normal, peaceful creature, but its time in the jar drove it mad. It was probably starving. She couldn’t say she blamed it.

Quinn looked around. She was done moping. She needed to work on an active solution. And she might have just found something that could work.

The lid of the jar was closed tight, but the man at least cared enough to use a lid with holes in it so that she could breathe. They were tiny, tiny holes, but there was only one way to find out if she could squeeze through them.

Quinn easily pulled out her hook, caught it on one of the holes, and climbed to the top. Just as she thought, the holes were indeed too small. She could fit her arm through, she could fit a leg through, but nothing would get her fat head through.

But she climbed all the way up here. She wasn’t going to let this man make her into some plaything. With all her might, Quinn shoved at the hole, trying to loosen the lid from the inside. Needing more leverage, she squeezed her climbing thread with her legs, balancing precariously as she used both hands to push.

The ground shook. Footsteps sounded in the distance, getting closer and closer with each second.

Come on! Push!

Quinn made the mistake of looking to see who it was. She locked eyes with the man. He had returned, and she was caught trying to escape.

“Holy molasses!”

The frighteningly loud exclamation startled Quinn right off her thread, and she fell to the bottom of the jar, letting out an unintentional exclamation. She shakily pushed herself to her feet and backed up, hands raised as if she could legitimately fight off the giant.

But when she really looked at him, she faltered, her balled fists dropping a hair. This wasn’t the man. It was his brother, Stan. And it was worth a shot.

“Please,” Quinn said, running to the side of the jar closest to him. “Please, you’ve gotta get me out of here. That man put me in here, and I can’t-”

“Woah, Ford put you in there? Yeah, I’m not surprised. What are you, some kind of fairy?”

“What? No, I’m not - I’m scared there’s not much time. Please!” By now, Quinn really wanted to know what a ‘fairy’ was, but there was a larger issue at hand.

Stan looked hesitant. “I don’t know…Who’s to say you’re not some supernatural being that’ll kill me as soon as I let you out?”

Quinn was baffled. “Look at me!” she cried. Her eyes started to well up, and she could feel the tears about to spill over any minute now. She sniffled.

Stan suddenly looked very uncomfortable, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “Oh - oh, gross, it’s crying. Uh…If I let you out, will you stop doing that?” But he was already moving toward the jar. He slowly unscrewed the lid, set it to the side, and plucked the little creature out by its leg.

Quinn yelped as two massive fingers pinched her foot, hoisting her into the air. She dangled in front of his face, trying to catch her bearings while fighting the fingers that held her captive.

“Haha, you are small! Say, kid, you want a job?”

“Huh???” It was hard to think with the blood pooling in her brain.

“Yeah, yeah, come to the Mystery Shack to see the world’s smallest person!” His eyes lit up as he saw it all play out before him. Crowds, money, fame, more money…

If Quinn heard that right, it sounded like she would be put on display for all the world to see like those other strange things scattered throughout his weird mystery museum. That was not going to happen.

“Stanley! Put that down!”

Uh oh. The man was back. Ford, Stan had called him.

“C’mon? This thing? It’s harmless!” He gave Quinn’s leg a little shake for emphasis, and she grasped her stomach to keep from throwing up.

“You don’t know that!” Ford came rushing at them, and Quinn flinched away as best she could. She now dangled by the leg between two giants who were very close to an argument. Claustrophobia crept up on her.

Stan lifted her up further and held her out to Ford as if to show how non-threatening she was, and it felt like her ankle ripped out of its socket from the quick movement.

Now out in the open air, Ford took the opportunity to snatch her out of Stan’s hands. Quinn groaned, then remembered she was supposed to be fighting back. But once again, she was unceremoniously dropped back in the jar. Back to square one. This time though, she had two giants peering in at her, both wearing the same face. It was eerie.

Before Ford could screw the lid back on, she held up her hands placatingly. They shook so hard she was sure the humans could see it.

“Wait! Okay, hear me out. You’re curious about me. I get that. But I’m curious about me too. I - I don’t know why I’m smaller than every other person in the world, but I want to find out, and I could really use your help. I just - please don’t put me away in a jar. Please.”

Ford hummed again, deep in thought. Quinn’s fate was up to him. This one decision.

“Alright,” he shrugged. He turned the jar upside down and Quinn came tumbling out, head over heels, onto the desk. She took a moment to catch her breath. Her plan worked, but she didn’t feel much better.

***

Quinn’s time with Ford was rough, to say the least. He had no qualms about poking and prodding her. The only real advantages she gained from her negotiation were regular access to food (which she had to remind Ford of, as he was often blind to the passage of time) and freedom to move around. At least, to an extent.

Quinn was suddenly yanked back from her position on Ford’s desk, all six of his fingers closed tight around her, and she was deposited in the center, right under his nose.

“Don’t wander too far. I’ll need you,” Ford said, but his eyes didn’t leave the journal. He had this uncanny ability to never let Quinn out of his sight without even looking at her. He always had her right where he wanted her, and she’d hardly gotten a moment of privacy since the day he caught her.

Quinn threw her arms in the air, exasperated. It wasn’t like she would’ve gotten far. If Ford needed her, he could just say, “Hey Quinn, I need you,” and she could use her own two legs to walk the negligible distance. But he still never bothered to ask her name and he just grabbed her whenever he pleased. He didn’t see her as a person. It was humiliating.

Quinn thought about standing up to him, or even just asking him politely not to do any of the things on the laundry list of annoying things he did. While Ford seemed to have no ill intent and he never purposefully harmed her, she felt how strong he was in the way he handled her. The thick muscles flexing beneath the skin. It wasn’t uncommon for him to squeeze a little too tight, to push a little too hard. And so any time she thought about speaking up, images of what could happen flashed through her mind, and the words died in her throat.

Lost in thought, Quinn didn’t notice the intruding fingers until they touched her. They held some kind of wire and wedged themselves under her arms to wrap that wire around her middle. Even then, Quinn could feel the force with which her arms were shoved upward. It wouldn’t take much more effort to snap them off completely. This was why Quinn didn’t speak up.

But she did want to know why wires were being wrapped around her. She jumped when the cold casings touched her skin. She jumped again when a loud, rhythmic beeping started up behind and above her. It picked up pace, and she soon realized that it echoed in time with her heartbeat.

“Your heart’s going a mile a minute!”

At the sound of Ford’s booming voice, the speed of the beeping increased even more. More still when they made eye contact.

A realization struck him. “Oh, I see. There’s no need to fear. You’ll be fine,” he said matter-of-factly. On the word ‘fine’, the beeping got faster.

Ford frowned and hummed to himself. (That annoying hum. The one that showcased to the world that he was thinking. And he was never not thinking.) With much slower, restrained movements, he reached toward her. Quinn had been willing him to move slower ever since they met. Everything humans did always seemed to happen at a blinding speed, and for once, she wished they would just slow down. But now that he did, Quinn hated it. Sure, she also hated the whiplash from being whisked around at human speed, but as she sat there, feeling the seconds drag on, dread blossomed in her chest. It grew with each passing moment. Each moment was a moment closer to getting grabbed - each moment the hands grew and grew and grew as they got closer and closer and closer, towering over her, casting her in their shadow - and she found herself wanting him to get it over with already.

Quinn backed up, confusion and fear duking it out in her head. She was vaguely aware of the ever-accelerating beeping.

Ford snagged one of the wires wrapped around her chest, stopping her in her tracks and holding her in place. Quinn let out a shaky breath and watched as he carefully undid the contraption. His hands were so big that they blocked her whole field of view. All she could see was a mess of fingers working in front of her, jostling her this way and that, until they pulled away and let the wires fall to the surface of the desk.

“I can assure you that I am careful, precise, and intentional. These experiments will help me get a baseline understanding of what you are and how your body and brain function. I didn’t intend to scare you.”

He didn’t intend to scare her? He could’ve fooled Quinn.

Regardless, when she didn’t respond, he returned to his journal. After an awkward pause, he said, “You may go.”

That was it.

“I may go? You haven’t told me anything about what’s going on!”

Ford looked up, mildly surprised by the long sentence and the angry tone within it. He hadn’t seen anything like this from her yet. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said, disappointed. The slow pace with which new discoveries arose was disappointing.

“Yeah, but you grab me, you wrap me in wires, you take measurements, and I don’t even know what they’re for. You write little notes in your journal about me but don’t tell me what they say. I mean, I’m a person! You know I’m a person, right?”

“Of course you’re a person. The real question is whether or not you are human. My knee jerk reaction is to say no. But a person? I have no doubt-”

“Well I don’t feel like one when you’re around.”

Silence filled the air and Quinn wondered if she’d gone too far. She tried to read his face, but it was blank, as per usual. And somehow that was even more terrifying than anger.

Suddenly, Ford pushed his journal along the desk toward her. Quinn backed up in surprise, but the journal stopped a couple relative inches away from her feet. She glanced up at Ford again, who nodded at the book. He wanted her…to read it?

Tentatively, she climbed on top and took in the words on the page, as well as a drawing of her with measurements written alongside it. It looked exactly like her. It was no different than the other illustrations in the journal, she was just another strange anomaly of Gravity Falls. The notion left an uneasy feeling in her stomach, but she was too curious not to read what he thought about her.

The girl appears human in all regards except for size. Is this enough to categorize her as a separate species entirely? She insists that she did not meddle with the height-altering crystals hidden deep within the forest, but further testing is required. Could it be genetic? A curse passed on through the generations?

“Quinn,” Quinn said.

“Pardon?”

“My name is Quinn. Not, ‘the girl’.”

“Ah, yes, where are my manners? Stanford Pines.”

Quinn couldn’t help but laugh. It had already been a number of days spent together, but she wasn’t so sure Ford knew that. He hardly left the basement. In any case, it was more than enough time to learn his name. And it should have been more than enough time for him to learn hers. If he wasn’t over one hundred feet tall and holding her captive, this behavior would almost be endearing. Almost. “I know.”

“Well, Quinn, feel free to add any contributions you deem necessary. There’s scrap paper everywhere. Please try and write as large as possible.” Ford pushed himself to his feet and began gathering equipment.

“Where are you going?” Quinn asked.

“To collect a sample of crystal.”

“I want to come with you.”

Ford laughed. “No, no, it’s too dangerous for me. It’s much too dangerous for someone your size.” With that said, he left.

Quinn didn’t waste too much time sulking. Ford hardly listened to her to begin with, so there was almost no chance he would take her with him. It was for the best, though. That would be putting a lot of trust in a man who forgot to feed himself on more than one occasion.

So, instead, she busied herself with the journal. A particular passage stuck out to her.

She is very reactive to my every move. I would describe the behavior as anxious and fidgety, not so different from Dipper’s default state of being. Perhaps over time, I can gain her trust and she will calm down.

Yikes. Part of her was angry at the fact that he acknowledged her anxious behavior and still chose to act the way he did, but a larger part of her was just embarrassed. Next time, she’d insist on going outside with him. To show him that she wasn’t just some small, skittish animal. She could be a helpful resource. And to prove this, she filled in a spot in the journal, writing as large as possible but still falling short of the man’s big, curvy lettering.

Origin: ??? Mystery Shack, Gravity Falls, Oregon

The now familiar sound of footsteps tromping down the stairs made its way to her ears.

It was Stan, who Quinn hadn’t seen since that first day. Her defenses were instantly up, especially without Ford around to stop anything from escalating.

But Stan seemed to be in a good mood. “Hey, glad to see my brother didn’t kill you!” Before Quinn could ask for clarification, he continued. “Where is the loser, anyway?”

Quinn stammered, trying to find words. “Um, uh, he went…outside.”

“And left you down here? Yeesh.” As he spoke, Stan picked up a piece of paper (that looked like it had mostly been eaten away by some kind of acid) by the corner and regarded it with distaste. He let it fall to the floor and returned his attention to Quinn. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Without waiting for an answer, he scooped Quinn up and set her on his shoulder. She screamed. Even though she should have been plenty used to this by now, this was a virtual stranger who, last time they met, wanted to make her an exhibit in his wacky gift shop. His hands also felt distinctly different than Ford’s. Quinn didn’t like that she could tell the difference.

What wasn’t any different though, was the sheer strength in each hand, so whether it was Stan or Ford, she wasn’t getting out until they let her out.

And he let her out…right on his shoulder.

Quinn felt the cushioned fabric underneath her and wondered absently if the man wore shoulder pads. That thought vanished when he started to move, and she was left clinging on for dear life as he climbed up the stairs.

This was unlike anything she’d ever done before. To her left was a giant ear about as big as her. To her right: absolutely nothing. Open air. And underneath her, a living, breathing human, taking her…somewhere. Anywhere. Out of the basement.

A strong mix of excitement and anxiety filled each and every one of her bones to the point that they felt like they were vibrating. She was getting out of the basement! She would get fresh air! Sunlight! God, she missed sunlight.

But to leave the basement was to enter a whole new world. She’d seen the entire ‘Mystery Shack’ from her vantage points in the walls, but to be in the middle of it, out in the open among other humans milling about with only Stanley Pines as her protection, was not for the faint of heart. And Quinn’s heart was feeling pretty faint.

***

A high pitched shriek so ear piercing that it ruptured the sound barrier poured out of one of the small children. Well, small being relative. The girl regarded Quinn with a bit lip and sparkling eyes. “Oh my gosh!” she squealed. She immediately tried to jump up and snatch Quinn off Stan’s shoulder.

Stan angled his shoulder away, but if Quinn thought he was trying to protect her, she was dead wrong. “Woah, easy kid,” he laughed. The sensation of his voice rumbling underneath her at such an amplified volume made her jump. He wrapped his hand around her and set her on the table so the twins could get a better look. 

“Nonononono, hang on!” Quinn blurted, but it was useless. She was surrounded on all sides by humans, two of which were literal children. A strong force shoved at her back and she stumbled forward. Stan had nudged her.

The girl, Mabel, leaned in close and rested her chin on the table. “You’re adorable ! You’re like, so tiny I could put you away in my pocket and take you on adventures and we could solve crimes together! Quick question: Do you have any tiny hats?”

Quinn let out an uneasy laugh. “Uh…no.” She backed up a little, afraid that Mabel would just shove her in her pocket anyway, but the boy, Dipper, spoke up from behind her.

“Why are you so small?” His inquisitive eyes reminded her of Ford’s.

“I don’t know,” Quinn whispered. “That’s what your…grunkle,” She looked at Stan for confirmation on the strange word, who nodded, “Ford is trying to figure out.”

“Wait, that’s what he’s been doing? How long have you been down there?”

Quinn shrugged. Her neck was starting to itch uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“Boring!” Mabel whined. “Let’s show her big people things.” Her eyes brightened. “Have you ever had popcorn?”

***

The twins found it incredibly amusing to watch her eat human sized food. Every time she hefted up a piece of popcorn, Mabel let out the same shrill noise that Quinn learned indicated joy. Dipper seemed to find it funny too, though his reaction was much more subdued. But she was just eating. She wasn’t sure what was so ‘adorable’ about it.

At one point, the kids tried to convince Quinn to ride Mabel’s pet pig like a knight on a horse going into battle, but she saw the way that pig chewed on everything. She would be lucky to make it out unscathed. The comments, she could put up with. The fawning over her interactions with food, she could more than put up with. (Food was food.) But this was where she drew the line.

The front door slammed and, before anyone could catch him, Ford stomped right past them and straight into the basement.

Quinn thought about calling out to him, but despite all odds, she was kind of having fun up here. They invaded her personal space without qualms all the same, and if she thought too much about the future (particularly whether Mabel would let her go), she got antsy and nervous. But they were having fun with her, not at her expense. Quinn got the feeling that, if she truly freaked out, they would ease up. That was not always the case with Ford.

They were in the middle of a game to see who could launch the most walnuts into Stan’s mouth (Quinn was losing horribly) when the basement door burst open. Quinn leapt what felt like twenty feet in the air and only relaxed slightly when she saw it was Ford.

“Ah, there you are,” he said when he located her on the table. “Come along.”

Everyone booed him.

“Ducktective will be on in a couple minutes, and Quinn said she’s never seen TV before. Can you believe it? TV!” Mabel said.

“I have a crystal waiting in the basement. It’s at its strongest when-”

“I don’t want to,” Quinn said firmly. Her voice sounded very quiet compared to his, but her stance was firm. Perhaps she was emboldened by the fellow giants around her, who all seemed to want her to stick around. Perhaps she was just sick of Ford’s ‘experiments’.

Ford didn’t waver. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He made a move toward her, like he was going to snatch her up. Quinn instinctively backed away, but as she did, Stan shot to his feet and placed himself between her and Ford. One second, Ford was coming at her, and the next, a solid wall blocked everything from sight. Stan moved so fast that Quinn wasn’t even sure what happened until he spoke.

“The lady said no.” His tone was impressively combative. Quinn stayed on guard. With so much tension in the air, she couldn’t be sure she was entirely safe in this situation. If a fight started, she wanted out.

Everyone held their breath.

“Fine,” Ford said shortly, though Quinn couldn’t get a read on his inflection and she couldn't see his face. As soon as he disappeared, Stan flopped back into his worn, yellow chair.

“Um…thank you?” she tried, still trying to shake off the stress.

“Ha! Don’t flatter yourself. I’ll take any opportunity I can to pick a fight with my smarty pants brother. And win.” He popped another walnut in his mouth and ruffled Quinn’s hair with his knuckle.  Her neck cracked and she nervously pulled away from the massive finger.

Mabel announced that the TV show was starting, so they all quieted down. Quinn tried to follow along. She really did. But there was a duck that definitely quacked like a duck, yet apparently all the characters in the show could understand it anyway, and there was mystery and murder and a twin duck and honestly she had a really hard time keeping everything straight.

It didn’t help that she could hear each breath the giants took, could hear them munching on food as big as her. They had been nothing but kind, albeit touchy, but it was hard to forget the way Ford and Stan easily plucked her up whenever they wanted her to be elsewhere. The anticipation of even the possibility that that would happen again was enough to keep her on edge and distracted.

And occasionally, her mind wandered to Ford. Did she do the right thing, standing up to him? Was he mad? Did she care if he was mad?

Cursing her inability to ‘stay out of it’, Quinn got to her feet, lodged her hook in the table, and began her descent.

“Do you need any help?

Quinn jumped, then compensated by clenching the string tighter with all four of her limbs to keep from falling. She slowly lifted her gaze to make eye contact with Dipper. His huge face rose before her, a kind smile on his lips.

“No…thanks. Just watch your step. Please.”

“Okay,” he said, then returned his attention to the TV. And that was it. No push back. No grabbing. He just let her go about her business. (Though she did notice the way he watched her descent. It was unnerving, but overall harmless. He was just curious.) Quinn relaxed a hair, then finished her long, arduous journey to the basement. The old door was easy to duck under, but each stair felt like it took a lifetime to navigate.

When she made it to the concrete floor, she took in the state of the lab around her. It was an absolute mess. Papers everywhere, drawers pulled out, boxes upended. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that Ford tore the place apart trying to find her. And speaking of Ford…

He sat at the desk, his head once again buried in his journal. He absently twirled a crystal in his hand and muttered unintelligible phrases to himself.

Quinn cleared her throat. His head snapped up and it took him a couple seconds to locate her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Ford strained to hear her, but he was pretty sure he heard an apology. “Ah, no reason to be sorry. I am quite alright.”

Quinn kicked her feet at the ground. “Well, thank you for helping me figure this out. I want you to know I do appreciate it, but… I can’t continue to live like this. It’s demeaning.”

Ford glanced away, maybe in embarrassment, maybe disinterested, maybe just thinking, it was hard to say. His eye caught something in the journal. “You’re not from the Mystery Shack.”

“Wh-”

“I wrote ‘origin’ in reference to your species, where you began. Not where you specifically are literally from.”

He picked up his pen to cross it out, but Quinn stopped him. “My mom lived here her whole life. Her dad lived here his whole life. But even before this place was built, we’ve been here for as long as anyone can remember. Stories dating back from my great-great-great grandma passed down. We’ve always been in Gravity Falls.”

Ford’s face lit up. “Interesting.”

“And I can tell you all about it, if you’d like,” Quinn added sheepishly. “I can tell you anything about me or my past or my family…if you promise to ask before picking me up and you tell me what you’re doing before you do it and you let me go about my own life.” She took a deep breath before continuing. Down on the ground, looking up at him, even from across the room and even while he was seated, was daunting. “I’m not gonna run away. I like you guys. You’re just big, and I’m gonna need time to get used to that. I can’t stop you at this size, and I can’t imagine you’d like to get whisked away by a giant with no idea what its intentions were.”

“Ha, it’s funny you mention that! The nightmare realm had quite the-” He stopped after he saw that train of thought would not prove useful. Instead, Ford stood and approached the impossibly tiny girl on the floor.

To Quinn, each step was a small earthquake. She thought about making a break for it, but Ford moved slowly, an attempt to appear non threatening. She knew logically that he could see her - his eyes never left her - but they were so high up and his dirty boots so big, it was hard not to retreat a couple defensive steps. Ford bent down next to her and reached for her.

Quinn let out a surprised yelp and tucked into a crouch, covering her face. This served the dual purpose of blocking the imposing sight of six fingers barreling toward her while also keeping her arms from getting pinned to her sides. The seconds dragged out, but still nothing happened.

Tentatively, Quinn peeked between her fingers. What laid in front of her was a large hand, over twice her size…But all it did was lay there. Confused, she looked up at Ford, whose face was neutral. “I think I can abide by those terms,” he said.

Quinn glanced between his face and hand repeatedly, to the point where it felt comical.

A faint smile spread across Ford’s face and he elaborated. “You know, I happened to come across the most curious creature while I was out looking for the crystals. I could use a hand hunting it down.”

Quinn jerked away when he wiggled his six fingers in invitation. But was this not what she asked for? She asked to go outside with him, and she asked him not to grab her. This was it.

After one last hesitant glance at Ford’s expectant face, she slowly inched toward the waiting hand. And then, she took her first step on the waiting hand. As soon as both feet were firmly planted, the hand skyrocketed into the air and Quinn fell to her hands and knees. She didn’t even have time to catch her bearings before the world tilted sideways and she fell, hollering all the way until she landed softly in a dark, dank enclosure.

As she tried to fumble her way to a stand, the ground shifted unpredictably. Each step threatened to send her sprawling again, and the fabric contorted around her every move. She had no idea where she was, but the faint light that poured in told her she should be able to climb ‘up’, and so that’s what she did.

Only when her face made contact with the light did she realize Ford had dumped her in the breast pocket of his coat. Wind rushed at her as he walked and the steady thumping behind her made itself known as his heartbeat.

Quinn didn’t know how she was supposed to feel. It made sense logically - Ford would need his hands free and she would be in no danger of falling to the ground, but the overwhelming bigness of everything around her made her feel unbelievably small. Even the pen that was clipped to the lip of the pocket was larger than her. His heartbeat drowned out her own thoughts. She could completely disappear in this pocket.

But maybe it would just take time to get used to. After all, she had a front row seat to all the action. She was close in case anything went awry. And more important than anything, she had a real chance to discover the reason for her small size. A chance to finally find answers.

When the fresh, outside air met Quinn’s face as Ford opened the front door, she knew that everything would be alright, and her life had certifiably changed for the better.

.

Last

[the-milk-monarch]

Hello! I just want ya to know that u are my favorite writer for tdi in all honesty. I love how thought out your work is and how detailed it is. I saw that you wrote for Cody If so, could you possibly write a thing about how they would act if the reader was Chris’s favorite intern, and would sneak free gifts to help them in challenges (not that big just little small things) like a sweater for when they are somewhere cold, or a cookie if chefs cooking was bad. Could they also be confident and funny? (Strong reader supremacy).

I know you have a lot on your plate, it’s ok to deny or take as long as you need. Feel free to use this idea for other charecters :)

I love this gif

☣ Aw that's so sweet to hear, tysm!! I never thought anyone would enjoy my writing so much so that's really lovely to hear 🫶 I try my best to write well thought out stuff bc I honestly enjoy thinking about it lol

[𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙸𝚂'𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝚂/𝙾]

Summary: Reader gives Cody their jacket at Yukon + general headcanons. ☢︎ | Total Drama | ~1k words | gender-neutral reader ♡ | Cody ⚠ | haven't rewatched the episode so I'm only writing the episode as I remembered it with the help of the wiki lol

[𝙲𝚘𝚍𝚢]

⚠︎ | setting: Total Drama: World Tour

Cody really likes being around you.

You emit energy that just gives him that daily boost.

Whether it's your confidence and lightheartedness or a good joke, he usually has a smile while hanging around you.

He also likes to join in on playing the comedian with you if he feels creative, so you're a fun duo!

He's curious why Chris likes you so much.

I mean, he can see why, you're like, the best person ever to be around, (in his opinion) but still.

And you're kind enough to share anything extra with him!

You got him by a surprise when it first happened, as at the time you were friendly, but only briefly spoke to each other.

Next on the trip list was "Yukon". You knew it was gonna be cold. But being the TV host's favorite intern wasn't that bad, you knew you were probably gonna get decent clothing. As you expected, the temperature was freezing. But of course, Chris couldn't be cold, so he got himself a cozy and stylish jacket. You and Chef also got the blessing of getting something warm to wear, unlike the rest of the campers. You felt some hope after Chris announced that he ordered the jackets for the others, but it quickly washed away when you heard his response to Heather that "they should arrive in six to eight weeks". You sighed, but ultimately you were helpless to do anything. You took a liking to Cody, he was fun to be around and you thought his "tough man" was both entertaining and kinda sweet. I mean, at least he tried, right? You started talking in the short moments when you both had a break and a chance to interact with someone in between the challenges. You never went out of your way to help anyone as it was technically cheating, but you felt like you had to do something when you saw Cody freezing after he fell into the cold water and Sierra had to rescue him. You saw her throw him on the land from the floating ice block, thinking he's somewhat safe now, until you heard the abrupt sound of him hitting the nearby mountains which made you cringe from the secondhand pain. Once the camera focused on the other contestants trying to make it through the challenge, you sneakily approached Cody, who was visibly shaking while laying on his back and processing what just happened. "Oof- Dude, you alright?" You hovered above him with a concerned look on your face. "Y-Y/N?" He managed to stutter out while the cold tried to shut up him up. You offered him a hand so he could get up, to which he accepted with a shaking grip. Without a word, you gave him the only thing you had on you, your jacket. "T-That's for me?" He asked, a bit in disbelief for your kind act. "Of course, I can't let you freeze to death." You quickly explained with a smile on your face. "But what about you?" He questioned once more, seeing as you had nothing else to put on. "Hey, I haven't fallen into the freezing water, did I?" You pointed out, although you appreciated him worrying about you as well. "R-Right." He flashed a shaky smile and extended his hand as you passed him the clothing item. "T-Thank you." He tried to keep his teeth from grinding, which stopped as soon as he put it on. The cold was still biting your ass, but at least you felt good knowing he wasn't about to die anymore. Cody started to feel a bit awkward seeing you start to shake, though. "Hey- now that you're the one being cold, I feel kinda selfish here." He admitted, halfly-joking. You took a second before responding. "Well- There's always an option with huddling for warmth" You responded, also halfly-serious. You didn't mind close contact and free warmth, so you hoped Cody wouldn't either. "Unless you got cold feet." You heard a slight chuckle come out of his lips after your words. "Okay. But only to break the ice." He put on a grin which showed his goofy tooth gap. He was pleasantly surprised with the amount of casualness from you, but also a bit lost on how to act, so he resorted to lightning up the mood as well. You reciprocated the giggle and stepped closer, feeling his body against yours. He hesitated a little, but finally embraced you into his arms. "Don't let Sierra see you though, you might make some enemies with her after that." He warned you only slightly serious about it.

Cody was far more casual and friendly with you after that one kind gesture.

And with time, he began to see you as legit one of the closest people he got to meet on the show.

But the thing that made him enamored in you was when you got to his heart through his stomach.

You knew that the teams had to endure Chef's horrible cooking each time they lost, and you were glad when you didn't have to worry about the food being a probable cause of your death when Chris gave you your share of the meals. So, naturally you also wanted to grant that opportunity to your close acquaintance as well. Per usual, you approached Cody after you had a moment to yourself. "Hey Codemeister, what's up?" He turned his head towards you as he heard the familiar tone of your voice. "Y/N, hey!" His face lighted up and he straightened his back to properly look at you while sitting on the crappy, wooden seat, "Had your dinner already?" You asked casually, sitting next to him. "If that's what you call it- yeah." He cringed at the economy class food. "Why?" "Well, I just had this cookie that i conveniently kept for you, so..." You slightly teased as your hand slowly got the packaged, delicious goods out of your pocket. "What, dude, no way!" He gasped slightly as he saw the cookie in it's glory. "It's mine?" "Yeah." You nodded with a smile, already happy about his excited reaction. "You're amazing!" He attacked you with a hug without thinking twice. You felt Sierra staring daggers at you.

[starlightseraph]

final (long) thoughts about the rpf debacle, as i’ve finally blocked all the major accounts involved

regarding david and michael: they seem like two great guys with great chemistry, and they appear to really care for each other. the nature of their connection, their happiness in their relationships, the details of their personal lives, etc are not for any of us to say. we certainly don't need to analyse every thing they do and every flick of their eyes or use 20 year old tabloid bits to create a story about them being trapped and potentially abused and "clearly" wanting to leave their partners so they can fuck. no one dislikes the theorising because it's m/m, anyone who does has issues to work through. 99% of us dislike it because it's invasive, done without any knowledge of the boundaries or comfort of the people it's about.

regarding georgia: idc what other people say, i think she can actually act. i think it's unlikely that my opinion is biased, given that i actually became aware of her before i even knew who david was (merlin, i was 11). do i think she's the greatest actress who's ever lived? no. do i want to fall at her feet to praise every word she types on her ig? no. to me, her public personality is pretty cool and likeable, and she certainly uses her platform for good things. i don't see evidence that david has an issue with the social media stuff that georgia does, maybe a bit of playful annoyance, but nothing too serious. she does actually say good things about him, quite often. when she says things that could be deemed insulting, it’s nothing unique to david, she does that with practically everyone she posts about. i see absolutely no reason to believe that she's abusive, a baby trapper, that her children dislike her, or that david is miserable with her. i genuinely feel that her "stalker" comments were jokes. based on what she and david have said, it sounds like she was acting like anyone with a crush would, texting the object of her affections and wanting to hang out. in my community, completely normal behaviour is called stalkery, just to poke fun at someone for having a crush, sometimes done in a self-deprecating way. as for the peter davison story and its inconsistencies, idk what to make of that. the claims that she got her "david" tattoo right after they met and that she changed ty's name without input from david are completely unfounded. I've seen no evidence for the name bit, and i've actually found evidence against the tattoo story. i'm not proud of it, but i did go digging through paparazzi photos, and she doesn't actually have the tattoo until later. no one, not even the tabloids, seems to have anything about an open relationship or them not going steady before getting married. the first actual records of those rumours is in the blogs that say the rumours have been around for nearly 20 years. all the "evidence" for these last few things that i've seen cited (or even very boldly linked) is from the trashiest of trashy blog sites with 2004-level web design. i take them with a grain of salt, given that not even the daily mail repeats their stories.

regarding anna: i'm ambivalent towards her. i don't see any obvious great talent as an actress or model, but she also hasn't really done anything that has the opportunity to showcase ability in those fields. i also don’t think she has never before seen levels chemistry with the others, but, again, we’ve hardly seen anything. the claims that she got pregnant through a one night stand seem more widely acknowledged, so maybe that was the case. if that is what happened, i have a few things to say. firstly, did neither of these grown adults have birth control? the baby trapping claims imply that she deliberately sabotaged it, which is an incredibly serious claim that we are in no position to make. within this story, michael apparently met her at an acting school graduation and they hooked up. she would've been in her early-mid 20s and he would have been almost 50… the rpf blogs say that they have no personal bias against georgia and anna, and that they're perfectly willing to call david and michael out on their bullshit, yet (to my knowledge) they haven't said anything about this. if they're really so concerned with the truth, and they believe the graduation hookup story, why not call michael out for it?? they were both adults and while i do believe that healthy relationships with a large age gap are possible, it’s still a bit weird given how they would’ve met. also, there are have been lots of (unconfirmed and contested) allegations that michael is a serial cheater, so what makes these blogs think that he wouldn't also cheat on david in this fantasy world view of theirs? i know that at least 2 of the major blogs believe the cheating stories. i believe that people can be bettered no matter what they've done and that they should get chances, but assuming that he wouldn't cheat in this singular situation seems pretty biased to me.

bottom line, we don't know! this is exactly what i’ve said since the beginning, that we have absolutely no place in these people's lives outside of admiring their accomplishments and supporting their work. please, everyone, chill. by all means, write fun stories on ao3 using the likenesses of david and georgia and michael and anna! i find it uncomfortable, but i don't have real moral objections to fiction that is only intended as fiction. i’ve previously said that we don't have a problem with the georgia/anna shipping jokes because they're jokes, and one of the pf blogs said that it was serious because of an ao3 slash fanfic and that we were only fine with it because it was f/f. correction, we were fine with that because it was purely and entirely fictional. not being presented was an investigation into real life.

i've seen lots of these blogs saying that a video of david and michael having sex could be released and the we'd find a way to brush it off or discount it. flipping this and applying it back, i think that david and michael could hold a press conference declaring that they're not in a relationship, and the blogs would work around it, claiming beards and façades.

quick warning to everyone, digital footprint exists. one blog in particular very casually displays her identity, and someone could easily send her graphic sex stories and claims of abuse about real strangers to potential employers or event hosts. this isn't a threat, i really can't be arsed, but it's something to be aware of, that these things can have real life repercussions.

i want to clarify that the only reason i would be bummed if the theories were true is because it would mean that all four of them would have lived in unhappiness. i don’t dislike the theories, while they do claim a variety of disturbing things that i certainly hope aren’t true, because i want to pretend that everything is perfect. it’s the extreme parasocial obsession and complete lack of any boundaries that i object to.

the conspiracy story had been told many times, every single group of devotees to a public figure or piece of media weaves and incredible web of false evidence and imagined narratives. maybe you think that you're actually right this time, that you've become privy to a truth. maybe you are right. but to believe undeterred that this time it’s different and your theories are true is just wishful thinking. if everything is true, great for you, i guess, your favs have been miserable for years, but at least you were right, yeah? it’s a fucking insane mindset to have. until they confirm or deny, you don't get to tell their story for them.

[fever-fluff]

Home V

Word count: 3.2k (Not Proof Read) Azriel is butting heads with his new companion, being forced to recognise some hard truths...

Part IV , Part VI

The waves crashing against one another was a sound she hadn’t realised she’d missed so much in her time away. Brien had taken up post beside her, finally moving away from their guest for the first time since that night. She had felt his reluctance to carry out their journey after she had woken him for the terrors that had plagued his mind. It wasn’t the first time he had dealt with them, she supposed. But the undiluted fear that had come off him in waves was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

So, she had silently requested Brien to accompany him when she couldn’t. And now that they’d made t to the swelling ocean, his anticipation to slip away had turned into a desire to run from what he’d promised. She’d smelt the shift so intensely that she almost felt bad for keeping him here. But their work was more important than running from inner demons, at least to her anyway. Besides, there was no telling whether he’d return to Indere to Mor, and she couldn’t allow someone a new friend held so dear decide to disappear into his shadows.

She moved away from them towards the cove they’d need to complete the journey from, walking down the steep rocks she’d passed so many times she didn’t need to follow Brien’s lead anymore, but his presence in front of her was a welcome one. They’d spent centuries together, sometimes it only being the two of them, and he had become apart of her just as much as she for him.

Aodhan was talking to Azriel behind her, explaining how they’d cross safely without fear of the swallowing waves beneath. “You’ll have to fly on the currents, making sure to take the ones sweeping up and avoiding those that’ll push you towards the swell. It gets easier as you do it, but winnowing is out of the question. There’s wards up that haven’t been broken longer than I’m alive.”

“And another reason Mor wouldn’t be able to cross regardless of whether she was allowed to or not.” He’d already pieced together that it was too dangerous to carry another fae as you navigated the currents. Aodhan nodded in confirmation, “We’ve had sailors and other fae try to cross before, whether they knew the islands were inhabited or not, we don’t know. Their secrets went down with them to the bottom of the sea.”

She was still looking towards the sound of the sea when she’d heard his next question. “Which still doesn’t explain how you’re crossing…” She smiled, not straying from her position, but pulled a sharp whistle to Brien who was preoccupied with sniffing around something to her right. Her voice cut loudly to the howling wind that had picked up as if it sensed the oncoming flight, “I can’t let you in on all my secrets just yet Shadowsinger.”

Brien moved to her feet, his physical body shifting into something else, something entirely magic. It swirled around her, climbing from her legs upwards and taking whatever was physical of her with it. There was no sign of her feet beneath her, not feeling of them either. They ceased to exist, as did the rest of her body as Brien climbed and climbed. It was always terrifying, feeling everything she was and is being turned into what felt like nothing. Brien had reached her neck as she bid her goodbyes, “I’ll see you both on the other side,” and the very last of her body was engulfed.

There was never any memory of what had happened once her consciousness was consumed. She had been something, then wasn’t, and until Brien decided to place her back in the physical world she did not exist in and shape or form. She always thought maybe one day, if Brien ever decided to, he could just allow her to be that way for eternity. She didn’t know if he could form his physical body without bringing her back, and never thought it necessary to find out. 

The return of her was always more tedious than the consuming, taking longer as if Brien wanted to make sure he didn’t forget to form a toe or a finger on the way back. Azriel and Aodhan hadn’t made it over yet, and she wondered if he’d actually attempted to make a run for it when she had disappeared. But the beats of two pairs of wings from the sea was enough to confirm her thoughts wrong. She sat perched on a rock, Brien wrapped loosely around her shoulders, purring loudly. He always craved the closeness of it after, as if he missed her presence in the short time she wasn’t there. Aodhan and Azriel were panting from the exertion it took to cross over, she wondered if either of them had gotten close to being swallowed on the way over.

She stood as the caught their breath, moving to greet the two of them on home soil. Home. It felt good to be able to call the ground she stood on that. The chieftains were right to call her, it had been far too long.

“Azriel” his body turned to her attention, “welcome to our home.”

    

Azriel never, never, wanted to agree to a race like that again. After he had gotten over his spluttering about how Brien had practically eaten her in a wave of pure magic, Aodhan had insisted that it was the best way to cross, that it would take his mind off the sheer force that would be beneath him. But it had done no such thing, and he’d nearly toppled through the rough wind too many times and fell straight into a watery grave. Dancing with death had always been easy for him and his brothers, but that was sheer stupidity.

But, looking at where he’d be stationed for the next while, he understood what that graveyard beyond the cliffs was hiding.

Peace.

He felt it in the wind, soft and warm unlike the ones he’d just flown through. Lush green covered the sloping sides of the tops of the cliffs above him, a colour so inviting he felt the itch to roll in it like he were a dog. Trees of every kind seemed to guard him on both sides, and the sounds of running water filed his ears from somewhere. There was a quiet here he had never felt before, there was no inkling of being alert for oncoming dangers from somewhere. This place was a land that felt like he had passed on, but the aches in the muscles holding his wings and the tightness still filling his chest from a lack of air grounded him from thinking he had truly died going over the water.

They had begun to walk inland, passing floral and fauna that had gone undisturbed for centuries, unperturbed by their trek and seemingly unaware of the predators they could be. Azriel had never seen the likes of it -even Velaris, the city which held an imaginable number of dreams and hopes couldn’t hold a candle to the utter surrealness of this place.

Even watching her as she walked among paths long trodden into the earth, her steps were lighter than before. Like she had nothing to fear behind the bends ahead or the treeline to her side. Brien didn’t walk as closely to her either, shifting between prancing legs and swift wings as he basked in the afternoon sun overhead. The stopped slightly as they came to a dip in the land, the expanding view of her land filling his vision. She nodded towards Aodhan, “Fly ahead and let everyone know we’re back.” His arrival with them a silent command between her words was not lost on him as Aodhan unfurled his wings and split through the air, the gust he left behind making Azriel plant his feet more firmly in place. Before he had even looked to the sky, Aodhan had flown out of sight.

“Sometimes I forget the strength he has until he takes off.” The fondness in her voice was contagious and Azriel found himself smiling along. “You must be proud.”

Her face had tilted towards the sun to take in the heat as she sighed, “You have no idea.”

“When he was fifteen, he’d crash landed into the roof of our home, falling into where I was sitting trying to enjoy a glass of wine after a long day. It took him a week to repatch the hole. But the entire time all he could talk about was how fast he had flown and how he’d become faster and faster.” They were walking side by side now, his attention raptly on the joy she seemed to light up with as she gave him a laugh, “I couldn’t even be mad about the roof, or that he could have hurt himself. He seemed so happy in that moment that all I wanted from then on was to keep it that way, that he’d never feel bad about being who he was.”

“His happiness meant your happiness” Azriel thought back to Nyx, already noting the familiar feeling he had for his nephew brewing in his chest. “My brother, he has a little one now with his mate. I’m certain the whole family would tie the stars on strings for him if it’d make him smile.”

“It’s terrifying, thinking what you’d justify to bring them happiness. Everything is fair game when it comes to them.” her sentiment was horrifyingly true for Azriel. If anything -or anyone- ever got in the way of Nyx, not only would Feyre and Rhys burn the world, the rest of them would destroy whatever ash was left over in their wake. The air had turned tense around them for a moment until she spoke again, “It’s the reason I’m doing this, pushing to open the boarders that is… Aodhan, like many of the younger ones, is restless. He’s never truly seen the rest of the world. And this peace we’ve created, it’s become suffocating for them.”

She made to grasp his hand, gripping his fingers with hers stiffly, as if it would convey how much resolve she had in her to make this happen. “Children of peace are so different from children of war, Azriel. He – they – need the freedom we’ve kept from them for too long.”

He wanted to believe her, truly. But he’d seen so much of the ugly side of the world that he couldn’t bring himself to stop the words spilling from his mouth, “The world isn’t as welcoming as you think. It’s not as beautiful as here, the wounds are still so fresh from everything that I doubt even the next few centuries can fix it. Too much blood has been shed…”

“And yet your sister tends to those wounds not far from here, doing the work so many before have been too scared to even consider a possibility.” Something hard had entered her tone, and he felt himself wishing to take back his words if only to remove it as quickly as it had come, but he persisted. “She’s creating trade routes, what you’re implying is opening up a world, an unknown world, to the rest of us. You can’t possibly think it will end in peace…”

“She’s connecting worlds, how is that so different from what I want?”

“You know damn well how different it is. You’ve been cut off from the rest of us for centuries! You hid during wars that the rest of us bled for, how welcoming do you think our world will be to yours once they realise you have come out of everything unscathed while the rest of us clawed our way out of hel to rebuild what was left?” She’d ripped her grip from his at that, eyes hardening and levelling him. Even though he knew she couldn’t very well see him, Azriel had a mind to take a step back. “Do not try to educate me on political matters I am damn well aware of Shadowsinger. I see now I should have let you slink off in your fear instead of having Brien watch you like a dog.”

Azriel bristled at her admission, “Fear? Do you think that was what that was?” the distance he created closed instantly as he matched her stance a hair’s breadth away, “I have come here, an unknown territory with unknown fae, unguarded and you believe I am afraid?” His wings had spread wide, shadows pouring from them steadily as if to snuff the light that surrounded the two of them forever in a sea of darkness. But the female in front of him didn’t cower, didn’t balk at his act of dominance as so many others had.

“I have been alive for over seven hundred years; I know fear when I smell it. And the stench of it smothers you Azriel, whether you realise it or not.”

The hitch of his breath seemed to pull her from the fight she seemed so wound up to have, and she sighed when he answered her with a growl. “Azriel, I am not ignorant to what fae outside these islands may think. But this is the only step forward. If you do not want to help, then that is your choice, and you may leave whenever you want. But do not shut a door you haven’t properly opened yet.”

As she stepped away from him and the wave of shadows around them, turning to begin the walk again, Azriel felt himself torn in two. He was still angry, her implication still stinging fresh, but he hadn’t lost himself enough to forget the rest of her words. So, begrudgingly, he made to follow. Brien had flown back in between it all probably to ensure his masters safety and now slunk in between her steps, chuffing at him as if it was his fault the mood had turned sour. He growled back lowly at the disrespect, but the familiar had already taken to ignoring him in favour of watching a butterfly in the nearby brush.

  

Azriel wasn’t sure what to expect with his arrival, newly announced as it was. For somewhere so disconnected, surely a newcomer would warrant some type of wariness in the form of unchecked violence should the need arise. But, as they reached as small town that she had told him was one of many that sat on the outskirts of the main part of the island, he was met with very much the opposite.

Fae with wings very much like Aodhan’s had come out in groups to get a glance of what they’d heard to be an emissary of the known world. Small children, more than he had ever seen in one place his entire life, huddled in groups or at the legs of who were most likely their parents as he passed through beside her. Their whispers reached his ears quickly.

Gods, look at his wings…

Mom, why do they look like that?

Dad, why does his wings look different to ours?... He’s not fae like us son, he’s a foreigner. What’s a foreigner? Ahhhh, it’s someone who comes from a different place than you do… Oh….

Do you think he can fly in the rain?

Wonder where he’s coming from? Probably the continent, it’s where Danu was last visiting.

He looked to her in question of the last whisper he listened to, “Danu?”

“An honorary title, it’s what most fae will use instead of my given name.” He hummed his understanding, “So should I be using it as well?”

She threw him a shrug as they entered one of the buildings, “If you want, it makes no difference to me.”

The building turned out to be a tavern of a sorts. Bottles lined the shelves behind a counter, and tables with precarious looking stools littered the rest of the floor. But she made for the back of the room, pulling back a piece of fabric to reveal a better looking table and chairs made for those with wings more private than the rest of the place. Danu, he supposed it would be best if he honor her name here for the good graces of the rest, motioned for him to sit while she went to grab the bottle and two tumblers the barkeep had left on the counter without a word.

Pouring what looked to be whiskey for each of them, she lifted her glass in cheers to his and downed it in one go. It burned his throat as fire would going down, hitting the base of his stomach far harder than any liquor in Rita’s ever had and he found himself staving off a cough.

“Uisce thine, one of the best things to ever grace the world of drinking.” Azriel didn’t really agree with her sentiment. If either Cassian or Nesta got their hands on the likes of this, well, there wouldn’t be much to keep the chaos that would ensue from happening. “Perhaps you should keep this on the island.” Their spat from earlier on seemed to be a matter of the past for her as she laughed in understanding. Pouring a second round, she began to tell him more of her home and how to navigate it. “Muintir na Lasrach are an old race, they predate even some families of high fae and our customs are much different to yours.”

He listened closely to how they didn’t believe in the mother creating the known world, and how the phoenix was one of four gods who had given up a single feather to create them from fire, wind and clay. “Like the phoenix, they’re incredibly selfish down to their very nature, so I’d be careful if you decide to venture outside of political connections and who you choose to do that with. Male and females alike are extremely territorial if they’ve claimed someone for themselves, and because you’re an outsider death wouldn’t be too harsh a punishment if you put a foot wrong.” Azriel felt his stomach drop as the memory of Rhys swearing him off Elain resurfaced. He’d made the mistake of coming between fate once before, he wouldn’t do it again. “No mates. Noted.”

Her brows pulled together in rebuttal. “There’s no mates on the island, at least not in your knowledge of the term. Everyone here chooses their partner of their own accord, no fate involved. They’re just extremely territorial is all I’m saying.”

Azriel didn’t know how to comprehend what she’d admitted. Regardless of whether they believed in the mother or not, how could there be no semblance of mates anywhere. “How is that possible?”

She made to pour one last drink for them before they’d go to an inn for the night, “A story for another time. Drink up, and I’ll tell you the rest of what you need to know after we’ve had some stew.”

Pronunciation of words

Muintir na lasrach —> mwin-ter na lass-rock

Uisce Thine —> ish-kah chin-a

Aodhan —> a-dawn

Taglist @mis-lil-red, @justdreamstars, @florencemtrash

[buckevantommy]

Arranged marriage and online friends au! 😊

Buck realises after two months of emailing back and forth that he doesn't actually know what Tommy looks like. And it's bugging him.

It's not like he wasn't aware of it before; Tommy has been a faceless presence across the digital void, features interchangeable with B-role actors and strangers on the street until Buck had given up trying to put someone else's likeness to someone unlike anyone he's ever met. Still technically hasn't.

After this long, he considers Tommy a friend. Buck just wishes he could put a face to the words.

There have been context clues helping piece together an image of what he might look like - brown hair (at least no one noticed the mud in my hair. I'll have to make sure to schedule time for a shower next time I want to take Annie for a jog in the park before a work event), defined muscles (not that lugging around spare car parts isn't its own workout, but I do have a standing appointment with my trainer to get to. I'm sorry I have to cut this short), tall (Granted, it's easier to get a good look at an engine when you have the height to bend over and not lose your footing) - but no descriptions and definitely no photos (unless you count the pics of his rescue dog Annie and a cameo appearance of his sneakers, which Buck wants to but they don't exactly fill in the blanks).

It probably doesn't matter. It's not like they're ever going to meet in person - Buck is on the west coast and Tommy's on eastern time. They can't just casually meet up for coffee when there's a dozen states between them.

He's not sure Tommy would even want to. Because while Tommy has tossed a few crumbs of his appearance Buck's way over the past eight and a half weeks, Tommy doesn't have to wonder about Buck in return. Because Buck had linked his insta account in his second email. It was the quickest way to show Tommy the state of his beloved Wrangler Renegade given he was at work and it was currently taking up space in Eddie's yard. Tommy sure knows his engines, even from photos that likely didn't show the whole story. With Bobby and Eddie's help (and with Chris being more help than Eddie) they managed to pinpoint the problem thanks to Tommy - something multiple mechanics couldn't nail down let alone fix, instead giving Buck the same excuse of how an old engine with that many miles was bound to give up the ghost sooner or later.

Buck took the jeep up the coast for the first time on his recent 48 off - the first time since his cross-country tour led him to the 118 and a few weeks in she'd stalled out and hadn't been the same since. But there was no sputtering, no chugging fits, no weird noises. Just miles of highway being eaten up under her wheels.

And he couldn't even picture the face of the person he wanted to thank. Maybe it was silly, or petty, but Buck couldn't shake his annoyance at Tommy having never sent him a photo of himself. He totally gets the anonymity of the internet, especially with forums, but he really thought they were becoming friends. Thought they'd keep emailing even if they managed to fix the Renegade.

He also hadn't heard from Tommy in over a week, so maybe that was adding to his irritation. And worry. As soon as they got her running smoothly, Buck posted a video of the jeep to insta and sent Tommy the link. He posted a few more pics of her on the road north and thanked him in the caption:

couldn't have done it without your help T 🌅🚙💻🛠️

Tommy knows how much this jeep means to him, and the more Buck thinks about it the more certain he is that the radio silence isn't like Tommy. He was looking forward to an update! It was the last thing he wrote: Keep me updated!, exclamation mark and all. Maybe he had to go away suddenly for work. Or his computer died. Or his email got hacked. Maybe something happened to him - he could be hurt, or sick, or worse. Maybe he read your emails and saw your posts and knows he fixed the problem so now he's done with you.

Buck stews in that thought longer than he should. It's not impossible, it just. Hurts. He likes Tommy. And screw distance - he wants to keep emailing and getting to know each other. Maybe Buck will get called out east for a nautral disaster (okay, not a great reason) or some kind of specialty training program. Or Tommy will travel out west for work.

Work which he's been pretty vague about, come to think of it. Buck doesn't actually know what he does - some kind of office-type job, going by the mentions of suits and gladhanding. Tommy knows Buck is a firefighter in L.A., but the nature of Tommy's work has been left mostly up to Buck's imagination. Maybe he's a special agent. Or a criminal. Or in witness protection. Or maybe the thought of a secretive existence helps soothe the ache of his abandonment issues; Tommy would reach out if he could but extenuating cirumstances are stopping him.

It happens to be a q-word shift which means no calls to distract him. Pocketing his phone, Buck sinks into the couch and turns on the tv desperate for something to take his mind off Tommy. Taylor Kelly is reporting from the studio these days, no longer chasing stories with a cameraman in a shady white van.

"..And now to political news. Vice President Kinard today announced the long-awaited engagement of his son to the eldest daughter of prominent Senator Olivia Ortiz. Thomas Kinard is the Vice President's only child, and the union is expected to strengthen ties.."

As Taylor talks, photos overlay on-screen: a professional family portrait complete with closed-mouth smiles; a young man - Thomas Kinard - in a khaki flightsuit standing in front of a military chopper; a college graduation gown.

"..Thomas Kinard minored in Mechanical Engineering.."

Another image: tall and broad and now with a mop of brown curls competing in a marathon and helping someone cross the finish line with their arm slung over his shoulders.

It's a minor detail. He doesn't even know why he notices. But Buck's eyes are drawn to his sneakers: Thomas is wearing a black pair with white half-trim and a reflective trapezoid on the heel. Not anything unusual, except that the guy he's helping is wearing a neon yellow pair that somehow didn't catch Buck's attention.

The next image shows an animal shelter and a small crowd of volunteers in candid and posed photos. In one of the candid shots, Thomas can be seen crouching to pet a familiar looking dog.. Annie.

No fucking way.

"..Tommy?"

doing this thing

[brewstersbru]

A little riz ficlet i started last week and finished today (pok feels 💚)

Your name is Riz.

Riz knows Kristen didn’t mean it, knows she was just being funny, trying to ease his nerves before his first big game on the Owlbears. But he can’t stop hearing his mother’s voice in his head, digging, nudging him to buck up and fight against it.

He regrets snapping at her, but not as much as he should, probably. He’s not certain he would’ve even said anything if his mom hadn’t had that conversation with him.

And now Kristen’s getting expelled, but not really, and instead they have to go through a harrowing trial of standardized testing coupled with fighting monsters where it only ends if all of them die or they kill all the monsters.

No one has ever killed all the monsters before, and Riz isn’t arrogant enough to actually believe they’ll be the first. Not with the weight of Junior year on their shoulders. It’ll be nice to see his dad again, outside of the tiny little hologram on his watch, or when he talks to the air around his grave- never knowing for sure but believing that he’s there, listening.

But dying hurts. Riz still gets nightmares about that first time he did it, and it doesn’t help that the video of it happening is still up for everyone to see. The views keep climbing, no matter how time marches on people still search it up. It makes him a little nauseous to think about.  

There’s a lot on Riz’s mind tonight- not that there hasn’t always been- but for some reason he can’t tune it out right now, can’t push it down with work or school or trying to solve a mystery. His mind is just running, turning over and over itself, churning through the complicated web of problems he’s found himself caught in.

There’s just so much that needs fixing, that needs to be worked on and chipped away at and he can’t do anything about it. Just has to stare at the ceiling of the living room in Mordrid Manor, trying to will himself to sleep while his friends snore beside him. Well- Adiane isn’t really sleeping, but after finally dropping the mental weight of her finances, she’s been falling deeper into her trances to regain her energy.

It feels almost like his heart is about to jump right out of his chest, like it’s squirming around, trying to wedge itself up his throat and out of his mouth. Riz would never tell anyone this but he’s terrified that he’s still that same futile little thing he was in the palimpsest. Scratching at thick walls until his hands bleed, littered with shards of the effort, but in that righteous violence, ultimately having done nothing of real use.

How many times does he have to bleed for it to mean something? How many times does he have to die before his friends can stay with him? Before people and gods and monsters stop trying to pry them away from his bloody, clenched fingers. He worked for this, he dug deep and rent himself in six equal pieces for the hope of staying together. How much more could the universe possibly expect from him? When is it enough?

There’s a soft beep from his wristwatch- which, unlike all of his other gadgets, he never takes off, not even when sleeping- and Riz takes the opportunity to get away from staring at the same crack in the ceiling he’s been looking at for the past hour. He stands and picks his way through a maze of limbs and drool to the kitchen.

With some semblance of privacy, he checks the watch. What could his dad- Agent Gukgak- need from him at this time of night? Does time work the same way up there? Is he ok? Is it possible for him not to be?

A small hologram of his father appears above the watch, disheveled, as if he just got back to the office. As soon as he appears, he steps back for a moment and quickly catalogues his son’s state. After about a minute, he heaves a deep sigh.

“You’re ok.” It’s not a question. Riz nods, slowly.

“I am, sure. But what about you, Agent Gukgak- sir? What’s wrong? Why’d you call?”  He tries to keep his voice quiet, and moves towards the front door, hoping to get outside so he and Agent Gukgak can have a serious business conversation without him sounding like a teenager at a sleepover. He is a teenager at a sleepover, but that’s beside the point.

Agent Gukgak tilts his head at him. “Kiddo, I didn’t call for me, I called for you. Your heartbeat spiked about a half hour ago and hasn’t returned to baseline since. I called as soon as I could get back.”

Riz, having just made it outside- the door creaked just slightly, but he’s not worried about any of the others having heard; they sleep like logs- stumbles a bit as he tries to settle himself on the porch steps.

It’s late, so he can be forgiven for lacking his usual tact as he stutters, “Wha- huh? This thing can track my heartbeat?” Like that was the most important part of what Agent Gukgak had said.

Agent Gukgak smiles at him, wry. “Course it can, and your blood sugar, iron levels, as well as body temperature. You should talk to your mom about iron pills, actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I know you haven’t been to the doctor for a while, but we’ve been detecting low iron in your blood for a while. And don’t even get me started on your eating habits, you’re just like your mother, waiting until you’re near ready to faint to give your body anything substantial.” His tone starts warm, but quickly devolves into something more scolding. Riz allows the conversation to derail a little bit.

“It’s not that I do it consciously, I just forget. There’s a lot of work to do and it’s hard to schedule out non-school-mandated mealtimes for myself. I’ll make a note about the iron though.” Riz thinks they’re both overtly aware of the fact that he doesn’t move to jot anything down. Iron pills have got to be expensive, and if he’s made it this far without, he doesn’t see a reason to ask for them now. Agent Gukgak sighs.

“Riz- it’s- I-“ He pauses, takes a second to collect himself. “I often find myself wishing, when we talk, that I was able to come down there and live with you and your mother. At least until we sent you off to college.” There’s a wistfulness to his gaze that Riz can’t find it within himself to watch, he knows what’s at the end of this train of thought and it’s never pretty. ‘What ifs’ and ‘could have beens’ are only as good as a wish, because they’re never rooted in reality. Always washed with rose and drowned in nostalgia.

Riz cuts in, “You’ve been doing good work where you can. And- and I think I turned out pretty okay. All things considered.” It feels a little strange to be defending his father to himself, but Agent Gukgak just shakes his head.

“More than ‘pretty okay’, kiddo. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done, not just in your work, but in who you are. I see the way you care for your friends, the way you help your mother, the way you meet every problem head on with a plan and a backup plan, just in case. I just wish the world had been kinder. Wish I coulda been there to make it be, when it couldn’t get there on its own.”

And then, for some, mortifying reason, Riz bursts into tears. It’s not loud or messy or even really all that different than what he usually looks like. At a distance, you probably wouldn’t even be able to tell. But there are tears streaming steadily down his face and every so often he has to sniff and blink his eyes to catch up with the stream. He swipes an arm roughly across his eyes to try and stem the flow, or better, stop it completely.

“I’m sorry, Agent-“

“Dad. Just call me dad kiddo. Please. Or Pok, just- not ‘Agent Gukgak’.” Pok’s own expression has crumpled, brows furrowing at the sight of his son so obviously distraught with no way to physically comfort him.

Riz nods, “Sorry, dad, I don’t-“ He sniffs, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s just Kristen’s being expelled unless we do this last stand thing tomorrow where we’re probably gonna die at the end, and I saw my name in Kipperlilly’s file but I haven’t had time to figure out why it’s there, and Fig skipped class again, which, I know isn’t going to fail her probably but it makes me nervous because what if she starts skipping every day again? Also our vice principal might be crazy and evil and I haven’t had any time at all to look into that-“

He cuts himself off with a gasping, cut-off sob, burying his face in his arm in his overwhelm but keeping his wrist level so Pok remains visible.

It’s hard to see through the rivers of tears that are spouting from his tear ducts, but Riz thinks he sees his father tugging at his hair, pacing as he watches this unfold. Huh, they kind of are the same.

“You’re seventeen. Seventeen, you shouldn’t- I can’t-“ He seems at a loss for words, baffled by the injustice of it all. Riz has stopped trying to fight the waves of tears, instead letting them wash over them, swiping at his cheeks every couple of seconds to keep them dry.

Pok paces for a few more minutes, fiddling with different parts of his outfit until he’s gathered his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Riz.” Is what he settles on, moving close to the image capture of the hologram so that, if Riz were to tilt his head forward, it could almost be as if they were touching foreheads. Pok continues, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there and I’m sorry that you have so much to deal with right now. I wish I could do more, but all I can give you is advice. What you’ve got on your plate right now, every piece of this hellish puzzle, both is and is not a war. There’s you, and there’s the problem, and a lot of times it seems like the problem is so much bigger than you are, so much more than you’re equipped to handle. Like you’re a man at the base of a mountain with a shovel, hoping to dig a hole through it. But once you start thinking that, the moment you let yourself become less than, that’s when you start losing. You either gotta grow to match the size of it or cut it into little pieces you know you can handle, and I’ve never met anyone who could do the first of those.”

Pok takes a deep breath, then his lips quirk into a rueful smile.

“Also, it’s a lot easier to do things when you eat, and you let other people help you.” He emphasizes the last parts with a heavy look directly into Riz’s eyes. Like he knows exactly how he’s been doing things thus far and is telling him to change it up, for his own sake.

Riz sniffles, nodding. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the warmth of his father’s skin through the hologram. Or the illusion of it.

“I can do that.” Riz takes a deep breath. “I can do that.”

Pok smiles. “I know you can, kid. Just take it slow. Don’t lose yourself in it.” He speaks as if he’s learned from experience. The realization of how little he truly knows his father hits Riz like a bucket of ice water. A shiver works its way up his spine.

For a moment, he considers asking. Thinks about spending the night on this porch, effectively on the phone with his dad, talking and learning things he’s wanted to know for as long as he’s been visiting Pok’s grave. Then, Pok clears his throat, expression pinched with regret.

“Sorry, kid I-“

Then he remembers that life isn’t fair, and the world moves on, whether you’re ready for it or not. Riz blinks away his tears.

“Yeah- no- I know. You’ve got badass angel things to do. I’m good. Thanks for calling.”

Pok gets a look on his face, equal parts proud and devastated. His eyebrows furrow into poignant resignation.

“I’ll try to do it more. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And then he’s gone, and all Riz has is the cool fingers of the wind, grasping over his shoulders in an icy embrace. He puffs a breath into the air and watches it fizzle from fog to nothing.

It’s dark. It’s going to be dark for another eight hours at least.

Riz is going to die tomorrow, probably. He’ll be fine, but he doesn’t want to.

He really doesn’t want to.  

[obsessedwhim]

Office Time

You were ecstatic to hear that Ichigo would soon be spending some quality time in the Seireitei with his dear friends and probably training, which was always an inevitable option.

Though his arrival was in a few days you were bursting with glowing nervous energy, not that he was aware of your lowly sixth-seat self but man! You sure were aware of him!

Not only was he the courageous Hero who saved your home more times than you have fingers, but he was also kind, interesting and.. and... soooooOOOOOoooooo a t t r a c t i v e !

So tall and cool, you could barely look at him whenever Ichigo had somehow made it near your vicinity. Not to mention his intimidating Zanpakuto, shaped unlike any sword you had ever seen!

The first time you saw him in person was... admittedly- seeing Yoruichi pick up the youngster after his defeating of The One and Only Kenpachi Zaraki, Capitan to Squad Eleven.

She watched for a moment as you and your squad mates rushed to the scene of the crime and after that, it's like the bright burn of his hair scorched itself into the very wrinkles of your brain. Burning brighter with every thought that passed through your simple little scull.

There was this one time when you had to make a house call to a Lieutenant and the ginger just happened to be there. You kept quiet and tried so hard to keep your eyes on the bandages before you, but then a shadow covered the sunlight you needed and so, you glanced up with a question in your throat only to swallow said question like a cold rock once you saw it was the legendary Kurosaki, leaning over you with a curious stare. Sunlight glowing from behind him as if he were some sort of stunning.. glowy.. person- thing...

"Oh, hey there" he flickered his eyelids in blissful innocents, as if not sure if you were a person or not. Not that you've been acting like a normal person since noticing his spiritual energy which surrounded you like water, as though you had somehow sunk to the very bottom of the deepest lake- oddly, very much like a suffocating hug. You wondered what pressure Ichigo would use on you with his bare hands, not that he would, but say he would...

Before any more lude thoughts were able to flush the blood to your cheeks you blinked and began packing your things away quickly "Welp, that's all the help I can give ya Renji, stay well- be safe! Byyeeeee!"

With a medical box underarm, the smallest of the three ran out of a nearby door and hoofed it over the first garden wall you came across. Leaving both males blinking in your wake.

Though the memory itself was keeping you awake at bedtime with wave after wave of cringe, seeing his eyes up close- the way you could recall the different layers of brown in his almond-shaped gaze and still feel his room temp breath fanning on you from above- it was all worth it. The strange smell he emitted clung to your nostrils, but you being you enjoyed the odd scent coming from him, which you learned later on was a human realm aftershave.

Would it be weird if you bought it? That's weird, right? No... is it?

Whatever, because now was the time to completely indulge yourself in your work, with Hanataro off sick for the next couple of days you were chomping at the bit to get rid of this mountain of paperwork. You couldn't take all these tumultuous emotions and so it was time to forget all about 'em and focus on the perfect piles you had created, both alphabetically and essentiality wise.

It was perfect! Just you, this warm cup of tea and a wonderful breeze that drifted through the window. Nothing would take you away from your office space on this day!

Letting out a slow breath you sat at your desk, flickering through a handful sheets until a few squad mates ran by your open window, glancing at the outside world while black uniforms blurred past the square opening. The stampede pulled the forms you held to your chest in a strong rush of air and the white reports danced across the moving flashmob of rushing Reapers.

"No!" You reached after the vanishing articles, going limp and accepting your fate for now with a wince "Those were the forms to confirm public bathrooms..."

"Here" a hand held out a crumpled pile "I dunno if I got 'em all, but.. This is what I was able to get"

You felt it as soon as he held out those crumpled papers, his pouring energy washing over your skin as if the very sun itself took a moment out of its day to shower you with that good ol' fashioned Vitamin C, trying to ignore your burning flesh you held out shaky hands with a bowed skull "T-thank you, you.. didn't have too"

Though you couldn't see it, Ichigo's shining eyes widened and he near dropped the pile into your little hands before clearing his throat "Naaah, it's.. no problem" he scratched the side of his head before realising you weren't moving.

"Yooou uh, you okay there?" the local Hero quirked a brow as you took a moment to quietly whimper to yourself "I... can't move"

Ichigo bent his knees and squatted before you, glancing up through his lashes and the strands of your hair it was becoming increasingly harder to breathe normally, he was absolutely breathtaking, even more so than you thought from all the distances you'd seen the wonderful Kurosaki form, from all angles. Which was rather annoying at this point in time, but oh well.

Your lungs squeezed at the window corner internally slicing you in half and Ichigo chuckled as blood filled your cheeks "You want some help?" he questioned, grinning widely and you couldn't help but hold what little breath you were getting.

Keeping his eyes matched with yours the male grabbed the scruff of your uniform and lifted you back into your office window all while your fingers shredded the at sheets mercilessly as you imagined his strong hand wrapped around your throat instead.

"Well.." Ichigo turned with a salute, not letting you see his blush rise at how light you were, he could just pick you up and take you away from here "See you 'round"

And there he left you, before anything could register through your shocked being but still that strange aftershave drifted through you and proceeded to stay with you for the rest of your office time.