#sorry to contribute to cluttering the tag

[goji-pilled]

spoilers for the first main boss of shadow of the erdtree 👍

i dont think i necessarily would have to tag this as spoilers considering we have seen it before in trailers and its not a secret it exists but eh better safe than sorry for now i suppose

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so that marks the first remembrance boss of the dlc as beaten in ng+2, from scratch (this is the first run of the dlc on this character), and this time i did it completely solo without any summons.

and whew my opinion definitely has changed a lot compared to the first time i fought it.

during the first run i absolutely hated this thing. genuinely one of my least favourite bosses and i have no doubt that i will still despise fighting this guy's death blight cousin ugh. this time however? i actually?? enjoyed the fight?? for the most part anyway.

i dont know what it is because my scadutree level is 4 as of in this clip which isn't any more than it was in the first run + this guy should do more damage and have more health now too but it somehow?? didnt feel like it??? idk if the dragonslayer katana is just broken like that or if they tweaked something during the patches but boy it felt so much better this tims.

which, again, is crazy considering im doing this in ng+2 from scratch.

however, i still have my share of criticism.

for one there are times where the effects from his bajillion phases put a noticable dent into my fram rate which absolutely sucks. and while im at the effects: there were also just times they either cluttered the screen and it was difficult to see anything, or where stuff like the tornado straight up just blocks the entire view of the dancing lion.

there's also the aoe stuff in the arena during the lighting phase which i find to be extremely annoying and feels like it was added just for the sake of making it more difficult. all it does is contribute to the points above made about the effects.

its not nearly as bad as it was with that atrocious final boss though LMFAO

also, arguably the worst part: although the lion's moveset is extremely cool and does the dancing part justice, with the way it zooms around there are times the camera just fucking goes all over the place making it hard to see and follow what is happening which cost me multiple deaths.

overall though still actually a very cool experience and a great boss though, not to mention that the theme is an absolutely fantastic banger; 7/10 👍

[theemporium]

Hey I don't mean to bash anyone here, everyone is allowed to have opinions. And I agree with some of them, such as not cluttering a tag. I just want to know how to reach a bigger audience when I write oc fics/blurbs. Because I can garuntee that people are straight up searching player x oc, they're searching player x reader. and I try my hardest to have some integrity when tagging my fics becasue I'm a people pleaser and I hate making people mad but there are some I'm really proud of and I find no one will really read them if i just tag player x oc.

And I just have to say I tend to do more oc things lately simply becasue I have more freedom when creating a character. When I do make reader inserts I try and make the reader inclusive to everyone and sometimes I just need to make them more specific.

Also I try never to over tag or tag unnecessary people. If a secondary player/person plays a big part in thing I'm gonna tag them, but just them and I always tag who the fic is supposed to be about first since thats the important part.

I'm sorry I'm just sad and I feel bad when and like I'm contributing to the problem and I just want to be better but I also want people to read my things, but at the same time not be a horrible person and get reported becasue I tagged the wrong thing.

aw bless, honey, it’s fine!! people here are mostly just venting their frustrations and such, I’m sure there’s no harm or ill will intended!!

honestly, I’m not too sure what to advise because this is something that goes across platforms and fandoms and it’s not just a single person. maybe trying to veer away from ‘x reader’ tags but still tagging what your works are? hypothetically, if it’s a jack hughes x oc work, maybe tagging it with ‘jack hughes fic’ and ‘jack hughes imagine’ and ‘jack hughes oneshot’ would be the best option! you’re still tagging your work fairly and it means it wont show up for people wanting specifically ‘x reader’ works

I understand that it’s incredibly frustrating and that you (and many others) just want to get your works out to the target audience!!🫶🏽

[mashed4077]

🌃 intro post! 🌃

(bit late but i didn’t want a cluttered bio anymore so here’s this)

hiii im shay! i fixated on mash back in november and i officially finished it on march 22nd 2023!! im gonna rewatch soon tho

about this blog

this is a side-blog!

tags: i tag pretty extensively for the sake of categorization; here’s hoping my character tags prove fun to scroll through!

queue: as of the day i’m writing this, i have a very full queue, because i have a habit of liking literally every post i see related to a fixation, and then spam-queuing it later to clean my likes out. so i hope you enjoy all the content! lots of funny scenes and textposts, well-made gifsets, wonderful fanart, and insightful meta, if i do say so myself. mashblr is a talented bunch!

original posts/content: i don’t contribute much on my own, but i love to ramble and i hope some of my lengthy tags prove an interesting or at least entertaining read :) i do dabble in fanfic writing and i’ve got a few mash works in my drafts, but i’m not sure if they’ll ever see the light of day. i’m also fond of meta and character analysis, so if i ever work up the courage maybe ill put out some moderately thought-provoking posts in that realm.

some of my opinions relating to mash characters & ships can be found under the read more!

these are all subjective and i completely respect anyone who disagrees :) we’re all here to have fun!

summarized thoughts on the characters (kinda sorted by fav to least fav)

mulcahy has been driving me bonkers for months (and my jewish ass has been putting far too much thought into catholicism lately bc of him😒)

frank,,,, listen. i’m sorry. but listen, as baffled and/or disgusted as you are, i’m the mf stuck being the only one in this entire fandom who flails over frank burns. so how do you think i feel. ik he’s absolutely awful, but he’s just so damn pathetic, i can’t help but like him and find him fascinating

radar is a bubby to me, i dont rlly have complex thoughts on him hes kinda just a comfort character to me n ilhsm

charles... he snuck up on me. i didnt expect to like him, much less relate to him (-_-) i just exposed myself as a charles winchester kinnie how will my reputation recover

i love hawkeye a lot, as we all do <3

i love trapper john mcintyre!!!!!!!!!!

i love margaret!!! i love klinger!!! i love henry!!! 

im pretty neutral on potter and bj

in short: i love them all a lot but mulcahy and frank have each driven me particularly mad in different ways and radar with his animals has made me cry and charles would probably drive me nuts if i let him but i am keeping him at arm’s length.

summarized thoughts on ships (again, strongest first)

(yes i have frank ships. no i am not proud of it)

my mash otp is hawkahy. it’s been slowly draining the remainder of my sanity. i havent slept in months. send help

i am a sucker for enemies/rivals to lovers and hawnk kinda makes me a little nuts.

i know he’s not good for her but i think margaret x frank have a rlly interesting relationship and they can be cute sometimes, and i think about them more than i’d like to admit. i am not immune to het ships consisting of badass women with control issues and their toxic pathetic purse-dog boyfriends.

henry x klinger is literally canon idc

pierceintyre... ;-; hh

i love semi-niche trapper ships. trapcahy is a little bit 👀 and i really like trapper x margaret

hawkeye x henry... shh...

bonus trios i think about sometimes😳: hawkeye x margaret x frank, margaret x frank x flagg (SHH), hawkeye x trapper x mulcahy. do u see my evil vision

aaand some platonic dynamics i particularly enjoy

mulcahy & klinger are besties :)

mulcahy & margaret have a sibling dynamic that i absolutely adore, esp in the potter seasons, particularly the later ones.

charles & margaret are a fun duo. the ship tease they did a little was... idk how to feel about it, but i like them as buddies.

margaret & klinger... the girlies

hawkeye & klinger!!! the el jibbities are flocking together..

hawkeye & margaret :)

i do very much enjoy hawkeye & bj’s friendship

not friendship but charles & mulcahy’s animosity is sooo funny i will never tire of it

notps: klinger x charles, and hunnihawk. do not doxx me.

i think thats all for now. enjoy my nonsense!

.mobile header credit.

.desktop theme sidebar credit.

[10-days-of-freakin-olives]

Brand New Intro Post

Welcome to my Good Omens fandom blog! Saddle up, buckarinos! We're goin on an adventure!

My name is [insert whatever you want to call me here]! I'm a mid-30s queer nonbinary socialist polytheist Luciferian-Satanist kitchen witch and aspiring author who loves Good Omens and hates Brussel sprouts. I live in the southwestern US, currently work in the medical field, dream of starting a homestead, and my pronouns are they/them, tho he/him doesn't bother me, either. I have fairly debilitating ADHD, so if you wanna be ADHD Buddies lemme know.

I'm not new to the fandom in that I'm not a new fan of the book or series, or new to tumblr in that I've been here since the Golden Age of the early 2010s, but this is my first time slapping the two together like a fluffernutter sandwich.

I've been writing some fics, if you're interested, search for my 'olives works' tag, but between my full-time job and my attempts to work on my original fiction, updates are slow-coming.

I love to see theories and meta and I love to talk about interpretations of the material, so if you're interested in the bits and bobs I've written on that, you'll find them in my 'olivesoriginals' tag.

I also use this blog for aesthetic and inspo posts - random bits of space and plants a antique books and modern and vintage fashion, miscellaneous things that I want to hold on to do I can look back at them whenever I need visual references for something. Sorry if they clutter things up lol.

Lastly, I'll probably also be posting music recs here under the 'olives ineffable playlist' tag. I try to keep things relevant, but how much of it is a result of brainrot, I can't say.

It's very nice to meet you all - I hope I can contribute something nice!

Links:

My AO3

My fanfic masterlist

My fanfic recs

My Ineffable Spouses playlist

My Art of Being Okay fanfic playlist

[pollenallergie]

Hey, I'm really sorry about the other anons being so rude, that's really fucked up and shouldn't happen. I sent the first one in good faith with the assumption that maybe you weren't aware of the distinction between & labels and using ship names for platonic relationships. Thank you for taking the time to explain your reasoning, even if the other anons don't deserve it. I don't think you're an anti and I believe you had good intentions. Take care of yourself; I hope you come back to fandom soon and continue to create.

okay, so, admittedly i caved and did some lurking tonight and i saw this anon in my inbox and… yeah i just had to put a temporary hiatus on my temporary hiatus so that i could answer it lol

i genuinely appreciate you reaching out to me, both in your last anon and now. i want to foster the kind of environment on my blog where people feel like they can kindly/civilly and genuinely voice their concerns to me without fear of me getting upset or retaliating or anything. so, suffice to say, i’m really disappointed in myself for dropping the ball and not responding to your genuine concerns in a more positive, meaningful way. i wasn’t trying to be snarky when i replied, but, having read through that post, i can see quite a few points where i likely came across as snarky and that’s just… that’s really not what i want to do here and i hate that i didn’t take the time to cool off more before i responded to you.

i appreciate you taking your time to voice your concerns and to educate me on a more considerate way to tag my platonic!eddie x chrissy posts. putting myself in the shoes of someone who was just simply trying to browse the tag of a romantic ship they like, i can see how it would be frustrating to have that space cluttered with platonic AUs and such, and i’m very sorry that i ever contributed to such frustration for hellcheer-enjoyers (hellcheerleaders?? if you guys don’t call yourselves hellcheerleaders, you really need to start bc oh my god that is so cute!).

thank you for also taking the time to send a follow up message and to further clarify your intentions/discuss things further. you’re truly, very kind and so polite and i really appreciate how helpful and genuine and nice you’ve been during all of this. i hope you’re doing well and i wish you very happy holidays (if you celebrate any this time of year, ofc. if not, then i hope you experience lots of non-holiday-related happiness anyways!). thank you again for being so lovely and informative. <3

[22degreehalo]

eugh and I am STILL struggling with what to do with fandoms on this tumblr

I know that everyone reblogs that post about how if your moot changes fandoms that's a-okay and you'll either accept or block this new spamming of some random character you've never heard of before. But I can't help feeling a bit bad about it.

TBH secretly, and I feel rly bad about it, but... I actually don't like it when people spam stuff I don't know anything about on tumblr. (Or reblogging the same post 5 times. Sorry.) It's just... empty clutter on my dash, which I too often use as a sorta dopamine IV for if I'm in desperate need of brain stimulation. (Not as much as I used to but still.)

But maybe that's just because I'm too hesitant to block tags. I'm finally starting to block fandom tags now and like at first I felt really bad like 'of all the fandoms you chose to block, that one?!' but now that I've done a few it's easier. It's not that I hate to see it it's just it interrupts my dashboard's flow.

But also just. I really do think that compared to most people the fandoms I go between tend to vary REALLY widely. Most people will go from e.g. fantasy video game fandom 1 to fantasy video game fandom 2 or whatever and there's a good chance fans of one will like the latter. And I know this sounds very 'I'm so quirky lolz' but just. objectively. I am pretty sure that Star Trek TOS -> Homestuck -> Little Busters! -> Supernatural -> American Revolution RPF -> Ensemble Stars! -> Fire Emblem (especially Genealogy of the Holy War) is. an unusual list of Main Fandoms.

And partly that is my brain's inherent craving for novelty. I *need* a certain level of Different Things, vaguely defined. Which explains why I tend to gravitate towards fandoms with a lot of different quirky characters (like Homestuck, Ensemble Stars! etc.) or Visual Novels, where each route registers as a Different Story in my brain so it's like I get five Different Things for one.

So I'll have, like. ONE fantasy game I play. But then I need to mix it up with other really different things. So I can get a multitude of vibes. Same thing with my fanfic: I'm constantly trying new things, and can't really get motivated to write something unless I feel like I couldn't easily read it somewhere (thus my total lack of creative motivation while I was into Supernatural).

Anyway the point of it is. I'm just too aware that my followers are real people, who presumably followed me for something they enjoy seeing on their dash. Probably just agreeing with my opinions in general. And in general I like to reblog things that I think people will. Like. Not in a 'This'll Do Numbers' way but in a 'I like contributing positively to a community' sort of way I guess.

But it's also a matter of post type. I mind much less when people write heaps of text posts or whatever about their stuff; sometimes it's fun to see analyses even of things I know nothing about, and I can feel their passion shining through. It's much more cluttery when people do heaps of e.g. fanart reblogs without commentary.

But then that's what sends me into stasis whenever I see a post I like and want to reblog but I feel like I have to Write Something Good Enough in the tags. Which is an inherently very very silly idea I know lmao. But it was honestly a bit freeing several months (years????? timye.) ago when I allowed myself to just hit reblog with no tags at all.

IDK like look I want to just be free and make my blog filled with nice things that I like but just like with masking I can't divorce myself from the context that these are things I'm sharing with real people. And maybe it's just a loneliness in me that because my tastes are so absurdly specific and radically Different it's hard to find other people who'll really relate to more than one or two of them.

Anyway thanks for coming to my TED Talk, this one's called 'thoughts about this blog I've had variously for the last five years or so which is funny because at some point that'll be more than half the life of my presence on tumblr lmao'

[idlebirdsparagon]

Look, this whole nonsense from the Variety interview with Anthony Mackie didn't have to be a thing. Here's why:

Adam B. Vary, the interviewer, primed that "Sambucky Question" (in quotes because he doesn't specify that to be what he's asking about) by asking Anthony Mackie if he keeps up with fandom/fan opinion, specifically about Sam's friendship with Bucky, to which Mackie said no. Drop it there. Mackie gave a legitimate reason as to why he does not participate in fandom discussion/observation. Adam should have moved on. Adam asks:

Adam: "Did you pay much attention to how fans reacted to Sam and Bucky's sort of evolving friendship?"

Anthony: "I didn't. I try to stay away from fan stuff. Uhm, you know, the fandom is a very dangerous place, so I just, I let it be what it is and move on."

Diplomatic, succinct, and arguably justified, given how reactionary certain parts of the fan base can be.

Adam then proceeds to not actually ask for Anthony's opinion on a romantic interpretation of Sam and Bucky's relationship. He pulls the Male Friendship card after bringing up fandom desire to see Bucky as part of the LGBTQIA+ Community (in a less than nuanced observation) and fandom desire to see Sam and Bucky be romantically involved.

Adam: "...I was asking because my job is to pay attention to fandoms so I notice that, you know -- and this is a thing that's been happening with Bucky just in general as a character -- there are fans who are just, sort of outright wanting Sam and Bucky to become a couple. That they just, they love them together.

"I guess I'm interested in the-- it's so rare to see male friendship and male, sort of, platonic love in a superhero context. And Bucky's now had it twice. He had it with Steve and now he's getting it with Sam."

And then Adam asks about the platonic relationship and what that's like for Mackie to play into as an actor.

Adam: "For you as an actor, like being able to explore that element of a relationship with another male character, I'm just curious how that evolves for you and what that's like for you to play."

It's a non sequitur.

Adam didn't need to touch on fandom and shipping to ask for Mackie's personal insight on portraying platonic male relationships. If he was truly curious about that aspect, he should have made that the focus of the question, not an afterthought tacked onto pitting the ideas of male-centric romantic and platonic love against each other (which is an inherently inflammatory way to go about having that discussion).

Not to mention, in the written article, he pins that shoddy question delivery on Mackie with:

'But he resists an interpretation that Sam and Bucky are sexually or romantically attracted to each other.'

Does he now? Because I would argue, he doesn't resist so much as he clarifies how he sees the interaction between Sam and Bucky, how he played it, what it was like for him. Something he was well within his rights to do based on the question Adam posed. Extra-textual analysis and interpretation was not his focus, nor did it have to be given the actual topic of Adam's question, that being Mackie's involvement in conveying a platonic male relationship. The context for Mackie's statement is poorly represented by Adam within the article. It's a clunky answer brought about by a clunky question.

Whether Mackie would have answered the same way had Adam not introduced the romance angle, I don't know, I can't say. In listening to the podcast and reading the article, I'd rather focus on Adam perpetuating a narrative that isn't there. Therefore, I can say: that was a leading question from Adam. He put the topic of fans wanting a romance out there when it wasn't necessary background for the question he ultimately asked.

Is it rare to see male platonic relationships? Specific to a superhero context, one could say that. I'd go with uncommon over rare, but I'll concede the point on the basis of syntax and my tendency to be pedantic. There does tend to be a lot of posturing and machismo as a staple of the genre. But as Adam points out, platonic love has happened with Bucky, twice (at least canonically within the MCU and not taking into account fan interpretation). So clearly, this is something Marvel is already taking steps to represent.

Then what was the point of that exchange?

I should be able to say it was to get Mackie's take on delving into platonic love and intimacy between men, which is a conversation that is worth having, and one that he attempts to have. But Adam frames it as Mackie pushing back against shipping and seeing Sam and Bucky's relationship as sexual, which is not what that was. So it's a wash, and it's poorly executed interviewing/journalism.

Tl;dr: Adam B. Vary asked a poorly constructed question that left Anthony Mackie in the lurch for answering it.

Sidenote: I didn't get into dissecting what Mackie said beyond the surface level and its relation to Adam's question because that discussion --how fans interpret and/or read into relationships-- is something that deserves more than a few sentences of explanation and speculation; I also have inherent biases as a black lesbian who participates in and is simultaneously frustrated by shipping culture. Some of Mackie's word choice is baffling to me like "exploitation" by who specifically and to what degree? I feel like that might be the biggest point that begs clarification. But that's about all I'll say on the matter since that's not the point of this post.

Also: Anthony Mackie is not homophobic and there's no need to harass anyone over this. At all.

[cupcraft]

Hello New Twitter Users coming to mcytblr: Here's some tips I have for some basic tumblr etiquette things to educate you. Other mutuals and users please reblog with additions and correct me on things (these are from my experience). I am very lazy and also not good at making well organized posts. (and if you're on IOS get that bug fix for the tag ban!).

1. Filter out tags you don't want to see. You curate your on experience on here. And if you still see it just block or don't follow the person. Some people don't tag things at all, and that's fine, some blogs like myself tag a shit ton, and that's also fine.

2. People liveblog on here. It may clutter your dash. If you don't like it, or don't want spoilers, again block the tag or don't follow livebloggers.

3. We don't trend "neg" on here. We tag neg, for tone indicators/people that block those tags. You might also find that some the things neg was trended over isn't usually discussed here unless it is serious incidents, or to discuss it respectfully (at least in my experience). Sometimes, you may see things critiquing twitter's response to situations.

4. There is no fame, no clout, no check mark. Yeah, i mean people are aware of the "big blogs" in the fandom to some extent, but they aren't really given big blog treatment as it's kind of weird. Any excitement you see is likely just because someone likes that blog they follow or is their mutual. Don't bring celebritism here...we don't like that. In fact most of the time you'll never know who is a "big blog" anyway. Someone can have banger posts that succeed and have 400 followers, someone can get small note posts and be a big blog.

5. Don't repost art. Reblog art. Reblog fanfiction (unless you do a rec list), reblog everything really. Likes don't do anything, and searchability is based on reblogs I believe.

6. Back to tags, learn about what tags are. I think it's the first 6 that contribute to searchability(? fact check me?). It's good to do tw tags, or crit/neg tags for people that block those things. Also people communicate in the tags, often reblogging the same post over and over with <- Prev [insert message] to communicate.

7. Ask etiquette: be polite. If you send hate what will happen is you'll either get roasted by op, or just blocked. It's not really worth it.

8. DM etiquette. Don't be weird, always check DNI lists first, again if you are weird you'll just really be blocked.

9. BACK TO TAGS THIS IS IMPORTANT! Do not DO NOT censor tags like do not say t0mm31nn1t to avoid saying tommyinnit. This actively is harmful. People BLOCK tags they don't want to see, and censoring it will actively ruin this process. Again, censoring does not help you if you're worried about trending.

10. Tumblr's search feature sucks. I'm sorry...

11. you may find some of our DSMP lore opinions are a lot different than general twitter's. Personally i've seen a lot of wildly different lore takes there than here. Just warning you all.

12. Don't get annoyed if your followers "spam like or reblog". It's quite normal, especially for those online and actively refreshing.

13. As much as we enjoy cc's learning about tumblr, we don't want cc's to treat it like twitter. We want it to stay chill and sort of reserved and private. Do not try to get all your cc's to come over here.

14. Tumblr is to build community not followers.

Please again add on, correct, send me straight to the plinko. I can't think of any more right now I am very tired.

[xbunnybunz]

1,5,6,8,&19!!!

9. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

This is from a request for Ben Park I had gotten literally a year ago, i am so fucking sorry anon, feel free to post a shit emoji in my inbox cuz i deserve it.

Around midday on all days excluding weekends, a tolling chime will play across the city. High schoolers with neatly pressed uniforms will pour out of buildings in hordes, speaking fervently about the best arcade game to play that day, whether a friend had enough won to eat at that new fried chicken place down the street, or whether it’d be better to snack in a café.

1. Favorite place to write.

When I write, I don't often find myself anywhere other than at my cluttered desk. There's always a wall I like to stare at while I contemplate different ways to describe how a smile can be devilish, without using the word "devilish" for the fucking fifth time in a row.

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

Holy crap, the list would be huge. No joke, I consumed books like nobody's business when I was younger, then fanfiction when I started feeling unfulfilled with YA romance novels. Let's see, the most recent ones would be:

1. TLOZchik - (Quotev link: HERE ) INACTIVE Those of you familiar with my ongoing, on-haitus piece known as FOREVERMORE may have heard of this one. This writer has seriously written the most intricate LOZ fanfic I've ever read, and I still stand by that. Her characters are amazing, and everyone comes back to contribute to the plot somehow. 100% recommend.

2. Daniel Keyes - (Website link: HERE ) I don't know much about his personal life, but I often find myself pondering the lessons I've learned from his book "Flowers for Algernon." It's a painfully gorgeous book that details the sometimes repulsive, sometimes contradictory, elements of being human. I try to incorporate those things into my writing, which leads to a lot of angst and hurt.

3. smallpersiankitten - (AO3 link: HERE ) INACTIVE For my very beautiful (and very patient) "Stride of Luck" fans, here is the author of the piece who inspired me to create my fun, multi-chapter series. Smallpersiankitten wrote a ONE-HUNDRED-AND-THIRTY-SIX chapter fanfic called "Must Love Animals," which features some Undertale characters. I aspire to be like her!

4. Riful26 - (Tumblr link: HERE ) ACTIVE also see her tumblr here! @i-want-all-the-cookies Riful's writing was a godsend for me when I got into Weak Hero. The fandom was so small and sad that I was almost sure there would be no content to please my stupid picky ass, but her work scratched the itch I had AND inspired me to write my Jimmy Bae fic, "Devil is Always Cold." Her writing is a good blend between romance and drama. I like it, picasso. check it out.

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Probably this one oddball guy in "Stride of Luck" named Adam. I know a lot of the readers don't quite like him right now, but I promise he has a redemption arc later!!

8. Favorite trope to write.

Everyone knows this this!!! It's all over the place, in my tags, in my descriptions, up my ass!! Say it with me people, BAD. BOY. TROPE. From old school cool-guy classics like Dave Strider to new-age Webtoon brawlers like Wolf Keum, I abso-fucking-lutely love the distant and aloof, arms-crossed, "huh, you looking at me?" type of guy. (And it seems like you guys like it too ;) )

[bdoubleowo]

hi! sorry, didn't know you were still counting. I'm not sure if I count or not since it's your reblogs BEFORE this that I think made me start shipping scarian, not your recent posting. anyways I was the "I think??? scariande is just THAT powerful" anon (or something along those lines), haven't sent any other asks. dw about answering this u probably have a very cluttered inbox and I don't wanna contribute to the dash flood :)

i don't even remember if i counted that ask or not if i'm honest. thats why the tag is "rat learns to count" this is harder than you'd think

[remmushound]

Beyond the bay chapter 8: Home not-quite home

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

“You’re welcome in our home as long as you need.” 

The lair the Splintersons entered in many ways resembled the one they knew. It was big and open, and as clean as one could possibly hope a sewer to be. It wasn’t as cluttered as the lair Leo knew best, and there certainly seemed to be a lot more room and space to stretch out. Graffiti was plentiful, Michelangelo’s style just as abstract and bold as Mikey’s contributions were on the walls back home. Candles were lit on raised shelves to provide a pleasant scent of lavender and spring into the air. 

“It’s lovely.” Splinter beamed ear-to-ear as he reached out with his senses to take in everything the living space had to offer. “However did you get it so neat?”

“Donnie thinks it used to be an old survival bunker back before dad found it.” Raphael commented.

“Speaking of which, where is your father?” Splinter asked, “I haven’t seen him in ages and I should like to catch up.”

It was like the very air in the room dropped several degrees, all four Hamato’s stiffening. Raphael clenched his jaw and his fists, while Leonardo and Donatello bunched their shoulders in a similarly tense motion. Splinter frowned and looked to the youngest; Michelangelo’s head ducked so low that only his eyes were peeking over the edge of his plastron. 

“He uh…” Raphael started, then immediately stopped when no words that came to mind sounded right.

“He’s taking a nap.” Leonardo assisted, a hand going out to grip Raphael’s; Raphael returned the pressure as he let himself breathe. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“Of course.” Splinter nodded slowly, tail twitching a sign to his confused sons to not question the situation further. “Us old rats certainly need our rest.”

Splinter laughed. Encouraged by the rats happy noise, Michelangelo slowly peeked his head back out of his shell with a slight giggle and smile. No one seemed to know what to say. The box turtle brothers shouldered their way deeper into the lair to start exploration of the place that would shelter them. Mikey, with Klunk in one arm, went to pluck a lit candle off of a shelf to smell; a sharp rebuttal from Splinter’s tail was all it took to correct and remind him not to touch. He still wanted to stay there to admire the plumes of smoke, but his entourage of older brothers forced him to keep going; not one of them had any plans of leaving their brother to his own devices. Not when his right side was so tight he could hardly move it. That, plus this strange new environment, made the instinct to protect the smallest brother grew to new heights. Slowly, like a herd of lumbering cattle, they made their way deeper into the living room area. Raph couldn’t help but whistle at the sight of the beautiful decor, admiring the fancy couch and neat stitch-work on the hand-made cushions. Donnie was more enraptured by the projection screen than anything else, his eyes like specks of gold in the earth as he approached the machine with eager chirps, only to be met with the same painful reminder from Splinter to not touch.

Raph gave a snort and shook his head before turning his full attention back to his friends, shifting his toothpick to the opposite side of his mouth. Michelangelo remained focused on the small piece of wood, his eyes like pin pricks at the nasty habit. He had figured Raph would eventually grow out of it! Alas, it was not to be, and here Raph was, still chewing on that nasty stick of wood.

“You all really seemed to have eh… buffed up since last we met.” Raph commented, crossing his arms.

“And you got uglier, if that’s possible.” Leonardo snapped back, lips pulling into a devilish grin.

“Leo—” Raphael started to correct, but Raph only laughed a deep, belly laugh.

“You’re just as snappy as ever, I see.” Raph gave Leonardo a smack on the back, which sent the turtle stumbling. Raph winced at his mistake and drew slightly into himself. “Oof. Sorry!”

Leonardo caught himself and laughed it off. Leo shot a glare over to Raph, who only shrugged in a ‘what are you gonna do?’ motion. Leo decided it best not to cause unnecessary conflict, so he shook his head and tried to push the altercation to the back of his mind.

“Come here, little man!” Raph opened an arm and pulled Michelangelo closer, giving him a tight squeeze. He rubbed Michelangelo’s head with his knuckles, almost choking the younger boy as Michelangelo tried to pull himself free of the bicep’s tight grip. Once he had successfully freed himself, Raph crouched down to Michelangelo’s level. “Lemme see ya! You gotten big, kid!”

Michelangelo puffed out his chest and cheeks proudly, putting hands on his hips and glowing under the praise.

“Oh, so he gets to call you little man?” Raphael asked, his voice almost hurt.

“Don’t start a fight, Raphie!” Michelangelo huffed, pointing at Raphael.

“I certainly wouldn’t want to get in a scuff wit’ ya.” Raph commented, and Raphael seemed just as proud of the compliment as Michelangelo had been. “You're as big as my Don now!”

Donnie and Raphael fell back to back with each other, Leonardo and Michelangelo both jumping on the opportunity to judge the height differences. Michelangelo scrambled up Donnie like a jungle gym to get better leverage and a more level view.

“Actually, I think Raph is a little bigger.” Leonardo said, then gave a side glance to Mikey. “What says the jury?”

“I say that’s a very big boi.” Michelangelo nodded and stated matter-a-factly.

“Heh, how’s it feel to be the second tallest, Ding-Don?” Raph smirked, nudging Donnie with his elbow.

Donnie tensed at the elbow to his side, readjusted his glasses, and said, “I don’t know Raph; how’s it feel to be the third tallest?”

Raph blinked. “Shit.”

“Language!” Splinter corrected Raph with a whip of his tail.

“Gee, he really likes doing that.” Leonardo commented, leaning over to whisper to his counterpart.

“You have no idea.” Leo laughed breathlessly, shaking his head.

Michelangelo, meanwhile, had found a new favorite game; Donnie, resigned to being Michelangelo’s plaything, held out his arm so the younger box turtle could swing on it like it was a monkey bar. It didn't cost the tech genius anything more than time, and seeing the little box turtle so happy and laughing made his heart flood with just as much joy. He remembered when Mikey had been like that, so happy to hang on his brothers like they were the most fun game in the lair. Mikey still did it from time to time, but it was different coming from another young box turtle.

Michelangelo swung several more times before he launched himself off of Donnie’s arm, flying through the air and landing perfectly on Leo’s shoulders. Leo flinched at the sudden weight on his shoulders but, when he recognized Michelangelo, he gave a smile and left the turtle to his devices. From there, Michelangelo jumped to Raph, who had been expecting the change and caught the little turtle in one arm. Michelangelo started to climb over Raph like a spidermonkey, giggling the whole time, before he got to Raph’s shoulders and launched himself at Mikey.

Mikey’s immediate instinct was to reach out with his Right arm.

“Mikey, wait—“ Donnie tried to warn.

Mikey caught Michelangelo—and immediately cried out. His arm bulged, veins looking ready to burst at the strain. It took all the focus of his training to not drop Michelangelo outright, instead carefully lowering the younger turtle to the ground before falling against the wall clutching his arm. Klunk scrambled from Mikey’s grip, terrified of the sudden commotion.

“Nnngnnoo, Klunky…”

Donnie was with his brother in seconds, supporting Mikey’s weight while whispering low and urgent to the mutant. Before he realized his feet were moving, Leonardo was there too, helping to calm and stabilize Mikey as the box turtle writhed and cried. He immediately started to guide Mikey and Donnie toward the medbay, and the rest of the mutants followed like lost puppies. They stopped at the threshold of the sterile environment, staring helplessly inside as Leonardo and Donnie guided Mikey to a bed do he could rest.

“Something happened, didn't it?” Leonardo whispered to Donnie, hopefully low enough where Mikey couldn’t hear them.

Donnie gave a weak nod, keeping his voice just as low. “Partial seizure with overall shaking and hypertonic after-effects on his right side.”

“Does your family know?”

Donnie shook his head. “I haven’t told them yet. They know something happened, just not what.”

“Alright.” Leonardo nodded, “What triggered it?”

“I… I don’t know. We've been having a lot more bumps and falls lately. And there was this light…”

“Dudes.” Mikey said finally, his voice weak. “I’m fine. Seriously!”

Leonardo and Donnie exchanged unsure looks before Leonardo turned his attention back to the patient.

“I know you are.” Leonardo said with a bright smile, “But it might help the big softies back there if you let us give you a quick workup.”

Leonardo nodded to the crowd at the doorway, who were all finding their own space to peek in and watch with eyeridges creased in concern. Mikey leaned to get a better view of them, and then fell back into place.

“Okay.” Mikey relented. 

“That’s the spirit.” Leonardo nodded, and then stood up so he could better address his eldest brother. “Raph, maybe you should get everyone situated?”

Raphael took the hint with a gruff growl and started to usher everyone away from the doorway to leave the medics and their patient in peace. 

“Well eh…” It took Raphael a second to think of a new subject, “Sleeping arrangements! I was thinking your Raph and Mikey could take over my room, Leo and Donnie can share Donatello’s room, and you, sensei, can take Leonardo’s room.”

“Oh, we couldn’t!” Splinter tried to dismiss, “Just a couple blankets and pillows should suffice!”

“Nonsense!” Raphael bellowed, “It’s my house, and I’m gonna treat my guests however I want, and I want you all to be comfortable while you’re staying here! Besides, I can’t let an old man sleep on the floor! Leonardo’s bed’s the most comfortable for… your eh… for your back…”

Raphael trailed off, off-put by the sharp, dark eyes of Splinter. Raph and Leo both covered their mouths with a sharp intake of breath, eyes bulging as they quickly divulged away from Splinter.

“I’m not old.” Splinter said in a tone as if he was daring Raphael to contradict. “I’m fifty-seven. Fifty-seven is not old.”

Raphael’s head started to shrink into his shell and his lips pursed in a pouty face. “Am I in trouble…?”

With a kick of his foot, Splinter caught his sandal in a hand and held it out to Raphael with a knowing look. No more words had to be exchanged for the meaning to get across. Splinter replaced his sandal.

“Well… you should still take the bedrooms!” Michelangelo insisted, “That’a way me and my brothers can have a big ol’ sleepover in my room!”

The box turtle struck a happy pose, one leg in the air and his hands clasped together as he beamed. Splinter took one look at him and sighed; he couldn’t say no to that face.

“Thank you for your generosity.” Splinter gave a bow of his head to Raphael, “I promise you we will leave your home in as well of a shape as we found it.”

“Yeah, it’s no sweat.” Raphael said.

“I’ll have Shelldon sanitize and prepare the rooms.” Donatello declared as he typed a message onto his wristband.

“Who?” Raph asked.

As an answer, a force whizzed by his head, with a voice to match. “BOOYAKASHA!”

“What was that?!” Leo gawked, not sure whether or not it was appropriate to grab his swords.

“That was Shelldon.” Donatello said simply, reaching over to close Leo’s mouth for him.

Raph stared after the drone, shaking his head. “Don’s gonna have a geek-gasm…”

~~~

Donnie’s immediate reaction upon seeing the drone was to geek out, and to then try to contain the excitement when he remembered how easy it would be to harm the drone if he wasn’t careful. Instead of actually touching Shelldon, he found his hands hovering over the drone and his breath hard to catch.

“Say hi, Shelldon.” Donatello urged.

“Heyyy!” Shelldon’s voice carried a familiar, robotic tone that one would expect for artificial life, but it also held a sort of ‘surfer-bro’ charm to it. Donnie certainly melted over it.

“Heh. He��s kinda like your drone, but interactive.” Raph pointed out.

“Yeah…” Donnie breathed, and only once he was able to break from the paralyzed state of his body did he flip his goggles down over his eyes. “Hi… I’m Donnie. Oh gods you’re beautiful…”

“He enjoys scritches behind all nine of his ears, located here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here!” Donatello pointed out all of the audio sensors on Shelldon’s body.

“Ohhh…” Donnie finally brought his hands to two of the pointed-out hot spots, carefully massaging along the sensitive sensors. When Shelldon began to purr, Donnie automatically returned the noise. “This is the greatest day of my life…”

Raph crossed his arms. “Aaaaaaand he’s gone”

~~~

Everything was wrong. Everything was dark and wet and it was hard to breathe, the smallest drip quaking him to his core. All he could smell was putrid filth, and all he could see was black, and all he could hear was the water around him. He was up to his waist in water, thick with grime and waste, and the fumes wafted up to suffocate his nose. The air burned his lungs in the worst possible way, but he had to keep going. He had to find his troop and harvest the mutagen. He had to find his commander and he couldn’t stop until he had new orders to follow. For the republic!

[trashogram]

Ryuk/Reader 4

This is far more introspective than I intended it to be. I’m sorry you’re reading this and this one is the least fun. Or the most OOC. 

Edit: Forgot to tag @doughdaddy84 as per request! I’m sorry!!

_____

You were a nice enough person.

Ryuk didn’t really care that much about you being nice or not, however. His last charge hadn’t been the most polite or considerate human, even though he’d been in the presence of a literal god.

Ryuk had taken offense to some of the things that Light had said to him in the past, but nothing the egotistical boy had done had ever angered the god. Light had been fascinating, but he wasn’t worth getting upset over. Ryuk’s pruney skin was thicker than that, and the shinigami kept on haunting the kid for about 7 years, give or take.

If anything, after watching you for a couple days, Ryuk had gotten close to reconsidering letting you keep the notebook. Which was a first for him - shinigami weren’t really supposed to directly influence users of the death note. You were just so mousy from a glance, and he’d acknowledged that breaking any more rules wasn’t going to matter when he had to return home. Ryuk was going to be punished either way.

Of that, he was very certain.

But there was just one little hitch that kept him contemplative, if one could call it that. When he’d ripped the death note from Calikarcha and tossed it to the human world, Ryuk had dove after it with unexpected urgency. He’d watched it land on the Earth and be claimed by it, before anyone had seen its appearance.

It had taken a while for the book to be found, but oddly it was a passing waif that hesitated before picking it up.

Ryuk had taken one look at you and your lifespan, and reached the conclusion that you were suicidal. You looked fragile and exhausted, your eyes distant and clouded even though you were visibly young. The sun had already set and any light left had been waning as you walked alone toward downtown, despite not having any way to defend yourself. You were also due to die in a few days.

That was before you’d laid hands on the death note. Before Ryuk saw something that he’d never seen in his lifetime, something that made him do a double-take before writing you off completely.  

Your lifespan had increased as soon as you decided to take his notebook.

—

A year alone was nothing for a nigh-immortal being. In the shinigami realm, nothing ever changed, therefore the measure of time was considered obsolete insofar as their own lives.

Ryuk felt uneasy, thinking over the fact that he hadn’t even been following you for a year, and yet he’d been remembering times and dates like they were significant. If they meant something to you, then suddenly they were worth recollection.

You were still fragile and cute, like the day he’d found you. Yet, there were little improvements here and there that he could see. Your skin was healthier, the circles beneath your eyes were fading, and you were sound asleep at that very moment. Ryuk had made the observation within the first two months of possessing you that you were a troubled sleeper. You’d often thrashed in your bed, to the point where it was annoying for a long time.

The problem was only a memory, now.

As was the issue of your sickness, and your fear. You’d gained back the weight you lost in the beginning, and the color in your cheeks. You were objectively older than before, after several federal holidays and a birthday -- but you looked younger.

The blank walls of your bedroom were cluttered with colorful posters and a collage of drawings were tacked onto the dartboard, the same one that you had told him was useless once. He was no artist, but he’d contributed his part with a few optical illusions that you gushed over until he felt lighter than air.

Little pots of easy-upkeep plants sat on your window sill, both still alive even after three weeks in your midst. Below that, the built-in heater that you’d begged your landlord to fix was making itself useful, as was appropriate. The shelves were dusted on a weekly basis, and you’d reorganized your bookshelf the day before yesterday. Ryuk had helped of course, scanning the covers and making you point out how childish it was that he based his interest on the pictures and not what was inside with a laugh.

Then you’d shouted at him for tossing them over his shoulder recklessly, just to piss you off. None of your swats did a thing to him, but he loved that you even tried.

Your meekness extended mainly to other humans. People disregarded you easily, and Ryuk considered it a crime. He could repeat some of your most memorable phrases in his head, and laughed until he was hoarse. You said some stupid shit, yet you were thoughtful, worrying for others when they didn’t earn it. Soft as your skin, but you were sharp in your way. Brilliant in a way he had never thought of before.

He allowed himself to feel proud of you for those things.  

You were a tease. Infuriating while you played innocent, but gave him a knowing look that only made the flurry of sensations in his lower stomach worse. He’d hidden the worst of it from you, but your hands started skimming below the neck. You made something like blood pump through his ancient veins, from his head to his toes. It was enough of a problem that he had moments on the roof out of sheer desperation, imagining you inviting him into your bed.  

Recently, he’d gotten it into his head that maybe you felt the same way. It would’ve been funny were it not frustrating.  

There were also things you didn’t tell him, and it irked Ryuk more than he’d like to admit. He couldn’t pinpoint when that particular part of you became less interesting and more concerning. You were closed-lipped about certain skin abrasions, certain moments in your life that he’d not been there for, and any mention of your family would oft put you into a trance. He hated those moments, wishing he could simply open up your skull and pick the information right out of your brain

At least your lifespan wasn’t changing.

Ryuk had floated down to the floor, hunched over your bedside. He could count the days since he’d started doing this, and was only a little self-conscious at this point. The scant trees bearing leaves outside your apartment had changed colors, and the nights were getting longer than the days. Little reminders that it was too late.

Too late for a lot of things.

---

Ryuk gazed at your face, smooth and untroubled. The god of death brushed the hair out of your face, curling it over the side of your head and behind your ear.

He dragged his talons away from your temple when you sighed, opening your eyes slowly and blinking at him. The recognition was second-nature now, and you no longer regarded him fearfully. He was an anchor for you, for though he could disappear from your sight, Ryuk never dared.  

The look in your eyes made his stomach drop. You were so… happy. Happy to see him. You lit up with adoration, and a tug-o-war between feeling heated and feeling appreciation forced him fidget.

“Voyeurism is frowned upon in most societies.” You needled. “Probably against the law in most.”  

He leaned forward intently. “Hyuk hyuk, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“The penalty is death.” You yawned, bringing his hand over to your chest and letting him touch the bare skin below your collarbone.

Your pulse slowed against his knuckles, and your natural warmth began seeping into his fingers.

Soon, you were drifting off again.

“I’ll kill you in the morning.” You promised.

[askultimateluckytrash]

“Hello everyone. In the last couple days, I lost four followers all at once, and I’m assuming it’s probably because of the amount of threads I’ve been doing. I tag my threads as ‘long post’ or ‘promo’. So if you don’t want to see them cluttering your dash, you can block those tags and you won’t see any of them. It’s really lonely trying to run an ask blog without any interactions, which is why I reached out to so many people, and why I try to boost others’ blogs as well. Interactions make the experience much more interesting for me. I’m sorry if that’s annoying to others, but I won’t be stopping. A lack of interactions and relationships is part of what contributed to my loneliness and boredom on this blog, and doing threads fixes it. If this bothers you so badly, please just block the tags ‘long post’ and ‘promo’ to get rid of all of my threads on your dash. I would be answering more asks and doing less threads, but I don’t currently have any asks at all. I want to be active on this blog, one way or another, but I highly prioritize asks over threads. If you want to see my content but not my threads, the best way to get me to slow down is to send more asks.”

[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [1/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America's back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that's just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: I’m pleased to present my contribution to the CS Rewrite-a-thon! Big thanks to the organizers at the @captainswanbigbang​ for organizing this. This is an expansion of a oneshot I wrote a couple of years back called A Sunlit Night, and I loved the chance to get back into the feel of that piece. The fic title is from “Moon River”, which didn’t exist in 1952, but some things are about the aesthetic and it fit too well to resist.

Special thanks to my beta, @thejollyroger-writer​, and to @snidgetsafan​ and @profdanglaisstuff​ for the extra eyes and helping me work through some hurdles along the way. 

Tagging the usuals. Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the list! 

@kmomof4​, @aerica13​, @thisonesatellite​, @searchingwardrobes​, @let-it-raines​, @teamhook​, @ohmightydevviepuu​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @spartanguard​, @scientificapricot​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Storybrooke, Maine could be any town in America — just as picturesque as the name suggests in a way that doesn’t seem quite real. The houses have picket fences and boats bob in the harbor and there's an honest-to-god Main Street, lined with a diner and a general store and a pharmacy with advertisements for Ovaltine in the window. It's every picture of America that's ever made its way across the pond, every stereotype of small town life made real. It makes his presence all the more jarring; loners on motorcycles don’t belong in this picture-perfect magazine print town. 

He never meant to stop here — in fact, it’s the kind of little hamlet Killian doubts anyone ever means to find themselves in. Though he may not have planned on stopping — not here, not anywhere, not for anything — he also hadn’t planned on the noise his bike’s engine had started making as he cruised down backroads under the emerald canopy that is rural Maine in June. Killian is used to making minor repairs to the machine — it’s inevitable with the miles he’s putting on the motorcycle, and besides, there’s things you pick up in a war, especially when he spend much of World War II criss-crossing Europe in his plane — but for all of his handy skills, he still can’t make parts materialize out of thin air.

And so, he finds himself in Storybrooke — the nearest town, according to the road map he’d picked up at a welcome center on his way into the state. He’ll find a garage, he’ll work for parts, he’ll be on his way. It should be simple; a few days, a week at most, and then he’s gone again.

(The sooner, the better, in his opinion; a woman wiping down tables outside of the diner shoots him a dirty look, and Killian can’t help but feel like he deserves it for disrupting this idyll they’re living in.)

Blessedly, there is a garage attached to the town’s service station — NOLAN'S REPAIR, a large painted sign advertises across the top of the panelled door — but there's no sign of life inside. A quick glance at his watch, one of the few relics of the war that Killian willingly carries with him, reveals that it's already past seven. That's fine; he doesn’t mind waiting until the morning. 

It's easy enough to find space to park his motorcycle, conveniently alongside a park bench Killian suspects that he'll be spending the night on. As uncomfortable as it might sound to others, he barely thinks twice about the prospect anymore; he's spent plenty of nights on worse, both during the war and after it. His bedroll does more to counter the hard ground than anyone would expect. 

(Sleep is hard to come by these days anyways, and when it does, it only brings nightmares — visions of falling and flames, reminders that there’s no real good reason why he was pulled out of the Atlantic when so many others weren’t.)

(It should have been Liam who was saved, not you, a terrible voice in his mind whispers. It’s easier to drown out during the daytime; at night he’s too tired to deny the truth of it.)

Satisfied that he's got a plan until tomorrow, Killian unbuckles the satchel containing his few important belongings from the body of his bike and sets out to locate the diner. He remembers the sign promising the establishment was open 24 hours a day, and he intends to take advantage of at least a few of them.

Sure enough, the lights of the diner still shine brightly as Killian approaches. Granny's, the neon letters out front read. By all appearances, it's typical of family-type joints across the nation (or at least the parts of the nation he's seen so far). A bell jingles merrily as he pulls open the door; inside, the diner is adorned with a busily patterned wallpaper that somehow avoids looking suffocatingly dark like he would have expected when paired with the red vinyl upholstery of the booths, chairs, and barstools. The jukebox plays faintly at the edge of his hearing, just low enough for him to ignore the sound. Not that he could place the song anyways. Even if there is something of a feeling that the establishment could have been located anywhere and he wouldn't have known the difference, there's a comfortable aura in the air as well. 

"Seat yourself," an older woman calls from behind the counter without looking his way, apparently apprised of his entrance by the aforementioned bell. Considering the diner’s moniker, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the eponymous Granny. It’s probably for the best that she hasn’t turned to face him; he can’t imagine the woman would be as welcoming had she seen his face. He’s a bad influence, they say wherever he goes in voices too loud to be a whisper, too loud to ignore. On a Tuesday night, the crowds here are minimal, a small blessing; after surveying his options, Killian chooses a booth in the back corner where he can watch everyone but hopefully not be disturbed. Already, his unfamiliar face is drawing attention from the few other diners. They’re not used to outsiders, he can tell, and he’s not surprised about it in a town this small. Already, he can feel an unnatural hush in the air as suspicious and in some cases curious faces follow him as he makes his way across the room.

Maybe, in another life, Killian might have stared back, daring his spectators with a look to do something about their staring. That life slipped away when he crossed the ocean in search of anonymity, however, and he makes a show of ignoring the stares, rustling in his satchel instead. From the cluttered depths, he extracts two books; one for his own reading, picked up from the last used bookshop he ran across, and one blank for his own use. Once upon a time, the sights he’s seen and the faces he’s met would have inspired verses, the words tripping over his fingers and across the page in a quest for life, but it’s been a long while since that’s been the case. There are many reasons Killian forges ahead on his endless, aimless ride — some of them tangible, some of them unknown even to him — but his pursuit of his words is part of it. The closest he comes these days is behind the controls of his bike, once more racing through the open sky; it’s only then that the guilt quiets somewhat and he feels like inspiration could be dancing along the breeze, like a bit of dandelion fluff. 

This diner, however, is not the open air or the world rushing past him without a care, and his notebook will once again go to waste.

"Can I get you something?" a different voice asks — feminine, but a little deep and throaty. Killian glances up, expecting to order tea and a ham sandwich and turn back to his own distractions. He expects a passing, forgettable interaction.

He does not expect to look up and find himself faced with an angel.

It's far too fanciful to call her that, especially when she stands in front of him, flesh and blood and bone, but it's all he can come up with when faced with such perfection. Her hair is a shade of gold that painters and pirates must have coveted in times long past, shining and catching in the light with every movement. Though her tresses are pinned back, a few tendrils have still worked themselves loose to frame her face and model the slight curl to the lustrous strands. The way it's swept and pinned makes her eyes shine brighter than any he's ever seen, highlighting their green in a way she can't possibly be oblivious to. There's an aura about her that he can sense but not quite see that practically makes her glow, even in a blue uniform dress and stained apron that's less than flattering. She's somehow entirely separate from the drab surroundings of this small town diner, yet simultaneously he knows she must be an integral part — like the purest diamond embedded in the dingiest mine.

(Maybe there's a verse in there, somewhere. It's been too long for him to even tell anymore.)

He must be gaping like a fish, because she arches an elegant eyebrow at whatever expression graces his face, the barest hint of a smile pulling at her own mouth. It ruins the goddess effect a little bit, but makes her look more human instead — someone with a sense of humor, perhaps even a bit mischievous. "Sorry?" he finally manages to stutter out, though whether that's an apology or a request for clarification is anyone's guess. 

"Would you like to order?" she repeats. "Or would you like some more time to look at the menu?"

"Just some tea, please." It's some kind of miracle that he doesn't trip over his own tongue, though not enough of one to remember that ordering tea in this country is a fool’s errand. "And a ham and cheese sandwich."

"Earl Grey alright?" she asks, surprising him, quickly scratching his order down on her notepad. From Killian's vantage point, he can just see her handwriting — a messy kind of script that fits his impression of her, casual and hurried and somehow still elegant. 

"That's fine." Better than, really; he’d expected that terrible facsimile Americans insist on calling tea. He keeps drinking it anyways, for some indiscernible reason, like a last-ditch grab to hang onto a piece of who he used to be.

The waitress must see some of his surprise on his face, as she smiles knowingly. “Granny spent some time in England in her youth, and came back with very specific opinions about tea. None of the Lipton stuff here.” That would explain it — though it’s still unexpected in a tiny Maine hamlet. “Now, do you want that sandwich grilled or cold?"

"Grilled, please." The mere act of ordering a meal constitutes the most decisions he's had to make in a long time, and certainly the most he's spoken to anyone; his voice feels scratchy with disuse, which can't make the good impression his ego desperately needs. He was considered quite the catch once, if anyone could believe it; Killian wouldn't blame those who called him a liar, to see him now. 

As he grimaces at his own ineptitude, the waitress finishes scribbling out his preferences and tucks her order pad back away in the pocket of that awful apron again. "We'll get that going for you then," she smiles. "Let me know if you need anything else."

(A name would be nice, for one, but it feels like overstepping to demand that particular snippet of information. He'd caught an E at the corner of her breast pocket, but that could be so many things. Eleanor? Elizabeth? Etta?)

"Wait, lass," he cuts in as she turns to disappear back behind the counter. Her head tilts in a sign of her attention — an adorable one at that. If he were a braver man, he might ask her a bit about herself. Unfortunately, he is not a braver man. "Is there a telephone somewhere I could use?"

"All the way down the hall," she nods. "Can't miss it."

"Thank you, lass," he murmurs as Ella-Ernestine-Elsie walks away again. There's no telling if she heard him or not, but Killian is almost afraid to bring any more attention to himself. 

Sure enough, the payphone is just down the hallway. It's far enough away to offer Killian a modicum of privacy, which is more than he's come to expect in many places. It's dimly lit, and right next to the bathrooms, but he's not here for the ambiance anyways. 

There’s a calming ritual to making the phone calls to New York, even if they’re only sporadic. He’s accustomed by now to speaking with the operator, inserting the change when directed, waiting for the shrill ring as the call connects across hundreds of miles. He doesn't make these calls very often, but it's been several weeks — somewhere in upstate New York was his last call, he thinks — and this unexpected pit stop is as good an excuse as any.

It doesn't take long for the other end to pick up. "Scarlet residence," declares the softly accented voice on the other end of the line, familiar and comforting even across such a distance. 

"Hello, Belle, it's me." Killian leans into the corner formed by the wall and phone as he settles in for the conversation, propping his forearm on the top of the telephone's boxy structure. Belle just might be the last family he has left — certainly the last family he’s aware of — some sort of distant cousin on his late mother’s side. The details of it don’t particularly matter; what does matter is that she’d opened her heart and home when Killian had left, nay, fled England without any plan to speak of. London had still been in shambles, even after hostilities had long since ceased; Killian had found it impossible to live every day surrounded by ghosts and memories, all decaying and obliterated. Belle had offered to let him stay, too, help him get back on his feet again, but the itch to keep moving had been too strong under his skin.

(One thing they don’t tell you when you enlist in the Air Force is this: the solid ground will lose its appeal in a way you can’t imagine, and the world will start to move too slow everywhere else when you’ve spent enough time in a cockpit.)

Besides, Belle has a family of her own, a husband who loves her and two small boys; as kind as she is to offer, and as hard as she has tried to include him, Killian would inevitably always be an outsider in that tableau. It was for the best that he left, to try and settle his demons and rediscover who he can be on his own. 

"Killian!" It's easy to hear the warmth and excitement in his cousin's voice. "How are you? I was just thinking about you today." Just worrying about you is what she means, but Belle's always been too much of a lady to say it out loud. Besides, she understands why he's doing what he's doing; as settled as she is, he hadn't expected her to understand the itch to move that's settled beneath his skin, impossible to ever truly alleviate, but she'd just smiled and asked what she could do when he'd told her his plans. It's how she wound up the custodian not only of Killian's scant belongings, but also his savings account in his absence. 

"I'm fine," he assures her as best he can. "I'm in Maine. I'll be here a few days, I think."

"A few days?" The worry isn't back in her voice yet, but he knows it's coming, just as soon as he shares his reason for stopping. 

"Aye. There’s a nail in my tire. I’ll get it checked out at the shop tomorrow, but I assume they’ll need to order in the new tire. I doubt they’ve got the right ones for the bike on hand."

"But you're alright?" Ah, there's the worry. "You don't need anything? I can wire you money, if you like —"

"I'm fine, Belle, truly," he hastens to assure her. "I'm hoping to trade my labor for parts, help out around the shop if the owner will let me. I'll need something to do around here anyways, it's a pretty small town. I'll let you know if you need to wire me money, don't worry."

"If you're sure..." Belle tries to start, but Killian cuts her off. 

"I'm sure."

"I suppose I'll have to be fine with that. But now, Killian, how are you? Not your motorcycle or the roads — how are you?"

"I'm okay," he says truthfully. It's the best he can give most days; he hasn't quite found what he's looking for, can't even put his finger on what that might be, but he knows it's still out there, still out of reach. Still, it feels better than being cooped up in some office job, forcing himself into the boxes polite society wants him to inhabit that are slowly smothering him. It lets him try to figure out who he is now without Liam and without a clear purpose.

"But are you happy?" It's not the same thing, she doesn't say, but Killian hears it anyways. 

"Enough." It's the best he can give her. "Listen, I just wanted to call and let you know where I am. If it seems like I'll be here more than a few days, I'll give you a number you can reach me at. Tell Will and the boys hello for me."

"I will," Belle promises. "If you need anything at all, if there’s anything I can do, promise you'll call me, Killian. Promise."

"I promise. Love you."

"We love you too, Killian. You can always come here, even if it's not home."

She says that every time, and every time, Killian hangs up to avoid responding. The truth is, he still doesn't have a good answer, and as much as he loves his cousin and her family, their apartment just isn't home. That's something he's not yet sure he'll find again. 

He's barely returned to his seat before a steaming pot of tea is placed before him, the cup following in its wake. "Your sandwich will be ready shortly," the blonde angel assures him. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, lass," he tries to smile. At least his voice is audible this time after his conversation with Belle. 

As Killian lifts the pot to pour himself a cup, he’s thrilled to see the genuine article trickle out. Even with the waitress’ explanation, his expectations of the promised tea had been low. This, though, is steaming and hot and just the right strength. It tastes like a little cup of the home he’d left behind, and infuses him with a warmth and comfort that he hasn’t felt in… years. Not since before the war, just he and Liam sitting at the kitchen table with a cuppa and the radio. 

(It’s a feeling he’s long since lost, and one he didn’t expect to find again in the middle of nowhere, Maine. Everyday miracles can still sprout anywhere, he’s learning, as long as you’re looking for them.)

His dinner arrives as quickly as promised, and time begins to blur together in between warm bites and crisp pages and his thoughts. At some point, the empty plate is whisked away and another cup of tea is brought for him to enjoy. Killian is so used to entertaining himself that he doesn't truly notice any movement around him — that is, until a new plate is placed on his table and nudged into his hand. Glancing at the clock, Killian is surprised to find that the time is now just before ten; he'd been at the diner over two hours, far longer than he’d intended. Blame it on a good book and intriguing, if passing, company, he supposes.

Another quick glance reveals the small plate that the waitress had deposited to display a slice of pie — blueberry, if he's not mistaken. The thing is, he’s certain that he’d never ordered it.

"Excuse me, miss," he calls before she can walk away, "I believe you delivered this to the wrong table."

"No, I didn't," she smiles back, before glancing towards the door. It must be time for her to go home; Killian will regret her absence once she departs, though he knows he doesn't have any true right to do so.

Still, he must insist. Good form and all that. "I didn't order this, I'm afraid." I'm not sure I can afford it, he doesn't say, though that's what he means.

"I know," she replies. "You like pie?"

"I do," he assures her, still confused.

"Then it's on the house. Granny's got a soft spot for the lonely ones." As she tears his ticket off from her order pad, Killian wonders if the woman in front of him might have a soft spot, too. Maybe she was a lonely one herself, once; something in her eyes speaks to the kind of understanding you just can't fake. "If you'd like some more tea, Ruby will be happy to help you," she nods towards a smiling brunette behind the counter. "Have a good night."

"You as well, lass." 

The pie is delicious; he should have expected such just from the look of that flaky crust, but the confirmation is its own revelation. He can't say any of this was what he expected when he set out for dinner — not the blonde angel, and certainly not her unexpected kindness towards him. The more he thinks about it around bites of pie, the more he thinks the diner's proprietress had nothing to do with the sweet treat in front of him — especially since he hasn't even seen her on the premises since his server made that claim. No, he thinks that the pie must have come from the waitress herself, though he can't fathom for what reason.

He finally pays his bill and leaves, letting the diner's bell ring behind him as he exits, but it's not until he's nearly halfway back to the garage and the bench out front that he realizes:

He never actually learned her name.

[gavalaa]

and would you be opposed if hypothetically(note: this is very hypothetical and very unlikely to happen) someone were to attempt to write a fic off it?

[Answers to the questions under the cut bc I don’t want to clutter ya’lls dash with my paragraph answers haha]

>> Hello! First of all, thank you for all the kind words you put on the first ask you sent in! (My Tumblr app decided to phase in and out of existence and the original ask got lost, so I’m responding to the whole thing on this ask,,, hhjdhfdf sorry)

> It makes me really happy to see someone who enjoys my silly little AU enough to ask about it, and I saw your reblogs as well and I really appreciate the comments you left on my redesigns!

>> To answer your first question (Which was if I was intending to write a literary counterpart to the IcarusAU, or if I was a strictly an art type of AU writer)

> Yes, yes. Oh, and another yes! I wouldn’t say I’m much of an author if I’m completely honest, and art is definitely more my forte, but I do intend to write an IcarusAU fic at some point. 

I won’t say it’s soon since I’m actually right in the middle of an 80,000 word AU for Harry Potter (embarrassing, I know haha) but I have actually drafted the IcarusAU fic a few times, all the way up to the end of Futaba’s palace, so when I do get around to whipping one up, it’ll hopefully not be a complete dumpster fire haha!

Now, this may actually open up a few too many doors and embarrass me a little- but one of the earlier drafts is actually up on my AO3 right now. It’s a little roughskies but if you’re interested in finding it, my AO3 is the same as my Tumblr, minus the extra a on the end.

>> For your second question (If I’m OK with others (hypothetically) writing fics based off the IcarusAU)

> Hello, um, I would CRY if people actually produced content for the AU. Someone once submitted me fanart of IcarusAU Akechi in his new outfit and I literally sobbed. 

I’m literally TRASH at writing so if someone took the time to write and eliquate their version and perception of my art and AU stuff, I would probably die from sheer happiness. 

Of course, I would respectfully ask that if anyone does intend to produce stuff for the IcarusAU, to tag it/send it to me because I take a lot of pride in starting this AU and love seeing how people feel about it, but I have no qualms with people contributing to the AU with their own versions/fics/art/questions/etc.

Once again, thank you for the kind words and reaching out with your questions! You’re very kind and I appreciate your interest greatly!

-Gav

[vixleonard]

So here’s the thing: I genuinely hate wank and conflict.  Like a lot.  There’s a reason I generally stay out of things, and I (stupidly) didn’t realize saying I didn’t like how my friend was treated was going to unleash this tsunami of wank upon everyone.  I also know how exhausted I get when I see other people’s wank on my dash, so I’m going to stop contributing to it.  So for the immediate future:

My ask box is closed, both to anons or those logged in

Fic prompts are closed as well

When they’re open again, I’ll make a post

None of what we’re doing on here is that serious, and I don’t like the feeling of getting angry/upset in real life over something this stupid.  I’ll own a lot of shit, but I’m not taking responsibility for things said and done by other people.  So yeah, I’d tell you where to find me on Twitter or Instagram but everyone is apparently crazy, so I guess if you want to talk to me, tag me?  I don’t know.  

Anyway, sorry for all the wanking cluttering your dash.