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duskholland · 4 years

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I was really debating if I was gonna send u angst or not but u know my brand so what about the enemies to lovers “i know i’m an asshole, but my life really is better with you in it.” with stiles 👀👀

omg love this krystal, thank you so much! I actually combined this with another cheeky request I got, which follows the lines of - Stiles and y/n are rivals at high school and at the start don’t really like each other (or so they think ;)) but then y/n faints/gets minor hurt and stiles has to take her to the school nurse - and they fit together really well so ! here we are ! I hope that’s alright :D

masterlist

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“You’re an idiot, Stiles.”

“Yeah? Well, at least I’m not a selfish know-it-all!”

“A know-it-all? Seriously? That’s the best you have?”

“Oh, trust me, I have plenty of insults I could use for you, Y/N, but that would just be a waste of breath.”

“Fuck you!”

You slam the door of your locker shut with a rattling clang and clutch your books to your chest, glaring at the boy in front of you. The edges of your vision tint a bright, pulsing red as his beady amber eyes stare you down. Somewhere deep within your gut, you feel a tight ball of hatred stir. Stiles Stilinski has been the bane of your existence ever since your best friend Lydia decided to get involved with Allison and her friends, and ever since, he’s been making your life a living nightmare.

Stiles’ deep frown shifts into an expression of humourless amusement as he follows you down the hall. “I don’t know why you’re running away,” he calls after you, voice light and irritating. “You know as well as I do that this is the only time we have to work on that project for chem.”

You stride outside quickly, knowing you can’t out-walk him, but hoping that it riles him up even further to have to chase you through the crowds. Plus, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a kick out of his yells.

“Project for chem,” you imitate, drawing your voice up into a high-pitched imitation of his voice. “I’m Stiles Stilinski and I like to be a teacher’s pet.”

He finally catches up to you when you’ve stalked out to the lacrosse fields. His fingers wrap around your arm and his touch burns against your skin as you spin around, your face warm from irritation. He looks at you, frustration pulled tight over his skin, and you smirk beneath his withering gaze. “You don’t have to be such an asshole, Y/N,” he mutters. He quickly lets go of your arm and scratches at the back of his head, the light of the sun beaming out over his freckly skin. “Can’t believe Ms Hook partnered us together for this. Does she want to kill me?”

You bark a laugh. “Kill you? Seriously, Stiles? This is ten times harder for me.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Really? How come?”

The nearby yells of lacrosse players mix with your disgruntled sigh. “You’re annoying,” you begin. “You always try so hard to be the best and that competitiveness is exhausting. You also always think you know everything. Well, newsflash, Stiles, you don’t.” You’re really digging for it now, feeling your entire body fill with a flushed heat as you stare at the boy who’s made the last six months of your life a nuisance. “You think you can just- just walk around, looking like that, acting all cocky, and that people will fall at your feet. Well, not me.”

“Looking like what?” Stiles echoes, confusion falling over his face.

You gulp as embarrassment twists in the pit of your stomach. Curse your big mouth. “Oh, uh, nothing?”

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but before you can focus on his words, there’s a loud yell from the lacrosse field. There’s a large smack as you feel the heavy weight of a lacrosse ball hit the side of your face, and then you’re on the ground, vision blurry, face throbbing.

“Holy shit Y/N, are you- oh, fuck, that’s a lot of blood, oh my god.”

You stare at the sky blurrily, Stiles’ concerned words drifting in one ear and out the other. You remain dazed as Coach Finstock joins the growing crowds around you, and flinch deeply as he starts barking out instructions. Nothing really registers until you’re being pulled off the ground and as your feet leave the ground, you realise someone’s carrying you.

You fade in and out of consciousness, but you’re focused enough to realise that you have your cheek resting up against Stiles’ plaid shirt. His musky pine-wood scent fills your nose and you relax into his arms, allowing yourself to loosen up as you try to focus on anything but the throbbing pain stemming from your face. You glance up and see his face pulled into an expression of nervous determination, and let your eyes trail across the pink expanse of his plump lips, and even though it feels like your face is about to melt off, you can’t help the weak throbbing of your heart as you take in just how utterly adorable he is.

Once you’ve reached the nurse’s office, he places you gently down on the examination table and is then quickly ushered from the room by the doctor. But he glances at you, eyes concerned and worried, and your gaze meets for just a second before the door shuts behind him, and in that second, your heart throbs again.

Trying not to think about these new - and very confusing - feelings, you let the school doctor patch you up. Apparently nothing’s broken and all of your teeth are intact, and the bleeding from your nose stops after a few minutes of applying pressure to it. You’re given a large stack of painkillers and told you can go home early, and then the doctor exits the room and leaves you to sort yourself out.

As you begin to pull yourself together, the door into the office creaks open. You look up and see it’s Stiles, a guilty expression on his face. “Can I, uh, come in?” He asks, eyes skittering around nervously. You nod slightly and he slips inside, pressing himself up against the wall as he stares at you. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, Y/N,” he sighs. “I guess… I guess you aren’t that bad, and maybe I just act like such a dick when you’re around because I’m intimidated by you.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise. “Going soft on me, Stiles?” You say, voice soft. That hot, angry heat from earlier has fizzled out completely, and now it’s as if you’re looking at him through fresh eyes.

He shrugs, not even trying to deny it, and takes a tentative step towards you. “When you got hit by that ball, I dunno, I just froze, and it was like every insult I ever gave you ran through my head and I realised I was being…”

“An asshole?” You supply, grinning softly.

He laughs. “I know… I know I’m an asshole, but my life really is better with you in it,” he admits.

You pat the spot on the examination table beside you. “Well, I’ve not exactly been the nicest to you, either,” you admit. Stiles tentatively sits beside you, your legs brushing up against one another. Now he’s nearer, all you can think about is how nice he looks, and how kind it was of him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you to safety. Now, it’s as if a veil has been lifted, and all your feelings of frustration have faded away, leaving you with what was truly hidden away under them, all along: attraction.

“We’re just too similar,” Stiles reasons.

“Yeah,” you agree. You give him a pained smile. “We should probably try to get on better now. For the sake of the pack.”

“Yeah, yeah, for the pack…” His eyes trail around your face. Instead of lingering on the rising bruise and the way you have plasters sticking from your hairline, he focuses on your eyes, and it’s as if his whole expression softens. You feel his hand wrap around yours, and the breath hitches in the back of your throat. “You’re a pretty cool person, Y/N.”

You’re near him now, your forehead closing in, his fingers gripping yours, and it feels like your heart is bursting against your rib cage as you close the distance. When you’re a mere centimetre from his mouth, you let your free hand drift up to settle in his dark brown hair. “You’re pretty cool too, Stiles,” you mumble. And then you kiss him, and it’s like nothing else really matters. The pain ebbs away and the anger fizzles out, and all you can focus on is how fucking nice it feels to have his mouth on yours and your fingers in his hair.

When you break away, Stiles gently leans his forehead to yours, his amber eyes blown wide with a warm sort of softness. “Let me take you home?” He asks.

The smile that finds your lips is genuine, and for the first time, you wonder if your relationship with Stiles is destined to be more than just an angry friendship.

“I would love that.”

#kicking off blurb night with a hurt/comfort fic...simply the best #thanks krystal!!! <333333333 #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski blurb #stiles stilinski x reader #my blurbs #blurb night #stilesblurbs #myblurbs #why tumblr decided to fuck up that read more placement i have no idea but i am very angry about it hjkfhdjkfhd

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the-nerdnextdoor · 4 years

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first line game

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns, and choose your favorite opening line! tag 10 of your favorite authors! (omg I only know like two authors that I follow on here so @seasidewriter1-writes you are my one and only tag lmao hi)

@songbvrd this is the first time I've ever been tagged in something like this and it honestly made me so happy (may or may not have teared up) that u thought of me, I'm so touched thank you!!!

I have 11 stories spanning from this year all the way back to 2013 and some of them I just... I was young, okay? and not very good at the writing shtick (not that I'm much better now, but hey). I'll turn it around by adding lines from future WIPs I've got lurking in my Google Docs lol.

Beauty is in the Details - Sterek (Teen Wolf) - 8k - 02/2021

Stiles has never really been much of an art-lover, so to speak.

Deaton’s Dream Beans - Sterek (Teen Wolf) - 64k - 11/2020-02/2021

Derek Hale has a lot of time for Vernon Boyd.

Finding One-Shots - Peter Parker/OC (MCU) - 10k - 05/2020-ongoing

Mikaela hands the cash over the counter to the man, giving him a small smile before she takes the pizza boxes and squeezes down the line of waiting customers to exit the pizza joint.

Untethered - Jessica Jones/Tony Stark (MCU) - 66k - 05/2020-ongoing

She should really have every lightbulb in her small apartment switched on and glaring, since the darkness always seems to press in around her, hiding black eyes and soft-spoken words.

Finding Home - Peter Parker/OC (MCU) - 237k - 04/2018-05/2020

They had put a bag over her head when they’d jumped her.

Siblings, Secrets, and Suspicions - Jenko/OC (21 Jump Street) - 20k - 12/2014-02/2017

I managed to sweet-talk my way into getting let out of work three hours early tonight, just to make sure I’m around if my brother decides high school parties aren’t as cool as they’re made out to be on television.

Of Fragile Souls - Alex Summers/OC (X-Men) - 58k - 06/2014-01/2018

His coat of white should have meant that he was the embodiment of peace, of innocence and purity and everything good in this world, but he contradicted that in any and every way he could.

The Phoenix and The Riddler - Riddler/OC (DC) - 3k - 10/2013

“D’you know where Bruce Wayne is hiding out?” I asked Selina, scratching one of her many cats’ heads.

A Forgotten Enemy - One Ring POV (Lord of the Rings) - 1k - 08/2013

I have discovered that time passes excruciatingly slowly when you lie, forgotten by all who once feared you, on an unknown riverbed.

Emberling - Legolas/OC (Lord of the Rings) - 58k - 07/2013-hiatus

Stars, the eldest of all beings belonging to the world of Middle Earth, and any other world existing.

The Phoenix - Riddler/OC (DC) - 39k - 05/2013-08/2013

“Patient interview number one. Patient’s name is Kenna Fyrian.”

Okay now it’s time for future WIPs so I can change the subject from those ooold fics I am cringing over after glancing in their direction lmao.

An Unstoppable Force and an Immovable Object - Thiam (Teen Wolf) - TBD

I'm not the bad guy, he had told Stiles.

Untitled Fic - Derek/OC (Teen Wolf) - TBD (won’t be the first line, but it’s all I have)

Ava’s eyes squint with wary suspicion as she hops down from her truck, pebbles skittering under her sneakers when she hits the ground.

Untitled Fic - Poe/OC (Star Wars) - TBD (no idea if this will be the first line, but it’s all I have)

The world is a bleak grey, from the soil to the buildings to the sky.

Untitled Fic - Griffin/OC (Jumper) - TBD

“Motherfuck-” Danny splutters through the blood pouring into her mouth, arms pumping as her feet thunder down the corridor.

Untitled Fic - OC (Umbrella Academy) - TBD

When Eliana was young, Luther would always insist she stand somewhere near the fire extinguishers positioned strategically within each room of the colossal mansion.

Thunder and Lightning - Arthur Morgan/OC (Red Dead Redemption 2) - TBD

Josephine crouches behind a large stone, one knee pressing into the soil, the damp earth slowly soaking into the material of her pants.

Untitled Fic - Jack/OC (Supernatural) - TBD

Vivian slows the car to a stop and turns the engine off, exhaling shakily.

Untitled Fic - Edmund/OC (Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian) - TBD

Arianna leans her back against the foot of the bed, one knee bent to support her elbow, the other leg stretched lazily in front of her.

and that’s all the ones that have any drabbles written for them! any others are just like vague bullet points at the moment.

I think the only kind of patterns I was aware of, looking back at these fics, is that my older ones when I first started out were mostly written in first person, and then from Finding Home-onwards I switched to third person. for some reason the first person stuff makes me especially cringy now. there’s a decent mix of short and long sentences, some dialogue thrown in, some names introduced straight off the bat, but I kinda like that I’m not doing the same thing over and over.

as for picking a favourite, uft.. Untethered is one I'm quite proud of, and that chapter kind of wrote itself one day when I was feeling particularly down and needing to distract myself, so it means something to me. Finding Home is my longest fic to date and is one that I hold very close to my heart, despite there being parts that I wish I'd done differently and stuff. Untitled Jumper Fic is hopefully going to be quite a fun one, when I eventually get round to it; what I’ve characterised so far for Danny I really like, so I’m looking forward to that one. An Unstoppable Force and an Immovable Object is another one that I’m excited for and super eager to get started on, but I’m holding myself back so I can concentrate on Untethered. Oh and then the Untitled Teen Wolf Fic is another one I keep having waves of inspiration for and I keep just noting it down in bullet points or writing drabbles and then tearing my attention back to my actual WIP.

the end?

#I can't believe the nonsense I used to write #I'm cringing so hard #tl;dr there isn't really a pattern and I'm bad at picking favourites #but this was fun #and I feel like a real Tumblr fanfic writer lmao #teen wolf #marvel #mcu #xmen #jumper #star wars #rdr2 #lotr #oc #fanfiction #fun

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elyreywrites · 4 years

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do you know who you are?

a fic written for Pride Month 2020!! (yes, i know pride month is over, but i posted this on AO3 on June 30th so.) this is a projection fic. it’s not an exact projection of my experience, nor is it meant to be a generalized representation. this isn’t everyone’s experience.

warnings: slight mention of Jack and Janet Drake potentially being homophobic, and discussion of compulsory heterosexuality

thank you to my betas in the Capes & Coffee Discord - Bumpkin, ZulieTheProgrammer, and Oceans!!

title is from Moana’s “I am Moana”!

please REBLOG - DO NOT REPOST

AO3 Link

Teen 1,678 words Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent slight one-sided Tim Drake/Jason Todd - as in, tiny-Tim has a crush on Robin-Jason

Summary:

He’s twelve and watching Robin fight. He’s seventeen and staring up at the ceiling. He’s nineteen and text-spamming his best friends.

Tim’s growing up and finding himself, and he would really appreciate if the Realizations didn’t happen when he’s trying to sleep. Kon and Bart would probably appreciate that as well.

- - - - -

It starts as he’s watching the second Robin knock out some muggers. It’s not the first time Tim has seen Jason’s Robin take down a group of criminals, but it’s the first time that he nearly gives himself away as he squeaks.

Jason’s so strong, and cool, and pretty, and – oh. Ah. Okay.

He calls it a night at that, bright red from the questions that are swimming around in his head. He spends most of the trip home lost in thought. When he’s sitting on his bed, one of his best pictures of Jason’s Robin sitting in front of him, he gives them a voice. Talking usually helps him get his thoughts in order. “Okay,” he whispers, “do I like boys?” He doesn’t dislike them – not at all. But does he like them? Maybe, but… how is he supposed to know? “Is that too big of a topic?” he wonders aloud to the picture. “Let’s start with this: Do I like Robin? Jason-Robin.”

That doesn’t turn his brain into a jumbled mess like the previous question did. Of course he likes Jason-Robin. He’s absolutely amazing, protecting people and checking on the working girls and kicking criminal ass! He’s only a couple years older than Tim is, but he does so much more! And he’s real in a way Dick isn’t.

Jason’s just a kid like Tim, though they have such different backgrounds. Dick was a trained acrobat, with skills Tim never really believed he could learn. Jason seemed closer. He was still more amazing than Tim could ever hope to be, but it wasn’t an entirely impossible stretch like it was with Dick.

“And he’s so passionate, especially when it’s a kid that’s in danger. And every time he smiles, it just makes me so happy that I kind of want to giggle and—” Tim stops babbling. He doesn’t need to anymore, after basically answering his own question. Yes, he does like Jason Todd, the current Robin. As in, he has a crush on him. Tim falls back on his bed to stare up at the ceiling.

“Well,” he says, “that explains the weird, squirmy feeling I get in my stomach every time I imagine talking to him.” That feeling is always accompanied by a fierce blush and Tim hiding his face for a good two minutes. He thinks he probably should have caught on sooner. Deciding that was enough Realizing Things for the night, Tim quickly locks the picture of Robin up with the rest and collapses on his bed to sleep.

The next day – a Saturday, which is Mrs. Mac’s day off – Tim hops on the computer and starts researching. He has a crush on one boy, but Tim still thinks girls can be cool. Batgirl is pretty awesome, after all! After a few hours and a lot of new information, he settles back on his bed again. He’s bisexual, and sexuality can apparently be really fluid. In all honesty, it didn’t take him hours to find the term, he just fell into a rabbit hole of researching sexual orientation and gender identities. Tim’s fairly secure in his gender, but he’s glad to have learned. It’s something to keep in mind about other people – to not assume anything based on appearances.

He’s bisexual, with a crush on a boy, and his parents will still expect him to only date girls. At least the boy was Robin and completely unattainable.

- - -

Years later, Tim is laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling once again. It’s a different bed by now, in his own apartment at seventeen. The thing is, he’s pretty sure he has no interest in romance. And now his brain was mixing everything up in a tangle of thoughts and feelings again.

“Holding hands is nice,” he admits. “I like cuddling. That was fine.” He hasn’t gone further than making out with anyone, so that’s about the limit of his physical experience. It’s the implication of emotions that makes him want to skitter away. Specifically, emotions of the romantic variety. Now Tim’s reassessing every romantic relationship he’s had, though he’s only ever dated women.

At the time, he had thought he was happy while in each relationship, but… it’s becoming much more likely that it’s because he was previously starved for affection. He suddenly got that affection while dating someone. That thought makes him want to hide from everyone he’s ever dated. Stephanie is the only one he really still has to see, and that has him burrowing under his blankets.

It sounds awful, honestly. Like he was using the relationship to get the affection he so desperately wanted. Logically, he might be overthinking this. He just wishes his dumb brain would tell that to his anxiety and the ingrained societal expectations. “I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled into the blankets.

Romance, dating, being happy in a relationship? He has no other experiences to reference! He didn’t know that something wasn’t right.

Hell, he’s only having this Realization because a woman was flirting with him at a gala and asked if he would like to get dinner together sometime. A romantic dinner date with a woman he wasn’t close to. The entire scenario would be romance with no physical affection, and that didn’t sound pleasant in the slightest. It did, however, make him realize that he might need to think things through again.

So, here he is. Thinking things through. No romance – if he’s remembering his research correctly, the term is ‘aromantic’, similar to ‘asexual’. Asexuality was something he’d heard more about over the years, but he rarely heard of aromanticism. It had just stuck out because while the terms were similar, their meanings were pretty different.

Now he’s glad it stuck in his mind. It gives him less reason to panic about being confused. So, he was bisexual and aromantic. That’s fine! He’s a vigilante, romantic relationships would be difficult anyway.

- - -

A year and a half later, Tim’s fingers fly across the screen of his phone, sending text after text without waiting for a response. Either his friends would wake up or they wouldn’t. Hopefully they would.

Tim: Oh my god. Guys, wake up, I’m an idiot. Bart, Kon, please. I’m so dumb. How the hell am I this oblivious? I’m not bi-aro at all. I’m just fucking gay. It’s 5 am and I can’t sleep, and I just want a boyfriend. I want to do couple things, like cuddle up while watching movies.

Clone Trooper: dude, it’s the middle of the night. why do you do this to us?

Tim feels no sympathy for his friends – he’s been running on less than six hours of sleep for years. Sometimes less than four hours. High school and vigilantism don’t mix well. Anyway, they can deal with waking up to deal with his Realization.

Sonic: bro we cuddle up when we watch movies are we not good enough for you anymore

Tim: Yeah, but that’s platonic, Bart. And yes, I’m aware of the time. I’d like to be asleep too, but I’m lonely and sad and having Realizations! Suffer with me.

Clone Trooper: … suffer how? are you expecting us to have an existential crisis too, or is this just suffering by being awake?

Tim: Being awake. It’s not an existential crisis, it’s just a Realization.

Sonic: its the middle of the night i think it can be deemed an existential crisis

Tim: But seriously, someone please tell me how I jumped passed the logical conclusion I should have come to of “I’m just not attracted to women” and directly to “I have no interest in romance at all”? How did that make sense to me?

Sonic: society conditioned u to like women

Tim blinks at his screen. Bart isn’t wrong, but Tim has absolutely no idea where he’s going with that. He already had the Realization about societal conditioning, thanks.

Tim: Okay? I’m aware, but I’m not sure how that translates to how I didn’t think of the logical conclusion.

Sonic: dude. for years it was a fact – since you were a kid u were so conditioned that u should like women it was just a fact

Clone Trooper: think of it like this, tim: as far as you knew, you liked women. later, you figured out you like guys, but you still think you like women too.

Tim: We’ve established, yeah.

Clone Trooper: so, suddenly something is weird. the only really new thing is that there is romance involved. so that’s clearly gotta be the issue.

Oh. He stares so long the screen goes dark. He drops his phone on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, turning that over in his head. So. He jumped to not wanting romance because it was so deeply ingrained that he was supposed to like women? His exhausted brain seems to accept this explanation enough to calm the edge of self-recriminations.

Tim: That. Makes sense, I guess. But still, it really seems like I should’ve realized a while ago. Also, I’m kind of surprised that you aren’t teasing me for being oblivious.

Sonic: oh thats coming but teasing is saved for when u arent having a crisis

Clone Trooper: later, we’ll absolutely laugh about that jump in logic. but right now it’s too early and you’re already having A Time.

He’s not sure if he has wonderful friends or terrible friends. Tim suspects that he’s still going to hear about this in a few years. It’s the kind of thing they won’t let die for a while.

Tim: Fair enough.

Clone Trooper: great, glad we got that cleared up! now tim...

Tim: What?

Clone Trooper: please. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.

Snickering, Tim plugs his phone in and smothers his face in the pillow. He’s still lonely and he still wants to analyze every missed evidence over the years, but he’s also exhausted. The chat with his friends did get his brain to shut up enough that he might actually be able to sleep. He can rethink his entire life again after he wakes up.

#fanfiction #elyrey writes things #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #bart allen #friendship #lgbtq themes #lgbtq character #self-discovery #coming out #pride month 2020 #dcu

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franklyshipping · 5 years

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Day 8 ~ Christmas 2019 Ego Fanfics

Day 8 here we are holy moly! Now, festive times can bring along unwanted stress, so let's get rid of some of that today! LET'S DO IT!

TAGGING: @googlee-oliver

There are so many ways to give someone that you love a gift, and I personally am always honoured at the thought of someone even thinking about wanting to get me something. Something that’s always particularly special though, it’s when someone decides to hand-make a gift for one of their loved ones, I just find it so precious. Especially since making a gift for someone can be so difficult, certainly more difficult that regular crafting. You always want it to be completely utterly perfect, and you get paranoid and scared if you don’t get something exactly right and it takes at least 10 attempts to make something you think is even half decent.

Of course, sometimes this can be quite stressful….and sometimes, getting a little help can make things all the better. I regret to say that someone was experiencing sad stress right now, but you need not fear, because a certain little green glob was on a mission to find someone who could ease the stress and frustration….of Goopiplier. Gooper was speeding down corridor after corridor, just looking for somebody, anybody, who could help the poor guy….and Gooper ended up bumping into the ankle of the perfect person.

‘Wohoah! Whehere are you off toho in such a hurry?’

Oliver, the yellow Google facet, giggled as he looked down at Gooper, before crouching down so he could pet his back softly. Gooper relished in the affection for a few moments, before remembering his purpose. He bounced and gurgled intently to the android, who immediately furrowed his brows in concern.

‘Goop is upset and he needs someone’s help?! Where is he? Can you take me to him?’

Gooper eagerly yipped, before hurrying back the way he came with Oliver following quickly behind, his mind racing with worry as he hoped that Goop wasn’t panicking too much. Either way though, Oliver was resolute on helping, whatever the problem was. Gooper halted at Goop’s bedroom door, motioning to it…and Oliver could feel his own emotions building when he heard wet, muffled sobs coming from inside the room. Oliver smiled gently down at Gooper.

‘It’s okay bud, I’ll take it from here.’

Gooper mewled and nuzzled Oliver’s ankle as a thank you, before vacating. Oliver then turned his attention to the door, which was slightly ajar, before deciding to carefully push it open.

‘Goop?’

Oliver spoke softly so the man wouldn’t be startled, and thankfully he wasn’t. Oliver caught a quick glimpse of the man’s face before he tried to hide it, he had a slime-esque beard as always, but his eyes were puffy and there were tears and snot on his face from all the crying he’d clearly been doing. Goop gulped before trying to speak in a stammer free voice….which unfortunately he didn’t quite manage.

‘Hey Oli uh…l-look I’m uh…d-doing a Christmas g-g-…g-gift thing so uhm…c-c-…u-uhm…’

Oliver’s android heart broke at hearing Goop whimper and seeing him tremble from how upset he was, and he immediately came up to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Oh Goop, what happened? You can tell me, it’s just you and me here, and I won’t tell anyone else if you don’t want me to….’

Oliver spoke in a gentle, reassuring voice…and it was that kindness that caused the last dam to break in Goop’s mind. His words were rambles as he turned to the sweet android, and his emotions just ran from his lips like a raging river.

‘I-I-I t-tried t-to make W-Wilford a p-pretty p-p-present b-but i-it’s useless a-a-and stupid and I-I kn-know he’s gonna hate it a-a-and think i-it’s worthless a-a-and h-he’ll h-hate me!’

Goop sobbed into his hands, sniffling as his whole body seemed to shake with his panicked upset; needless to say, Oliver was quick to act. Different people are cheered up by different things, sometimes it’s a light-hearted joke that shines through the dark crap, sometimes it’s soothing words, sometimes it’s the opportunity to vent, and sometimes it’s physical contact. Oliver had made it a secret project and find out and file away exactly what soothed each and every one of the egos, and thankfully he knew what Goop needed. A damn tight hug and the opportunity to just cry it all out.

‘Hey…hey it’s okay, I’ve got you. Just let it out Goop, just let it all out…’

Oliver wrapped his arms around the weeping man, holding him close to his chest with one hand rubbing his back and another hand buried gently in his hair. At first, Goop was inclined to protest, but as soon as he felt Oli’s warmth he just couldn’t pull away. He sobbed into Oli’s chest for a while, he was just so stressed and nervous that it just became too much for him. He’d never been a part of a family like this wherein he could give anyone any gifts, so this was a seriously big deal for him. Also, Wilford was like his idol; he was charismatic, talented, and didn’t care if he was seen as weird by others, he just owned it. That’s why it was so important for Goop to get this gift right.

‘I-I j-just….I-I-I wanna m-make this p-perfect….’

He stuttered still, but his sobs had died down thanks to Oliver’s affection and patience. The android smiled softly into Goop’s shoulder, rubbing his back as he replied in a soft voice.

‘I get, I really do. Sometimes with these things you just work on them so much that it makes it hard to see just how good they are, sometimes you need another pair of eyes to see the perfection…’

They slowly parted from the embrace, and Oliver smiled up at Goop now as he continued.

‘I could be that other pair of eyes, if you like?’

Goop nibbled his bottom lip nervously…he was still so scared of what he made being terrible, but on the other hand he really trusted Oliver, he was one of the kindest and most honest people ever; Goop knew that if anyone was going to make him feel better about this whole debacle, it would be the android of sunshine.

‘….o-okay….okay I’ll show you….’

Oliver’s smile widened, he couldn’t deny that he was excited to see what Goop had been working on for Wilford; Oliver knew that Goop had a talent for crafting, so the android had a really good feeling about this in his core. Goop led him over to a little work bench he had in his room, and moved a metal bucket aside….and Oliver’s eyes widened. Goop had, somehow….made a lava lamp from scratch.

‘Is….did you MAKE a lava lamp?’

Oliver’s mouth and eyes were wide as he took a closer look, whilst Goop fiddled with his fingers nervously.

‘U-Uh…yeah uhm, well, I-I’ve tried to….’

It was the most beautiful thing that Oliver had ever seen in his entire life. The lava lamp was a good thirty centimetres high and about fifteen centimetres in diameter, it had been crafted absolutely gorgeously. The lighting sequence transitioned through a sequence of pinks into purples, with a hint of magenta at points too, and the movement of the lava-slime substance was beautifully slow and hypnotic. What’s more, the heat it radiated was nothing short of comforting, it wasn’t too overwhelmingly hot, just a soothing, radiant warmth; oh also, the lava-slime clumps were embedded with silvery glitter. Oliver let out a soft gasp as he looked back to Goop finally.

‘This is so…just….I-I don’t know how to describe it! Beautiful isn’t a good enough word for it! The substance moves so smoothly up and down, the colours of light are so soothing and fit so perfect with Wilford! Plus, he’ll adore the fact that it’s, y’know, a lava lamp! I know he’s going to adore it!’

Goop blinked a few times in shock, having to take a minute or so to process all the praise he was being given. Oliver….thought it was better than good. Goop developed a wobbly, happy smile, letting out a light residual sniffle as he mumbled.

‘Y-You really think that?’

Oliver grinned as he nodded eagerly.

‘Heck yeah! It’s so cool, I really mean it!’

Goop’s smile widened, before he looked down to the floor, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Ahaww shucks….’

Oliver let out a fond giggle.

‘Don’t you start crying again on me mister!’

Goop blushed at that.

‘I-I won’t I won’t-‘

‘Oh! Speaking of which, what kind of friend am I if I don’t clean you up?’

Goop blinked a few times, before his blush darkened as Oliver tilted his head up and started wiping and dabbing softly at his eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief.

‘Y-You don’t have to-‘

‘Nonsense, I want to! Plus, those tears might ruin your slime beard and we CANNOT have that!’

Goop let out a giggle, which warmed Oliver’s core so much, Oliver was much happier seeing Goop smiling instead of being so morose and disheartened. Oliver took his time drying away Goop’s tears and softly dabbing against his puffy skin, being careful to make his fingers a tad cooler so that the skin would feel soothed. However, that little giggle that Goop had let out was somewhat stuck in Oliver’s mind…and Oliver came to the logical conclusion that in order to help maintain Goop’s cheered up state, a state of mirth should also be involved. Oliver’s eyes gleamed for a moment, before he casually spoke.

‘Oh my! How did you get tears behind your ears?’

Goop furrowed his brows…what? For a moment he was seriously worried that Oliver was shorting out or low on charge, but he soon realised what Oliver was doing….when his nimble fingers skittered behind both his ears. He let out a wide eyed squeal and jumped away from the android, blushing rather red already as he stuttered in a very cute manner.

‘D-Dohon’t even think about it!’

Oliver giggled, and tucked his handkerchief away as he softly stepped towards Goop with a playful grin in place.

‘I just wanna make sure you’re all cheered up-‘

‘Y-You don’t need to tickle m-me to do that!’

‘Ohhh but I think I DO!’

Goop squealed and gasped when he was suddenly tackled to the floor by the, ultimately far stronger, android who wasted no time in straddling his hips and pinning his arms under his knees. Oliver let out a content sigh, before cooing.

‘Now, where was I?’

Oliver didn’t wait for an answer before he went back to skittering behind Goop’s, very adorable, ears which made Goop burst into spluttery giggles and snorts.

‘Pfthfttth-hehehey! Stahahappit yohohou ahass stahahappit!’

Oliver giggled, internally squealing at how adorable Goop looked as he tossed his head from side to side, he was so precious. Oliver’s nails were very precise as they stroked right in the crooks behind Goop’s lobes, all the while Oliver grinned and crooned.

‘Awww you look so much happier already, how could I possibly stop?!’

Goop squealed and kicked out reflexively, biting his bottom lip as he tossed his head about as much as he could, but Oliver was just too damn good at this. Usually if Goop got tickled, people never went for his ears because most people didn’t want to get part of his gooey beard on themselves, so that tickle spot always remained safe…until now of course.

‘Ihihihit tihihickles soho bahahad!’

Oliver fondly rolled his eyes.

‘Nooo! Really?! Well now that IS a revelation!’

Goop snorted, attempting to glare up at Oli through his flustered grin.

‘Shuhuhut uhuhup!’

Oliver grinned, his tongue poking out through his teeth cutely as he let his fingers traipse down away from Goop’s ears, now occupying themselves with softly trailing up and down his arms. Oliver smiled softly as he looked down at Goop.

‘You know, I don’t think I will. I’m really enjoying tickling you y’know, and that just makes me wanna talk even more! I wanna talk about how pretty your grin is, how sweet your giggles are, how cute your blush is! And ESPECIALLY how adorable it is when your goopy beard wobbles when you laugh!’

Goop’s eyes widened with embarrassment as he spluttered, caught between shaky giggles and utter speechlessness as all the teasing compliments built up in his brain. He’d never been complimented this much in his life, nor had he ever been teased this much in his life, and the intense combination of the two was just making him crumble into a flustered mess.

‘Ohogod-p-plehease just sh-shush! I-I c-can’t…’

He trailed off with a soft whine as he flicked his gaze away from the android, and Oliver felt like he was going to melt right there and then at how his teasy kindnesses affected the guy.

'Awwww, can the wittle goopy baby not handle the teasies?’

Oliver cooed with a giggle, now deciding to sneak a finger into each of Goop’s closed armpits, which caught the poor guy very off guard as he tried to retort.

‘I-I’m not a g-goopy ba-EEE OHMYGOD GEHET OHOUT OF THEHERE!’

Oliver grinned with evil delight at how Goop squealed and threw his head back, letting out a string out deep cackles that sounded like they came from the very depths of his sensitive soul. Oliver kept his fingers wiggling as he teased.

‘Oh…but…oh dear, it seems now I’ve put them in, I can’t get them out! Oh jeez, maybe if I wiggle them more then that’ll help get them out…’

Goop’s cackles got louder as Oliver sped up the tickling wiggling, making Goop thrash and cry out in growing flustered desperation.

‘NAHAHA THAHAT’S NAHAHAT HEHEHELPIHING!’

Despite Goop’s words, Oli maintained a concerned demeanour, letting out little gasps and grunts as he wiggled and twisted his fingers about constantly.

‘I am trying, but goodness me your thrashing is not helping! It’s only a little finger in each little armpit…’

Goop merely wailed, arching his back as his feet hit the floor wildly with his struggles and reactions.

‘C’MAHAHAHAN!! PLEHEHEHEEEASE!!’

Oliver giggled, and let his façade drop as he removed his fingers from Goop’s sensitive hollows. Goop was gasping, and his voice was caught in a much higher octave as he looked up at Oliver with flustered shock; he hadn’t ever fathomed sweet little Oliver being so damn evil!

‘Thahat w-was soho e-evihil! L-Like, s-seriously e-e-ehevil!’

Oliver giggled, raising a playful eyebrow down at Goop as he booped the guy’s nose.

‘I barely even did anything, it’s not my fault you’re a ticklish goopy baby!’

….I swear to god, Goop’s face was almost a fricking magenta colour after Oliver said those words. His voice somehow managed to go even higher too as he stammered.

‘I-I-I a-am n-not!’

Oliver giggled with an excited gasp, noting how that particular little nickname affected the sweet, ticklish man. Oliver teasingly ran his fingers over Goop’s torso now, focusing on his tummy as he raised an eyebrow down at him playfully.

‘Ohh? Does a certain ticklish goopy baby like that nickname?’

Goop pursed his lips and looked away from Oliver, fighting giggles as his lips and belly both trembled. Honestly, he did rather like that nickname, and frankly he was enjoying all of this too….but what he enjoyed the most was Oliver’s teasing. Oliver’s teasing gave him chills and goose-bumps and made him blush so hard he was hotter than the lava lamp he’d made for Wilford; disagreeing with Oliver was like a game, and it was a game that Goop wanted to play.

‘N-Noho…’

Oliver cocked his head down at Goop fondly. He could see that Goop adored it, he couldn’t hide the joy gleaming in his hazel eyes. Oliver understood why he disagreed though, it was simply Goop’s way of asking for even more teasing, and Oliver was more than happy to oblige.

‘Hmmm….that’s interesting…’

Goop let out a flustered whine as he felt Oliver’s fingertips splay over his sensitive tummy, before the android continued to speak in a low, teasing purr.

‘…because it seems to me, that the nickname suits you perfectly. You can’t deny that you’re oh so beautifully ticklish, you know you can’t hide it. Plus, you’re certainly goopy with that beard of yours jiggling away as you laugh so sweetly…’

Goop had his eyes squeezed shut out of flustered frustration as giggles built up in his belly and chest, feeling Oliver’s fingers curl and uncurl as his teases flowed so effortlessly was making it so damn hard to hold everything in….and ultimately, it was his final words that did it.

‘And frankly, you have the sweetness, softness, and cuteness of the most precious baby boy….ever!’

Oliver finished his tease by turning his tickling from anticipatory lightness, to devilish scratchiness. Goop let out a cry as he sharply arched his back, before he became a mess of giddy laughter and writhing beneath Oliver; his tummy was so damn ticklish, as I think we can concur.

‘NOHOHAHAHA NAHAT THE TUHUHUMMY OHOHO GAHAD NAHAT THEHERE! OHOHOLIIII!!!'

Oliver grinned with delight at his reaction, he ADORED playing with people’s hyper ticklish spots; people always got to the ultimate peak of cuteness once they were just consumed by mirth and nothing else. He kept on scratching as he cooed in the teasiest tone he could possibly muster.

‘Awww kitchy kitchy coo! Awww lookit the ticklish goopy baaaby! Does he like the tummy tickles, I think he liiiikes theeem!’

Goop was shaking his head frantically as his eyes started to water, the teasing was just absolutely breaking him.

‘NUHUHUHUH! NAHAHAT TRUHUHUUUE!!!’

Oliver giggled and cooed right in his face happily.

‘Is too truuuue!’

Oliver even went as far as too kiss Goop’s nose, making the mirthful man squeak and scrunch up his face; it was true tickle torment, there was no escape from the tickling or the teasing.

‘OHOHOHOLIIII!!!’

‘Yeeees Goopy?’

Goop was reaching the end of his resolve….but he was feeling much better as a result.

‘MEHEHEHERCYYY!!!’

Oliver giggled fondly, and had mercy, since he could see that he’d almost reached his limit. The android released Goop’s arms from beneath his knees, but flopped on top of him for a cuddle as he nestled into the man’s chest affectionately.

‘Do you feel a bit better?’

At Oliver’s soft question, Goop grinned his widest grin yet as he looked down at the warm, selfless sunflower android snuggled into him.

‘Yeah….yeah I do….’

Goop’s grin then morphed into a smirk, and he wrapped his arms around Oliver tightly as he growled.

‘Let me show you how grateful I am.’

Oliver spent the rest of the day basically being tortured….with love. He was accosted with gooey kisses and nuzzles and nibbles, which made him squeal and wriggle about like the cutest being ever; but let’s be real, no matter how messy it gets, love is the best thing around.

WOOO HOPE YOU LIKE THIS NEXT FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

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kagehinataboke · 5 years

Note

are u still doing prompts?? can i ask for tdbk 26??

yesss i am in LOVE with apocalypse AUs 😭💕👏🏻✨

tdbk: [26] zombie apocalypse AU

***

Todoroki crouches atop an old RV, staring at the desolate landscape of Hosu City with a pensive frown. He’s supposed to be looking for supplies, but it’s so hot that the faded asphalt is almost steaming. Not even zombies will go out in weather like this.

Retrieving his backpack from the roof of the RV, Todoroki slides down the hood, landing with both feet on the cracked sidewalk. He’ll skip the supplies for now and focus on finding shelter before nightfall.

“Ugh.” Todoroki kicks a piece of concrete and watches it skitter over the cracks in the road. He strips off his white sweatshirt irritably. The tank-top underneath feels like a second skin. When is it going to cool off? The smell of zombies is back enough when their flesh isn’t melting in the sun.

“Fuck, this fucking heat.”

Todoroki’s heart skips a beat. Voices. He hasn’t run into another living person in months now. But people can’t always be trusted, can they? Todoroki has been alone for so long that he almost forgot about his last less-than-pleasant human encounter. He quickly presses his back against the nearest wall, mere seconds before the figure steps onto the road.

He’s wiping sweat from his brow, smearing blood across his face in the process. It’s dripping from a cut at his hairline, staining his blond hair. There’s a gun slung across his broad shoulders, and a black shirt tied around his waist. His bare chest is covered in scars, and glistening with sweat.

Todoroki swallows thickly, eyes nervously flicking away. He takes a steadying breath to slow his heart-rate back down. It’s only one person, and from the look of him, he won’t pose a threat. In fact, he’s swaying on his feet: the head wound must be getting to him.

There’s two options: approach him, or run away. Todoroki knows he should do the latter, but it’s been so long since he last had a proper conversation. Maybe the stranger is as lonely and bored as he is. And besides, he can’t let the guy die. That’d be on his conscience forever.

Todoroki sucks in a breath and steps onto the road decisively, raising his hands before calling, “Hello?”

The stranger wobbles, squinting at Todoroki through the glaring sunlight. “Fuck. You scared me.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes roll back in his head. Todoroki barely manages to catch him before he face-plants on the hot asphalt.

At least he can definitely mark this down as one of the most interesting first meetings he’s ever had… Of course, it would be much nicer if Todoroki didn’t have to carry the heavy stranger through a zombie-infested town in 45 degree* weather. But hey, this’ll make a great story to tell later. Probably.

***

Bakugou wakes up in an unfamiliar building, and for a few seconds, he can’t remember anything. Then it all comes rushing back: the scuffle with the zombie, the head wound, and the mystery stranger with the peppermint hair that he passed out in front of. The hair part might have been blood-loss induced…

With a groan, Bakugou summons the strength to sit up. There’s a black coat bunched around his hips, and it’s not his. It must belong to that other guy, wherever he is.

“Hello?” Bakugou stands up carefully, testing his balance with one hand on the wall. He’s in some kind of abandoned parking garage. His voice echoes all around, followed by the sound of footsteps.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He appears from around a corner, carrying an armful of filled water bottles. Turns out the hair wasn’t a hallucination after all. “I bandaged up your head. How are you feeling now?”

“Fine.” Bakugou eyes him warily. “Who are you?”

“I’m Todoroki Shouto.” He drops the water onto a small tarp and wipes sweat from his brow. “What’s your name?” Bakugou’s eyes follow his arm back to his side, then trail across his bare chest, which is glistening with moisture. It takes him a solid ten seconds to remember he’s supposed to be responding.

“Bakugou Katsuki.” He tears his gaze away with some difficulty. “I guess thanks are in order.”

“That’s not necessary.” Todoroki strips the backpack from his shoulders, flicking back his sweat-soaked hair. “It was a relief to run into another living person. It’s been months since I’ve seen anyone else.”

“Me, too,” Bakugou murmurs, glancing at the pile by Todoroki’s feet. “You seem to be doing well for yourself.”

“This? I just gathered all of it while you were asleep.” Todoroki nudges the water with his boot. “The zombies aren’t very active when it’s hot. I haven’t seen a single one.”

“I saw one.” Bakugou slinks to a sitting position against the cold concrete wall. “It caught me off guard, which is how I got this.” He gestures at his head with a scowl. “Smacked into a fucking pipe.”

Todoroki slides down beside him, their arms brushing. His skin is hot from being outside. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a bite.” He picks up one of the water bottles and gulps it down impressively fast. “It’s so hot out there, it’s like being inside the sun.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou closes his eyes to keep from looking at him, but it can’t erase the places where their skin meets. The heat must really be getting to him. “Hey, do you mind if I… hang around with you for a while?” he mumbles without thinking.

“What?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea: I’m not saying we have to become best friends or some shit like that. I’m just not looking to die, and in my current condition, I’m pretty fucked.”

“Oh.” Todoroki hesitates for barely a second. “Yes. I mean… alright. I’ll help you until you’re recovered.”

Bakugou is too tired to reply. He definitely has a concussion. The bigger problem is that for some reason, he trusts this idiot with his stupid hair and pretty face. Why is that? He’s never trusted anyone before. But maybe this is fate telling him to change that.

Somehow, even though they’ve only just met, something in the air already feels different.

***

* temp is in Celsius. this is Satan hot, AKA 113 degrees Fahrenheit

#hi i love this #and you anon #bless #todobaku #trope prompts #answered asks #calla.txt #my writing

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icewindandboringhorror · 4 years

Photo

Another set of responding to asks lol.. As usual I have them numbered and will also write out the ask in the text, especially since the screencaps are all blurry and taken at various times/compiled together badly and probably hard to read ghghhggh..... answers under the read more ~

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

1. "Hi I don't mean to bother you at all, but I was wondering where you get your rocking horse shoes? (I think thats what they're called) I've been looking everywhere and I can't seem to find any :(( "

I don’t entirely remember, since I got them like 6 or 7 years ago.. I think maybe at some point that place ‘bodyline’ or something had some cheap ones? But I don’t see them on the site anymore, they were like $50 or $60. Now when I google it I can only find these insane like $600 ones from vivian westwood or whoever, or ones that are platform shoes but not necessarily the same type. Maybe you could find some on aliexpress or ebay or something? Usually you have to use weirdly specific search terms and look for a while, but you can often find stuff like that on those sites. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help!!!

2. "I've been sick for over a month and my doctor tested me - everything came back fine. After some discussion it appears that my ptsd symptoms came back and the stress on my body is making me fatigued, sick and dizzy. I don't want to say that this could be similar to you situation, but if you have a therapist or someone to talk to about any stresses/your sickness, it might help relieve the pressure a bit. Good luck, I'm so sorry you feel so unwell"

Thank you for sharing! Yeah, I think stress definitely plays a part in why I feel sick so often. Currently I’m not still having the same problem I was having a few months ago when you sent this, so that’s good at least!!

3. “Hi! Do you plan to ever have more sculptures for sale? Or would you do commissions? I haven't seen any in a while but wanted to buy one! :-O”

I have plenty that I want to sell, I guess it’s just hard for me to get set up. Since so much of the reason I procrastinate selling stuff is because I hate the stress of deciding on a price, I’ve thought for a while now that maybe I can just auction them (so I just set a base price, but people bid whatever they feel is fair and I don’t have to decide myself). But I’m just not sure of a good way to do that.. Ebay has auctions, but I don’t want random strangers buying them, I’d rather stick to just the pool of people who follow my art blog and are already familiar with my sculptures or etc. I could do them on here ?? (like, ‘reply to this post to bid, bids close 8am EST, whoever said the highest number sends the money through paypal and then I send the sculpture’ sort of thing???) But I’m not sure if it’s legal to sell stuff through tumblr, or if there could be any other problems with doing it so ‘unofficially’ like that.. I don’t know, I have a vague idea, I’m just having trouble deciding the best way to set up something! I do want to sell some soon though, if I live through the pandemic and anything ever goes back to normal, of course (I wouldn’t want to be having to leave the house to ship stuff in the mail right now).

As for commissions, I have actually done sculpture commissions for friends a few times, so I feel confident-ish that I’d be able to do something like that, but I also wouldn’t want to get overwhelmed since it takes a lot of work. Custom sculptures may also be more expensive, and again.. I always feel guilty and strange about pricing. I’ve thought about doing very limited sculpture commissions though (like, maybe just one at a time, first come first serve or something..?). If it seems like there’s actual interest in that sort of thing, I could definitely consider doing it in the future!

4. " *picks up that smol blue kid and throws them across the room* "

ghgh .. the smallness is an advantage... they could just skitter back down your arm like a tiny squirrel the second you tried to pick them up.. Ythrili survival strategy is to be too small to catch in the first place

(also forgive every sketch in this post, my screen that you can draw on broke, so I’m either drawing stuff in ms paint with a mouse, or drawing stuff on paper and coloring it in firealpaca also with a mouse ghghh.. not going to look Good)

5. "it sounds like you feel pressure to only post good content on the internet, and so you end up psyching yourself out of posting at all. Am I on the right track? "

Not necessarily, like I mentioned in the tags I think it’s more just that everything is complicated by my brain. I can’t just do something effortlessly. Whether it’s for an audience or not, I get caught up on every little detail and adding so much complexity to everything that all tasks take me longer than they take other people lol. I think I just tend to take everything very seriously??

Like for example, I’m often accused of ‘turning things into a discussion’ when someone was just intending to make an off-handed remark, because if someone is bringing up a topic to discuss, I end up engaging with it 100% and putting full effort into it, and it’s hard for me to be ‘’casual’’ about pretty much anything (so if someone was like ‘My day yesterday was a bit weird’ I wouldn’t be able to just respond ‘aw man, that sucks’, I would just be like ‘Weird how? what happened? what made it weird? Are you okay now? Are things still weird? Have you found a solution?’ etc. etc.). I was also bad at essays/open answer questions in school (despite usually being great at the class otherwise), because no matter how hard I tried to filter my speech and cut things out, I was always far too long-winded and would get almost too engaged with the topic and lose the clear cut thought organization and focus that you’re supposed to have I guess. Even like, playing video games or something that’s supposed to be relaxing, I can’t just ‘jump into them’ and do whatever, usually any game I play (large ones at least, small 25 minute point and click adventure games don’t count of course), I have 7 - 10 pages of notes, do hours of research, look up most of the main spoilers, plan out and organize exactly how I’m going to play it and this and that, etc. lol...

So, that personality trait carries over into posting things online as well, I can’t just type something out quickly and hit ‘post’ without a second thought. Social media is hard for me because you’re supposed to use it casually, but I spend a long time re-reading drafted posts, thinking about them, etc. etc., and end up never actually getting around to posting anything. It’s not that I’m perfectionist about it and want it to be ‘good’ or appear a certain way, it’s just that my mind becomes preoccupied with things I guess. I’m a natural information gatherer, part of my natural way of processing things is to learn everything possible before acting, and I want to make sure I’ve fully thought about everything always, and know as much as I can (so I wouldn’t want to publicly say something without giving it a lot of consideration first, or post a picture without really thinking about if I want to post it, what my reasons behind posting it are (like if I’m posting something just for a validation of a certain aspect of myself VS. genuinely because I like it, etc.), if a few months from now I’ll still like that I posted it, etc. lol.. even with like silly cat photos or something, I have to analyze it and be like ‘hmm.. will I still stand by this picture in 4 months? why am I posting it publicly vs, just keeping it privately to myself on my computer? what’s important about it?’ etc. etc. ghgjhgjh.. like.. shut up lol.)

ANYWAY, yeah, I don’t know if it’s about wanting online content to be “good”, as much as it’s just like... I take everything way too seriously and am detail-oriented, contemplative, and analytical to a fault, which means it just takes me 10x longer to do basic ‘’simple’’ things that it would for other people. Though I can still be quite quick-thinking and decisive (I don’t often waver back and forth between things too long), it’s usually because I have years of thinking about the same exact things behind me, so I already am very clear on my opinions on stuff, to a point. But when it’s new things I’m less familiar with (like playing a new game, or posting regularly online), I’m still in a phase where I guess I have to give it a lot of thought. I just process things in a different way than other people I guess? Or have some inherent inability to be brief/concise/careless? If you’ve ever read any of my worldbuilding posts (where I usually start off wanting to explain one thing but then have to derail into 400 other misc. details and explanations and it ends up being a novel), then maybe it’s more evident what I mean, where it’s just like... my natural manner of speaking is Too Much.. I guess? Even this answer is winding and rambly, and I feel like other people could have answered this ask in only a few sentences lol..

If any of that makes sense? I don’t know how to describe how I am lol.. I just know it's hard to me to use social media in this ~~casual effortless~~ way most people seem to, since my brain is just inherently incapable of anything ‘’casual’’ or ‘’effortless’’ lol.. T u T ;;

6. " Hi! I hope this isn't weird to say, I'm designing a race for my DND campaign and some of the aesthetics are a little bit inspired by some of your costumes and makeup designs. You're awesome and your art is awesome so thanks : ) "

Thanks so much, I appreciate it! It’s always cool to hear I can inspire people~

(I usually don’t include many compliments in these ask compilation posts, but I always try to include a few, just to let people know that even if I don’t respond to all of them I do see them, and appreciate it!)

7. ???

I ended up cropping out this ask and not answering because some of the content was questionable (the reason WHY/how they wanted to make the character) in a way that I didn’t feel like getting into a long thing about, but part of it was relevant to making OCs in my world, so I will just make a quick comment:

I do state that this is a closed world, so I don’t want anyone making OCs of my species or etc. at least not at this point. Once my game is finished (if ever lol), or I write a few books or something, then I feel it would be understandable if people like, made up a background story for their player character and thus maybe could have some form of OC in my world and etc.. So I may be more relaxed on this in the future as I create content that people naturally would want to engage with , but for now, I’m still a very tiny creator with a closed world and it just doesn’t feel the same as like.. making an oc based on some thing in a big TV series or something. My worldbuliding and etc. is still very personal to me. Unless we’re directly collaborating on things (like mentioned here (link) a bit), or you’re a personal friend of mine who’s gotten involved in the world with my own guidance (meaning I could tell you lore things you’d need to know to make it accurate, etc.), then I don’t feel it’s appropriate for strangers to do at this point.

Especially since I don’t even have enough world info out for people to be able to reference (most species have half-complete guides, I’ve only ever talked about like, one continent, etc.). There are so many necessary details which I have only in my head and have never typed out, so again, idk, it’d just be weird. I’m not okay with it until I have a lot more lore published, and maybe a few actual works out there that people can reference/stories/games/basis for OCs to exist in the first place. If that makes sense?

8. "Hey, is it ok to use your outfit posts as inspiration for a dnd character? I love them so much, you have such a unique way of combining crazy patterns and fabrics into something that gives off a good vibe”

Yes, that would be fine! Thank you for asking, and I appreciate the compliments~ Hopefully I can get back to posting that sort of thing more often lol.. I’ve gotten WAY off my routine and haven’t done many outfits lately.. aaa

9. "hi Luca! i just wanted to say i really love all of your costumes and fashions and dress ups, its all so cool and pretty and interesting. i actually wanna dress up for fun for myself, and now that i know about the bins i think i'll try to convince my mom to take me to similar places for cheap clothing pieces, since my mom is worried about how much all this costume stuff costs. anyway, please keep posting your cool and beautiful stuff! "

Thank you so much! I wish you luck with your costumes! Yeah, I think there’s a common idea in a lot of fashion communities (like with makeup, costumes, etc.) that you have to always have high quality things to look nice, and even if sometimes you can do more with a little extra money, really you can make anything look good with what you have if you just combine it right. As I’ve always been quite low income, being into fashion and stuff has be discouraging at times, that I couldn’t afford certain materials or items, but you just have to find a niche where what you’re able to do works. For example, a lot of even ‘cheap’ lolita style clothings are too expensive for me (like $30 - $50 for a dress??? then the more pricey ones can be over $100???) lol.. BUT, then stuff like mori kei, cult party kei, fantasy costumes, etc. you can do with nearly any fabric you can find, and it’s still just as fun and creative. Most of the outfits I take pictures of probably cost me no more than $1 - $10 for every single item combined. Obviously it depends on location - I have better access now that I live near a place like the bins, which I understand there may not be similar resources in small towns or etc. But even with generic thrift stores (which may not be as cheap as the bins), you can still find pretty good alternatives to all the money it costs to buy things brand new. There’s still some stuff I legit just can’t do because I don’t have access to the materials, but for the most part I can manage everything I’d like with $3 eye-shadows and 15 cent tattered curtain fabrics lol. You can still do really cool stuff on a pretty nonexistent budget!

10. “do you have any tips on growing your hair long? is it expensive to up keep? i wanna grow mine out but it grows so slow!”

Well, I know nothing about hair and am not a hair stylist or etc. so I really don’t have any tips lol?? And I think hair maintenance depends a lot on the type of hair you have, not everyone’s is the same. I assume we must have similar hair (my natural hair is thick kind of coarse very dark brown/black hair, which is a bit wavy in some parts but mostly straight, but most of my hair currently (aside from the overgrown roots at the top) is altered because of damage from bleaching and etc., it’s more brittle. so that’s what I’ll be referencing) if you’re asking me this instead of someone else, but just know that whatever I say may not apply to you.

Anyway, I really don’t do anything to my hair to make it grow or etc., it’s just that I’ve gone a long time without cutting it lol. I used to cut it all the time or change styles, and now I’ve kind of just left it for 5 or 6 years or so. Because of my mental illness I have trouble maintaining personal care and etc., so I do sometimes go a week or more without washing it, even though I’m trying to work that into my schedule more (luckily I don’t have stinky head, I’ve heard some people’s scalp oils and stuff can smell weird if left for too long, I have the privilege of being able to like.. skip on hygiene a lot without it severely impacting my ability to do things or etc. since it’s usually not obvious if I haven’t bathed in a week or two).

My cat also EATS HUMAN HAIR for some reason, so I have to keep it up all the time, so that when I shed it doesn’t actually just fall loose onto the ground lol. Literally all I do to my hair is just keep it in two braids at all times and wash it with normal shampoo and conditioner occasionally, when I can. I really only think it’s gotten long because I’ve been leaving it alone and not messing with it, not really because of anything I’ve done (like I don’t use fancy products on it or etc.) And because of that, no, it’s not really expensive! It absolutely WOULD be if I were like..a normal functioning person and I regularly bleached it and dyed it and put products on it and styled it and used shampoo and conditioner every 1-3 days on it and etc. lol.. But I guess because I don’t do anything to it to maintain it, I’m not spending money on hairspray or dye or shampoo or etc. I used to bleach it a lot and straighten it and use hairspray and stuff on it, and it seems healthier (at least on the new top parts) now that I’m just ... ignoring it basically lol. But I don’t really know what to do to make it grow faster! I’m bad at self-care, and even if I do costumes and stuff, I really am not into beauty and hair and nails and makeup and stuff, so I’m probably the wrong person to ask hghjhb.. My upkeep routine is just... eat and sleep. wash face with water daily.. do extra stuff if you can manage to despite your functioning issues, etc. I’m definitely not a Beauty Advice person, I barely brush my hair even once a week lol

11. "Maybe you should reduce the number of races if it's too overwhelming? A world can still be immersive with only a few races in it."

(sidenote - Not to be nitpicky, but I make a specific point that the groups of fantasy creatures I create are species, not ‘’races’’, even though it is a commonly used term in fantasy worldbuilding, I think it’s inaccurate/weird )

I know I don’t have to make so many different groups, but, I guess I just really want it to be a broad setting. Part of the point in creating Nanyevimi (aside from worldbuilding just being extremely fun and a hobby greatly suited to someone with my personality traits lol) is to have an established world that I can do anything within, a framework already built where it'd be super easy to just drop a character anywhere on the map and already have an idea of what their culture, background, experiences, etc. would be based on pre-existing details about that portion of the world, etc. But I also want it to be broad, and varied, where every area kind of has it’s own dynamics going on there, so if you’re in a different place, you get a different kind of story. (like in an elven alliance city, you’d be better suited to tell an adventure story centering around complicated local politics, or city life, or etc.. whereas out in some isolated mountains in the south, it’d be more suited for a mystery story about stumbling across ancient ruins, or running into a mysterious traveler, etc.)

Which I guess doesn’t matter much, since I'm better at setting, world design, character design, planning, and details than I am at plot, so I probably won’t actually ever do anything with it (god forbid I tried to write a book or something with my utter inability to be concise/brief in any imaginable way). I can craft settings/characters/history/world-details all day endlessly, never losing inspiration or etc, but my weak point is actually telling stories within those settings and formulating a solid plan, organizing plot structures long term and etc.. Setting up everything for something to happen/creating a place where many interesting premises could occur is fine, but then actually thinking of how those things should OCCUR, or how the set up should play out, is where I get kind of lost. I guess the ideal at some point would be to have people working with me, helping when writing stories in my world/outlining games/etc, to add more cohesion/structure and reign in the unfocused stream of ideas, but that’s very unlikely since I don’t have any close friends that are good at organizing or plotting either, etc. BUT anyway, even if I can’t ever manage to do anything with it, the whole “having a setting I can use for anything I want if anything ever comes up, which is already established and thus makes it much easier to formulate ideas because all the background work is already done for myself” thing is at least a nice goal.. in concept...theoretically lol..

And, it’s not really too overwhelming, I think the overwhelming part is actually just formatting and producing those ideas in a consumable form. It’s not hard for me to keep track of 20 different groups and make backgrounds and every imaginable detail for them, but it IS hard to actually take all that information that exists in my head, type it out as a worldbuilding post, format and organize it, draw pictures to go with it, etc. If I could just post long stream of consciousness style 300,000 word long posts with no paragraph breaks, 4000 typos, barely any punctuation, etc., then I’d have A LOT more world-building info publicly available (since that’s what all the initial documents on my computer look like lol), but that’s just so inaccessible it’d be pointless to have public in the first place. The hard part isn’t really coming up with or managing the information, it’s just... organizing it all, and finding a way to share it.

12. "oh PLEASE tell me what boing peach beverage the elf looks like"

a quick sketch of them.. mysterious peach (and other produce) salesman

13. "fun question: what are ur fashion pet-peeves?"

Well, basically none because I hate when people are rigid over Fashion Rules or etc. Like, people who take pictures of others in public because they “look weird” , or who constantly trash on what people are allowed to wear, what patterns can be mixed with others, etc. etc. I get that some stuff can look kind of bad sometimes, and it’s not that I think nobody is allowed to criticize fashion trends or etc. (especially if they’re legitimately problematic, like of course someone wearing a homophobic t-shirt or doing blackface should be criticized), but I mean just like... that sort of trivial bitter criticism that doesn’t do anything but make people feel bad about the way they look or make them afraid to dress in ways they feel comfortable. Like taking a picture of someone and posting it online to make fun of them because they wore socks with sandals, or bullying 14 year olds who just started doing makeup and haven’t totally gotten their look sorted out yet, etc. etc. (ESPECIALLY since this can often intersect with classism, racism, etc. if you really examine what people mock as 'ugly' or 'unacceptable' styles, it's often stuff like men wearing dresses/makeup, women not shaving, clothing associated with poverty (like wearing “”cheap”” clothes), physical traits commonly associated with poc, making fun of people who look a certain way likely due to mental illness (like fidgeting, dirty mismatched clothing, carrying stuffed animals or comfort items in public etc.), etc. etc.

I find costumes and makeup and outfits to be a very cool and fun way to express myself. So when people are complete freaks about it and set out to just relentlessly make others feel bad for no good reason, it’s like... obnoxious... How can you take something with so much potential and limit it and close others off and turn it into this rigid hateful thing, when it should be something that everyone is able to be passionate about and appreciate?? Outside appearance isn't everything, but it's a tool of expression for so many people and can relate to who they are as a person, people should never feel uncomfortable to be who they are or look how they look just because some dumbass rich person writing for a style magazine has the gall to declare some random thing to be 'Unfashionable' despite not having a genuinely creative bone in their body, or some bigot thinks that certain things are ‘ugly’ or ‘unprofessional’ due to their own mental associations, etc.

But anyway, I guess if I had to choose a few things that I just think look kind of odd to me personally/are generally off-putting...

--- the overdrawing lips thing when you can see the persons actual lip-line and it almost looks like they have two mouths or something? (if not done intentionally for costume makeup). It can look a little strange to me sometimes, like an optical illusion where you see multiple mouth lines at once?? idk like this?

--- freckles that are just round circles and really heavy and don’t look realistic (though again, I also realize this could just be the person’s first time drawing them on or something and I’m not mocking for lack of skill, etc. I just mean that it’s a little strange to look at, not actually BAD though) (and it can also be intentional, like for a cartoony costume look) ---- People adopting cutesy/childlike fashion and clothing and sexualizing it or using it as part of their sex/kink stuff.. I just feel like anything associated with children should not be sexualized..? If the first thing someone thinks when seeing children's school uniforms or frilly little girl’s doll dresses or whatever is that it could be a Hot Thing then hhh... like why is your brain making those connections lol.. People can dress how they want for whatever reasons they want, but that’s always personally creeped me out a little. Similar to our culture’s obsession with looking young being ‘hot’ (like a grown man wanting someone who’s a legal adult but still “looks 16″ or etc.), where it’s like.. okay, I guess yeah outwardly you can make that choice, and maybe aren’t directly causing harm, but.. the underlying tones of it and etc. still make it very unsettling to witness lol... ---- anything appropriated obviously, as well as fetishization or bastardization of cultures, like t-shirts with Japanese writing on them Just For Aesthetic, or taking certain culturally or religiously significant symbols or etc. and adopting them as ‘just a silly fashion’ thing when you’re actually being disrespectful, etc. ---- those shorts or whatever that go up extremely high on the hipbones always look a little weird to me lol, like they give a person funny proportions,

(you may have to right click open image in new window and zoom to see the text, but it’s like.. the blank space makes it look kind of weird to me? Like there’s too much where there’s just nothing going on? idk. That’s just my personal preference though, obviously I tend to lean towards busy designs lol)

That’s all I can think of though, like I said, I’m really not picky or judgy about fashion since I think people should be able to do whatever they want for the most part. I’m not like a “omg stripes should NEVER be worn with plaid!!” type person or something lol.

14. "Hey Luca! I love when you post about your world. Do you have a favorite species you've made up so far? Also, I hope you're holding up well during the crisis!"

AAaa thanks! I’m okay mostly. It’s distressing since because of my particular mental illness I already have constant paranoia and obsessions about health, so of course hearing about so much illness can be really triggering constantly and I’m preoccupied in never-ending anxiety spirals about mortality and etc. etc. etc. , but situationally, I’m just very thankful that nobody in my household has gotten sick yet and I desperately wish that will continue to be the case. *** *** ***

(ignore the *** *** *** , this is a text version of a physical compulsion (a hand movement) that I have to do when I mention certain topics lol.. the little man in my brain that controls my obsessive compulsive disorder says I must do certain things after saying or thinking certain things,, You Know How It Is )

And I really love worldbuilding questions, so thank you so much!!!!! Hghgh maybe it seems weird to favor any over the others, but of course I really like the Avirre'thel. Conceptually, I think their origin story and connection to ancient elves and their abilities and etc. put them in a really unique position in the broader world (some of the only truly immortal people to exist, the only people who can still decipher ancient elven texts in a way that makes sense, etc. etc.). Since Nanyevimi (my world) is really just a setting being built so that in the future I can set things within it (games, short stories, etc.), I think I'm drawn to the aspects of it that have the most potential to make interesting characters, and there are definitely a lot of pre-established dynamics with the Avirre'thel/in Navyete (their home country) as a whole that would make it an good place to set certain things, or a good group for a main character to be from, etc.

I do really like the Jhevona as a species overall too, even if I haven't developed them as much, they also kind of stand out as having some fairly unique features that put them in an interesting position in the world (being one of the most magically capable groups that exists but that also having downsides (health issues and infertility from magic exposure, etc.), how the necessity to keep control over their magic influences their culture, being some of the only natural shape-shifters, etc.). Within that, I REALLY love the Thastanri (a subspecies of Jhevona), like their connection to dreams, the Imkasyn, being one of the last few peoples in contact with real dragons, etc. etc. There are a lot of complex things going on in their area, so there’d be a lot of potential to tell a variety of stories or have interesting characters from that group.

AND, though it's supposed to be Unknown in the world so I won't talk about it just in case I ever write a book one day or something and need to preserve at least a FEW mysteries that I don't just outright explain in worldbuilding posts, Jhevona do have the most interesting origins of any species in my opinion. There are some things from before the timeline break sort of thing (where all recorded history was seemingly wiped and everyone had a big memory loss about 50,000 yrs ago) that people aren't aware of anymore... but Jhevona used to have a cool backstory and quite interesting function in society prior to that. There are some remnants in the genetics of the species and how their magic works (at least for certain groups) that kind of hint at how ancient Jhevona used to look and what they used to do, even though in the modern day things are very different.

15. "Top 10 songs you've been listening to lately?"

I don’t have a top 10 since I listen to everything for different reasons, and don’t have as deep a relationship with music the way some people do (like I don’t really have a favorite band or group I have a connection with that’s “gotten me through hard times”, or music I cry to/any songs that are specifically personally emotionally meaningful to me, etc., etc.), but here’s a quick playlist of a few favorite-ish things I’ve had in my head a lot recently -

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPmQ4SZdFFHNkgKo7nAiEMgVvLcycX5Qc

the last song on the list specifically I’ve been replaying a lot for some reason, I guess since it’s good background music as there’s no words. Particularly the part that starts around like 38 seconds in, something about that melody reminds me of something distant, in a dreamlike way. The past few days I mostly alternate between that song, Outstanding, and And The Beat Goes On lol

16. " Do you ever sell sculptures? I really like that little fawn!"

Yeah, I hope to eventually! Like I mentioned in question number three, if I can set up some sort of way to do auctions or etc, then maybe I can sell that one!

17 & 18 : '"aaa yay!! i missed your outfits!!!" / "can I just say love ur outfits! They're so cool and inspire me to draw my ocs with new outfits > o < and I love your cat too, please give him a big ol pat!"

Thank you!!!! more compliments posted just to show I appreciate them lol, even if I don’t publicly respond to every one~ And, the Boyes appreciate the pats.. here is them.. big babbeys...

#it bothers me still that I didn't take all the screenshots the same way and there's different colors of nu #mbers and etc. lol.... but some of those are from 4 months ago or more and I had already deleted the original ask #from my inbox so I can't go rescreencap it to match the others..#this is the issue inherent in taking so long to answer things that I just respond in large batches lol #replies #okay also I know it's been months but... one of you has to like this post or at least show you read/interacted with my #response somehow because I cannot spend like 4-5 hours typing stuff for others if nobody will read it ghghg #( i know i make it take longer by being rambly and etc. but.. still...)#I'm sorry they sat in my inbox a long time and etc. but... also..... my pwecious time and effort #i hope at least one of the people I'm responding to sees that i did indeed reply to them lol

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sweetcatmintea · 5 years

Text

The Hidden Markets

Flash Fiction Friday (Saturday edition)! I decided to try writing for a dnd character I’ve been making (despite having never played and no idea how to play ;u; I can dream right) to try to get more of a feel for her. I hope you enjoy going on a romp with Pepper! Feedback is appreciated ^u^

Big thanks to @cawolters for organising FFF and to @pheita for hosting!

Prompt: Mermaid Lights

Words: 1184

Characters: Pepper

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To start an adventure, you must first be equipped to handle the hurdles ahead. That was the wisdom spurring Pepper forward as she hopped through the perfect smooth circle in the centre of the quartz barrier. An uninteresting lump of rock in a vast red desert to the dismissive eye, a satisfyingly formed smoky cube to the interested. To here, the entrance to the fae community she called home. Pawed feet hit cool sand with barely a whisper. If she wanted to avoid the hot, hot, hot, glare of the midday sun, it was only practical to start in the early morning, chasing the fleeing frozen night. She stretched her arms over her head, waking sleepy muscles with a pop. Eager as she was to start, she delayed, savouring the bubbly anticipation. Another step forward. One step closer to the grand adventure of her dreams. A step to the friends, the allies, and the enemies waiting ahead. To the fun and, of course, glorious trinkets and treasures.

Appreciation done, she was off. There was a fair way between her home and the hidden market but sensibility didn’t reach her. Her pace matched her eagerness. Caution to the wind, she darted over rolling dunes, around forests of cacti and thorned yellow flowers, and across craggy paths. Sprinting for sprinting’s sake, she was halfway there by the sun completed its ascent, forcing a retreat. Despite the regulation efforts of her large mouse-like ears, she was still a mere mortal to the sun’s glorious indifference. Pepper perched herself in the cool shade of an abandoned den jutting from a cliff face. The delay was frustrating (and completely expected) at best, but she was foolhardy, not an idiot. She’d have to wait to move again. At least she had lunch. Munching on chunks of baked sweet potato, she watched shadows grow, crawling over sands. Occasionally, a bird call would echo through the stillness, breaking the monotony of it all. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. It was also boring. Pepper had places to be.

Finally, a jackalope lopped in front of her. It was safe to move again. The rabbit eyed her lazily as she shoved her belongings back into her warn leather satchel. He probably didn’t see her as much of a threat, being almost as tall as she was. Rude. She could take him. But not now. She had a market to get to.

A hidden market isn’t as hard to find as you might think. Like most puzzles, it’s pretty easy to figure out retrospective of the answer. All Pepper had to do was pin a mirage in place and jump in. Somehow, the novelty of the fall and stark contrast of daylight and cave depths never seemed to wear off. She loved the markets.

The dim bloomed gradually with coloured stones as Pepper’s eyes adjusted. There wasn’t much illumination but there was enough to guide the way. Clatter and ruckus of merchants and patrons bounced up the walls of the chambers. If she listened carefully, she could just make out the hiss of shifting sands above. The ground was worn smooth by centuries of traffic. Soon enough, the tunnel opened into a massive cavern, bustling and noisy as deals were thrown left right and centre. Fabric stalls littered the mouth, trailing up the walls and poking out of every viable cave. Colour as far as the eye could see. Incense and dried spices peppered the air while fellow bards moulded clamour into music. Unable to hold back an excited wiggle, Pepper hopped from foot to foot, dancing on her toes. Her long tail nearly toppled other visitors as she weaved between their legs. She had to remember not to let it thrash like that. Darting ahead again, she skittered up the walkway to the higher markets, following it deep into the heart of the cave.

The space was massive. Not by design, but necessity. Behind a fabric laid table, surrounded by his wares, a mermaid reclined. His tail, more snake than fish, curled around him with delicate veils of fins toying with light cast from his creations. Long and graceful as he was tall and imposing, desert mermaids were titans in their own right. His hand alone dwarfed the tiny Pepper. She stood proud, greeting him with a voice far bolder than one unaccustomed to feeling small.

“Hail and well met!” She squeaked, “I’m here for a lantern!” Mer made lights were works of art. Living below the sand left them without a need for light but a creator’s soul and admiration for the world above made them skilled craftsmen.

“Hail and well met Little Mouse. What do you have to offer me?” He smiled down at her, resting his chin on his palm like a sculpture bought to life. Turquoise nestled around his arms in slivers of gold woven so fine they put spiders to shame. The problem with mermaids was not that they were unbuyable but that they had valuables in excess.

“I am Pepper, the Soon to be Renown bard! Would you accept my services in exchange for a lantern?”

“I do not need a song Pepper the Bard. There is music all around us.”

“You’re in luck then! I am not a singing bard. I am a story teller.”

His copper green eyes sparkled with mischief. “A deal; if your story can make me laugh, you may have this lantern.”

The doubt never reached Pepper’s face, a confident grin in its place. She would prove that she had the skills to do this. She told of an elf mistaking a jackrabbit for a bugbear, having only seen his reflection in a coin and fleeing before he could approach.

Nothing.

She told of an old wizard accidentally hexing his chair to run away when a guest tried to sit on it.

Not even a chuckle.

She didn’t come here to leave empty handed! But she was also running out of ideas. There was one more, but it was far from good.

“This one will get you, prepare to farewell your lantern! What do you call it when a grandmother gets up to mischief?”

He arched a brow. “I don’t know. What do you call it?”

She threw her hands out. “She-Nana-gans!”

Silence. Both parties eyed each other, Pepper still holding her hand in the air, grinning awkwardly, the mermaid with an almost shocked expression.

Until he snorted. “That’s really bad.” Chuckles made his voice jump. “I’ve never heard a worse joke!” Nevertheless, he didn’t stop laughing, overtaken by the absurdity. It really was a terrible joke.

When he regained himself, he accepted defeat with grace, plucking a staff from beside him. Gently, aware of his size, he dropped it into Pepper’s still outstretched hands. She was too shocked to remember to retract them. It had a good weight to it. Carved agate winding down in a rough spiral. A hanging lantern rocked from the top, filled with water and holding several opal-like pastel stones. No doubt crafted from his own shed scales.

“You win Pepper the Bard. The lantern is yours.”

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Tag list

@inkovert, @snobbysnekboi, @kainablue, and @i-rove-rock-n-roll

#Flash Fiction Friday #fff25 #mermaid #short story #original story #desert mermaid #Pepper the Bard #writing #writblr

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

cirque d'amour - chapter one (trixya) - cal

AN: *tw: mild drug references* hello, hi! this is my first fic & my first time posting to Ao3 & AQ! the story is hugely inspired by the greatest showman & my love of drama simultaneously. latrice owns a Big Gay Circus where katya features as a provocative/gymnastics dancer. (u r welcome) but what happens when a cute little stranger captures her interest?

i am on Ao3 as https://archiveofourown.org/users/moastar

*huuuuge thank you to my proof-reader & supporter, elliot! ;)*

It was a beautiful night in Los Angeles.

Katya was staring dreamily at the crescent moon, a cigarette lingering between her index and middle fingers. Every time she took a hit, she watched the vapour rise into the sky and evaporate amongst the stars. She closed her eyes and took a moment to really breathe - she fondly called this exercise her ‘pre-show chill’. She knew she was due to command the stage at any minute, but this ritual was sacred, and should not be rushed.

She was rudely disturbed by a loud crashing behind her, and a muffled curse. The rooftop door swung open, and revealed a heavily sweating man, in full, unapologetic drag. Katya turned on her heels, her eyebrow raised as she took in the scene. Roy - no, Bianca - was fumbling with her towering ginger wig at the same time as trying to tug her ridiculously long gown from where it was caught in the door. “Fuck!” she rasped, sounding much more like Roy right now than Bianca, Katya thought fondly.

“Oh, mama,” Katya grinned at her friend, noticing the vein in his head throbbing. “What a mess.”

“You!” Bianca swung an accusing claw at her. “Get in here now, you witchy bitch! You’re on any minute, and I couldn’t find you anywhere! And for fuck sake, will you help me with this - agh - friggin' GOWN?”

Katya’s face broke out into a grimace, and she slapped her knee with amusement. “Oh, Bee,” she flicked the end of her cigarette out into the dark abyss, and she took a moment to watch the ash fly slowly out of sight before trotting over to her damsel in distress.

Bianca’s face looked like it was about to explode - even through the pounds of carefully applied make-up, Katya could make out the creeping redness. “Come here,” she wheezed, amusement lacing her words, before tugging lightly on the folds of Bianca’s dress. The trail released easily, and Bianca glared at Katya, who smiled sweetly back at her.

Bianca’s face softened, and she sighed. “Okay, queen,” a tiny smile played on her lips. “I’ve done my number and I’m about ready to get fucked up. It’s your turn. Now get out there, your public awaits.”

The crowd was positively buzzing with raw energy.

Katya lingered side-stage, scoping out her audience with interest. She immediately picked out the regular offenders - Raja, Courtney and Jay - and a grin bloomed on Katya’s face. She adored her dysfunctional little family, and it warmed her little gay heart how frequently they came to see the Cirque just to support her.

Katya was embezzled in sequins tonight - giving a dripping in jewels fantasy - and had chosen a very sexy black heel. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, knowing she looked good.

Her moment of shameless self-love was broken by an announcement from Latrice - I mean, with that beautiful, booming voice, how could it not be? - now striding centre-stage. “Ladies and gentle-MEN!” the last syllable was little less than a yell. “I am pleased to announce our next act of the evening, here at the fabulous Cirque.”

Katya can’t help but feel a fondness in her bones for the ringmaster - he was nothing less than fabulous himself. He towered above most common folk, was anything but slim, and was louder than a foghorn. That being said, he was the kindest soul Katya had ever had the pleasure to meet.

“She’s bendy, she’s wiry, she’s sexy as hell, bitch,” Latrice waggled his eyebrows and the crowd went wild, spurring him on with their energy. From the sidelines, Katya held her breath.

“It’s -

YEKATERINA

PETROVNA

ZAMO-LOD-CHIK-O-VA!”

Latrice shuffled excitedly off-stage, and the lights dimmed. The crowd were cheering deafeningly now, and Katya swore she could hear Courtney’s screaming above them all.

Lana Del Rey’s “Million Dollar Man” started to play, weaving a spell on the eagerly awaiting crowd. Katya herself became tangled up in the spell, and she gracefully stepped out to meet the booming applause.

She turned to gaze at the many pairs of eyes all trained on her, and she gave a flirtatious smile before biting down on her finger. The reaction of the people at her feet gave her a thrill - she can do the simplest of things, and have them all begging her for more. She threw her arms out gracefully, pulling her hands back to caress her body and lose herself in the song. Her hands ran from her breasts to her torso - slowly, teasingly - and down to her hips. She then licked a finger suggestively, and ran her hand over her crotch, raising her eyebrows at her captivated crowd. She glided closer to the edge of the stage, taking exaggerated steps to show off her boots. She bent her knees and pushed her whole body backwards, so all the people could see was her legs. There was a collective gasp at that, and Katya smiled, before shuffling like a graceful crab to the side so that all could see her body bent impressively in a 'n’ shape. She rose to a stand and glided back to the centre.

Katya leaned against a pole that was placed centre-stage, and dropped slowly to the floor, her legs splaying in the most impressive split. Wolf whistles and screaming filled the air, and Katya grinned at her audience. It was at that moment that her eyes caught sight of someone she’d never seen before - her face illuminated by the dancing lights.

She was petite and reminded Katya instantly of a Barbie-doll. She looked sickeningly innocent and sweet, as if she would taste of honey. She was gazing at Katya with wonder, much like the other faces in the crowd, but Katya sensed something different about her - something almost fairy-like. Katya herself became captivated, and she almost - not quite, but almost - forgot to finish her number. Tearing her eyes away from the adorable stranger, Katya shot a wink in the direction of her friends, who were jumping up and down amongst the madness.

She dropped slowly to the floor, spreading her body provocatively against the wooden stage, and accepted the abundant offering of tips from those closest to her - boy and girl alike.

The song came to an end and Katya rose to stand, and bow, against the thunderous applause. Latrice skittered across the stage to stand at Katya’s side, beads of sweat glistening across his forehead.

“Now that,” Latrice boomed into his mic, clasping a strong hand on Katya’s back. “Was enough to turn me straight. HA-HA! No, of course I’m kidding. GIVE IT UP FOR OUR OWN MISS ZAMO-LOD-CHIK-O-VA!”

Katya smiled into the second round of cheers, casting a darting eye into the crowd to find the sweet stranger, only to be mildly disappointed at the realisation that she was gone.

“Zamo, you just get better every time.”

Courtney was leaning against the bar, tapping her acrylic nails against the wood as she impatiently awaited her drinks.

Katya smiled at her. “Thanks, mama.”

Courtney eventually handed Katya a cocktail, complete with a tiny umbrella. Katya cocked a questioning eyebrow at her for a heartbeat, before Courtney hissed; “It’s a virgin, girl.”

Katya pursed her lips around the straw, being careful not to smudge her lipstick. “Where’s Jay and Raja?” She mumbled through tentative sips. Courtney tossed her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder with a mildly bored expression.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed dramatically, waving a perfectly manicured hand in a vague direction. “I think they went for a smoke.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Katya grinned, well aware of Courtney’s disdain for the smoker’s break. Courtney’s lip twitched before she mirrored Katya’s smile. “Girl, you deserve it,” She slapped an encouraging hand on Katya’s arm. “You go ahead. I want to watch Violet.”

Violet certainly was one to watch - an aerial artist, who never failed to snatch a few wigs, and a perfect final act of the cirque.

Katya fought through the heaving crowd to the cool evening air outside. She spotted Jay immediately - how could she not, they were wearing all baby pink with glittery platform shoes, complete with a cap that spelled out “werk” in cheap gem stones - talking rapidly with the quietly towering Raja beneath a palm tree. As Katya made her way over to them, flipping a cigarette out from the stash in her bra, she thought (and not for the first time) what a strange couple they made.

“And so I says to him…oh, AYO! SIS!” Jay spun around immediately when they noticed Katya drifting towards them.

Katya saluted at Jay and couldn’t help but notice a scattering of dust beneath his nostrils. Jay threw their arms around Katya and trapped her in a vice-like grip. Katya wound her hand around Jay’s back to pat them gently, glancing at Raja. Raja’s dark, hooded eyes regarded her for a moment, before giving her a little shrug.

“Hey, you were great, as always,” Raja murmured - their voice always sounded like black silk, and Katya loved it. “Jay here was getting their life.”

But Jay wasn’t paying attention - their perfectly shaped eyebrow was raised in questioning, looking past Katya’s shoulder. Katya turned to follow their gaze, and she was surprised to find the sugar plum fairy from the audience - the one who had momentarily captivated her.

“Hey,” she smiled sweetly, her cheeks blooming red with - what? Embarrassment? Warmth? Alcohol? Katya laughed nervously, regretting her actions immediately. “I-uh, sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear,” Katya’s words came out in a messy tumble, and she was acutely aware that her friends were watching this exchange with barely muted interest.

The girl in front of her looked somewhat taken aback, but she continued none-the-less. “I just wanted to say I really loved your performance. I mean, you probably get this a lot, but your dancing is pretty compelling.”

Katya snorted. “Yeah, it usually compels people to leave the room.”

The girl’s face broke out with glee, and a loud laugh-scream hybrid escaped her lips. Katya felt a buzz from this reaction, and she started to laugh herself, broken by wheezing.

“I’m Trixie,” the girl said, wiping a tear from her eye. Katya took a moment to examine her face - her make-up was a lot, her winged eyeliner creeping across her face and her contour cutting sharp lines into her cheeks. Katya liked it, she realised, and re-visited the idea that this girl could quite literally be a Barbie, complete with all the pink and blonde curls.

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova,” Katya grinned, offering Trixie her hand. “But you can call me Katya.”

Trixie took Katya’s hand with amusement - Katya noticed how clammy her hand must’ve felt in Trixie’s cool, soft one - before the air was broken by a loud caterwauling, not dissimilar to a cat. Trixie turned on her cowboy boots to greet the person responsible for the din.

“Babe,” a girl appeared behind her, fashioning an all-denim body suit that glittered in the yellow light of the streetlamps. “Where were you?”

Katya regarded the new addition to the scene with a stiff lip - she was stunning. Her eyes were painted with glittering blue eye shadow to match her outfit, and her perfect blonde hair was streaked with every colour of the rainbow. “Sorry girl,” Trixie grinned at her, a clear note of admiration in her voice. Katya felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. “I was talking to the star of the show.” The other girl noticed Katya for the first time - she was chewing gum incessantly, and Katya was reminded just how much she hated that.

“Oh, hey,” the girl muttered, sounding bored.

“This is my girlfriend, Willam,” Trixie snaked her arm around the smaller girl, but Willam ducked out of her hug and grasped Trixie’s wrist. “Come on, babe, Violet is due on any minute, and she is fierce!”

Trixie shrugged apologetically at Katya, allowing herself to be lead back to the heat of the club. Katya watched her go, her face pinched sourly. Jay appeared at her side. “You look pissed,” they chortled, slapping Katya playfully on her arm. “Better look next time, sis. You know you can have anyone you want.”

Yes. Katya did know that. The thing is, she didn’t usually want anyone. Not for more than a moment of heat in the club’s bathroom, or gracing a stranger’s bed for a night. But Trixie - Trixie had captivated her interest from the moment she saw her, and Katya was not ready for that. Oh, not at all.

#cal #trixya #lesbian au #circus au #smut #fluff #slow burn #pining #tw drug use #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #aja #courtney act #bianca del rio #latrice royale #rpdr fanfiction #cirque d'amour #raja gemini

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rumoursmadness · 6 years

Text

(He Makes Her) Ataraxia

Cole X Anxious!Elf!Reader

She was afraid. It was irrational, she knew, to feel this way. To be afraid of something like this. Something so normal. But she couldn’t help it. She didn’t mean to be like this. Didn’t want to be. But she was and she couldn’t change that. She could only endure.

Trembling, (Y/n) hugged her arms closer to her body as crowds of people flooded the shops and streets. People pushing and shoving with no concern for who it was they were batting out of their way. She walked quickly, her footsteps tap, tap, tapping on the stone as she tried to avoid the nobles who would, no doubt, turn their noses up at her. A little elf that looked as if she hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks. She hated being an elf.

She hated the pointed ears that stuck out, visible, for all to ogle and laugh at. She hated the names that they called her. Knife ear. Savage. She wasn’t savage. They twitched, sensitive to the loud shouts and laughter that echoed all around her. Oh, she hated it when they did that. She pulled her hood further down. Hiding. She was always hiding. She didn’t want to hide, but she did. She couldn’t make up her mind. It was confusing.

She skittered out of the way as a rather large man sprinted past, a wooden crate in his arms. She wondered who he was and what was in it. Maybe vegetables. Maybe he was a farmer, selling his produce. Or maybe a baker, who ran out of flour and needed to make a last minute purchase. Maybe even a high ranking thief. The crate filled with jewels he’d swiped from the prissy pants nobles that wandered about.

She loved to wonder. It helped when the fear became too much. It kept her from screaming, kept the tears at bay for just a little longer. Just a little while longer. She wanted to go home. Back to her Clan. Back to the forests and the lakes and the animals that wouldn’t judge her because of her ears or the tattoos on her face. But she couldn’t. There couldn't be three mages in a single Clan and all of the others refused to take her. She was too strange. Too different. They thought her an easy target for demonic possession. They didn’t want to take the chance. Didn’t want to risk it.

So they left me stranded in the woods with almost nothing. They had been afraid. They didn’t understand. And people, no matter who they were, feared what they didn’t understand.

She breathed in and out. Shaky breaths. Chin trembling and eyes welling with tears. She didn’t like to remember. She didn’t like crowds either. She didn’t like them very much at all. She grew aware of her reddening cheeks. Whether they were caused by the sun that was harshly beating down on her or the anxiety building up in her stomach, she didn’t know. She just wanted it to go away. She placed her trembling hands against them, the coolness of her palms pressing against the burning flesh.

It didn’t help. She was still hot. Oh so hot. She couldn’t breathe. Her nose hurt. It stung as she held back her tears. She couldn’t do this here. Not here. Not in the middle of the market place surrounded by nobles who would sneer at her. A strange little Dalish elf that suddenly burst into tears in the middle of the street. They would laugh at her. Laugh and point and snort. They wouldn’t care. Wouldn’t try to help. They would watch...her…

Watch…

They would watch…

And laugh And laugh And….

Slowly, her mind began to unravel as her thoughts consumed her; until it was all that she could hear. In that moment it was all that she was. There was no more (Y/n). Just those thoughts. Pulling and yanking her down..

down…

‘Yes. They will laugh and you will cry and then they will laugh some more.. You are afraid. So, so afraid. Of what? Of people? Of the crowds? You are weak. Afraid of something so mundane. When there are people stuck in the Circles like the one you escaped, who are you to be afraid of something so... s m a l l...’

That voice, oh so dark and dreadful. It made her fall faster. Made the web in her mind tangle and twist and turn. She was stuck. Caught in the spider’s web. Alone. Abandoned. Afraid...she was so afraid. She just wanted to go home. Mamae, I’m scared.

I can’t breathe.

I’m going to die.

It happened so quickly. She didn’t hear his warning. His shouts, telling her to move. She didn’t hear anything. Only felt a dull ache in her nose as something slammed into her, knocking her off of her feet and onto… What? She had expected to land on the hard stone below her. She expected torn skin and blood and pain, not...itchy wool.

“It’s alright. You will be okay. Don’t cry.” A voice. Different. It wasn’t harsh and cold and scary like the one that was screaming in her head. It was soft, calm, gentle. Like ripples in a pond. Kind.

The sun was gone and with it some of the heat that burned her (S/t) skin. She was hidden underneath a rather large hat, looking up into clear blue eyes. She blinked away the tears that obscured her vision.

A boy...or...young man, was looking down at her, a gentle smile graced his lips. His blonde locks dangled messily into his face, partially hiding the eyes that had brought her back from the abyss. He was rather pale and she noticed a light dusting of freckles on his nose. Barely noticeable unless one looked hard enough. She thought his nose was a tad bit big for his face, but it suited him, she supposed.

“Heavy and hot. A suffocating blanket wrapped around a heavy heart. You’re afraid. Of them. The people. But you don’t have to be. They aren’t watching. The baker and the farmer, selling their food. The thief, swiping their jewels. They aren’t watching. They’re people too.”

His voice seemed to have a calming affect as he spoke to her. His words dipping and twirling and rattling around in her head to the tune of an old Dalish lullaby that she thought she’d forgotten. Idly, she wondered if he was a mage. There was no way that someone had a voice that was as naturally soothing as his was. Yes. There had to have been magic involved.

She flinched slightly as the pads of his thumbs wiped away the tears that had spilled over her cheeks. She sniffled and trembled as she felt a cool breeze brush against her ears. In the scuffle her hood had fallen off and pooled around her neck. She felt it again, clawing up and into her throat, making her want to vomit. They could see! She didn’t want them to see.

“Frantic. Frightened. A web of fear meant to entangle and trap. It wants to become you. Don’t let it take you. Just breathe.”

Just breathe. Those words. She’d heard them before. That’s what they always told her. ‘Just breathe, (Y/n) it will pass.’ It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. She couldn’t. She was choking. The lump in her throat seemed to grow with each passing moment. She let out a strangled sob.

I’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodie-I can’t!

“I can’t breathe! I’m going to die!” His voice seemed to mimic the sheer terror and turmoil that she felt within. Wait-how did he know what she was thinking? “But you won’t. You will not die.” His voice was his own now, calm, kind but firm and filled with conviction. He wouldn’t let her die. This stranger. She felt it in her heart.

Once more she looked into his eyes, filled as they were with determination and otherworldliness. He wasn’t a normal person. He wasn’t like her or them or anyone else, she could tell.

“Just breathe with me. In and out. The breath of life. You are full and then empty and then full again. You are in control.” Just like Mamae used to say.

She did as the strange man said. Focusing on the cool air that slowly but surely filled her lungs. Vaguely, she remembered her mother, kind and gentle as she had been. Helping her stave off a panic attack even on her death bed. She remembered the reassuring hugs and disapproving looks whenever she said that she couldn’t.

‘You are stronger than you think, Da'len.’ She was stronger than she thought. No demon would take her shape. He wouldn’t let it. She wouldn’t let it. As the anxiety began to slowly ebb away, relief filled her and she nearly collapsed. But he was there. The stranger with the big hat and pretty eyes. He held her until she could stand on her own. Whispering words of encouragement, helping her to ignore the curious glances of passerby.

She glanced up at him, her breathing almost back to normal as a sense of calmness overcame her. This man, with his bedraggled leathers and itchy woolen shirt had saved her. He had done more for her than anyone in her Clan had ever done. He helped her.

“Who are you?” Whispered words. Shy. Afraid, but differently now. She was grateful.

His smile widened as he spoke, “I am Cole.” Cole… What a completely ordinary name for someone so very not. She thought it suited him.

“Thank you, Cole.” She smiled this time. It was soft and small but still a smile. He had helped. That was all that he had ever wanted to do. Help.

“I am glad I helped.” She glanced up, looking for pale blue eyes but found nothing but air. Cold and empty.

Confused, she looked around. What was she doing here? Turning, she saw a boy...or...young man, weaving through the crowd. His hat, huge as it was, hid blonde locks that dangled messily into his face, hiding clear blue eyes that she would only ever see again in her dreams. She wondered, idly, what his name was. It had to have been unusual just like him. She rubbed her head, smoothing down the (H/c) strands before shrugging. She pulled up her hood before walking away, out of the shadows. She had to find a place to stay for the night.

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grammarkid · 7 years

Text

hey, guys! so i just hit 700 followers!! and since i hit the milestone on the night before halloween, i thought i’d celebrate by throwing together a little supercorp halloween drabble. :) i wrote it p quickly, so it’s probably got a ton of errors, but i just wanted to throw something out there for the holiday, idk. um, here u go?

Kara’s staring.

She’s staring and, gosh, she knows she is – very blatantly, at that – but she can’t help it, because Lena’s so – she’s just – just so –

Rao, that dress! And the make-up! The – the cleavage!

She’s absolutely to die for, utterly divine.

Kara, on the other hand? Kara’s the definition of a big fat Kryptonian mess right now. She can’t think, she can’t speak, she can hardly breathe – and, suddenly, her decision to attend her own costume party as a very large sandwich – a ‘super hero,’ heh – seems extremely… unfortunate.

Because everyone else picked a cool, badass costume, which is horrible enough, but now Lena’s here, and she’s all smoldering eyes and pouty lips and – and Kara’s stomach promptly drops into her feet when Alex laughs and says, “Alright, it’s a good costume, I’ll give you that, but now you’ve got to sell me on it. Give us your best impression!”

And then, Rao, her knees legitimately start to shake as Lena, accepting the challenge, turns to her. She lays her hand on Kara’s arm gently and presses in close, affects a low, breathy voice, and says, “Gomez, last night you were… unhinged.”

At once, all the blood in Kara’s body seems caught in a violent battle, torn between rushing to her face and rushing… elsewhere, but Lena’s not done.

“You were like some desperate, howling demon.”

Her eyes seem to bear right into Kara’s soul, her fingers clutching at Kara’s bicep, slowly and surely stripping her of all sanity. Right in front of their friends, mortifyingly enough!

“You frightened me.”

There is the faintest hint of a pout in her brow and in the set of her lips, and it remains there just long enough for Kara to feel it, like a Kryptonite dagger driven into the soft tissue of her gut – before it smooths into a devilish smile.

“Do it again,” she begs breathlessly.

Oh, have mercy…

When she’s finished, Kara bursts out laughing in a nervous, obnoxious sort of way, and the inhuman sound of it almost seems to score her throat raw. Everyone else claps, drowns it out for the most part, but the tight pitch of her voice couldn’t have gone unnoticed. (Alex’s knowing smirk seems to suggest that it didn’t, and Kara studiously avoids her gaze.)

Lena smiles and bows her head graciously at the applause. She steps back, but her hand trails down the length of Kara’s forearm, evoking goosebumps and a tremble that makes Kara’s fingers twitch with the longing to chase after her.

Kara feels like her heart is beating ten times its normal rate and she’s sure her face is as red as her cape and boots, but the others are, thankfully, too enamored by Lena’s performance to comment.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, but from what I remember, you nailed it,” James says.

“If they ever announce a remake,” Maggie warns, “I’m tweeting your name at every director in Hollywood.”

“It suits you, with the dark hair and pale skin, obviously, but –” Winn gestures to the full length of her dress, the elegant black lace draped from her shoulders to her ankles, fitted so snugly every stitch could be undone with a heavy sigh. “What made you choose… you know?”

Yes, thank you! Kara would really like to know that! Because, as of now, it seems like the only reason Lena could possibly have for making such a choice is to sate her desire to absolutely unravel the tightly wound spool of Kara’s mind. Simply being next to her is a special kind of agony, because she’s standing there like a goddess, stealing all the attention in the room like some porcelain vision out of a gothic daydream with the Junoesque figure of a Renaissance sculpture and –

Lena shrugs lightly. “It was one of my favorite movies as a child, as strange as that sounds,” she laughs. “At times, growing up as a Luthor didn’t seem very different from growing up as an Addams.”

Alex laughs wryly and passes her a beer. “Let’s drink to that.”

Lena accepts the beer with a small, grateful smile. “Anyway, I’m a little too old to be Wednesday now, but I thought Morticia would work just as well.”

“Oh, yeah,” Alex says – a bit too knowingly for Kara’s liking. “Like Winn said, it suits you. You’ve really got the whole ‘ethereal beauty’ thing down.”

Lena blushes just a bit. (And it frustrates Kara to no end, because why is it so unbearably lovely?) “Thank you, Alex.”

“Don’t you think, Kara?”

Kara nearly chokes on the Sierra Mist she’s been compulsively guzzling from the plastic cup clutched in her fist like a traveler dying of dehydration in the Sahara.

“What?”

“What do you think of Lena’s costume?”

On the receiving end of Alex’s expectant stare, she giggles through a rather graphic mental recollection of every Kryptonian curse she ever learned, and glances nervously in Lena’s direction. Lena gazes back, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I – she’s – I mean, you’re – uh –” Kara gulps. “Hot. Look hot – I mean, you look hot! Are you thirsty? You’re probably thirsty! I’m gonna go get you a –”

“But, Kara, I have –”

“Kara, she already has a –”

“I’ll – I’ll be right back! One drink, coming right up!”

She bumps into the dining table as she struggles toward the kitchen and sends it skittering three feet back, toppling over all the cups and bottles resting on top of it in the process.

“Oops. That was… an accident. Sorry. I’ll, um – I’m – you like cherry soda, right? I think I have… some… in the…”

Kara yanks the refrigerator door off the hinges in her desperation to bury her head in it.

Whoops.

If she survives the night without revealing her true identity to Lena, it’ll be a miracle. Provided, of course, she survives the night at all… which, honestly, seems unlikely, because she knows that as soon as she turns around, she’s going to be face to face with…

Oh, Rao, she actually shivers at the memory.

One thing is for sure. She’s never having a costume party again.

#idk what to tag this as #thank u for 700 followers?#happy halloween?#supercorp #i guess??#ok but seriously #as an aside #i just watched the addams family with my gf last night #and i thought that lena would make an amazing morticia #i've also seen that post with the fanart of lena as morticia and kara as gomez #but this isn't technically related to that in any way #i was just reminded of how much i loved the movie #and i wanted to take a break from my long angsty fics #and write something fun #ok i'm done now #goodbye 2k17

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hekate1308 · 7 years

Text

The Not-So-Friendly Ghost

Basically, this is pure wish fulfillment. Also, no Beta this time around, because I want to see the reviews coming in whether I’ve gotten over my bitterness before I inflict my typos on anyone again.

Anyway, enjoy!

@dmsilvisart @shaonharryandpannisim

Things actually calm down for a while.

Maybe that is the very thing that puts Dean on edge, but anyway, he is the first of them to notice something’s up.

His things start... moving around. Only slightly, just a tick to the left and the right, but he was brought up to notice these things, so how can he not?

Still, he might just be paranoid, so he doesn’t bring it up to Sam or Cas, who just recently moved into the bunker once and for all. No reason to start the alarm just because he’s a little jumpy.

After all, why should the bunker be haunted of all places?

Only that it’s more than him being jumpy, because on the next hunt, he gets knocked around by a ghost who in turns gets thrown across the room.

What the hell?

At first he has no idea what is going on.

And then he remembers a samurai sword sliding into his hand.

There’s a ghost around. Has to be. It’s the only explanation. But why, and how?

He pretty soon figures out that it’s only around him anything remotely spooky happens, and never when he’s with anyone. Aside from when he’s hunting and his new... bodyguard decides to act.

Dean can’t really say why he doesn’t mention it to Sam or Cas; maybe, he’ll late think, he felt from the first this wasn’t an evil power.

How ironic, all things considered. But that’s for later, when he’s gotten used to this new normal.

For now, he’s curious enough to try an Ouija board one night.

“Hey” he says, feeling as silly as when he did his own ghosting around in a hospital so long ago, “You there?”

Before he can say another word, the arrow slitters over to Yes. If he was talking to a human, he’d say it was an impatient gesture.

“Okay. Next question. Do I know you?”

The cursor flies of the board, makes a circle through the room, and lands on Yes again.

“No need to be so dramatic, jeez. Just can you maybe give me a hint? Most people I know don’t have much of a life span...”

The arrow starts moving fast. He can barely keep track.

“Now, slow down – “ he stops talking because of the three letters he just read.

S-Q-U-I-R-

There are barely any words that start with this combo. There are barely any words that have this combo to begin with.

No. It can’t be. He wasn’t – he wouldn’t come back as a ghost –

“No way in Hell. If you really are who you say you are, tell me something only I would know.”

The cursor moves again.

T-H-E-T-R-I-P-L-E-T-S-W-E-R-E-B-L-O-N-D-E-S

Fair enough, but that’s easy to guess –

M-A-L-E-S

He swallows. “Crowley? Is it really you?”

The arrow draws circles around the word yes, then proceeds to hop up and down the board.

“Hey, I get it.” Dean blinks. Truth is, he has no idea what to do. So Crowley’s a ghost now. Should he help him move on? But that would certainly mean him landing back in hell, and why should they just repeat that? Crowley was- is – a friend. Kind of.

Also there’s the fact that Dean is so freaking happy he feels like bursting into song. He missed the damn demon, alright? Maybe a bit more than he let on when Sam and Cas commented on his bad mood. Repeatedly.

“You feel particularly vengeful? More than you used to be, I mean?”

The arrow skitters over to No.

“So basically you’re just... hanging out?”

Yes.

“Okay. Cool.”

He’s definitely not going back to sleep tonight. Remembering Bobby, he asks, “So if I... pour out a drink for you, you can actually sip it?”

Yes.

And that’s how he ends up sharing a drink with Crowley once more, if a bit more quietly than he’s used to, if he ignores the Ouija board, because the demon – ghost – whatever is apparently ecstatic about being able to communicate.

That last motel was god awful –

You needed way too long to figure out it was a tulpa three months ago in Miami –

That ghost was so pathetically weak –

It all runs together after a while, but Dean doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“Dean?” Sam asks the next morning.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Sure” he says, looking from him to Cas, who looks as confused as Dean himself feels at the question.

“You were just humming while making me a spinach omelette.”

“So? Can’t a guy just be in a good mood for once?”

Because he is. He really is. Somehow, their team feels more complete now that Crowley’s returned to them – even if only in spirit form.

The Ouija board gets tiresome after a while, so Dean takes a pencil and notebook and it turns out Crowley can write things down. Awesome. He just has to be careful that the others don’t see it, because Crowley’s handwriting is pretty distinct. Seriously, did he practice calligraphy when he was alive?

He still hasn’t told Sam and Cas. Crowley is obviously haunting him specifically anyway, and he’s not doing anything evil, so what’s the damage?

He also knows exactly what they would say and do, and he’s not the least ready to say goodbye, he admits to himself a week after they first communicated.

Turns out he missed the demon more than even he realized.

Thing is, Dean gets that being haunted is supposed to be awful and scary and whatnot, especially if the one who’s haunting you was kind of a friend back when he was alive.

But truth is, it’s not. Sure, it can be a tad annoying when Crowley is bored, but it’s Crowley. Things could be way worse.

One morning, he stumbles into the kitchen. Next thing he knows, a cup of coffee drifts over, exactly how he likes it. “Thanks, man.”

It’s surprisingly easy to get used to it. It helps that Crowley’s bored out of his mind, apparently, because Dean simply stops dropping things, even when he’s had a few drinks; truth is, they just keep getting caught just in time by his helpful spirit pal, as he calls him in his head but never to his not-face.

“Hey!” he complains one afternoon when Crowley switches the channel. “That’s Doctor Sexy!”

I am dead and I can feel my brain cells evaporating, the notepad declares.

He rolls his eyes.

“What do you want to watch, your Highness?”

Huh. The 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice. He doesn’t even have that bad a taste.

It’s then and there that Dean admits to himself that he’s clinically insane, but can’t bring himself to care, especially because soon afterwards a bowl of popcorn comes drifting his way.

And then comes the night when Crowley decides to have an opinion. Dean’s about to reach for the bottle of jack to refill his glass when –

It skitters away.

“Hey!”

It skitters further. “What do you think you are doing – “

And with that, the bottle takes flight. “Oh no you don’t – “

Thing is, both Dean and Crowley were pretty sure Sam’s asleep and Cas in his room.

They aren’t. In fact, they’re just coming down the hallway and the bottle hits Sam straight in the face.

“What – “

And so Dean has no other choice but to confess.

Sam is incredulous at first. “A ghost demon? Dean, you’re not so gullible.”

“Do you really think I can’t tell? Crowley, write something down for Sam to make him see.”

Crowley complies. He usually does, unless Dean asks for really stupid stuff.

I am dead, Moose. Thought you’d be happy. You were the one who wanted to kill me dead, remember?

Sam stares at the paper. “That sounds like him.”

“Told you.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Dean shrugs. “A while.”

“A while?”

“He’s not doing any harm, is he?”

“Harm – Dean it’s Crowley as a ghost. God knows what he gets up to.”

That’s what you get for being a helping hand, the ghost writes.

Dean snorts.

“Dean – “

“Come on, Sam, we’re good. There’s no danger. Do you feel anything, Cas?”

“Now that I know a spirit’s here, I can feel it, but it’s definitely not vengeful.”

“There you have it, Sammy.”

He leaves them there, wishing that this could be all... Only it’s Sam, and if he knows one thing about his brother, it’s that he doesn’t know when to leave him alone.

And so a few days later, he tries again.

“Dean...” Sam trails off when he sees the chess board in front of him. “What are you doing?”

“Playing chess. Just try doing anything else with him; he’ll cheat every time.”

His king falls down. “Oh, don’t you start, you know you do.”

“Dean, can we talk?” his brother asks. “Alone?”

“Sure. Crowley, stay put, alright? And don’t even think about it. I know exactly where each piece is standing.”

He follows Sam into the library.

“So” his brother begins. “You were just playing chess. With a ghost who used to be a demon”.

“Yep. We were bored.”

“You were – Dean, don’t you realize this is a little bit crazy?”

“Compared to what? God’s sister?”

His brother sighs. “Alright I – look I’m a little nervous, that’s all.”

“Why? It’s Crowley.”

“Exactly!”

“If you’re worried he’s going to get crazy, don’t be. I think it has something to do with him not being human before he was a ghost, but – “

“Fine” Sam mutters and leaves.

Dean shrugs and returns to the game. “Alright, that bishop was not standing on E3 – ”

Crowley puts it back. “That’s better.”

He gets that most people would consider what he’s doing insane. On a case, they meet some other hunters, and while they’re discussing the options, he asks his notebook, “Any ideas?”

Rachel, the hunter, jumps when the pen gets taken up. “What’s that? Some Harry Potter horcrux thing?”

“Nah, just Caspar the helpful ghost” Dean simply replies, reading Crowley’s answer. “ A wraith? Could be. And you know you’re helpful, shut up.”

When Rachel looks at Sam, he shrugs.

It’s a wraith after all, and they deal with it soon enough.

That night, he gets woken by all of his books being thrown off their shelves.

“What the – Crowley, what are you – “

The Blade he used to fight through Purgatory flies across the room.

“Are you trying to kill someone, stop – “

His closet bursts open and his flannel shirts fall out.

“Crowley – “

The answer is just more chaos, and he would think his demon-slash-ghost-kind-of-friend has finally snapped, only...

Nothing has hit Dean yet. Sure, he’ll have to fix his room, but that’s just a small inconvenience.

Which means that this is not an angry ghost out to hurt him.

No, this is a ghost crying out in panic. But what can possible be the matter? If Dean or the others were in danger, Crowley would act rationally to prevent things from happening; so what –

Unless – if –

Dean sprints out of the bed. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

When he reaches the war room, he hears Cas. “Sam, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Cas, it’s getting out of hand. I caught him playing chess with the ghost in the war room.”

“It’s not just “a ghost””. Now Cas sounds decidedly bitter. “I know you want to help your brother, but sometimes you forget – “

“Cas, he was playing games with a demon turned ghost.”

“Chess is a highly interesting strategy game that involves – “

“For the last time: I am doing this. You can either stay or go.”

For one moment Dean is frozen, unable to breathe. For once things have calmed down, they have been hunting quietly, he actually feels pretty good about his life, and his brother wants to –

“Sam” Cas suddenly says, sounding serious, “I don’t think I – “

And that is all Dean needs to storm in and snatch the bowl out of Sam’s hands. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“What we always do, help spirits move on!”

“Move on to where? Do you know he’d end up in Heaven, for sure? No you don’t! And can’t you imagine how many demons would be glad to see him back in Hell?” Dean snarls, holding up the bowl, which is violently knocked out of his hands by Crowley.

“Look what you’re doing! What you’re turning into!”

“What do you mean!?”

“The old Dean would never have tolerated a ghost hanging around! We even helped Bobby go to Heaven – “

“When he went berserk, Sam. Crowley will never become a vicious spirit, because he already was – as a demon.”

“We don’t know that for sure!”

“No we don’t, but do you think I wouldn’t be able to tell?”

“We know ghosts can possess people” Sam argues.

Dean looks at him. Finally he says, “Sometimes I think you don’t know me at all.”

He turned and leaves.

He half-expects Cas to follow him, and he does. “Dean, I want you to know – “

“I heard you. You weren’t completely on board. Got it.”

Then, unexpectedly, Cas looks up and say, “Crowley, I apologize to you as well.”

A pillow flies from Dean’s bed and hits Cas on the head. “Pretty sure that was him patting you.”

“I can easily believe that” the angel deadpans.

Dean grins.

The next few days are tense. Sam is silent, Dean is still a bit angry with him, and Cas is... well, Cas.

At least Dean thinks so until he hears the angel talking to himself one day.

“No, no, that would make it worse, I think. Dean’s so happy you’re back. He would probably think it was Sam’s fault.”

Dean listens but doesn’t hear a thing. “Yes, I know. But you and Dean were closer when you were alive.”

He’s talking to Crowley. Dean really shouldn’t eavesdrop but can’t help it.

“Crowley, you must know that... Dean has considered you part of team free will for a while now. He once – I know he has faith in you.” After a pause he adds, “As do I.”

Next thing Dean hears sounds like the notebook being thrown against a wall.

“Crowley?” Cas asks but apparently gets no answer and Dean steals away.

He returns to his room and a piece of paper with the word EAVESDROPER and a caricature of him being painted on it. He chuckles. “Come on.”

He still keeps the drawing.

After another few days during which he pointedly asks Crowley for the most mundane stuff when Sam is around to show he’s not a goddamn monster, his brother appears to be relenting; but he only truly learns what it means to have a ghost on their side during another hunt, when a werewolf who just threw off Cas is about to rip Sam’s throat.

Because he suddenly throws his head back and yowls in pain, giving Sam time to scramble away and Dean to shoot him.

On the way home, Sam’s silent for a long time. Then, he says, “Thanks, Crowley.”

The lights go on and off three times.

“I agree” Dean says, and the world rights itself.

Over the next few months, Sam and Cas start to address Crowley randomly too.

“I don’t recognize that word” the angel explains one day when they’re working on a script in Ancient Greek, “but then, as you would say, it has been a while. Crowley, could you – “

He’s already scribbling down the translation.

On another occasion, Dean finds Sam in the library. “You looking for something?”

“I know there was this one book about Egypt spells, but – “

It falls down in front of Sam. “Thank you, Crowley.” He blinks. “Good God, I just realized I’ve gotten used to this.”

“Join the club” is all Dean replies.

And this seems to be the way things are, until they stumble across an old witch. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but Cas feels her powers on their trip through town, so they decide to check it out.

They didn’t realize how old she is.

Some of the pictures on her wall are drawings from Egypt, around three thousand years ago.

And because she’s so old, she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

Esmeralda (“Call me Esme”) has been nothing but friendly and even made them tea. Dean has put his notebook on the table out of pure habit by this point, but Crowley’s been remarkably silent.

Completely silent.

In fact...

“Oh don’t worry” Esme says, “I performed the spell while I was in the kitchen, he’s resting by now.”

And suddenly Dean knows exactly how Crowley felt that night because – because –

“Did you – you haven’t – “

God damnit, he’s a hunter, he’s not going to have a panic attack in some witch’s living room –

“Oh no – no dearie, of course not. I would never send him to Hell. He seems like such a sweetheart, and he’s so attached to all of you. I don’t think he realized what I was going to do, but honestly I didn’t even try to get in contact with him, because his wishes were rather clear.”

“His wishes? What – “

“Dean – “ Cas says, resting a hand on his arm. “Please, let her speak.”

“So he’s alright?” Sam asks at the same time.

“Oh yes. In fact, I think he’ll be a little bit more in a while... There are some perks to being the only witch who knew the ways of Ancient Egypt and there life after death spells...”

Dean has no idea what she even means, but he decides to wait. He can always put a bullet through her later.

It turns out to be the farthest from his mind when Crowley comes stumbling in from the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Witches – all the same” he grumbles to himself. “Have to tell the boys that – “

“Crowley!?” Dean gets up an d walks over to him. “You made him visible?”

Esme actually looks scandalized. “What do you take me for? I’m not just a witch.”

Dean doesn’t understand until he’s close enough to realize –

Crowley is breathing.

He grabs his wrist.

“Squirrel, what? I’ve been trying for months to – “

“He has a pulse” Dean announces. “Crowley, you’re alive.”

“Human, of course, like his soul has been since he died” Esme says. “But I trust it’s enough.”

“Dean?” Sam asks, “Is that really him?”

“You bet” Dean replies while Crowley is busy figuring out how he came back to life and that now that he’s human, thanks are probably in order.

Sam nods. “Cas?”

“It’s as Esme says” he announces.

Thank God. Thank Esme. Whatever.

“We’ll have to clean out a room for you” he muses when they’re back in the Impala.

Like they did for Cas, months ago.

Crowley, who has until now been pretty silent, replies, “Oh how I’ll miss watching you sleep.”

“Dean doesn’t like that” Cas informs him.

“You really think I wasn’t aware?”

Dean catches Crowley’s eyes in the rear view mirror. Yep, still Crowley. Still a sarcastic bastard, still annoying, but human.

He finds he can live with that very well.

#my writings #crowley #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel

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xme-reboot · 7 years

Text

XME-Reboot

Chapter 45: Untouchable

Rogue’s powers go berserk and a new mutant gives the X-men a run for their money.

"Okay so!"

It was another day and another training session in the danger room, the setting low as the New Mutants tried to find a stride. "We all have nicknames."

Rogue nodded, watching from above. "Uh-huh?" She replied.

"Iceman, Multiple."

"Riiiight."

"Even Augie, with Pulse! What I don't get is MY name." Alex rolled away from a blast, grimacing at it.

"What's not ta get?" Rogue asked.

"Havok? What kinda name is HAVOK?"

She could only smirk a little. "I'unno. Anyone wanna offer Havok some reasons for his codename?"

"'Cry havoc, and let slip,'" Jubilee released a volley of sparks, "'The dogs of war!'"

"You do pack a punch, dude," Augustus chuckled.

"Also you broke the danger room first day!" Jamie added.

Alex rubbed the back of his neck. "Sss.. Fair enough~?"

"I think it suits you," Augustus's eyes began to glow, and the lasers were shut off.

Alex faltered a moment. "A-ah yeah?" He asked.

"Yeah. Focus." Bobby urged him, giving Augustus a nod.

"Amara!" Jubilee called. The younger girl had been standing at the side, and jolted at the sudden attention. "You've got an opening, hurry!"

Grunting, Amara ran forward. Rogue watched, frowning slightly.

She couldn't help but feel some kinship for the girl, all things considered.

Amara ran as fast as she could. Walls rose up under her feet, making her stumble and have to jump. The goal was in sight, an illuminated pedestal amidst a swarm of obstacles. Amara started to blast the walls that rose up to block her, careful to--

Her foot caught, and she fell, hitting her chin hard on the floor. Her body acted on its own, flames suddenly covering her and firing from her outstretched arm.

"Oop!" Jamie skittered away, eyes wide.

Rogue stood quickly, ready to end the simulation if needed. "Ya alright?"

Amara tried to get up, but her heart was hammering and her limbs were shaking. The fire spread, becoming stronger. "I-I--!!"

"Alright, we're done!" Rogue calling, canning the simulation. "Breathe, Amara, it's okay!"

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm--!!" Amara couldn't bring the flames down. The new recruits hurried out of the Danger Room.

Rogue ran down herself, eyes wide and trying to remember what she was supposed to do. First things first, calm her down. "Amara, it's okay! Everyone's fine!" She called in.

Amara tried to control her breathing. The flames pulsed with her struggled breath. "I..." She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Slowly, the flames started to die down. "...I'm sorry..."

"It's okay." She assured, moving in once they'd died down enough. "You did better. Calmed yourself down."

Amara couldn't look at her. She stood shakily, flames still licking off her body. "I wouldn't call that 'better'."

"Baby steps, Amara." Rogue looked back to the rest of the group. "Take a break, all of you."

The group filed away. Discomfort was thick in the air, and the few who dared glance back at Amara seemed to regret it.

"Alright." Rogue started once they were alone. "Let's talk."

Amara grunted, "Okay...'

Rogue nodded, sitting and patting the spot beside her. "So. What do you think happened out there?"

"I-I...freaked out, I guess."

"Hmm..." Rogue nodded. "Powers can get pretty scary, huh?"

Amara nodded. "...I don't think I'm ever going to get the hang of this."

"Mm. Why not?"

A scoff. "You saw what happened."

"I did. ...I'm gonna tell you a secret. One that doesn't leave this room, okay?"

Amara paused. "O...Okay?"

"I'm scared of my powers too."

"...Oh," It was a little weird to hear her say that. Rogue always seemed to confident.

"I lost control of them once. It..." She gripped her arm a little tighter. "It was a bad scene."

Amara was quiet for a moment. "...And?"

"I got help. I still need help." She gave Amara a slight smile. "Like to think there's nothing wrong with that."

"I...see."

"You're a smart kid Amara. You can figure this out."

Amara twiddled a bit of her hair. She offered Rogue a small smile. "Thanks."

"You bet. If you want, we can work one on one."

"I'd like that!"

"Awesome. Ya free now or you wanna schedule something?"

"Um--" Amara looked around at the now ashy floor. "...Maybe later."

"Can't blame ya." A phone buzzed, Rogue perking. "...That for you?"

Amara jolted. "U-Uh!" She quickly glanced at the notification, "Yeah, I, uh...I better go."

Rogue looked over her a moment, more than a little amused. "Alright. I'll clean this up, don't worry about it."

Nodding, Amara quickly headed out. She paused to peek back in the door for a second, "Thank you."

"You bet. Go take yer text, we'll figure out a time later."

Amara hurried away, flipping through her phone. Her nose scrunched with new frustration. "Again.."

The messages were all pretty mundane, really.

Asking what she had for breakfast, how her day had been.

The issue was more in the sender.

Amara started typing a reply, "How did you get this number???" She'd asked this many times before.

"I can't make friends?"

The previous replies had been just as dodgy.

"WHY would you wanna make friends???" Amara replied exasperatedly.

"Why not? You're a cool chick. Well, a hot one but, you get the point."

"STOP"

"C'moooooooon. You could just give me a shot?" The was a pause.

"It's not like I have anyone around here to talk to."

Amara sighed loudly. She started to type out "Uuugh," but deleted it. "Whatever."

"Haha, nice. So seriously how ya doing this morning? Holdin up?"

"Fine."

"Good." A pause, then another message. "You got any good tunes? I need to mix it up."

Amara sighed, softer this time. "IDK What are you into?"

"Ah, ya know. Whatever. Shit I can dance to?"

She considered it a moment. "Mother Goose."

No, she would not explain who that was. It was a mystery that had to be solved.

There was a pause. "Do I get a hint?"

"Nope."

"A treasure hunt then. Alright, I can dig it!"

Amara chuckled a little, despite herself. "Cool. Lemme know what you think."

"Can do. Thanks."

Amara tucked her phone, silencing it before she got another text.

This was weird. Very, very weird.

Rogue rolled her neck, looking at what was left of the scorching on the floor. She liked to think she was making progress, at least with this.

"How's it comin'?" Augustus peeked his head in, whistling, "Looks like you're, uh...making progress."

"Somethin' like that. What'd you need?"

"Just thought I'd check up on you," Augustus stepped in, "Need any help?"

"Appreciate it. Get me a clean bucket, would ya?"

He gave a dramatic bow. "As you wish."

She sputtered a short laugh. "Thanks. Don't have to do this with your break."

"I know. But I want to."

"Well, I appreciate it. So!" She started, popping her back. "Imagine you're pretty settled in by now?"

He nodded. "Pretty much."

"Havin any problems?" Outside the obvious, of course.

Augustus shrugged, "Not really. I mean, it'd be nice to have some more control, but...'

"Ah...Yeah. I feel ya." She wished she could promise it would come with time, but.. well.

"...Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Hrm?" Rogue paused, looking over him.

"To be in control."

"Hmm... Yeah. But hey, bright side. you've made a lot of progress already."

Augustus stared at her for a few seconds, his face unreadable. Then, he smiled, and said, "Heh, well! I have some good teachers."

"Shoot~ Yer a little flatterer, ain't ya?" She asked with a chuckle.

"Me~?" Augustus moved past her. For the briefest moment, it felt like his hand brushed hers, but...it was so fleeting. She paused a moment, glancing at him.

But the contact had been so brief, she had to doubt it was even there... and there was no reason to embarrass him, especially if he hadn't. "You." She replied, popping her back. "Alright... Think we're about good. Wanna grab lunch?"

"Yeah, I'm starving!"

"Oh yeah? Well damn, guess we'd better feed ya then." She waved him along. "Can't have you fade away on us."

Augustus chuckled. "You really are a superhero..."

"Ppfft what? Don't be so dramatic man~"

He laughed. "What can I say? I have a flair for it."

"Apparently!"

They walked along quickly, Rogue rolling her neck. "So what are you in the mood for?"

"Aah, I'm not picky."

"That narrows it down." She chuckled, rolling her shoulder next. "Right. Let’s get to work."

She wouldn't be the only one.

Miles away, on the Island of Genosha, Gambit found himself before Magneto's door. He found himself here a lot, lately.

But he decided to take that as a good thing, knuckles rapping against the solid metal.

The door opened. "Gambit."

"You wanted to see me, Boss?"

Magneto didn't waste time with small talk. "I have a very important extraction for you."

"Sure boss. Where am I goin?"

"Chicago. We've located a mutant who is, apparently, untouchable."

Gambit perked at that. "Ya don't say... Well. Guess I'd better go introduce myself, ah?"

"Indeed." Magneto replied, "We could use an immovable object at our disposal."

Gambit smirked. "I guess havin' Juggernaut charge him to see how immovable is out of the question?"

"Just be sure to get this one this time."

Gambit raised his hands, only a bit defensively. "A'course, boss. Consider it done."

"I will expect it done."

"A'course, boss. Anything else?"

"No." Magneto turned the page in the folder he was reading.

"Alright. I'll be off then." He said, turning on a heel. "Chicago... Of all the places for a fighter to be."

~~~

"YOU ALL CAME FOR A SHOW, YEAH?" In Chicago, a bat would be clanged against the bars by a young, muscular man.

He would get a group shout in return. "WHAT WAS THAT WEAK SHIT? C'MON, I WANT AN ANSWER!!"

Gambit was honestly impressed by the roar he managed to incite.

Another fighter entered the cage. The crowd went even crazier.

Well this worked out quite nicely; better than having to test the kid himself.

"OOOHOHOHO," Unus cackled, rolling his neck. He set his bat aside, cracking his knuckles. "Don't even NEED the swatter fer you!"

"Yer gonna want it, ya little shit!" The bear of a man launched himself at him,

Unus wouldn't even have to move to knock the man away. And it was a forceful knock back to boot, sending the man head over heels. The man was certainly stunned, but only for a few moments. Wheezing a curse, he stumbled back to his feet.

Unus taunted him, "Man, really? Was that your BEST go at this? That was just sad."

"C'MERE!" A punch was swung.

It would stop dead, Unus giving an exaggerated yawn. "Ya finished warming up?"

"Wha...What the FUCK?!"

"I'm the UNTOUCHABLE Unus, ya dingle." He replied, slamming a punch into the man.

The fighter staggered back, utterly dazed.

"Looks like YOU ain't untouchable though!" He cackled, rolling his neck. "You wanna try again? Every shot's a free one! Well, mostly."

The fighter lunged drunkenly, but not for Unus. He picked the discarded bat up from off the floor and sent it hurtling down right onto Unus's head.

It just...stopped. Unus' smirk suddenly vanished. "Ay, AY! NOBODY. BUT NOBODY." He would crack a punch into the man. "TOUCHES WHAT'S MINE!"

With that, the fight was over. Bells sounded, and the crowd roared as the fighter crumpled before the young man’s feet.

Unus cackled, grabbing his bat back up. 'THAT'S RIGHT!!" He called, cackling. "Anyone else want some!?"

Gambit smirked. Oh yeah. They had to have this kid.

And so it was that, after the whole shebang was over, Gambit found himself in the back, slipping past security.

Unus was posturing in his jacket, a black and gold trimmed thing. He'd pulled a shirt on to boot, his 'swatter' over one shoulder. "Lookin' damn good, champ~" He snickered to his reflection, jolting when he noticed Gambit slipping in. "Wh-"

"Easy Mr. Untouchable~ I'm with... well let's call him a potential friend."

Unus would turn, glowering down at the other man.

Gambit didn’t let it faze him. "Oof. That's a sour face. Come all this way for Magneto himself, and that's what yer gonna give me?"

There was a sudden pause.

"YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

That... had not been what he had expected.

"You're with MAGNETO!? Holy shit, wait." He paused, waggling his bat Gambit's way. "Aaah man we goin' to Genosha?"

"...I mean." Gambit smirked, giving a half shrug.

"Well damn, Creampuff!" He grabbed a duffle bag. "Spit that shit out sooner!"

Okay. Alright, he HAD to put this enthusiasm to work. "I mean. First, you gotta pass a lil test."

Unus paused. He gave Gambit a way, wry grin. "Bring it on."

"So, ya know. We're kinda similar issue wise but her powers are a bit more uh. Volatile. Wanna help her out, but I ain't sure where to start." Rogue was, currently, having girl time with Kitty.

"I mean, Fred and Jean like to meditate. Maybe get her into that?" Kitty grimaced as she did battle with a tenacious knot in her hair, "A lot of powers are tied into, like, your mental state."

"Fair enough. I think it's like.. she thinks somethin' will go wrong, so when anything does she just... She psychs herself out, I think?" Rogue huffed. "So maybe, if I can, just get her meditatin' and have something go right for her?"

"Ouch. See, there ya go!" Kitty prevailed over the insidious knot, and started to redo her ponytail. "You're a genius!"

"Pft." Rogue snickered. "Dunno if I'd say THAT. But thanks."

Their break would suddenly be broken by Jean knocking the door. "Kitty, Rogue! Professor wants us!"

Kitty sighed. "We know what THAT means."

"We do. But it needs to be done."

Rogue sighed heavily, moving to a stand. "We're comin'..."

It wasn't long before a team was assembled. The mission was a typical, high stakes- a mutant causing mayhem.

"Don't know why they keep doing this." Jean was saying. "As if people aren't scared enough."

"Some people just react to fear with fear," Evan replied, "And some...well. Some just wanna take advantage of it."

"Sounds like the latter, in this case." Rogue said. "Robbin’ a bank? Come on now."

Evan offered his friends a smirk, "Nothing we can't handle, right?"

"Of course not." Jean chuckled, setting a course to Chicago.

Unus would have a suitcase of money and be standing before the Bank, a shot suddenly ringing out. "That was a warning, mutant! Put the money down and your hands up, no funny business either!"

He grinned, long and wry. "Or WHAT?"

That did it. Several officers suddenly fired upon him. A few started to stop when, to their horror, the bullets just dropped meekly at Unus's feet.

"HAH!" He cackled, bat over one shoulder. "How did I know~? Man, at this rate, I'm a shoe in!"

Some continued to fire, perhaps in the vain hope that one was bound to hit. Other officers fell back, and one foolishly brave policeman decided to try and go at him with her baton.

"Last mistake, lady!" He told her, swinging down.

It would suddenly pause, his hand shaking against the sudden force on his bat. "Wha-"

"That's ENOUGH." Jean told him, coming upon the scene, hair lifted slightly. It was taking a surprising amount to hold the bat in place.

Evan, spiky as ever, fired a few projectiles to try and pin Unus by the pants.

When they fell limply, he was perturbed. "Ooo..kay."

Rogue would blast Scott's eye beams at Unus. Shouts went up as they ricocheted back, digging into the concrete of the bank's entrance pillars. "Oh you gotta be KIDDING! Jean!"

"I... I can't get a read on him." She realized. "It's like he's not THERE!"

"HAH! Holy shit, this is what he wanted me to prove myself too? Geesh, come ON~~"

"Alright," Evan ran forward, firing into the ground around Unus, "Different approach!"

Unus didn't even flinch, head tilting slightly. "The fuck is this?"

Soon he was entirely encircled. "A cage."

"...Oh." Unus looked around. "Oh that's. That's some real craftsmanship my guy!" He said, giving his bat a waggle. "It's a shame I gotta break it."

And break it he did, spikes splintering and falling to pieces.

He was slightly stronger than Evan had anticipated. He tried to keep up, putting up new spikes where old ones fell, but there was only so much Evan could do on his own.

Jean was holding Unus back as much as she could, but she was starting to feel some crowd control would soon be in order. Rogue grunted, fists clenched. There wasn't much choice... "Evan!" She called, glove coming off. "Give me a hit, just a short one!"

"Uh- okay!" Evan quickly released a line of spikes before he took a step back towards her.

They would be fine! This would be fine! What happened before was a fluke, it wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't let it.

Rogue had barely registered she and Evan had made contact until spikes tore through her suit, Evan's immediate thoughts rushing through her head.

--cops are scared we gotta be quick.

Evan had to shake himself. "HOO. Okay."

"Y-Yeah." She agreed, shooting spikes from her hand.

"Oh!" Unus grinned, pausing in his smacking. "Man, y'all got some fancy powers!" He told them, smirking suddenly before slamming his bat into the spikes around him. "But nothin' as good as what I got!"

"Just keep 'em coming," Evan told her, "He'll tire himself out eventually."

"Y-yeah! Right!"

"Oh WILL I? Y'all ain't landed a single hit! I'm Unus the UNTOUCHABLE!" Jean would grab his bat again, having failed to lift Unus himself. "And ain't NOTHIN’!" He growled, area around him suddenly cratering. Jean flinched as he tore the bat from her grasp with.. whatever he did, the spikes around him shattering.

Onlookers cried out in fear. In reflex, one officer fired a shot at Unus, one that whizzed by the X-men dangerously close.

Rogue jerked, stumbling back. Her heart raced, and she jerked, spikes up along her arm suddenly growing almost overtaking it.

"Whoa!" Unus stepped back, whatever force he'd exerted back to normal levels. "Holy SHIT lady!"

Evan had had a similar reaction, but he was able to maintain control. "Rogue!"

Rogue, unused to Evan’s powers and mind racing, was not okay. Spikes sprouted along her back, which only added to it. She tried to pull them back in, eyes widening and heart racing when they refused to budge. "E-Evan!"

Unus made a run for it. "And that's my cue to go folks! Been fun!"

Jean jerked her gaze away from Rogue, suddenly torn.

Evan wasn't. He kept by Rogue, "You're okay, just..."

The police and other onlookers watched in horror. Quickly, a gun was raised.

That brought Jean back to them, standing between the spiked mutants and the crowd. "We need to go. This is out of control."

"I-I'm sorry-"

"Not your fault. It's okay Rogue."

"Keep a shield on us," Evan told her. He took Rogue's arm and quickly led her away. "Just breathe, Rogue, it's okay."

"The-They won't STOP!" She replied, spikes sprouting along her brow.

When they got back to the Blackbird, Evan had to sit her down. (He'd apologize to the Professor about the seats later.) He rubbed her arm, hand gliding softly over the smooth spikes. "Take a deeeep breath."

She nodded, taking it in slow. It was a little easier without all the extra stimuli, and the lack of said stimuli let her focus. The touch on the spikes was an odd sensation. She could feel it, It was distant... but even the distant touch was welcome. "Mm.."

"Let it out slowly," Evan held out his arm to show her as his spikes receded with his breath. "See?"

She nodded, following his breathing. Her spikes would slowly, surely recede, leaving holes and tears in their wake. Many still remained, but at least they were at a manageable length.

"There you go," He offered her a smile, "You got it."

"Mmhm... Th-thanks..." She replied, Jean taking the Blackbird into the air.

"No prob...Ahem," Evan scooted away, averting his eyes.

The thing about Rogue's suit was that it didn't reform like Evan's did. It was a little awkward.

Jean flipped it to autopilot. "So." She started, shrugging off her jacket and offering it to Rogue.

It was an appreciated gesture, Rogue accepting it and tugging it on. "That was the WORST."

"What even was that?" Evan asked, "What's his deal?"

"I don't know. I couldn't feel him, or hear his thoughts or.. anything." Jean told them.

"I don't think anythin' could hit him! It all just! Bounced off!"

"So it's a...force-field type of thing?" Evan suggested.

"Looks like it. One he just... has on." Jean replied. "At least we got a name out of him?"

"Yeah but. What did he WANT?"

Evan shrugged. "Money?"

"If that was all, why the big show?" Jean asked. "And what did he mean by 'proving himself'?"

"...Oh hell."

"What? What's wrong?"

Evan scowled, "What if somebody else got to him first?"

"Oh... Oh no." Jean muttered.

Rogue frowned hard. "Question is... Magneto or Mystique?"

"Either way, we need to plan."

"No kidding. We'd better get back, ASAP."

~~~

"This..." Xavier was troubled by the news. "Oh dear..."

"Jean was kind of able to stop him, but not for long." Evan told him, "I don't know how we're going to fight this...yet. But we'll think of something, right?"

"Of course." He replied. "There must be some kink in his armor, somewhere..." Xavier muttered. "Thank you all, for bringing this to my attention."

"...So," Kitty spoke up after some silence, "What do we do now?"

"I'll talk with the other instructors. And once we've figured something out... Well, I'll let you know then."

Rogue nodded, rubbing her arms. "Mmhm..."

As they were dismissed, Evan glanced at her. "...How're you doing?"

"...Mmfine." She replied. "It's... Just another notch, heh."

Evan was doubtful. But, he didn't want to push her. With one last pat on the shoulder, he left Rogue to her own devices.

Rogue being left to her own devices would involve her moving to the kitchen, trying to get something to calm her nerves.

The spikes would go away over time. Until then, she just had to remain calm.

If she didn't think about it for a second, Rogue could have sworn Augustus hadn't left the kitchen. He was in the middle of drinking a soda, and when he noticed her come in he sputtered slightly. "Mmp! H-Hey!"

"Oh." She said, giving him a little wave. "Hey." She was a bit distracted, fumbling the bag of cocoa powder from the pantry.

Auggie watched her, slowly wiping soda from his mouth. "You, uh...have an incident?"

Rogue grunted, setting a mug aside. "... Could call it that, I guess."

"Geez." There was a pause. "...Do you want to talk about it?"

"Mm... I guess? Not much to talk about." She replied, mixing her drink. "I messed up, and we lost the guy."

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't all your fault."

"Maybe not all of it." She admitted. "But my freaking out didn't help things..."

Augustus's mouth quirked up in a sort of smile. "Well..." He leaned against the fridge, "I don't think you could've helped it, right?"

She paused, heating up her mug. "How do you mean?"

"I mean," He shrugged, "The situation was totally out of control, wasn't it?"

"I mean... I guess? Could have done SOMETHING..."

"Sometimes you just can't do anything, right?"

She didn't reply, instead removing her mug to stir it. If you paid close enough attention, you'd notice the tips of spines start to peek through her jacket.

"Some things are just...out of your control.'

"Hrm." She sipped it, spines growing ever further. "They shouldn't be..."

Auggie's smile grew, minutely. "It's not like you can help it, right?"

She growled sharply, spikes jutting out from every which-way. A few embedded themselves in the wall. "I just need time to get used to them, alright!?"

Augustus hissed. He held his shoulder, wincing in pain.

Rogue jerked, stumbling away from him. "Oh-- oh geez! A-Augustus I'm sorry-- Are you...oh god."

"I'm fine, I-I'm...Sss," He gripped his shoulder tighter, "I'm okay."

"No you're not! I-I just! I HURT you! I hurt you bad!" She managed, tone rushed and gripping at the spines coming forth. She yanked a cluster out, hissing loudly. "I-Go get help. I can't..."

Augustus turned quickly, "Hey- anybody! HEY!"

"I-I need to go." She told him, moving out of the kitchen and clenching the spikes tight. "I... I'll send someone your way- I'm so SORRY Augustus."

"Rogue..." Augustus watched her go. He let his hand drop off his shoulder- his pristine, undamaged shoulder.

Again, his mouth quirked up.

Rogue had chosen to seclude herself in her room.

The door was locked, and she was sitting on her bed, hugging her legs close and face buried in her knees. Her coat had been shed, spines up along her arms having receded to nubs at least.

But they still existed, as did a number of them in her trashcan. She'd been there for hours, guilt knotted and thoughts cycling.

There came a knock on her door.

"Rogue?"

Kitty shuffled from foot to foot. She hoped Rogue would answer- she needed to eat after all, not to mention this dinner plate was getting a little warm on her fingers.

"Mm?" Rogue replied, muffled.

"I brought you food."

"Mm." There was shuffling behind it, the door unlocking after a minute and opening up. "Thanks..."

Kitty stepped in, and she winced at the sight of her friend. "Oh, Rogue..." She handed her her food, "How can I help you?"

"Ah.." Rogue gave her a wry attempt at a smile. "It's okay. Brought me food, yeah?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"It's... I'll be fine. Is uh... is Augustus okay...?"

"He's perfectly fine." Kitty took Rogue's hands. "Are YOU okay?"

"I... Yeah." She replied. "Will be, anyway."

"Okay...Well," Kitty held her arms out for a hug, offering a small smile, "I'm here if you need me. Whenever."

Rogue perked, pausing a moment. "Shoot, Kitty." She chuckled, glancing at her arms a moment. It was an awkward hug, Rogue keeping the nubs pointed AWAY from her friend. "Yer the best."

Kitty squirmed a little uncomfortably, but she kept her hug firm. "I know~"

"Pft." Rogue pulled back, nudging her. "And humble too."

"Aren't I~?"

"Mmhm." She replied, ruffling her hair. "It'll... it'll be fine. Just gotta keep my distance while they run their course."

"Well...Okay." Reluctantly, Kitty headed out, "Just let me know if you need something! Or wanna chat or...whatever."

"I will. Thanks Kitty." She replied. "For dinner and.. everything else."

"What are friends for?"

"Heh. Fair enough." She replied, looking to her dinner. Truth be told, she hadn't been that hungry... but it was looking pretty good.

"No, not good. I was the BEST~!!" Unus was... making friends, back on Genosha. "Couldn't even TOUCH ME!"

Gianna was very impressed. "Whaaaat? Man, I wish I coulda seen that!"

"Well hey, guess what?" He replied, smirking. "You stick with ME, and you'll get'ta~" He replied.

Mellencamp, sitting and hunched beside Gia, was tentatively impressed. He wasn't sure how much of this he bought, after all.

Gia grinned up at her scaly friend. She gave him a light jab in the ribs, "He's got a big mouth. I like him."

Randy, as he fiddled with one of his prosthetic legs, gave her a look.

Mellencamp gave her a snicker, nudging her back. "You WOULD."

"WHO WOULDN'T~?" Unus added.

"Soooooo, did you actually HIT anybody?" Gia had her priorities. "I'd wanna hit them. I'd wanna hit them a lot."

"... Ya know." Unus paused. "I broke all their shit, but nah."

"Are you serious."

"I was havin' fun gloating! I'll crack one ‘a 'em next time."

Gianna cackled, "LAME!"

"'EY, EY." He replied sharply. "I still WON, didn't I?"

"Is it a win if nobody hit anybody?" Seamus pointed out.

"Yeeeeah," Gia sneered, "It's like you just ran away~"

Unus snorted. "Alright, so where's YOU guy's victory stories, ah? YOU ever actually beat 'em?!"

"We've hit 'em."

"Alright FINE!" He replied, waggling his bat at them. "Next time I see 'em, I'll crack one of the dweebs!!"

"I'll believe it when I see it." Randy muttered.

"HAHA! Yeah!" Gia agreed.

Unus scoffed loudly. "Well yer gonna! And it's gonna be AWESOME!"

"Uh-huh."

Gianna smirked, "HEY NILS!"

A younger kid passing by jolted and turned quickly. His dark skin was like yarn, wound thickly around his frame, and it seemed to unravel slightly in his alarm before shifting back into place.

"Think this guy can hit an X-man~?"

"U-Uh..."

Unus cackled, smacking his bat against a nearby half wall for emphasis. "Sure he does! He’s smart, ain'cha Nils?!"

"Uuuuh--"

"I'm just saying, Ni-ni! If he's 'untouchable' does that go both ways?"

"Well I mean like- HEY!! NO! SHUT YER FACE!"

Mellencamp couldn't help but crack up, tail thumping.

Gianna grinned, "WHY DON'T YOU MAKE ME?"

Nils started shaking, and he backed up. Randy took one look at him, then at Gianna and Unus. He pointed a finger and-- ZAP!

"OOOW!!"

"OW SHIT!"

Unus, for all his bragging, wasn't COMPLETELY untouchable. His shield had to be active, after all. "What was THAT FOR!?"

"Being assholes," Randy answered, waving Nils along, who scampered away before things could get worse.

Unus scoffed loudly. "Whatever, man! Point is, I'll get it! Got everything TOTALLY under control!"

Randy smiled, a tight, humorless thing, "We'll see."

"Damn right we will." He replied, snickering and turning to head on his way. "Gonna be a good time..."

~~~

Rogue, days later was still not having a good time. The spike had finally, FINALLY receded.. but she wasn't exactly feeling up to par yet.

Of course, some things you had to fake until you made, so she was out on the porch, getting some air and... thinking. She'd been thinking a lot lately. She swung idly on the porch swing, wringing her hands in the early winter chill.

"Mind if I sit with you?" Scott poked his head out of the door, two cocoas in hand.

Rogue glanced back at him, shaking her head and scooting over for him. "If ya want."

He sat beside her, then offered her a mug, "Pretty chilly out, isn't it?"

"Yeah." She accepted it. "Won't be able to go outside before long." Rogue managed a chuckle. "Not without Kurt or Jamie ambushin' us."

Scott smiled. "They're relentless."

"No kiddin. Mm..." She settled in, sipping away. "Thanks for this, by the way."

"Figured you'd need it," Scott took a sip of his own. "...You've been pretty quiet lately."

"Well...Ya know." She replied, shrugging. "Had a lot on my mind."

"Like?"

"Just..." She huffed, watching the slight cloud her breath made. "Stuff."

"Oh." Scott leaned back, "Alright."

"It's... really not a big deal."

"I think it is, Rogue."

Rogue didn't look at him still. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes. You're obviously hurting."

"I'll get over it Scott."

Scott sighed. He was quiet for a while, as he stared out at the sinking sun and glistening snow. "...I know it's scary."

Rogue swallowed hard, gripping her mug a little tighter.

Scott continued, "And I know it's frustrating. But isolating yourself isn't going to do you any good."

She couldn't help the scoff that escaped her. "The alternative ain't much better."

"I don't agree with that."

"Well! What else is there, Scott?! Hurting my friends, my team?!"

"You can't do this alone, Rogue!"

She would stand suddenly, tears brimming. "I can't do it all, Scott!"

"Yes you CAN!" Scott followed, "I promise you, you can!"

"I can't control ANY of them, Scott! I thought I was doing better but-but I'm NOT!" She rubbed her eyes furiously. "I'm exactly where I started! I-I'm broken or something."

He grasped her shoulders tightly, perhaps tighter than he'd meant. "You are NOT broken!"

"Then what's WRONG with me?!"

"You're disabled," Scott's tone was firm, but gentle, "So am I. So are a lot of mutants. It's not something you can help."

Rogue swallowed hard, trying to compose herself.

She didn't quite manage that, instead grabbing him in a tight hug.

The action stunned him, but only for a moment. They stood there for some time, warm despite the settling chill around them. Finally, Scott broke the silence, muttering against the fabric of Rogue’s knit hat. "You're not broken."

Rogue sniffed sharply, quiet for a moment. She gripped a little tighter, giving him a nod.

He gently rubbed circles into her back, "You're going to be okay. I've got you."

"It's just! I feel like I keep going backwards! I know it's not true, but!"

"I know. It's going to get better."

"Mmhm..." She replied, pulling back and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I.. Thank you."

He smiled. "Don't sweat it."

"I mean it." Rogue managed a slight smile. "This all.. it gets really heavy sometimes."

"I know...We got you, alright?"

"Alright... Just. Remind me every once in awhile?"

He chuckled. "I promise."

"Heh.. H-hold ya to that."

Scott's smile widened, and he opened his mouth to say something.

He didn't get the chance, as a snowball suddenly hit his cheek. "Ack! Nope!" He took her wrist quickly and tugged her inside. "Take cover!"

"Oop!" She ran after, holding her hat on before sputtering a laugh. "The dorks started early this year!"

"I don't want ANY PART OF THAT."

"Nope. Let's just plot our revenge inside. Where it's cozy warm." She chuckled, gripping his hand just a little tighter.

"Y'know, that is an excellent idea." Smack! Another snowball hit his back. “Ack!”

#XMEReboot Chapters #x-men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #x-men evolution

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shanastoryteller · 8 years

Note

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are sofine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddessAthena.”

Arachne tosses herhead, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanchesand looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with histime. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for herwares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman withgrey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarledhands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid,but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyesand declares, “Athena should thank me,since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her andkeeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into thecrowd.

They will tell tales ofher hubris. They will all be true.

The next day she bumpsinto the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place,mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, andArachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do issay her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she sayscoolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as avirtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers herto a weaving contest. She accepts.

Gods are not so hard tofind, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” thebaker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for takingmoney from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag ofsweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well thefirst dozen times.

“Thank you for yourhelp,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She growshungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. Thesun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’stall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens tooverwhelm her.

But Arachne does notbelieve in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those taleswill be true.

She ties a scarf aroundher braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only toher thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma andbegins her slow ascent.

The muscles in her legsand arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once whitedress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her bodyand drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her headand bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easilyto the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. Sheswallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts hishead to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might besmiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” sherepeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, lookingat her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweetbread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are bigenough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Insteadhe gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comicallysmall in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He lickshis fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying thesecond time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaverArachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

They tell tales ofHephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad,angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legsonly to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?”he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into acoughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, anddoesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up atthe corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive insidethe volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal thatshe can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me,girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack offher shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I havewoven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrowand doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal handscould be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind theoppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its placestands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of herhusband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales ofAphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,”she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully.It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and upalong the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage andher worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experiencedartist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part insurprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestussays, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t takeoffense.

The goddess smiles andArachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphroditeis the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” thegoddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows.Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber.Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena willlose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says,“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales oftheir friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because whywouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, bothhappily married.

Gods hate being made tofeel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they sayAphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne winsthe weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestussays, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at herreflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestusleft if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrenchupon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger ather. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weaveme a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite asthe goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

The contest goes asexpected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goesred in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept thedeath blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’svolcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has nohope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe indefeat, in loss.

It was a terribly longjourney on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now shehas eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps inbetween crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver ofsunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke ofallowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellowcolor – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

It takes seven yearsfor her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all thattime, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’sa large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as thesun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched theearth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t returnto her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurriesand runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking forand scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looksonto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skittersdown his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is thata piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him,waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand–

His face slowly fills witha cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?” Shejumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in hismassive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landingin front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s runningafter her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost toosmall for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares forseveral moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himselfout of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that samebreeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exactmoment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, madeentirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brushdown the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, thatAphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in sevenyears.

They’ve told tales ofher hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at theweb, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto thegoddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in frontof a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “GoddessAphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” shereturns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stayscool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuckin this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course availablefor her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Pleasecome with me.”

Arachne weaves a dressfor Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take yousomewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at herloom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would youlike me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Ofcourse not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing thespider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for thegoddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for amoment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at thegoddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where elsewould I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your companyequal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of herhubris.

“An excellent point,”Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

#asks #anon #my fic #gods and monsters series #here you go babe #hope you liked it #arachne #aphrodite #hephaestus #athena #greek myth #greek mythology #friendship!#or gayness if you want to read it that way #you do you friend

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honkerislove-blog · 8 years

Text

As promised, part 2 to the fluff fic story for @blazeflames for the secret santa Aqours anniversary! Posted on the 26th as promised in a clever delayed joke and not because I’m a horrible lazy person.

Enjoy fluff

Maki stepped out of the red door of the temple out onto the steps. She folded her arms and shoved her hands deep into her jacket. Winter air blew into the jacket and blew up her arms, making her efforts to stay warm futile. Annoyed, she half zipped up her coat and sat down on the staircase. Her mother and father were just inside, examining the old temple. Normally, Maki would at least be with them, but she really just wanted to be alone right then.

The temple gave a small overlook to the town. The seaside village was quaint, pretty even in contrast to Tokyo, but it was out of her comfort zone. The noise of the city was a bit like a comfort blanket right about then. Alone in the silence, all she could think of was everything going on. Well, that and the cold. Cold was a pretty annoying part of this entire experience. It was almost spring, it shouldn’t be possible to be this cold.

Complaining about the cold was easier than anything else right then. Maki shivered.

“Ah, miss, if you want, it’s warmer inside. Zura~” A voice said behind her.

Maki passively turned her head. There was a girl there, probably only thirteen or so. She turned her head back to the village. “No thank you.”

“I— It’s not any trouble, I promise. There’s a little heat in there. My father would love to— ah, I mean I could— get you something, if you like.” The girl’s shadow moved toward Maki.

“I am fine.” Maki didn’t turn this time. She just stared out and scrunched her eyebrows. “I just need to. Mm.”

The girl stood still. Then, after a moment, she sat down beside Maki. This time, Maki naturally saw more of her. Long tea-colored hair, work clothes on, not really anything of note. She kicked the ground beneath her, staring out where Maki was staring and then to Maki herself.

Maki moved her eye over. “Yes?”

“Oh, uh. I just — just sitting. Zura~” She kicked the ground. “Just, thought you might need someone for whatever it is your doing.”

Maki admired the girl’s tenacity if nothing else. She sighed and looked back out the city. “Not really looking for company. Just — thinking.”

“About what? Zura~” The girl leaned in.

“Me stuff.” Maki looked over. “And what are you doing?”

“U— uh.” She blushed. “I— I just. Zura~”

“What’s so interesting here?” Maki seethed a little, but then instantly regretted being so rude.

The girl flinched, compounding Maki’s guilt. “I— Well, I thought you— you looked pretty. Zura~” She looked down bashfully.

Maki was a bit taken aback by her. “W— well. I suppose you—” She couldn’t figure out a way to word what she wanted to say without sounding mean, so she dropped it. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, Kunikida Hanamaru.” The girl answered. “Um, pleased to meet you.”

Maki closed her eyes to take in the name. “Miss Kunikida. Okay.”

“O— Oh, Hanamaru is fine, miss.”

Maki didn’t want to be too informal. She didn’t want to talk much at all, but Hanamaru wasn’t hurting anyone at the moment. She stared away from Hanamaru. “Do you live here?”

“Yes.” Hanamaru said. “My father is the priest. I help take care here and sing and greet people.” Hanamaru kicked the step again. “Where do you live?”

“Near Tokyo. I spend a lot of time in Kanda, mostly.”

“W-Wow! That’s so cool! I— I’ve never been. Do you go to the Jinbocho book fair? I’ve heard about it and... and it sounds so cool Zura!”

Maki thought. “I have been there. It is . . . a lot of books.”

“Well, of course.” Hanamaru giggled. “Sorry, I just really like reading. What do you normally do there?”

At this, Maki went quiet again. She let the question hang long enough for Hanamaru to start feeling uncomfortable. “I normally hang out with friends.”

“Oh.” Hanamaru shifted. “Then, that must be why you look so lonely.”

“Hm?”

“You’re so far away from them.”

Maki furrowed her brow. “Yes. And . . . that’s not gonna change soon.”

“Why?”

“Graduation.” Maki said. She gripped at her jacket. “School is starting; and, by the time I get back, a lot of really good friends will be gone.”

Hanamaru looked sad. “Oh.” She looked up. “You’re gonna miss them. Zura?”

“Mmm, that’s obvious.” Maki plucked at her hair. “A lot of them meant a lot to me and my other friends. What we did together . . . just cannot be replaced.”

Hanamaru looked out towards the city. “I don’t know much about that, but . . . I’ve had to go away from my friends too. Just . . . split up ‘cause of middle school.”

“Well, this is not like that.” Maki huffed. “There was a lot more than that between us.”

“I get that, but.” Hanamaru fiddled around uncomfortably. “Okay, maybe I don’t. But . . . What were your friends like?”

“Hm. We. . .” She really didn’t want to start having a girl freak out about meeting her, so Maki decided to stay quiet about their occupation. “We went pretty far as a team. Trained, talked, worked, even. . .” She trailed off. “Anyways, we all were practically a family, but now I’m back to school, without them. Back to. . .” She sighed. “I am not making a lot of sense, I am sorry to bother you.”

Hanamaru was absently fiddling with the hem of her dress. “Oh, you’re not bothering me at all. I’m always happy to listen.” She smiled. “It’s part of working at a temple.”

“I thought your dad was the one working here.”

“He is, but I hear him a lot, I read up on philosophy, and I like to listen to all my friends and what’s up with them.”

Maki stared off into space. “Sounds like you love it here.”

“I do, I do. Zura~”

“Wish I could stay like that.” Maki huffed into her jacket. “Me and my parents just got back from visiting medical schools around the globe. I will have to start applying soon.”

“Medical school? Are you a doctor?”

“No, not- not yet anyway.” Maki tugged at whatever was in her hands. “I am just preparing to follow my parents. Like you do with your dad. It’s just what I do.”

“Oh.” Hanamaru twiddled her thumbs. “But. . . Could I ask you something?”

Maki sighed. “Why stop now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. But, do you want to go into medicine?”

Maki frowned. “No.” She shook her head. “I love music. I play the piano and do some other composing. I don’t really feel anything about medicine, it just. . . pays the bills. I can write a hundred songs for the world to hear and be right by friends and it’ll never make half as much, or even guarantee that I won’t be alone and unheard afterwards.”

“Then why are you thinking about it?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Maki rubbed her forehead. “Ugh, I am sorry. I . . . I am being harsh. I just do not really want to talk a lot. This trip, my friends, school, the cold – It is all slurring together in one big annoying mess doing a Nico nii into my ear.”

Hanamaru giggled. “I understand. I think. Um, most of it. Zura~ I can leave if you want.”

Maki smiled. “You do not have to.”

“No, I don’t want to burden you. I just. . .” Hanamaru stood. “I just saw you happy for a moment. When you were talking about music. When you talked about your friends. I just thought I saw that. . . money maybe wasn’t everything.”

Maki paused for a moment. As she turned around, Hanamaru was already stepping away. Maki called after her. “Thank you, miss Kunikida.”

“Um, any time, ma’am. Zura~”

Maki turned back out to the town.

It was still cold.

Hmm, it was a beautiful view though.

She felt a song taking shape. It was quiet.

Maki took out her notebook. There might just be something worth writing down.

Hanamaru watched as the family left the temple steps, the older girl passively leading her parents. Hanamaru’s dad waved goodbye to the group and returned into the temple. She stepped into the courtyard to sweep up. There wasn’t much to sweep up.

She paused as she got near the steps. There was a loose couple leaves of paper wedged in the side of the wall. Figuring they were just litter, Hanamaru picked them up to take to the trash. But there was something written on it.

It was worth taking a peek at.

Hanamaru unfolded the wadded paper. It was a few music sheets written on notebook pages. She turned it around right-side up. Up above the music was a title: “Flower wreath.”

She stared at it for a bit, put down her broom, then skittered inside. “Daddy, could you play this on the organ please?”

#love live #love live sunshine #maki nishikino #hanamaru kunikida #fluff fic #imsososorry #its joke

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