#thank you to anyone taking the time to still read my silly little brain worms!

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie's One Rule

prompt: cake | wc: 311 | rating: T (for language) | for @steddiemicrofic's August prompt :)

Eddie had been perfectly clear on the “No Strippers” rule for his bachelor party. Tacky Las Vegas casino? Sure. Concerning amounts of tequila served in glow-in-the-dark shot glasses? Whatever. Karaoke at a space-themed diner?

… Okay. He’ll admit - that last one sounds fucking awesome. He’s been rehearsing a thrashy rendition of Mr. Roboto for weeks now. In all honesty, strippers were his only veto. 

But here they are, standing in a dimly-lit club that’s not even remotely close to the Vegas strip. 

“Low blow, man. Really.” Eddie gestures to the pole in the center of the room, then back towards Gareth. Should’ve revoked his Best Man privileges while he had the chance. 

Gareth ignores him and yells, “Bring it in, fellas!”

“Bring what in-”

The low strums of ‘I Touch Myself’ by the Divinyls flows through the speakers as the backdoor opens. The rest of Eddie’s wedding party begin rolling out a wooden cart with goddamn cake on it.

And it’s not an ordinary cake - not even an edible one. This one is clearly fake and almost six feet tall.

The cardboard lid pops off, revealing Eddie’s fiancé emerging from the top, fucking shirtless (which is the least surprising part of the evening).

His anger dissolves behind the sound of Steve belting the song, head swaying offbeat. Looking so damn happy. Eddie hasn’t made many good decisions in his life, but Steve is by far his best.

“Still wanna marry me after this little stunt?” Steve asks, pointing at the cake structure around him.

Eddie saunters over, rolling his eyes despite that swirling pulse of love in his chest. Steve automatically bends over from the center. Kisses him, still humming the song as their lips meet. 

“Why wait?” Eddie smiles. He brushes a few strands of Steve’s hair behind his ear and whispers, “We’re in Vegas right now, baby.”

[apalkenndream1]

I'll Follow You Into The Dark || !Tav/!Reader x Astarion

(The brain worms demand this be posted)

Tags: fluff, soft, full squad, end-game spoilers

Word Count: 3,664

With the Netherbrain defeated and everyone cured of the tadpoles, Astarion has to flee from the sun once again. You follow him, of course, so he doesn't have to face the darkness alone. You head to the Underdark to help the vampire spawns find their way in this new world. Watching Astarion help his brothers and sisters warms your heart, reminding you of their freedom and how far he has come. He was once a man who only knew to live one way: deceive others and fight his way through everything. Now, he accepts the role of being a hero and helps out his siblings when he could've left them behind. Of course, his personality stays the same, including his sass and silly jokes in every interaction with them.

The two of you have found a home to call your own, making it comfortable for the time you can spend alone. While there may not be any sun to bask in, you make it comfortable with lanterns and a fireplace to keep you both warm. However, it never seems like quite enough.

_____________________________________________________________

Lately, it seems Astarion has been less of himself, diving into readings and drawings instead of keeping up in conversation. Similar to humans having seasonal depression, it seems this vampire has a similar affliction. He has become a recluse, only coming alive when he's helping out the vampire spawns. You decide to bring it up to him, hoping to find a way to help him out.

"Hey," you say softly, hoping not to disturb him.

"Hello, beautiful." He smiles softly, finally looking away from his book.

"Whatcha drawin'?" You say casually, ensuring he doesn't know what's happening.

"My muse, darling. You." He uses his wicked grin, the one that always knocks the wind out of you. You softly giggle, eyeing his drawings of you.

His attention to detail, including your wrinkles around your mouth and by your eyes. He shades every detail exactly, capturing your essence in picture-perfect form. It's like you're looking into a grayscale mirror.

"Wow, you're incredibly talented. That looks incredible." You're taken aback by his abilities, speechless.

He blushes slightly, as much as a vampire can, "Oh, you're too kind. Now, what did you actually want to talk about?" He says, a little more sternly, as he can see you're holding back.

You sigh, let out a large breath, and look into his striking red eyes, "You seem a little...off. I'm worried about you, is everything okay?"

His eyes drop, and he sets down his book, looking at his hands, "I miss our adventures, our team, and the sun. A part of me wishes we had never gotten rid of those tadpoles. A part of me wishes it had never ended so that we could still be out exploring the world, exploring my home. I guess I didn't realize how much it affected me."

Your eyes well slightly; he has never been able to be this open to anyone before. You know how important it is to take this lightly, and you must comfort him. You wrap your arm around his shoulders and smile softly at him, "I miss it too, but we also got to save a lot of good people. I'd rather be down here, safe, with you than, ya know...growing tentacles and eating brains."

He laughs softly at you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. "I know you're right; it's just a hard thing to move past...Thank you for talking to me; I love you." He stands up, giving you a peck on the forehead, "I'm going to go gather some things for dinner; I'll be back shortly."

You both smile softly at each other and say, "I love you too." before he heads out. While it helped slightly, you can tell that he is still not 100% back to himself. Then, a lightbulb goes off, and you know exactly what you must do.

______________________________________________________________

You leave him a note so he knows you haven't disappeared forever:

Dearest Astarion,

I will be gone for a short while, but I will be back shortly. I've gone into the city, as someone needed some help retrieving an important item for them. Continue with dinner; this shouldn't take me long. I love you, see you soon.

Yours always,

(Y/N)

You gather some supplies for your trek back to Baldur's Gate, made simple by the Ancient Sigels, and get ready to assemble some people as well.

___________________________________________________________

Your first stop is the Sorcerous Sundries, assuming that's where he might be staking out. Since the end of Lorrokan, the tower has been home to Rolan, but he also wanted to learn more about the weave. What better person to do that with than Gale? He also took over the entire running of the Sundries, ensuring knowledge was accessible to all wizards. As you walk in, a familiar face lights up and runs to you with arms wide open.

As you embrace him, he laughs, "I wasn't sure you'd ever come out of the Underdark without your trusty lover!"

You chuckle, "It's good to see you too, Gale." You back up from him, looking him over in his newest and finest robes.

"You're on a mission, I see. What can I do for you?" Gale says, his voice more matter-of-fact.

You sigh, hoping he will understand what you're getting at, "Astarion hasn't been himself lately. He seems down like he needs a pick-me-up. I hoped to gather everyone to get together and see if that helps. Would you be willing to come to our home for a small party?"

Gale looks inquisitively at you like he's trying to read your mind. Then, he lets out a laugh as he grabs your shoulders, "Of course I'll come! Anything to help an old chum out of a rut. I'll also let Rolan and the tieflings know; it would be great for them to take a break!"

You smile, giving him a firm hug with a bit of a squeeze, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You don't know what else to do, as thanks would never be enough.

You head off to your next destination with a large smile on your face.

____________________________________________________________

One of the few places with a lot of greenery is where two of your Druid friends spend their time: Halsin and Jaheira. When you find them in Bloomridge Park, you see them and Arabella assisting other Druids to become one with nature. They are so focused on the task at hand that they almost don't see you walking up.

"Y/N!!" Arabella shrieks, running to give you a hug around your legs. You bend down to return the favor.

Halsin smiles in your direction, crossing his arm across his chest and smiling towards you. "It is great to see you, friend. It's been a while; glad to see you getting some sun."

"Welcome back," Jaheira says softly, giving you a nod.

"Hello to you all. It's great to see you helping out the younglings," You grin, wondering if you'll be asking too much of them. Taking them away from the younglings seems like a large ask, considering the kids are new to this side of nature. You start to second-guess yourself, wondering what aspects this might have against them.

"You are concerned; let us know what you are thinking," says Jaheira, a fellow look of concern on her face.

"I don't want to take you away from these children; it seems like a bad time to ask something of you." You kick the ground lightly, feeling nervous.

Halsin smiles, looking at you caringly, "Whatever you have to ask, I'm sure it is necessary."

You look up at them all; they have warming smiles on their faces, making you feel better. "Okay, well, Astarion has been feeling a little down lately. I was thinking of ways to make him feel better, so I thought about getting everyone together in the Underdark. It's a lot safer, and Astarion has been working with the vampire spawn to teach them how to take care of themselves properly. Only if you're able to; not a big deal if not." You realize you have rambled on to them and get nervous awaiting their answer.

"YES! Let's go, please, please, please!" Arabella shouts, vibrating with excitement.

Halsin and Jaheira laugh, holding onto her shoulders to try to calm her down. "Of course, we'll be there, Y/N. That is never too much to ask of us." Halsin exclaims, smiling to try to comfort you. Jaheira nods in agreement, a similar smile across her face.

You grab them in a group hug, feeling fulfillment all throughout your body. "Thank you. I appreciate this more than you will ever know." With a final squeeze, you allow them to get back to their hard work.

___________________________________________________________

Your idea is finally coming into fulfillment, adding a skip to your step as you head to Wyrm's Rock Fortress. There are quite a few people you can talk to here, but the chances of them being able to step away is very slim. The first stop is the barracks to chat with the two behind getting the military ready to protect the people. You walk in to see them hard at work, helping the beef up the crew.

"A'right, soldiers, take a moment to recoup before we get back into the training," Karlach states in a stern tone, one you've never heard.

"T'saik, I never rested in my training; you are too soft, Karlach," Lae'zal exclaimed, rolling her eyes at this obviously tense partnership. Karlach gives her a soft punch on the shoulder when she sees you out of the corner.

"No fucking way," she states, running towards you and tackle hugging you. Lae'zal sanders over with the slightest smile on her lips.

"Why are you here?" she asks, some confusion in her voice. It's only suitable; it's been a month since you've seen the surface.

You let out a sigh, feeling their confusion, happiness, and slight sadness. You've been so concerned with helping Astarion that you never thought about how it could affect the others.

"I'm sorry I've been gone so long and that I've come to ask a favor. I should've come and visited earlier; I apologize." You say sheepishly.

"Oh, soldier, don't worry about it. I'm sure you've been just as busy as us." Karlach states, flinging their arm around your shoulders. Lae'zal crosses her arms, looking into your eyes with dismay.

"I still came to visit." She seems a little more cranky than usual, probably since she's here helping people who aren't even Githyanki. Perhaps it's disappointment in her high expectations, or maybe she's worn out from defeating Vlaaketh and rebuilding her home.

"Lae'zal, ease up, will ya?" Karlach says, her eyes a little more piercing than usual. "What do ya need?" She smiles towards you, her arm still on your shoulders.

"I wanted to see if you could come and do a bit of a house party for Astarion. He's been feeling quite depressed since we went to the Underdark, and I think it would cheer him up." You try to sound enthusiastic, but it comes out a bit more pleading than you want.

"Always aiding him when you should be here with us," Lae'zal says through gritted teeth. This statement grants her another intense stare from Karlach, to which she just bears her teeth at her.

Karlach looks back towards you and grins, "We will be there after we finish training. I'm sure they won't mind a night's rest from this one." She points over at Lae'zal, who just rolls her eyes at the gesture. You smile and give Karlach a big hug, which no longer burns since fixing her engine. You glance at Lae'zal, who finally uncrosses her arms and relaxes as much as she can.

"I will be there by no choice of my own." Lae'zal scoffs, a sign that she isn't as upset as she gives off.

"Alright, where's Wyll? He's next on my list." You say, looking around and expecting him to be there. Usually, he is around to help the Blades of Avernus grow and learn how to protect the city.

"Oh, he's downstairs. That's where the Blades practice after he rebuilt the old prison as a training ground." Karlach says before turning back to the trainees. "Break over! Let's get back to it."

As they line up, you head down to what used to be Wyrm's Rock prison. Once you get down the stairs, you take in the new training area. It's fitted with all the best weapons, shields, and armor that Baldur's Gate has to offer. As you look around in awe, you hear Wyll helping the Blades of Avernus gain in ranks.

"Blades, we have a special guest; please give them your respect," Wyll states before you can even process it. All the Blades stand up and give you a sign of respect. You nod towards the soldiers, and Wyll says, "At ease, back to your training."

He turns to you and smiles, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You smile back at him with the same twinge in your stomach that you had when talking to Karlach and Lae'zal. "I'm getting everyone together for a get-together at my home. I was hoping you might be able to come. Astarion is having a hard time, and I think it could cheer him up." You look up at him softly with the same break in your voice.

"You can count on me." He says, saluting you with a grin. "I should be done shortly; I'll head there as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Wyll. I'll see you tonight!" You bounce off, successfully recruiting all your friends for a fun night.

____________________________________________________________

Before heading home, you head to Behive General Goods to gather some goods for tonight. You realize that it's going to be hard to surprise Astarion with all of these people and groceries. It's time for you to add a step to your plan.

You head back to the Underdark, hiding your groceries somewhere Astarion couldn't see them. You then head to Dalyria's home, heading to ask her for help with distracting her 'brother.' You knock on the door, waiting for a response before walking in.

Dalyria opens the door and smiles once she sees your face. "Y/N! Come on in." You walk through the door, returning her smile.

"Hi, Dalyria, I have a favor to ask. Could you possibly distract Astarion for an hour or two? I have a surprise for him." You smile brightly towards her.

"Easily. I'll go over there now! Do you need him to leave the house?" She says kindly, happy to assist obliviously.

"Yes, please! There will be quite a few people. Can you also ask your other siblings to come over a little earlier? You and Petra can come with him when the time comes."

"Yes, I absolutely can do that. Oh, I am so excited. It's been a while since I've had to keep a secret." You instantly know what she means, but try not to let the thought hold you too long.

_____________________________________________________________

Once you see Astarion leave with Dalyria, you grab your hidden groceries and get the party set up. While you don't have to make food for him, you start cooking for your food-eating friends. Along with that, you set up some carafes of wine out on the table. Once you have things finished, you hear familiar voices outside your home. You run up to the door and open it to a crowd of faces that light up your heart. They start pouring in, each with something in their hand. This went from a small party to a much larger gathering than you expected. Thankfully, they brought enough to cover everyone.

You look around as your longest friends mingle with each other, laughing and filling your home with warmth and joy. You can't wait to see how Astarion reacts when he shows up with Dalyria. The vampires come in shortly after everyone arrives and begin mingling with the crowd. Your plan has finally come together and ended up even better than you imagined.

______________________________________________________________

When you see Astarion approaching the house, you shush everyone for his entrance. As he opens the front door, everyone simultaneously shouts, "SURPRISE!" Astarion looks around in absolute shock, taken back by all the kind and familiar faces. He lets out a loud laugh as everyone joins in, surrounding him to say hello. You allow him to mingle around with his long-missed friends to allow him to glow up.

You watch him at a distance, smiling as you see him joking and laughing with everyone. Seeing him return to himself brings you a joy unmatched by anything you've felt since you first met. He looks around, locks eyes with you, mouthing 'I love you' and grinning. You mouth 'I love you more' back to him, winking as you move to mingle with the others. You walk over to the group to listen to the conversations being had.

You listen to adventures retold, new experiences from the point you all split ways, and everything in between. From Gale's tales with Tressym and Rolan to Wyll's expertise with the Blades of Avernus, everything seems to feel back to normal with everyone except Lae'zal. She is recluse, not talking with everyone and keeping to herself. You decide to speak to her privately to see what you can get out of her.

_____________________________________________________________

"Lae'zal, can we speak, please?" You say softly so the others don't hear.

"Tsk'va, why would I want to talk to you? I am only here because of Karlach." She scoffs, crossing her arms like she did at Wyrm's Rock. You sigh softly at her, grabbing her arm to drag her outside. She yelps, but you get her outside before she can throw a fit.

"Let me go, istik." She hisses, yanking her arm away from you. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm here to ask you what is going on. Why are you so angry at me?" You say, crossing your arms to meet her energy.

She rolls her eyes, annoyed at you. "Is it not obvious? You left us for SO long, not even a word or a letter. You could've been dead for all we knew. Then, you come back and ask us to do you this favor when we know you'll just leave again. This will be the last time you see me." She glares at you, keeping the energy she's had the whole time.

You sigh, understanding her frustration and taking it in. She's completely valid in her concerns, but you aren't sure what to say to make her feel better. "You are completely valid in your feelings. I got so encompassed down here that I didn't think about the effects it would have on everyone else. I'm sorry; I truly am. I promise going forward that, I will come up with more. We can plan night events as well to bring Astarion around. I should've done this from the beginning, but I will correct my actions going forth."

Lae'zal takes a deep breath and relaxes her stance more. "If you break this promise, I will never forgive you. I will leave you behind like I have done to many before you. I will accept it...for now." She glances at you and then back inside. You take the hint and follow her back into the party.

______________________________________________________________

When you return, it seems that no one noticed your little skiff outside, and they're still mingling together. You go and grab yourself a drink from the table when a hand all too familiar to yourself rests on your shoulder.

"Thank you, darling," Astarion whispers, kissing you on the cheek gently. You smile at the kiss and turn to him to see his soft smile. "This means so much to me; how did you know I needed it?"

"I know you better than you know yourself. I needed it as well, ya know?" You smile as you rest your hand on his cheek. He rests his face against your hand, closing his eyes to your soft touch. This moment makes you both forget you're in a room full of people. You softly rub his cheek, but your moment is quickly dispelled by hooting and hollering by your friends in the room. Astarion whips back at them, and they immediately silence themselves, sipping their drinks. He bursts into laughter and heads back to the group, winking back at you. You join them, telling stories and gaggling about everything. The night flows into the morning, wrapped in love and friendship for the whole time.

______________________________________________________________

Everyone has left, most helping to clean up and leaving you and Astarion to relax after the long party. He sits on the couch, and you lay next to him, resting your head on his lap. He plays with your hair as you sit in silence, closing your eyes to his touch. You sit in silence for a while, the first in the last few hours. After a while, he breaks the silence in a hushed voice.

"This night is one I won't forget for a while. I didn't realize how long it had been since we had seen everyone. I missed the laughter, the stories, and their presence. Thank you, dear. I will never be able to stop thanking you." He smiles at your calm face, looking at every crevice that he adores.

You open your eyes and smile back at him, looking lovingly in his eyes. "I would do it again, a thousand times over, just to see that lovely smile of yours." You sit up, bringing him into a soft kiss, feeling him smile throughout. Your kiss deepens, filled with passion, love, and thrill. You pull back, resting your forehead against his, both grinning from ear to ear.

"It's nice to have you back."

"It's good to be back, my sweet."

[angelmichelangelo]

I know nothing about TMNT, except that they pizza I think?? But I am already in love with TLOU, so please share insights on your fic!!

hoo boy don’t tempt me into infodumping about the ninja turtles cos i will do it in full force without hesitation. and once i get going i won’t be able to stop, so proceed at your own risk lol

more under the cut because i go a little crazy oops

so my apocalypse au! i wrote a little fic about seven years ago that i ended up orphaning on my ao3 but for good reason - my old tmnt fics were just. horrendously written. like, barely readable from the bad grammar and such - so i thought why not remake it !

so it’s basically about the boys, obviously, and i kinda take a little bit of every iteration for this au, since it’s also a human au. and like i said in my post, i’m probably gonna borrow a LOT of elements of tlou cos that’s like. a little brain worm that won’t leave my head right now so it’s kind of perfect timing for this fic to be written, if i ever actually finish it

so in this version leo and mikey are half siblings. leo is half japanese half white and mikey is biracial

donnie and raph are biological twins that are italian american. they’re not related to mikey and leo but they’re close as brothers.

in this version i borrow the idea from rise that they’re different ages:

leo is 20

raph + donnie are 17

mikey is 12 (because i’m such a sucker for there being a bigger age gap between the oldest and the youngest)

april and casey are also part of the crew and they’re 17 also.

so the apocalypse starts and splinter (mikey + leo’s dad) bites it, rip, and so they escape home to get to casey’s apartment where the rest of the gang is. april’s dad is dead. don and raph’s mother is missing. casey’s dad is gone and tbh he doesn’t care because fuck casey’s dad (he’s abusive in the comics and it’s implied in other iterations too) so it just leaves the kids alone and.. honestly im just killing off all the adults for the sake of the story lol

and yeah. the fic is like, the very beginning of the apocalypse and then i’m hopefully planning to have little spin off fics about them just surviving because isn’t that the best part about a good zombie story? a found family just trying to move on with their lives ;__; but also on the subject of zombies, obviously i don’t wanna like totally rip of tlou by having clickers and stuff. but these aren’t twd zombies that shuffle along. they’re tlou zombies they’re fast as hell and scary as fuck so writing that escape scene is gonna be real hard but hopefully worth it if i can fully translate all the terror and energy from my head onto the page :)

i dunno if anyone would ever be interested into a fic like this. maybe not, maybe it’s just a fic i wanna read and if so? so be it ! im fine with that :) i’ll still post it, and frankly im really excited to get it written, it’s just writing it that’s the hard part lol

so THANK YOU friend for indulging me in my silly little fic ideas. it was fun to just ramble on about it, and who knows, maybe someone might see this post and actually be interested in such an idea. so yeah! thanks again for the ask :) it’s super appreciated:)

[thekisforkeats]

Ooh jm + shy kiss for the prompts?

Ohhh good one! I had to think about this a little and actually wrote up a bunch that didn't quite work at first. But! Here it is!

Set somewhere in the first few minutes of 160, in those weeks between arriving at the safehouse and Hazel Rutter. Featuring autistic Martin trying to navigate social situations because that is evidently what I write now.

(Incidentally the term "weak ties" was coined by a Stanford researcher in 1973. Link to the relevant paper. Credit where due, and all.)

(No beta no edits we die like archive assistants.)

.

.

.

It takes Martin a week to convince Jon to come down into the village with him.

If he's being honest with himself--and he's trying very hard to be honest with himself these days, so he can identify any Lonely-type thoughts--he really just wants to show off his boyfriend to the nice lady at the little shop in the village where he's been picking up essentials.

Martin is a naturally friendly person, or maybe a naturally personable person. This was not always the case; he had to practice a great deal to memorize all the scripts to smooth social interactions that other people seem to navigate without thinking about it at all. It can be horribly exhausting, just going to the shops. It's one of the reasons the Lonely appealed to him; how much easier to just move through life without having to recite all those canned lines?

Now that he's out of its grip, he's come to realize how much those interactions matter. He's been reading a lot on the internet about depression and social interaction, about social circles, and one thing that caught his eye is the idea of "weak ties," those people we're not exactly friends with, but who we see on a regular basis and who help us feel connected to a larger community. People who don't really know us and yet know something about us that helps us feel seen. The bus driver who gives you a familiar nod every morning. the barista who's prepping your order as soon as he notices you in line, the shop lady who tries to keep your favorite tea in stock.

So Martin is trying to cultivate those relationships, to feel part of a wider community, rather than just relying on Jon. He thinks that maybe if he'd had more of that, before, if he'd tried harder to go through the world being seen, he might have handled Jon's coma and his mother's death in some kind of healthier manner.

Maybe not, of course, but he's going to use any tool he can to keep the Lonely at bay.

At any rate, even beyond being very good at social scripts, Martin does genuinely like people, he's a good listener, for an autistic guy he's practically a social butterfly. And Elspeth is a nice lady, maybe mid-40's, the kind of person who runs a shop because she actually likes interacting with a stream of customers on a regular basis. So she's just the sort of person for Martin to practice his "weak tie" skills.

Because, naturally, one of the key benefits of "weak ties" is that they are the sort of people you get to be public about your relationship with when none of your closer friends are around.

Yeah, no, all of the above is just flimsy justification, if Martin's being really honest with himself. He's just madly in love and wants literally everyone within a 500-mile radius to know.

That morning, Martin makes a big show of how badly he wants to spend time with Jon, no really, but he really does have to go down into the village.

"We're out of tea!"

"I don't think we have anything for dinner!"

"But I really want to keep listening to you talk about Scottish history!"

And so on.

Jon gives him a tolerantly amused look, and Martin flushes. Is he that transparent, or is Jon just that good at reading him?

"I suppose I can go into the village with you, Martin," he says, eyes glittering. "Since you're so terribly interested in the House of Stuart. I'd hate to leave you wondering what happened to James II."

Martin would feel guilty, but he can tell Jon is pleased to be "indulging" him, and it's not like Martin hasn't been listening to Jon infodump about whatever random facts Beholding's been given him all week.

They hold hands all the way down into the village, and it's nice, to walk through the place and be seen, together. It's comfortable. They'd held hands on walks before, long ago in London, before the Unknowing, but back then they hadn't been sure what they were, hadn't managed to broach the delicate barrier between "friends" and "something else." Now, they're "boyfriends," and Martin keeps finding himself wanting to go up to each person he sees on the street and shout, "This is my boyfriend, Jonathan Sims!!"

By the time they reach Elspeth's shop, he's feeling a little giddy.

He pushes open the door and the little bell rings, and Elspeth looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Martin!" she says, and Martin's whole body warms in a very pleasant manner, that this woman he's only known a week remembers him. "Oh, and this must be the elusive Jon." She gives them one of those teasing smiles people give to new couples, glittering eyes and amusement at the silly things people do when they're in limerence.

"Yes," Martin says, and suddenly the words stick in his throat. "Yes, this is... is... umm..." Oh, why has he suddenly frozen like a deer in headlights? Why can't he remember the right words?

"Jonathan Sims," Jon says smoothly, stepping forward to offer the woman his hand. "And yes, I'm Martin's boyfriend."

It occurs to Martin, all at once, that neither of them have said that out loud to anyone else. No wonder he's frozen up.

Elspeth glances at the burn scars on Jon's hand only briefly, then smiles--and it's a genuine smile, not one of those pitying ones people sometimes put on when they see scars like that--and shakes said hand. "Pleased to meet you," she replies. "Elspeth Douglas." She has the Highland accent, but softened; she spent her 20's and 30's in London, she's said, and came back to take over the family store when her father fell ill. The similarity might be part of why Martin likes her--that and the fact that it seems that helping her sickened parent improved her life.

"Ahh, yes. The not-so-elusive Elspeth." Jon actually flashes a grin, which Martin finds remarkable. Since when is Jon... friendly? Well, maybe he's trying for Martin's sake. If so, Martin very much appreciates the effort.

The woman behind the counter laughs, and says, "How can I help you?"

"Oh," Martin manages, his brain catching up and letting his mouth work again, "we're just here for tea and things."

"Of course," Elspeth says. "I'll be here when you're ready."

They turn away, to go deeper into the aisles.

"She seems nice," Jon says almost absently. "Shame about her fa--" He pauses, and frowns. Shakes his head, looking irritated. "You didn't tell me about that," he grumbles.

"No, I didn't. But thank you for trying to keep it in," Martin says.

Jon sighs, lowering his voice. "It's becoming harder and harder to separate what I've learned on my own from what Beholding gives me. How much of my thoughts are mine anymore? Did I actually memorize all those facts about the House of Stuart, or am I getting the... mental Wikipedia page, as it were?"

"Seems like a thing you'd know," Martin comments offhandedly. He's focused on figuring out what kind of rice to buy. He wants to try his hand at sticky rice, which really should have calrose, but Jon likes jasmine rice. Do they get both?

He doesn't want to think about Beholding, and how much of it is Jon anymore. He prefers just thinking about it as something like a smartphone app Jon can use without having to actually have a phone in front of him. He does not want to think about how much of his boyfriend has been potentially consumed by some kind of eldritch thing that feeds on fear.

He really doesn't want to think about the idea that maybe soon, Jon won't even need rice anymore, and will just live off statements, no matter how much he jokes about his partner's "eating habits."

Jon has been talking as Martin's been staring at the rice, but Martin hasn't heard any of it. He's brought back to himself by a squeeze of Jon's hand in his.

"Hey," Jon says softly. "You okay?"

In Jon's voice, Martin hears all the concern that Martin himself has been feeling. He forces himself to look at Jon, and sees bright green eyes staring out of a deep brown face. He realizes he's gotten used to the color of Jon's eyes; before the coma, Jon's eyes were brown, like a deep carnelian, and so large and dark sometimes Martin thought he could fall right into them and be happy drowning there. Now they're green, bright and disarming, and Martin's pretty sure this is why Jon still wears glasses he no longer needs, to hide those strange eyes behind plastic lenses.

Those eyes are looking up at him intensely now, and Jon's brow is furrowed, and his mouth is pulled into a frown in a way that highlights one of the worm scars near his lip, and all of it is adorable, but it's also disconcerting for the contrast between the softness of his voice and the intensity of his expression.

Is Jon as afraid of losing Martin to Forsaken as Martin is of losing Jon to Beholding?

Martin frowns at him for a moment, then sighs. "I just..." He has to look away, back to the bags of rice. "I just... don't like thinking about that. Beholding, and... all of it. I just... I just wish..."

"You wish we could be normal." Jon's tone is still soft, and filled only with love and no sort of guilt or self-recrimination.

"Yeah," Martin says, still staring at the rice.

There's a hesitation, and then Jon says, softly and slowly, "You know... normal people deal with these sort of difficult things, too. There's so much out there that can hurt people... the things we deal with, they're weirder than most of the rest of it, but..."

"Yeah, I know, Jon, I just..." Martin hunches his shoulders. "Don't want to lose you again," he finally mumbles.

Jon hesitates a moment, and then he leans in to give Martin a soft kiss on the cheek.

Martin flushes bright red--Elspeth's right there!--and turns to stare at Jon. "W-what... what was... that for?!"

Jon, too, is blushing. "I just... ah... I just... wanted you to know that... that I'm... here. You haven't... lost me. Or anything."

"Oh," Martin says. "Well. Thank you."

There's a moment where they just look at each other, and then Jon blurts, "...Can I kiss you again? It's just, I haven't all morning, and I really sort of wanted to spend the morning cuddling, but you wanted to come down to the shops..."

"Here?!" Martin stares at him.

"We can go behind the shelves if you like," Jon says, blushing furiously.

For some reason, this makes Martin giggle, and then he leans down to brush his lips to Jon's. Softly, shyly, as if they haven't been kissing each other all week, because he really is terribly aware of the fact that there are other people around.

"Tell you what," Martin says as he pulls back, surprisingly breathless despite how short the contact of their lips was, "let's finish up the shopping and then we can cuddle all afternoon."

Jon smiles up at him. "Promise?" The smile widens. "You're not going to drag me around to introduce me to every villager individually?"

"I was not--!" Martin glares at him, but now Jon's smile has become one of those shit-eating grins he gets sometimes, and Martin can't stay mad at him at all.

"You knew," he accuses, but there's no heat in it.

"I had a hunch," Jon says, humming. "I didn't want to spoil your fun, though."

Martin rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take Jon's hand again. "Well, then, we'd better get to it. Jasmine or calrose? Rice, I mean."

"Both, I think," Jon says. "I find myself very much desiring normality of late, and rice is a terribly normal sort of thing."

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Emotion (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: Kakashi again...can't get enough of this mans tbh. U r an empath due to your kekkei genkai and Kakashi has always been difficult to read. Friend to lovers. Sharing one bed folks, we got some steamyyy shit here. Angst warning as well.

Word count: 6000

He was always alone. Ever since his childhood, he walked the world completely alone with only a few people there to support him. No mother, no father, no mentor, no teammates. He was at the mercy of fate his entire life, things being stolen from him time and time again. 

He just prayed that he could keep her. Y/N L/N, the only woman to have wormed her way into his heart and made a home there.

When they first met, Kakashi and Y/N, she cursed him for being such a weirdo. Apparently his mind was empty and his heart was seemingly full of sand. He was conditioned that way, and that is how he lived for the longest time. It wasn't a surprise for him to hear that.

But she thought it was stranger than anything she'd ever seen, and so she followed him. She would figure him out, bring him back down to Earth from his supposed high horse. That woman was determined, and frankly he didn't mind her being around. She was quiet enough that it didn't matter. Not to mention on the missions they had together, she was quite the partner.

Over time, she'd learned to read him like a book. It was part of her clan's kekkei genkai. The ultimate empath, I suppose. The ability to read a persons every single emotion and then turn that, if they so choose, into power. 

She was never the greatest fighter, but her negotiation skills were the best they could possibly be. She would dive into the emotions of another and manipulate them backwards and forwards to get what she wanted. 

It was overwhelming, walking into a room of people and immediately being bombarded with so many feelings coming at her all at once. Occasionally, if the situation was bad enough she'd have to take a seat and clear her mind, organizing each person in her mind like a filing cabinet of empathy.

But damn, did she try to weasel out every bit of feeling she could. It was just something that came so naturally, she couldn’t help but instigate whatever was brewing up inside him.

"Kakashi, if you're happy, you know you're allowed to express it. You don't have to hide it away," she told him, staring at the masked man sitting across from her at the table. He was watching as she sharpened her kunai, and she could feel the content running off his body in small bursts. He was feeling better. Better than he had in a little while. Of course she picked up on it.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. She was always reading him, he knew that. He just preferred when she refrained from mentioning it. It did, most times, feel like a bit of an invasion of privacy, how she could deep dive into the corners of his mind. There were things no one else could ever possibly know that she did. It was strange, but he was used to it.

"What? Want me to smile or something?"

"No, but you should let yourself go. Just drop the facade."

"Stop doing that. Getting into my head."

Quietly, she set down her blade and picked up the next one, taking a cloth and softly wiping away any dirt. Her eyes slide up to his for a moment, her all knowing gaze filling his vision. "It's basically impossible. Especially if you're the only one around. There's nothing else to focus on except you." He knew that. It wasn't like she had an on or off switch. That was the downside of this dojutsu. Unlike sharingan and byakugan users, hers was always pulling the strings of her brain.

"You've got that mission next week. With Naruto and a few of the other kids, right?"

"Yes."

"It's A rank, isn't it?"

She hummed in agreement. He had a habit of knowing about all her missions, more importantly being the dangerous ones. He wasn't necessarily scared for her, probably not. He was more cautious than anything. There was this nagging feeling in his head that he shouldn't let her go on these missions alone. That it was too dangerous for her to handle. 

But he was wrong. She was stronger than he thought, and could hold her own in battle. He was just a worrier. He'd just lost too many, seen too many bodies in front of his eyes to trust. God, he wanted to trust her, but he couldn't. She was too vulnerable. His friend, one of the only ones who hadn't died yet. For all he knew, her days numbered, that's how paranoid he was about everything.

"You'll be careful?"

"That's a silly question." He gave her a look that said he was more serious than anything, and she sighed. "Of course I'll be careful. I have people that would miss me if I wasn't." He was one of them. She could sense his fear whenever she said goodbye and his relief when she returned. He really tried to remain objective, but his heart said otherwise. 

And she would be a liar to say that she did not experience the same relief seeing him come home from missions, even if he was beaten and bruised to the bone, she was just happy he made it back. So many never got to come home. It was a sick world, they lived in, but she could relish in the little comforts.

"Don't worry about me. I'll always turn out fine. It's you and your dumb students we have to worry about."

"I hear you. Those kids are enough to drive a person mad." He rested his chin in his palm, the mere thought of those kids causing his blood pressure to rise.

"Thankfully my students never gave me any trouble. Sweet little things."

"Well, aren't you just lucky, Y/N?"

"What can I say? Kurenai and I got the luck of the draw with our students. You men had it rough, I have to admit," she laughed. It was funny that he was so unfortunate to have gotten assigned the Uchiha and the Uzumaki, two completely opposite but persistent forces. "Despite your perverted tendencies and your perpetual lateness, you still did a great job teaching them."

"Thanks. But do you really have to call me a pervert? I'm really not."

"Yeah? That explains why you read porn in public. Admit you're a pervert, you dumb old man."

"We're the same age-" he began to argue, but she just cut him off with her harsh words.

"Creep," she muttered, running the sharpening stone along her blade. He narrowed his eyes. She was being awfully annoying, and he knew she could sense his irritation building up. Yet she continued just to be a pain in the ass.

 He warned, "Hey. Watch it, L/N."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop...Pervert." She ducked her head when his hand reached out to wring her around the neck for being so frustrating, and she continued to laugh. It was nice, having a friend she could joke with and be around without having to worry about what she said. He might pretend to be mad, but she could feel the happiness still rolling off his body thickly under all that fake neutrality. 

He was happier than he'd been in a long while, and she found herself swelling with pride knowing that she might have helped make that happen. Her lips curled into the gentlest of smiles as she peered back up at him, and he found himself smiling back even if it was just through the mask. 

He swore in that moment, he'd make sure Y/N didn't end up like all the others. She would live. He'd break this wretched curse just for her. He was sure of it.

______

"How could you be so reckless?! Do you want to die?" Kakashi shouted at his friend who could only stand there angrily, arms crossed over her chest and one foot in the other direction. She didn't need to be lectured by someone who took just as many risks every single mission as she did.

"Kakashi, I really don't want to hear it. You have no idea how it went."

"Yeah but Naruto does, and we were just talking."

She placed her free hand over her chest and exclaimed even angrier than before, "You're going to trust a kid over me? Naruto even?" It was just low to trust Naruto when she was right there to explain herself. Just let her speak for once, she wanted to say but he of course, had something else to say.

He waved his arm toward the ramen shop, eyes glaring. "Don’t be rude. He's right there. What is wrong with you?"

Indeed, Naruto was sitting inside Ichiraku with Jiraiya at his side, munching on pork ramen while the pair fought outside. Kakashi was eating with them, taking a break from his work to just relax with his master and student when out of the corner of his eye he noticed Y/N stumbling down the street on her crutch. 

He heard when she got back home that she was in the infirmary for a couple days. He had no idea for what reason until Naruto explained to him what happened. She was being needlessly reckless on the battlefield, relying too much on her kekkei genkai and not enough on her brain. She threw herself right in the way of an enemy, for what reason, he didn't know. All he knew was that she could have died and she didn't seem to care one bit.

Rightfully so, he was mad. Normally he preferred not to make a scene in the open like this, but there wasn't anyone else around and he was red-hot.

She huffed. "He knows I don't mean anything bad by that. How could he not? I'm also his sensei, you know."

"Doesn't matter," Kakashi brushed off her words. "What you did was dangerous and you don't seem to care. Next time what are you gonna do? Run right into the arms of the enemy?"

"No, I would never. Kakashi, you're just being a jerk right now. I'm literally injured from the hip down and you have to yell at me? Jeez, just be grateful I'm alive, okay? Things happen," she tried to reason with him, but he didn't acknowledge it. He wasn't exactly feeling all that rational.

"Things don't just happen like that."

She groaned, "Well apparently they do, because it happened to me."

His eye narrowed and she noticed the way he clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times by his sides. Clearly he was just trying to channel his anger, but he really had no reason to be so upset. She hadn't done anything to him. He really needed to relax. "This is so like you L/N's. Always so emotional. Always thinking you're stronger than you actually are."

"Excuse you-"

"Get a grip, you aren't going to live forever."

"First off, don't interrupt me. Second, don't talk about my clan ever again, you hear me, Hatake? We don't live to please your dumbass," she cursed, how dare he say shit about her clan. That asshole. He was just being so...so unlike himself. She had no idea what had gotten into him, but she hated it and just wanted to continue on her way before he said something else stupid. 

Normally, she didn't expect to be bombarded in the street nearly the second she leaves the hospital, but Kakashi never fails to surprise her.

"I've got to go. Don't bother following me." With that, she took off past him, rushing as fast as she could on her crutch, which was pathetically slow. Silently, she cringed at how ridiculous she must look waddling around like this in a fit of rage. Nevermind that. She had better things to do.

He huffed out the breath he had been holding to walk back into the ramen shop, taking his seat beside Naruto and slouching down into the stool. Immediately, Master Jiraiya met his eyes, wisdom about to drip from his tongue once again. "You need to go apologize."

"Why? She clearly doesn't want that right now."

"Well, to start, you insulted her clan which is a big no-no. Imagine saying that to an Uchiha. You're lucky she let you off so easily."

"Yeah, Kakashi. You kinda just attacked her out there in the street," Naruto added.

Jiraiya continued, "Mainly though, the longer you let her stay angry, the worse it'll be for you in the end. Trust me."

"She said don't follow her."

"And you're actually going to listen?" The older man laughed. "You and her fighting reminded me a lot of young Tsunade and I. And let me tell you, you don't just let a woman like that go. I sure did. It’s not a fun time."

"Yeah, Kakashi sensei, go find Y/N."

The jounin stood from his stool and slapped a ramen voucher onto the counter top to pay for his meal. This really didn't seem like a good idea, he had to admit. But he would trust the process. This was the author of his favorite romance series, after all. How could he get something like this wrong? To put blind faith into Jiraiya on realistic romantic matters was probably the not the wisest thing to do, but it was the only thing he had to go on. "I'll go, but this doesn't sound like good advice."

"If you let this go, she's might run into the arms of another man for comfort. Do you want that?"

Tch, there was no way she was gonna do that. She barely had any friends. If anything she would go see Kurenai. Still, he pulled back the cloth at the entrance and muttered, "I gotta catch up to her."

"'Atta boy," Jiraiya cheered, waving off the copy nin. "Another bowl, Naruto?"

"Yes, please!"

Kakashi walked down the streets, looking for the woman he was sent on a mission to find and apologize to. He searched through the shops and the stands for her, walked by her apartment no sign of her. It wasn't until he stumbled by the bookstore that he found her eyeing down the display out front, leaning comfortably on her crutch.

"Y/N," he called to her, and he watched as she tensed up without a second. He caught up to her, walking to stand beside her in front of the store windows. "I need to talk to you."

"What do you want?" She questioned, peering over at him with a quirked brow. He seemed calmed down by now. Thankfully. "Also, didn't I tell you not to follow me?"

"You did, but Jiraiya told me to apologize."

"So this isn't even on your own accord, you're doing it because Jiraiya told you so." He groaned. Of course she would twist his words and find some way to make things bad on his end. She was angry with him, what did he expect to happen? Her to accept him with open arms?

"Listen, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I was just overwhelmed."

"With what? I wasn't paying attention to anything but the anger." She picked at her finger nails in an attempt to remain casual, but really she was just itching to hear what he had to say. She was willing to give him a second chance, only because he was normally so sweet. This was just out of character for him.

He replied, "I was scared for you. Naruto told me about how you nearly died, and I was upset that you did that. I was upset because I could only think about what if you had been overpowered and the enemy killed you." His explanation was weak, but he hoped she would accept it as truth. He really wasn't lying. When he heard she was in the hospital indefinitely, he nearly had a heart attack himself. He worried for her every time she left on a mission without him. It just meant that if she failed, he wasn't there to protect her himself. He couldn't handle that thought.

"So you were worried?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's sweet of you, isn't it?"

"I'd miss you, you know. If you died."

She froze. That wasn't what she expected him to say. When she looked over at him, he was just staring into the storefront window, but she could feel the sadness in waves running off his body. She wobbled around on her crutch to face him, a hand getting coming up to rest on his shoulder. "It's okay."

"I don't want you going on missions without me because every time it scares the shit out of me thinking they'll bring you back dead. Every time. I don't know why."

"It's normal to worry for your teammates."

"It's not the same, and you know it."

"Ah." And she felt it. Even if it was just a little hint of something, she felt his infatuation roll off his body and she took it in like a drink of cold water. So refreshing. Was he attracted to her? She had no idea before this that he cared so much but from the sound of it, he had some strong feelings attached. She wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it was going to be okay, but that felt too personal. Instead, she leant back and muttered, "You know, Kakashi, I worry about you too."

"It's good we both have someone who cares, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I should be on my way, but, uh, if you need some help getting up to your apartment-"

"I should be fine."

"Okay, good."

"Yeah, so uh, see you," she turned on her heel and started heading in the other direction toward her home when suddenly, his hand reached out to stop her. 

"Wait, Y/N. I think..."

"What is it?"

"It's just that I need you. Please be careful from now on."

She stopped, turning around just enough to get a good look at his face. He only watched her, a glimmer of something she didn't recognize in his eye. 

"As long as you take care of yourself too, Mister."

"Y/N, I…"

All she could feel was a rough fabric rubbing against her face for a second before the full picture came into view. 

Mask to lips. I repeat, mask to lips.

She stared at him, as he kissed her right there in front of their favorite bookstore. When he pulled away after a second, he seemed just as shocked as she was. She pressed a hand to her forehead and struggled to find the right words to say. 

Kakashi Hatake just kissed her. 

And she definitely liked it. More than any other kiss she’d ever had before. She loved it. Mask or not, that was one of the best surprises of her entire life, and she honestly had no idea how to react. She settled for the easiest possible thing, running in the opposite direction, give herself time to think over what that meant for the two of them if anything at all. Kakashi wasn’t the type to have a girlfriend, he was always single. There just wasn’t room in his life for her.

There was plenty room in her life to fit him in comfortably. And there was more than enough room in her bed as well. 

Flustered, with heat coming to sit in her cheeks and run up her neck, she turned and motioned in the direction of her home. She just had too many thoughts to sit here and pretend she wasn’t dying inside from the tension.

"I've got to run home now," she managed to say. "Well, not run, with these crutches and all, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I should be going too. I'll see you around,” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. 

"See you."

And into separate directions they went, just as confused as ever.

______

"Kakashi, I swear to God, if you don't stay on your side of the bed, I'm gonna-

"You'll what? Hit me? Go ahead. You're the one that keeps snoring."

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, rolling over in the bed and planting her fist directly in the middle of his chest. He didn't even flinch, she hadn't meant to hurt him anyway. She was just so annoyed. You would think that the stoic Hatake would be easy to sleep beside but no, he was a pain in the ass. He was rude. He was way too hot under the sheets. He still smelled like dog even after taking a bath. Just overall a bad experience, definitely 0 out of 10.

"What? It's the truth."

She groaned, throwing one of her arms over her eyes, burying her nose in the crook of her elbow. "Whatever. Don't ever mention my snoring again. It’s embarrassing me." She was self-conscious. She was usually so good at maintaining a cool and calm presence and now Kakashi was seeing that all crumble. Great. 

"Fine."

"Can't you just stay on your side so we can both sleep comfortably?"

"Can't you just stop snoring so I can sleep comfortably?" 

What a bastard. She could practically feel him snickering beneath his mask, and she felt frustration bubbling up in her chest. He was annoying. The audacity of this man, laughing and causing trouble in the night when they clearly had a mission to continue tomorrow. She could actually feel the delight radiating off his form.

She jumped up from her spot and threw herself onto the man beside her, attempting to make a vicious grab for the throat so she could maybe shut him up for just a few seconds. He dodged easily, taking her wrists in his calloused hand and lowering them to rest on his chest. Still, he continued to laugh at her. She felt like an utter joke sitting there on his stomach, looking at him through loose strands of her hair. 

She grumbled under her breath, her cheeks puffing out full of embarrassment, "Stupid."

"Me? Stupid? Look at you."

She replied swiftly, "What about me? You're the one with that ugly grin on your face." Quickly, she snatched her hands out from under his to cross her arms over her chest. She rocked back a bit on her knees to get a better look at his indeed ugly face. 

Except he definitely wasn't ugly, and that grin was more devilishly handsome than anything else. And honestly, she felt herself starting to get flustered in the position she'd put herself in. Of course she didn't hate Kakashi. He was one of her friends and coworkers. It was just that sometimes he could be casually attractive and she found herself falling under his spell. 

He just looked so fucking good lying there, staring up at her with a glimmer in his dark eyes. She could see the smile outlined under his mask. His hands had felt warm and firm around her own fingers. She missed his touch, there she said it, any touch on her body from Kakashi Hatake felt like heaven. He was far too cute, and the soft contact between them drove her crazy.

She wanted to punch herself for thinking such silly things. This was Kakashi, one of her frenemies. Not boyfriend material. Stupid. Silly. 

If only he didn't look so good, Jesus christ. Get your brain out of the gutter, Y/N.

Little did she know, his mind was already waist deep in those damn gutters and he was loving it.

"You really think that?"

"What? That you're ugly?" She asked, tilting her head to the side just a bit as if to think about it. Only a second later, another mischievous smile crossed her lips. "Of course."

He lifted his fingers to slid along her waist and down to her hips, fingers curling ever so slightly around her curves. She shuddered as his hands slid down to hold the sides of her bare thighs in his hands, his warm, strong hands with the softest fingertips. She wanted to die.

Had they kissed before? Yes. We're they somewhat romantically involved? Maybe. Did that give him any good reason to rest his rough hands on her thighs like that? Probably, and her thoughts were running a mile a minute at this point. 

"Kakashi...stop that," she said softly, her voice lowering from how it was before. She suddenly felt a lot smaller, scared even. Hooking up with Kakashi wasn't something she planned on doing anytime in the near future, if at all. He was her friend, and she felt strange sitting in his lap with his hands all over her. It felt so right but wrong at the same time, like she was breaking the law. Well, laws of friendship that is.

She cared about Kakashi, more than she wanted to admit. He wasn't just a friend, he was something weirdly in between and she couldn't exactly put her finger on how she felt about him. All she knew was that if she was going to have sex with this man, it would be the right way. They would have to date first. She wasn't just gonna sleep around this time. He was different. 

She wanted to impress him, to make him smile and laugh, to take him out to dinner and hold hands on their way home, to kiss at her doorstep. She wanted all of that before any of this.

His hands dropped from her sides and she crawled away from him, grabbing her blanket and cradling herself in it. "Listen, Y/N, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I know, it's not your fault. Don't worry about it."

It was quiet. Just the sounds of both their breaths filling the air and the crickets chirping in the darkness outside. She shifted in her blanket to rest her head on the wall, leaning against it with her shoulder. He remained on his back, staring up at the empty ceiling tiles. 

It was now so terribly awkward. Thanks, Y/N.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You, uh, don't snore all that much. I was just teasing you."

"Thanks," she exhaled. "You're not as ugly as I said."

"I know."

Wow, Kakashi. So modest.

Her words fell right into place as she spoke, emotions slipping out with each breath. She looked at his profile in the dark, the way his bedhead stood on end, his nose pointed upward and his lips sat calmly, the curve of his chin under the edge of his mask, the way his eyes just sat there unmoving and gentle, brows soft above the eye. She took in all of him as she confessed, "I just don't want it to be like this. I don't want to fall for you this way."

"I get it."

"I just think that you and I could be something different. You're not like the other guys to me, at least, I don't think of you that way," she took a deep breath. He still stared deep in the ceiling, and somehow it made her comfortable enough to confess everything she'd been feeling. It was as if he could just lay there and listen without words forever. "I don't want you to just fuck me before we really...well I don't know, we've never even been on a date. I...I think I'm ready to fall in love with you."

"Then let's do it."

She peered over at him, lips agape with surprise. She hadn't expected much at all, but certainly not that. "What?"

"When we get back to the village, I'll take you on a date, more if things go well. We can take it as slow as you want," he told her, turning to lay on his side, facing her. He watched as she cuddled further into the comforter, only a peek of her face in his view. She was actually kinda cute through all those worn and torn layers. "I don't think I can let you go this time."

"Really?"

"Anything for you."

She ducked her head down to stare at the hardwood beneath her feet. She was overwhelmed by how nice he was being. Normally, it didn't go like this. Things normally got sexual so quick there wasn't even a chance for these sorts of conversations. It was just different with Kakashi. She could say no to him and expect better, because she knew he could deliver. "No one has ever treated me like this before."

He smiled. "Well, it's about time someone did."

"Can you hold me?"

"Come on." He lifted his arm up with the covers attached so she could crawl over and burrow herself next him, tucked right against his side. He rested his arm around her shoulders and held her close to his chest. Things were looking good for the both of them. Better than they had in a long time.

He wished this kind of thing could last forever. The beating of her heart, the laughter in her voice, the shine in her eyes. He just wished he could have bottled it all up and held it close to him for the rest of his life. 

But he waited too long, and the opportunity slipped from his grasp.

______

The pair fought hard. Kakashi was better than her, everyone knew that. The enemy targeted her for that reason. It was clear as day that she was important to Kakashi, and the enemy quickly caught onto that. He was quick to bring the knife to her neck, pressing the woman’s back tightly to his chest. The blade stung her skin, already piercing the flesh from the bit of pressure he applied.

She cried out, feeling a trail of blood begin running down her neck. Her nails clawed at his arm, desperate to get him to release her from his clutches, but he persisted. One hand held onto her chin tightly, keeping her face from thrashing, and the other continued to apply more and more pressure into the blade. 

For the first time in a long time, she found herself feeling unrestricted fear. She was scared. Scared for her life. She’d never been in this situation before, feeling so completely and utterly helpless like a deer caught in the headlights. Kakashi was right there, she should have known everything was going to be okay. After all, she had the village’s strongest veteran on her side.

It wasn’t the pain that caused the tears to bubble up in the corners of her eyes, no, it was Kakashi. The way his eyes darted over to the them, and she could feel his heart beginning to race, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and the fear creeping up into his heart. He never wore his heart on his sleeve. He was so closed off, sometimes she could only get a wisp of emotion from him, especially the ones that showed such vulnerability. 

Now it all seemed to come tumbling out like a landslide. She was drowning in fear, his and her own. 

“Let her go,” he called out, practically pleading with the man across from him, but it was in vain. 

“Like I’d listen to some filthy leaf shinobi,” the spy replied angrily. He felt so hot, burning up with so much anger she wanted to throw up. What had they done to upset him this badly? Her jaw was starting to ache from being held so tightly, and she swore she could taste blood running down her throat. This was bad. This was so terribly, miserably bad. 

Kakashi stood there, his hands hovering at his sides, unknowing of what to do. She was already bleeding out all over the collar of her shirt. If he made a single move, the man could easily finish the job with one fatal swipe. The copy nin felt cornered. Hopeless. What was there left to do? He’d let the love of his life fall in the hands of some petty criminal. 

Come on, think of something. Anything. Just think of something.

“What? You upset I’ve got your little girlfriend here?”

God, he was so desperate. The man taunting him didn’t help at all. He just felt himself spiralling deeper into hopelessness. He bargained, “Please, just let her go. I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

It wouldn’t work though. This man was set in his ways, and there was no changing that. He came into this fight knowing exactly what he wanted to do. And he was going to finish the job. 

“This is for what you shinobi have done to my people,” he sneered before she felt the knife dip further into her neck, sliding painfully across her throat. He dropped her head from his grasp, and as soon as he had, her body crumbled down to the ground. She collapsed in a bleeding heap on the dirt. 

The criminal quickly ran into the forest behind them, getting lost among the trees and the bushes within seconds. None of that mattered though. Kakashi could only run over to her limp body lying there on the ground, sputtering and coughing on thick blood filling her throat and lungs. Her cheeks and lips painted red now from spitting so much up. He fell to his knees beside her body, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a tear drip down his face.

She cried, hot tears running down her cheeks into the dirt on either side of her head. She cried for her pathetic self, having been attacked and injured in this way. She cried for Kakashi, feeling the pain and sadness, the panic, radiating off his form. She took in every emotion he was feeling, wanting to savor being with him for as long as she had, to fully take him in one last time. 

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, his hands running over her hair and cheek, smearing blood on her skin and his fingers. “We’ll bring you back to the village. The Hokage can fix you.” His words were so soft into the air, like if he spoke any louder he would hurt her.

They both knew that none of what he was saying was true. She was as good as dead.

She lifted her hand weakly to sit on his other hand. “I…” The woman took a labored breath.. “Love you, Kashi.”

“No, no, no. Don’t say that,” he hushed her, feeling his heart grow heavier in his chest with every second that passed, every look at her bloody neck and face, her laboring chest as she took hopeless breaths. He was falling apart in this moment, desperate for fate to change, for her to magically be better. He choked, “You can’t die, Y/N.”

“It’s okay.” Her words were slurred and hard to hear, liquid bubbling up in her throat to the point she was almost incomprehensible. “I love you,” she confessed once again. She wanted those to be her last ever words to him, the words he would remember for the rest of his life. To know someone out there loved him more than anything else.

He had to know that he was her everything. He was the best thing that ever happened to her, and she was going to miss him so terribly wherever her soul went after this. She just wished there was more time to tell him everything she felt. Yet, time was passing faster than she thought, and all those words felt impossible.

“I love you, too. You have to live for me. Just keep breathing, it's going to be okay.”

“It...hurts.”

More misery erupted his chest, and he found himself wanting to scream. Tears dripped steadily down both his cheeks now as he watched this woman die in front of him, one of the only people he truly needed in his life. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry I let this happen to you.”

She nodded faintly, her eyes beginning to close. He was starting to panic. Was this his last moment to say goodbye? Their time together was so short, how was this fair? He’d already lost everyone he ever cared about, and now this? He felt like the gods were laughing down at him and his misfortune. 

“You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know how I’ll do this without you.”

She didn’t respond, but she was still breathing. 

“Y/N, please.”

And he watched as her chest fell still and her labored breaths were silent on his ears. He found himself gathering her form up against his chest, her head cradled in the crook of his neck, just sobbing into her hair, weeping for a long lasting love gone in an instant. 

 He carried her body home that day himself. Something he never anticipated happening, but should have prepared for. He always thought he was going to watch as someone else carried her home to him, death long gone before he had the chance to see. He never thought it would be right in front of him. He thought he could protect her, save her from the clutches of fate. He was so wrong.

Kakashi was alone once again.

[softluci]

hello yes can i just say i l o v e d your gen z hcs and may i acquire more

for starters, i am not religious, but i am PRAYING you don’t think i was ignoring your ask. i’ve been thinking about it since i got it, it’s just that i’m a college student with worms for brains, so hopefully you understand. this is something that i’ve had on my mind for a long time [i’ve been at this on and off for months], and it most definitely can be associated with/attributed to gen z. 

for a fleeting, wonderful period of time, there was a trend on tiktok that went, “buss it, buss it…” are you familiar? 

that should be enough of a summary, right? ah—for future reference, “o7” is like a saluting emote, for anyone who might not know. reader is g/n as usual, enjoy!

[a/n: so because this is so long, this part is going to be, like, the lore, and then the actual headcanons will be right here]

trendy 

the two things most corrosive to the human spirit are easily named—capitalism and boredom. while it would be easier and less taxing to explain the former, the latter was the problem at hand. it’s not that there was nothing to do in the devildom—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that you wanted some time to yourself every now and again. the trouble with trying to take time for yourself in a completely new location, the residents of which are always enamored with you in one way or another, is that there isn’t anything to do. the house was full of adventures for you to take—the trap door under the rug in the library, the other trap door under the dining room table, the small door behind the couch in the living room, and whatever other poorly hidden doors your seven roommates thought you didn’t know about. 

trouble was, you didn’t want to leave your room. you, intelligent creature that you are, knew that the chances of you running into mammon or satan or beel or asmo were all too high, and even higher were the chances of you agreeing to spend time with them if they asked, and you knew they would. what were you to do? 

you stared at your ceiling from your bed, d.d.d. resting on your stomach as you let your mind wander. your d.d.d. was full of things for you to do, the devildom’s ethernet at your fingertips, but you weren’t interested in finding new things right now. you wanted something familiar, like—like your phone. 

what was the point of lucifer taking your phone, anyway? it’s not like you could use it—being here rendered it a useless brick of glass and metal, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal if you still had it. it was funny, though, that you couldn’t use your actual phone when it was still possible to access the human internet from down here. 

at least, you assumed so. 

how else would levi be able to keep up with his human idols, get tickets for their shows—the works, you know? luckily, you were fully capable of asking. 

d.d.d. now in your hand, you rolled onto your stomach and found your messages with levi, nails clacking against the glass as you tried to reach him.

hey, you texted, can you help me with something?

his reply came faster than you expected: ?? what do you need 

how do i access human websites and apps, you asked, rolling onto your side. you know how to, right?

lololol, it’s not possible :p

a grunt, more aggravated than you’d care to admit, escaped from the back of your throat.

don’t lie. 

a few minutes passed with no response, and you wondered if you were too harsh. 

“he’s a sensitive guy,” you mumbled, inhaling deeply. “i probably came on too strong or something.” 

just as you started typing out an apology and a, “forget i ever said anything,” you got a response. 

a vpn and a proxy site. 

a smile crept onto your face as air came out of your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you could muster. 

can you set it up for me? 

after another few minutes of no response, you sit up, wondering how you could’ve possibly fucked up a second time, your d.d.d. buzzed. 

levi sent you a file and a link, with a host of instructions. 

click on the file and it’ll take you to the vpn you need to download. don’t worry about bugs or anything, i made it myself. 

you let out a low whistle, flopping onto your back once more. 

“this guy gets up to more than i thought,” you said, eyebrows raised. “someone get this man some physical affection.” 

you continued to read, growing more fond of him with each sentence.

once you install it, pick the country whose network you want access to. from there, you’ll have a list of that country’s most used applications available for you. again, don’t worry about bugs. 

what’s the link for? you asked, excitement getting the better of you. 

for when you download internet applications. it’s added security, paste the link in before you search anything or you’ll trigger the firewall alarm. 

you blinked. 

you’ll trigger the what? 

i’ll trigger the fucking What? 

levi’s response was the fastest one yet: the Fucking Firewall Alarm. barbatos’ design. he has no idea i know how to bypass it. just do what i said. don’t try to solve any potential issues on your own, come to me for everything.

roger that o7, you replied, thanks levi ^_^

yeah, yeah. come to my room for a hxh binge tomorrow night.

you snorted. what a fucking nerd—in the greatest way possible. 

of course bestie :] ily

ily2 normie -_- 

in his room, unbeknownst to you, levi felt like he made a mistake of some kind. it’s not that he didn’t trust you, it’s just that you had a tendency to end up in undesirable situations, even if it wasn’t always on purpose. he was probably just worried over nothing, or so he tried to tell himself, but whatever. this isn’t even about him.

you sat up once more, this time leaning against your pillows as you started setting everything up. everything went so quickly that you barely wondered if all of this—subverting hell’s firewall, personally designed by a man eerily similar to a 2D crush from when you were in middle school—was worth accessing a few silly apps from the human world. 

a few minutes later, your d.d.d. now a much, much cooler copy of your phone, any and all thoughts of regret and hesitation were absent from your mind. 

your first order of business on your upgraded d.d.d. was logging into your tiktok account, however surprising it was that you even remembered the password. you put your headphones in and adjusted your volume, going back into the dumpster fire that is your for-you page with open arms. 

after around half an hour of stifled laughter and small, offended gasps from being targeted by the algorithm, you came across a rare dancing video. the person on your screen was in casual clothes, making minor, silly dance movements as the music dwindled, only for them to drop into a squat in time with the music, suddenly dolled up. you shot forward, taken aback by their transformation and by their dancing post beat drop. did you watch it on a loop for a few minutes? well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. you clicked on the sound in hopes of finding similar videos, and much to your relief, there were plenty. about ten videos in, a smile still on your face, you got an idea. 

you slipped your headphones out, arbitrarily looking around your room, before whispering to yourself, “i could—i could do that. i could totally do that.” 

and you were right. you had nice clothes and makeup from various shopping occasions with asmo. your room had led strips, courtesy of levi ordering the wrong ones and being so kind as to give them to you. you could do it. 

levi was the only person you’d spoken to since you retreated to your room a few hours ago, and the lights have been off the entire time, which meant that if you worked quietly enough, everyone else had reason enough to assume you were asleep. good! how could you possibly explain what you were doing getting all dolled up at, like, 11:00 on a wednesday night? you couldn’t, even a little bit—not in a way that convinced anyone, anyway. 

come midnight, you were sitting cross legged on your bed, watching your final product. not to be vain or anything, but you were looking very respectfully at yourself. since when could you move like that, anyway? the wonders of being alone, you supposed. 

you didn’t post it publicly, electing to save it as a draft just so it would save to your d.d.d. maybe you’d post it once you were back in the human world, when your friends wouldn’t swarm your comments asking where the fuck you were. 

yeah, lucifer told you, “everything was taken care of,” but regardless of whether or not you believed him, you knew it wasn’t a good idea to risk finding out if he missed something. 

boredom creeping up on you again, you elected to go through the messages on your d.d.d. it would be better to make yourself laugh before you were fully bored again, right? you stood up and stretched, opening the group text with the adults. luke doesn’t know about it; he thinks the one with everyone is the main one, and everyone lets him think that so he feels included. 

walking around your room in small circles, you scrolled up to the older conversations and read through them, rolling your eyes and chuckling to yourself. very rarely did they talk about anything of importance. it was mostly diavolo, barbatos, and simeon making quips and jokes at lucifer’s expense for everyone to see. it was gold in its purest form. 

you contemplated sending one of the many cursed things sitting in your camera roll, just to keep them on their toes, but just after opening your gallery, you resigned not to, figuring it would be best to leave him alone. 

you stretched again, the hold on your d.d.d. a bit looser this time. it nearly slipped out of your hands, but you caught it, tossing it onto your bed. as soon as you resigned to start getting ready for bed, you turned back around and picked it up. 

there was no rhyme or reason to your actions; if someone in that moment were to ask you why you did it, you would’ve said, “just ‘cause.”

human intuition is a wonderful thing.

your d.d.d. was still on, still open to the group chat. you’d sent something, evidently a second ago, as indicated by the time stamp. the thumbnail was of you, in casual clothing—the casual clothing you were wearing before you got dolled up, actually. huh. 

huh. 

the weight of your mistake came crashing down on you in full force, a chill sinking into your skin and running up your spine.

you were suddenly acutely aware of the concept of time, how it was of the essence and you had absolutely none to waste.

what were you to do? it wouldn’t be long before your favorite person saw it. you had to do something. 

you could say nothing. you could tell the truth and say it was an accident and that you were embarrassed, but that was even worse than saying nothing because it meant you were set to be the target of teasing you didn’t even wanna try to imagine. you could say it was an accident and be confident about it, telling them, “enjoy!” but that was a dangerous game to play, and you knew it. 

well, i do admire you for taking time to think, but, unfortunately, there was a checkmark next to your message. oh, a number as well—eleven. you just can’t catch a break. what were they all doing up at this time, anyway? it was a school night🤨. 

[i-am-robie]

fic writer review!

thanks for the tag @searidings!

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 6. I have no idea how that happened. It feels like both too many and too few.

2. What’s your total ao3 word count? 204,956. Quick question for myself: what the fuck?

3. How many fandoms have you written for? One

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

don’t go slow ‘cause you’re gonna be someone

i love that i know you (like no one does)

i'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day

you're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow 

(your love keeps lifting me) higher & higher

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

oh gosh this is complicated for me because for a while I responded to every comment and that’s what I still want to do—spring was really rough and I let myself get behind BUT I AM GOING TO CATCH UP AGAIN. I respond because way before I was a writer, I was a reader and commenter—and it made me so happy whenever I heard back from an author. Even when it was just a smiley face or whatever. So it’s like, I don’t know, it feels like my way to say thanks for taking the time to read something I wrote and then to let me know, which is incredible and so cool and I feel silly saying it, but I’m so grateful.

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending

I do not do angst endings, I can barely stomach writing angst at all period! Happy endings only in this house, folks!

7. Do you write crossovers?

I don’t, because I don’t really know any characters beyond SG! (that’s a lie, I know legends, but I don’t wanna write legends).

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah. That actually contributed to me getting behind on responding to comments cause it really took the wind out of me, but I had great advice from very good friends and just deleted the comments that weren’t nice. Still stings though.

9. Do you write smut?

Under great personal duress.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of and I hope if it’s happened, no one ever tells me!

11. Ever had a fic translated?

OH MY GOD SOMEONE ASKED ONCE AND IT WAS DURING MY ‘EVERYONE HATES ME GUESS I’LL GO EAT WORMS’ MOMENT AND I DIDN’T RESPOND RIGHT AWAY and anyway the answer is no, but I still wish it had happened.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

nope!

13. All time fav ship?

supercorp owns my entire brain, so...that one.

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I am so worried I’ll never find the confidence/time to finish Symphony AU

15. Writing strengths?

Hahaha does anyone like answering this question? Um. I think dialogue/weaving dialogue in within a scene/with multiple speakers. And (I hope) consistent characterization, both within and between fics.

16. Writing weaknesses?

Flow, all non-dialogue sentences, too many unnecessary descriptions...

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I think it’s a great idea and that I should never attempt it because I speak English, barely, on a good day.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

this one, see 13.

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Oh gosh, okay so like, this doesn’t necessarily mean I think it’s my best writing but. I love morning glory au (you're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow) so much because it let me really get to know Kara in a way I didn’t before I wrote it, it also has what I think is a really complete story arc, so much so that no epilogue ever jumped into my brain (unlike wedding date au and whms au—both of which felt a little incomplete to me before I added pieces).

oh gosh i feel like so many people have been tagged already BUT in case you haven’t been, @rocketonthemoon @the-ominous-owl and @bossbeth i’d love to hear from you

[mihidecet]

Sbi&co: D&D AU: The Hunt

Hello everyone! I’m a tad bit late but I do hope the extra wait was worth it ahahha

And I hope you’ll enjoy it! Let me know if you do, and as always thank you for reading! <3

"Alright boys, can everyone hear me?" 

Tubbo's voice sounds crystal clear through the arcane earrings they have been given, but Quackity's nose still scrunches up: it's so weird to see his mouth moving in front of him and hear his voice come from a completely different direction. 

Thankfully - or maybe not - they won't be seeing each other much during this game. Another good thing is how he won't have to do much running either, if everything goes well; he still feels very much sore after last week's obstacle course, so he absolutely does not mind staying back and coordinating everyone. That and, if anyone was in need of help, he could swoop in and save the day - always a win in his book.

Quackity gives a sharp nod with his head towards Tubbo, who smiles enthusiastically before turning back towards Fundy to resume talking about how they'll manage to replicate the enchantment for themselves. A part of him wants to get in on the fun, fantasize about how quests will be so much easier with the ability to communicate remotely. He can already imagine a grand infiltration mission that that would require elegant gowns and fancy clothes, concealed weapons and arcane tricks hidden up their sleeves, all with the objective of recovering an artifact of vital importance- 

But he stops and shakes his head, as if it could get rid of those silly dreams. For once, it's not like he can really … stay; and also, he has much more important things to do.

Niki is in the process of stretching when a young looking wizard skips towards them with a blinding smile to let them know that they'll be opening the gates in less than five minutes. He figures that maybe he should have been warming up too, but his favourite pastime has always been people watching - which is extremely nostalgic for him and probably slightly weird from an outside perspective. Before he can lose himself again in his own mind - nerves will do that to him, he’s been noticing - a hand appears in front of his face and he grabs onto it on instinct. The fact that he’s hoisted upright quickly and efficiently clues him onto who it was, and he smiles gratefully at Niki. 

She looks up at him, reciprocating the smile except for the slight furrow in her brows - a silent question, her wondering of why he’s been spacing out, but it’s not that bad after all, he can definitely handle it; he waves off her worries, gesturing with his head towards the bright gallery that will lead them towards the arena as he chuckles to himself. 

“Is it time? I must have spaced out for more than I expected!” He half-jokes, willing to share his worry only partially, and realises he’s probably said too much when the crease in Niki’s forehead only deepens.

“Are you feeling well, Quackity? Is your shoulder still hurting?” The bard is - painfully - reminded that he is talking with a literal angel as her hand reaches forwards, palm already glowing slightly golden with what he’s come to learn is the sign of her healing divine magic, and he takes a step back, hands raised to stop her.

“I’m all good, no problem at all! I just got- distracted for a moment. Needed to clear my mind and all that ... It won’t happen during the hunt!” He adds hurriedly, suddenly realising that spacing out isn’t a really good sign when you’re supposed to be in charge of coordinating the whole team, but still, he knows what he has to do and he’s not going to lose himself in his own mind while they’re working - he wouldn’t still be alive in his line of work if that was the case! 

But there’s a hand placed on his shoulder and Niki is smiling at him again, which has, for better or for worse, always been able to calm his nerves down. It’s not even like he’s know these people for a long time, and yet he knows that if he could, he’d stick around for the rest of his days, probably. If they wanted him to. 

“It’s alright, I understand. I know we’re in good hands, we’ve been training for this.” Niki comments, sounding so sure of her words that he feels like he agrees with that too, to hell with his own self doubt. 

“Of course! We know we’re in safe hands, big guy!” Tubbo adds, startling as he once again appears to reside inside his head, and Quackity is suddenly hoping that he didn’t accidentally broadcast their conversation to the rest of their team. 

Before he can add anything else - or ask very subtly if either heard them talking - an arm is suddenly slung over his shoulders, the smell of ink and sulfur worming its way into his nose as Fundy leans on him and starts leading him towards the tunnel. 

“Come on, enough with the training and the moping, we have amulets and gold to collect!” The conman exclaims, receiving a raised eyebrow from Quackity himself as the bard resigns to becoming a temporary armrest - he’s learnt that that is simply what Fundy does, be it in his fox form or his human form, he’s always on his or somebody else’s shoulders. It’d be sweet if it wasn’t for the indirect reminder of his height, or lack thereof. 

“Oh, and you would know all about collecting gold, uh?” Quackity quips back as Niki and Tubbo both fall into step with them, Tubbo’s mechanical bee buzzing right behind. 

“It was one time!” The shifter laments, prompting the rest of the group to burst out laughing, Niki’s voice raising over the others’ to protest:

“It wasn’t just one!” 

Then, the roar of the crowd fills their ears, and they step into the arena.

It doesn’t take Fundy much to reach the first portal.

The arena has been suited for the occasion, since what used to be a huge but empty field of sand is now a thick, jungle-like forest, with vines that droop from a ceiling of leaves and brightly coloured plants that snap their petals at him when he runs by. 

It didn’t take him long to get used to digging his way through the foliage, his shifter blood surely aiding him in the process, but he still tries not to move too fast - he will need to get back to the main clearing multiple times, to bring back the amulets that will give them more time to explore. 

One of his hands lightly grazes a leaf, leaving behind a smear of orange - he has Quackity to thank for procuring them the thick paints they coated their hands with before starting, so that their paths will be marked; easy to follow for both them and the bard himself, if any of them would ever need assistance. 

He’s been running for only a handful of seconds when the light blue glow of a portal catches his eye: he smacks his hands to the side of the tree that marks his change in direction, leaving behind a much thicker mark, and jumps into the portal.

“Light blue portal, I’m in … catacombs, I think.” He says, focusing on his newly acquired magical earring in order to broadcast the information to the rest of his team. A series of loud whoops answer him, bringing a satisfied grin to his face, and he slows down for a moment, trying to listen for anything happening further down the chambers he’s found himself in, eyes scanning the ground for any hidden traps. 

The coast seems to be clear - there’s a faint whispering coming from the portal behind him, the familiar gentle hum of conjuration magic, but he’s fairly certain that he’s the only living thing in there. 

Which in hindsight was exactly the point, he realises a moment later as he enters a dimly lit room, when an arrow sails just a couple of inches past his face - he flinches away from the blow purely by instincts, letting out a high pitched yelp while his hands raise upwards, brain suddenly put on alert and already thinking about what to do. 

The situation isn’t hard to comprehend: there are half a dozen skeletons, armed, slowly inching their way towards him; a handful are standing right in front of the only other existing exit, as if guarding it - probably commanded to do so, since from his own personal experience skeletons are rarely smart enough to “stand guard”. 

He is almost certain that there are no other paths he could have taken, so his only way is forward, hopefully towards something valuable. Of course that is, if he manages to get through. 

The first thing Fundy realises is that there are a bit too many enemies to comfortably take on. For a moment he truly considers simply dropping a fireball straight into the middle of the room - quick, easy, efficient - but a part of him knows that it would be a bit of a waste of energies for so little enemies, and he does expect to meet plenty more enemies very soon. Despite the fact that time is of the essence, he can’t help but remember how bets in favour of Wilbur’s team had skyrocketed after their stellar performance in the arena a handful of weeks prior. And well, a conman has to know how to put on a show, doesn’t he?

“Hello gentlemen! Would you be so kind to form an orderly cue in front of me?” He’s quick to step to the side, away from another incoming arrow from one of the two skeletons posted in front of his objective, but thankfully the rest of the skeletons are quick to follow his request as they stumble forward, moving towards him and brandishing their swords. 

One of them, apparently more eager than the others, launches themselves at him, their shortsword raised high and coming down in a swift swoop that crashes against a - hastily created - light purple magical barrier. Fundy tsks at the skeleton, shaking his head disapprovingly behind the hand he had to raise to form the arcane shield. With a quick look he assures himself of the optimal placement of his enemies, then he brings his hands together in front of him, rubbing his palms together quickly as if smearing something on them; an instant later he snaps the thumb and index finger of his right hand together, close to the wrist of his left hand: flames burst from his hands, catching fire as if he’d clicked together a flint and steel over warm coal, and he brings his wrists together, directing the stream of arcane fire towards the four skeletons still stumbling towards him.

With a flash of warm light and a chilling screech, the skeletons catch fire and burn, the necromantic binds keeping them whole snapping and breaking, charred bones falling to the ground in sad heaps.

The two skeletons still standing by the exit door let out a pitiful whine, arms clanking together as they nock their arrows - one falls to the ground a couple of feet ahead of him, the skeleton that shot it starting to look as frantic as an expressionless undead can, while the other manages to catch him off-guard and pierces his left shoulder, tearing a pained yelp and a curse from him. 

And well, with most of his enemies gone, he can now get his hands a bit dirtier, metaphorically speaking, as he unsheathes the rapier Niki had gifted to him more than five years before, keeping his unoccupied and still somewhat smouldering hand close to the blade. As his thumb runs over the cold metal, it catches fire, green flames licking at the hilt as he runs forward, impaling one of the two skeletons: flames burst from the blade, almost completely enveloping his enemy, the old and dry bones quickly catching fire as if they were matches. When he flicks his wrist, turning the blade on itself, there’s another burst of flames coming from the hilt itself as a bolt of emerald green fire flies towards the other skeleton, hitting their side. 

The only remaining skeleton raises their bow, trying to aim at him, but Fundy simply steps forward, into their personal space, hearing the arrow being let loose behind him and flying into a stone wall. 

He grins, knowing his fangs poking their way over his lips make him look more menacing, and sheaths his sword into the skeleton’s chest, cutting away the arcane ties keeping them from dying, fire burning around them both - he releases the excess arcane energy with another bolt of green fire that burns a circular charred mark into the wall to his left.

For a moment, it’s all silent around him as he takes a small relieved breath, ever so thankful of Niki’s insistence of getting him to train with his sword. 

Then, Tubbo’s voice rings in his hears, calling out a new portal he’d just found - a locked one, tinted red. 

Fundy gives a vocal confirmation of having received the message, then puts away his sword - flames dissipating on their own - and quickly makes his way towards the still closed door.

Plenty of things to do, enemies to kill, amulets to find. 

He can take a break when their time in the labyrinth runs out. 

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The (not naked) pin-up calendar

Summary: When you ask for a favor, Bucky (very) grudgingly agrees. What can you do to thank him? Return the favor, of course.

Characters: Bucky x Reader; a plethora of Avengers Warnings: Hardcore fluff. Soldiers wrestling like immature children. Steve being weirded out by nut sacks. Harry Potter references. A hint of naughty times at the end.

A/N: This is silly and fun and what can I say, writing sassy Bucky makes me happy. This is for @beckzorz 1k Writing Challenge (go follow this incredibly talented, beautiful lady), and my prompt was ‘Pin-up calendar’. Thanks a million for hosting Becca, I love you 3000! ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Overnight, the list gets tacked on the corkboard in the kitchen.

Bucky’s rummaging through the pantry, searching for his breakfast Doritos and a jar of salsa to dunk them in, when he glimpses his name from a distance. Snatching up a butter knife, he wanders over to the wall. When he sees the list header, he whirls around in a flurry of tangled hair and irrational grumpiness.

“What the hell is this?”

Bucky complaining first thing in the morning is par for the course, so both Sam and Steve, strolling in to search for breakfast, ignore him. Sam veers toward the sugary cereal cabinet, Steve heads for the oversize Ironman container housing granola, and Bucky stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Steve says seconds later, through an overflowing mouthful of flaxseed and yogurt. “You already agreed. You’re not backing out.”

Bucky spins around and reads the flyer again.

---

“Avengers Calendar Shoot”

See below for your name and photo call timing.

Monday: Carol (10am), Wanda (2pm), Scott (6pm)

Tuesday: Rhodey (10am), Sam (2pm), Steve (6pm)

Wednesday: Tony (10am), Bruce (2pm), Natasha (6pm)

Thursday: Thor (10am), Clint (2pm), Bucky (6pm)

---

Stomping his foot again, Bucky stabs the flyer with the aforementioned butter knife.

“Someone better be yankin’ my dick right now,” he warns. “I definitely didn’t agree to bare my wrinkly nut sack for the whole fucking world to see.”

Sam dry heaves over his Lucky Charms.

Steve’s now filling his Black Widow coffee mug and rolling his eyes.

“What is it with you always trying to be naked? It’s not a naked thing, it’s a charity thing. Innocent children who don’t know what an asshole you are will see this, so you better be wearing clothes,” Steve gives his mug an annoying slurp. “Besides - you already agreed. No takebacks.”

“Steve,” Bucky crisply pivots, launching metaphorical murder darts from his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“Well it was your girl who convinced everyone to do it, so good luck telling her you’re a liar.” Instead of responding, Bucky holds up a Dorito in front of Steve and peers around the silhouette. Draws a few angles in his head. “What?” Steve asks brusquely.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. The chip cracks between his teeth with a puff of toxic orange. “Just makin’ an observation.”

“Just wear your scary leather bondage uniform with your scary mask and stand there all scary. You don’t even need to smile,” Sam says. Spooning cereal in with one hand, his other is attempting to worm its way into Bucky’s bag of chips. Cradling the Doritos under his arm, Bucky twists away, blocking the attack.

“Good way to lose a finger. Don’t touch my things.”

Sam swallows his cereal, ignores the lethal look in Bucky’s eyes, and tries again.

Steve joins in.

And so, when you roll into the kitchen a few minutes later, here’s what you find: three Avengers, three veteran soldiers, wrestling over a bag of Doritos. Bucky has Sam in a headlock, Sam is kicking Bucky’s shins and hitting him with a milky spoon, and for some reason, Steve is dancing around trying to tickle them both.

Clearing your throat, the trio freezes.

You smile.

“Gentlemen.”

Flailing arms and legs instantly break apart. Sam and Steve have the good grace to look chastened, both stammering embarrassed apologies. Bucky simply shoves a fistful of Doritos in his mouth and smiles triumphantly. Striding over to you, he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Babe, take my side here. You don’t want the whole world to see my nut sack, right?”

“Stop saying nut sack,” Steve hisses. “Nuts are gross.”

“Maybe your nuts are gross Steve,” Sam pipes up, rubbing his shirt with a wet rag, trying to clear away Bucky’s orange powder fingerprints, “but my nuts are awesome.” After a few harsh scrubs, he sees the futility and throws the rag in Bucky’s face. Stalking from the kitchen, he shouts something about laundry wheels and Oxyclean.

When you pluck the bag of Doritos from Bucky’s grubby hands, he releases them easily and grins at your exasperation. Sidling close, he rubs up against you like a needy kitten, so you hug him tight, dipping your fingers down to squeeze his butt.

“Please do it Bucky, I already told them you would. Wear anything you want, you don’t even have to smile,” you murmur in his ear, knowing precisely which buttons to push. “And besides, I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see those pretty blue eyes. Right?”

Bucky purses his lips. Wrinkles his nose. Grumbles under his breath.

And because you’re looking at him all wide-eyed and soft, he gives in.

Like he always does.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you.”

“So much drama,” Steve mumbles through his granola. Bucky lunges for him, but Steve drops his bowl in the sink and skirts past, rushing for the door. Looking back, he throws Bucky a challenging smirk, before smacking into the doorframe. There’s a brief ricochet and then he’s scurrying down the hall, laughing as he goes.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters.

Folding your fingers behind his neck, you turn his face back to you and kiss his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. Reason number one billion and two why I love you.”

At the brush of your lips, Bucky promptly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you in the air. Spinning around, he shuffles over to the counter and drops you on top. Settling between your legs, hands flat on the counter boxing you in, his mouth finds the open space above your shirt collar and he proceeds to kiss every square inch.

“The things I do for you,” he breathes, sucking his favorite spot along your neck. It makes you shiver, that thing he does with his tongue. “You realize now I gotta go on a diet.”

“What? No, you don’t. You look perfect.”

Disappointingly, he stops that whole talented tongue thing and leans back. Grinding your heels into his butt, you kick him, urging him to stay put. Instead, he sighs in that tragic, pay attention to me way that only Bucky Barnes can do.

“Obviously I’m perfect, so are you by the way, but the camera adds five pounds. I have to preemptively lose it.” Crinkling up his now empty bag of Doritos, he throws it at the trash can and misses by a mile. He gives you a hangdog, pathetic sort of look. “This sucks.”

Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. The most dramatic human being on the planet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to diet. You could weigh a thousand pounds and it wouldn’t matter, you don’t - “

“Maybe not, like, a thousand pounds,” Bucky interrupts. “That’d make sex super hard. And not good hard. Just awkward hard. You know? Like when Hagrid’s mom and dad had sex. Which I still don’t understand how that’s supposed to work and I’ve done a shitload of research on it, been on all kinds of forums and talked to some experts - there’s a guy at SHIELD who specializes in interplanetary species relationships, I don’t know if you knew that - but anyway it just makes no sense because she would have killed that little guy if he tried to bang her, and I’m sorry, that’s the tea and I’ll fucking fight anyone who disagrees.”

Pausing for breath, he looks so earnest you almost hate to stop him.

“Buck, maybe we try one day where you don’t reference Harry Potter? I know you’re a fan, but - “

“I drew some diagrams,” he continues. “Boning diagrams. But like, I still can’t get it to work.”

Staring into space, he lets his marvelous tactical brain run every scenario of sexual acrobatics required to establish the feasibility of human-giant sex.

This could go on forever. Once Bucky gets knee-deep in fan forum theories, hours will lapse before he swims up for air. Many a morning has found him still in his boxers, laptop on his knees while he smashes the keyboard, arguing with virtual enemies about the physical features of Hogwarts house founders or the complex nuances of international Wizarding trade law.

The truth is - Bucky Barnes is a god damn nerd.

Clapping your hands, you drag him back to real life.

“Focus please. You’re good to do this then? Without the diet?”

“I really really hate it,” he replies, matter of fact, “but I really really love you, so if you want me to, I guess I’m in. But I’m still losing five pounds.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?” Slipping your hands up under his shirt, you massage the tight muscles alone his spine and he hums happily. Flashing a lazy grin, he boops your nose.

“You know what? I think you should do it too. Be so great to have a sexy poster of you for those long nights when I’m gone and can’t sleep,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a folder full of dick pics with my name on it,” he laughs.

“I wish you’d stop sending me those,” you say sternly. “You know this is my work phone.”

“So? You always need fresh material for your diddle box. Keeps the romance alive,” he says. Reaching up behind you, he tugs open the snack cabinet and rummages for a new bag of Doritos. The airtight blurp of a new jar of salsa follows.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but - what exactly is a diddle box?”

Massive Winter Soldier eye roll.

“All the pictures and videos and sexy shit you use to masturbate. Clearly.”

“Why do I ask you questions,” you sigh.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow,” he answers instead, before dunking a fresh Dorito in the salsa.

*****

The next two weeks are spent with Bucky mostly eating raw vegetables and baked chicken breast and loudly commenting on the sorrows of dieting to everyone he encounters.

“You’re being ridiculous Bucky. No one told you to lose weight.”

“No,” he says glumly, crunching a celery stick with a martyred expression. “I need to be hot. Beauty is pain.”

“You are a pain.”

He sighs dramatically. Stares wistfully into the distance. Snaps a carrot in half.

“The things I do for you.”

“Jesus.”

*****

AVENGERS CALENDAR SHOOT THIS WEEK!

Remember to be on time, or we will choose the worst picture of you and print that.

We’re assholes that way.

Thanks,

Management

*****

MONDAY

(SEPTEMBER: Danvers, Carol; Captain Marvel)

Carol throws her bomber jacket over her red, blue, and gold uniform, and adds a sleek pair of vintage Ray Bans. Climbing into the cockpit of her fighter jet, she turns herself all glowy and golden, the color bouncing merrily off the control panel. Tipping her face down to the camera, she flashes the Shaka sign and gives the photographer a huge smile.

(FEBRUARY: Maximoff, Wanda; Scarlett Witch)

Wanda goes all out on all things red. Clad in a long red dress and long coat, surrounded by hundreds of red flowers - tulips and roses and carnations - she curls her fingers and everything around her begins to glow with a warm red light. When she smiles at the camera, her head tilts shyly.

(OCTOBER: Lang, Scott; Antman)

Is Scott actually in the picture or did someone spill coffee? The photographer sees a white sheet and a black spec, and scratches his head in confusion. Antman is kinda weird.

*****

TUESDAY

(NOVEMBER: Rhodes, James; War Machine)

Rhodey shows up dressed head to toe in gunmetal colored armor. When he snaps the faceplate down, the photographer timidly asks if maybe he wants to show his face. Rhodey flips the faceplate back up, reminds the photographer how badass this armor is, and says nope. He’s all good, thanks.

(APRIL: Wilson, Sam; Falcon)

Sam has spent the last few nights practicing his Zoolander pout in the bathroom mirror. He decides to wear a tight black t-shirt and comfortable jeans, with his wings spread wide, Redwing hovering beside him. At the last minute, his sultry pout melts into an animated belly laugh and they decide to use that one instead.

(JULY: Rogers, Steven; Captain America)

Steve goes back to his roots. Wearing a too small shirt and holey old jeans, he gazes pensively at the easel in front of him, glossy blond hair combed in a perfect wave. Fingers dusty with charcoal, he points to the picture he’s drawing and insists they capture it in the photo as well. They later realize he was drawing a picture of his own ass. That month gets labeled “Steve Rogers and America’s Ass”.

*****

WEDNESDAY

(MAY: Stark, Tony; Ironman)

Tony wears the bottom half of his suit and his favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. Posing in his lab, he floats a few feet off the ground, crossing his arms and giving that trademark smirk. Scattered around him are random bits of technology and a few arc reactors, with Dum-E and a steaming platter of cheeseburgers in the background.

(JUNE: Banner, Bruce; Incredible Hulk)

Bruce looks a bit rumpled. The publicity shy scientist in him detests these things, but he’s a good sport for a good cause. Surrounded by microscopes and beakers of dazzling green liquids, he allows the teeniest quirk of his lips. Hands tucked in his pockets, messy curls fall over his forehead, and Bruce just feels happy to be included.

(JANUARY: Romanoff, Natasha; Black Widow)

Natasha asks for her photo in black and white. Dressed in shadows and tulle, she is nothing more than a dark figure against a white backdrop. On her feet, are a pair of ballet slippers, their satin ribbons looped and laced around her ankles. When she arches slowly up on pointe, her arms curve gracefully over her head and there’s an ethereal stillness about the image. Natasha is amazing.

*****

THURSDAY

(DECEMBER: Odinson, Thor; Thor)

Thor wears an enthusiastic smile when he arrives - and not much else. Dressed in a cherry red speedo, black boots, and his swirling red cape, he stands with one fist on his hip and Mjolnir held lovingly in the other. When the photographer asks about his outfit, Thor proudly describes something called “fan art” he saw online of himself wearing this outfit, mentioning how many “re-blogs” it had. He thinks he might wear this outfit more often, if that’s what the Midgardians want.

(AUGUST: Barton, Clint; Hawkeye)

Clint has a cup of coffee in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other. He wears purple sweatpants and a grey tank top and he yawns every five seconds. When asked what pose he’d like to use, he pretends his hearing-aids are broken. He lays down for a nap and the photographer goes with that.

(MARCH: Barnes, James “Bucky”; Winter Soldier)

Bucky leaves his leather bondage gear, his excessive collection of knives and guns, and his murder scowl at home. Instead, he arrives in black jeans and boots, a dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his tousled hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket. Perched casually on the seat of his restored Harley, he looks carefree and sweet, offering that signature smile that always sets hearts aflutter.

*****

When the final photo is taken, Bucky ambles over to where you stand with the photographer, reviewing proofs. Snuggling up beside you, he moves in for a kiss and stops in surprise.

“What’s with the lipstick?” he asks, bemused. “That’s new.”

You seem momentarily flustered by the question, stuttering something about losing your chapstick and trying new things. Bucky shrugs and dives in anyway. It makes no difference to him. Painted red or completely bare, your lips are always his favorite flavor.

*****

“They’re here!”

The box of calendars lands with a thump on the kitchen counter.

“Excellent. Are we hot?” Steve asks, his mouth full of cheesy pizza.

“I’m always hot,” Sam answers, ripping into the box. “Yesterday I saw a Buzzfeed post about how hot I am, and it said 11/10 recommend.” Yanking out the pile of calendars, he throws one to Steve. “That means more than 100% would recommend. I’m beloved.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a national treasure,” Steve argues. Reaching for a calendar, he flicks impatiently until he finds himself.

Leaving the team to laugh and bicker and poke fun of each other, you grab your bag (and another small package), heading off to search for your favorite assassin slash model.

His door is cracked when you reach it, low music in the background. Knocking lightly, you push it open.

“Hey Buck. Are you busy?”

Surrounded a chaos of metal, Bucky sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor. A tin of gun oil lays open beside him, a shredded old t-shirt in hand, while he cleans and reassembles his guns. This particular task has taken him literally all day, because Bucky Barnes has yet to meet a gun he doesn’t need.

(Seriously. He needs them. All of them. Stop questioning him, Steve.)

At your voice, an adorable smile scrunches up his face. Bouncing to his feet, he leaps gracefully from the middle of the mess and scoops you up, twirling in a circle and stealing your breath with a warm kiss.

“Hey sweetheart, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Something arrived. Thought you might like to see.”

Handing over the calendar, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans. A nervous energy makes his fingers fumble when he riffles through the pages.

He stops abruptly at March.

“Huh,” he says, observing his portrait from every angle. Turns it sideways, upside down, pinches his lip. Squints a little. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I look pretty great. I think? Right? I don’t know, what do you think?”

It’s funny.

Sometimes, you hold your breath when you watch at him. There are these little things. The bright excitement in his eyes maybe, or the way he scratches his jaw when he gets nervous, or the absentminded way he tucks his hair behind his ear.

It does things to your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, mesmerized by those little things, “you really do.”

Bucky looks up. Sees your face and breaks into a wide grin. He loves when you look at him like this, like he’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s your whole world. Like you love him.

It does things to his heart.

Snapping the calendar shut, he flings it on his bed. Blue eyes rake you up and down and he pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Still think you should’ve done it too,” he says. “Bet you would’a looked so hot.”

At his comment, you reach into your bag and pull something free. Silently, you hand over a second square, this one wrapped in black paper, a silver bow taped along the edge.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously.

Shrugging, your expression stays neutral.

“Open it and see.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he rips the paper away.

He freezes.

Blinking rapidly, he looks up. Silver fingers delicately trace the shiny picture and he swallows hard.

“Honey, is this - did you do this for me?” he asks softly. Flipping gently through each page of this special, one-of-a-kind calendar, he shakes his head in slow disbelief.

Because there you are.

Posing in March, holding his favorite confetti cupcakes adorned with birthday candles in front of your naked breasts.

Posing in July, dressed in a vintage red, white, and blue USO uniform, white boots on your feet and crackling sparklers in your hands.

Posing again in October, wearing a slutty pumpkin dress with cut-outs revealing slivers of your sweet, sexy assets.

Each picture is incredible. Full of vivid colors and your sunny smile. No air-brushing, no fake poses, just you. Indescribable and undeniably beautiful, bursting with love.

All for him.

Bucky rubs his chest absently, feeling his heart thumping with every turn of the page. And then he reaches the last month, and there’s a strangled squeak. He stares intently at the page. Looks up at you. Back to the page. Back up at you. Closes his eyes briefly.

This is it, this is his favorite, his absolute fucking favorite thing of all time, the image instantly wiping all other thoughts from his proverbial spank bank.

There.

You.

Are.

Damn.

Tacked above you is a sprig of mistletoe, a concession to the holiday theme. But it’s the outfit that does it. Black combat boots, lacy red lingerie, deep red lipstick, and an empty thigh holster. You’re pointing one of his favorite guns at the camera and giving a sly wink.

Mind-blowingly, devastatingly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

Bucky awkwardly adjusts the rising situation in his pants, raising lust-blown eyes to yours. Licking your lips, you give him a hesitant smile.

“Do you - um, do you like them?”

It makes you panic when he says nothing. He simply stares. But then he sets the calendar carefully, reverently, aside. Slipping a hand behind your neck, he hustles you backward until you bump the door, slamming it shut. His warm mouth slants over yours, that talented tongue returning to sweep over your lips. The kiss is hot and frantic, tinged with an edge of wild excitement. When he finally breaks away, his voice is low, dark gravel in your ear.

“Listen. I’m gonna need you to get all those outfits and put on every,” he kisses your throat, “single,” he trails his lips up to your jawline, “one,” and now he’s panting in your ear, “and then I wanna take pictures of me taking everything off, before I fuck you so damn good. How’s that sound?”

Sliding a hand between his legs, your answer makes him tremble.

“Sounds like a deal.”

*****

[radiojamming]

This a weird prompt but would you write jonmichael? Asking solely because I want to read Elias and the archives staff dealing with that

good-ish AU where sasha’s still sasha and everyone’s cool with stuff, i guess? :DDD

- - -

The door-that-wasn’t-there-a-minute-ago slams open against the wall, shaking the shelves and knocking one cheap vase to the floor in a small explosion of sad porcelain shards and accumulated dust. Martin lets out a high-pitched, “Jesus Christ!” in surprise as much as raw shock when Jon Sims himself staggers out the door like a teenager doing the walk of shame. Granted, he’s bleeding from his hairline and one sleeve of his sweater appears to just be missing, but he looks more sheepish than injured.

Just as he makes the last step over the threshold-that-shouldn’t-be, Martin sees a vague person-ish shape wobble in the mysterious beyond. And it is, in fact, wobbling, like a bobblehead or one of those playground toys shaped like horses that waver on oversized springs until they fling some unfortunate child headfirst into sand. Extended metaphor it may be, but the wobbly thing gives a high, wavering giggle before cooing, “Don’t forget this, love!” in a voice tiered in multiple pitches like an eldritch wedding cake. Jon turns just in time for an arm-that-shouldn’t-be-that-long-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck to come shooting out of the door, an iPhone clutched pinched between its enormous fingers. Martin might be hallucinating, but he thinks the razor-sharp fingernails are lacquered in sparkly purple nail varnish. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before Jon gingerly takes the phone with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and the hand recedes back into the hellish landscape beyond the door.

“Of course!” garbles the wobbly thing. Then, with a range of voices topped off with an impressive soprano flourish as light as meringue, it yodels, “Call me!”

As abruptly and shockingly as the door appeared, it disappears with a sharp crack, causing the shelves to slam back into place with a small cataract of old books falling into the pile of broken ceramic.

Jon and Martin stand in the stuffy office, each caught in the awkward position of how the hell do you talk about that? 

Finally, Jon gives Martin the most soul-deep, weary look before quietly beseeching, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

All Martin can do is nod before Jon shuffles out to the hallway

- - -

Sasha sees him at the flower stall again. 

Through the warped windowpane, she watches him scoop up a great, garish bouquet representing nearly every spectrum in the visible rainbow, and some colours that might not exist save for the eyes of the mantis shrimp. When she gets to ground level and sees him semi-properly, he’s just a blond man in a beanie, carefully regarding a sorry bunch of daffodils held together by what looks like clingfilm cinched shut with twine. Rather than being all spooky and mysterious, Sasha thinks he’s actually deliberating. There’s a pinch in his brow as he lowers the daffodils in favor of prodding the drooping lower lid of a sorry little orchid suffering in London’s less-than-tropical climes.

Sasha kind of feels… sorry for him?

Granted, he’s a monster with terrifying monster hands and monster tendencies and apparently a taste for caffeine, but he really looks caught on what to get. That in mind, she does remember that he bought lilies the last time he was around. Maybe that was less of a coincidence and this Michael creature really does like flowers; or he may have some fellow monster friend that he deems worthy of buying flowers for. Honestly, Sasha doesn’t want to think of what kind of friends Michael keeps.

Against her better judgement and sense of self-preservation, Sasha walks across the street to where Michael forlornly weighs his options. He looks up at her approach, and the first impression she gets is that his eyes are more like spinning tops prone to rotate anti-clockwise. She blinks and sees stationary blue eyes regarding her with confusion, and then… relief?

Huh.

“Sah-shah Jaaayymeeesss!” he almost sings, lifting up the dying daffodils like a salute. “What a pleasure to see your radiant face again!”

“Michael,” she replies, a little colder than she intends. Last time they met, there were far more meaty hands and worms involved, and she’d rather get to work unscathed.

If he thinks the reply is chilly, he makes no sign of it. Instead, he flops the tortured flowers around in his terrible hands. “Actually, I was hoping to see one of you lovely little Institute-dwellers around. I think I gave Martin a bit of a fright laaaaast time!”

Sasha frowns, but can definitely picture Martin having to be peeled off the ceiling after a Michael encounter. “Oh,” is all she says.

Michael goes on, gleefully undaunted. “You see, you and I have a mutual acquaintance! And I think he’s in need of a little—” He gives the daffodils a vigorous shake. “—cheering up these days! But I just don’t know what he’d like! Silly me for not being obseeeeervant!”

“I… A mutual acquaintance?”

“Yeeeessss! Your lovely boss!”

“Elias?”

Michael laughs. Well, more like he laughs in a way that sounds like he laughed ten minutes ago and ten minutes into the future, and then layered the sounds over one another like phyllo dough in a hellish baklava. It’s impossible, but Sasha hears it all the same. “Noooo!” he giggles. “Not in a million endless cycles of time or those dimensions yet unperceiveeeeeed!”

Sasha won’t even start on that statement, except that it isn’t Elias, which means it has to be— 

Oh. Jesus.

Grubby, curmudgeonly, insomniac Jesus.

“Jon?” she gasps.

Michael laughs again, louder and higher so that a glass breaks somewhere in the distance. “Yeeeesssss! Poor Jonathan, always working so hard in that dismal cave you call an archive. I offered him office space that would appeal more to a sense of aestheticism, but he… Oh, what did he say? He thought it was a little heavy on the—” And here he speaks in an exact mimic of Jon’s dry voice when he says: “Impossible, improbable, and honest to God, Michael, my brain would shatter into a thousand pieces if I looked at that painting for another minute.” Michael dissolves into a fit of giggles before saying, “It’s just a lost Hieronymus Bosch painting, honestly.”

So Michael McMeatyhands is buying flowers for Jonathan Sims. Sasha’s having a hell of a time wrapping her head around that particular fact. 

The infernal giggling stops and Michael seems to circle (spiral?) back to his previous predicament. Dying daffodils or suffering orchids?

For a lack of anything more to say, Sasha wordlessly points to a bouquet of slightly more enthusiastic-looking daisies, bobbing peacefully in a tin pail of water. “Those,” is all she can manage to say. 

Michael looks thrilled. He actually hums some impossible tune (in full SATB with orchestral arrangement, all localised in his throat) as he puts the daffodils back, scoops up the daisies, and drops four quid into the stall owner’s hands with a wet, meaty thwap that the owner doesn’t seem to hear. Then, Michael swivels back toward Sasha and grins with the corners of his lips somehow curling up near his eyes like a particularly twisty Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Miss James!” he says. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re… welcome? I think?”

But Michael’s already walking away, taking steps in a gait that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the rest of his body, like two halves of entirely different people drunkenly attempting synchronicity. Sasha half-expects his legs to walk away from his torso.

Toward Jon. 

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face before heading in the direction of the Underground station.

- - -

The boss is dating someone. This, Tim is absolutely sure of. He’s watched Jon like a hawk for a week now, carefully comparing his moods in the morning with how early he left work the night before. Long work nights equal really bad mood. Long not work nights equal better mood with less shouting and calling people morons under his breath. This is good.

This is very good.

Tim is pleased with his enviable knowledge. Whoever somehow won the heart of the boss must be a pretty special person, or at least someone with an endless well of patience. Or maybe they’re Jon’s opposite? Either way, Tim’s got a hankering to send them a box of chocolate as a thank you for chilling the boss out and making him more tolerable to work with. 

He tries to picture who this mystery person is, as Jon’s definitely not the type of person to take his personal life to work with him, inasmuch as he likes to take work home. Tim pictures someone easygoing, like a Margaritaville type. They balance Jon’s stick-up-assery out, maybe giving him massages over the back of the couch while Jon watches dry documentaries about the actual speed of drying paint. In his mind’s eye, Tim gives this person a hideously neon Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, but a winning smile that melts Jon’s ice-locked heart and makes it so he can’t help but smile back.

Tim likes them, whoever they are.

And when he gives Jon a little wink after dropping off a follow-up report, says, “Had a good night?” in a way more than a tiny bit suggestive, he only relishes a teensy bit in how dark Jon’s cheek become and how he ducks his head down. He mumbles something before actually thanking Tim for the report.

Yeah, this is awesome. Tim owes Jon’s mystery partner a thank you card and maybe a cake. 

- - -

“Eliaaaaas.”

“Michael.”

Staring. Lots of staring. Cold, unflinching irises to a set of psychedelic, rotating disco balls set in a grinning face. Behind Michael, blue and purple streaks like the top of a wildberry Pop-Tart flash about and dance madly as Michael gives him the strangest of staredowns. Occasionally, his head appears to flip upside-down a few times on his swirly straw of a neck, and half of his teeth try to glitch through his lips in a way that Elias thinks of as an attempt at a sneer.

Finally, Elias sighs and calmly folds his hands on the top of his desk, ignoring the waves of tangible static pouring out onto the floor and possibly leaving a stain on the carpet. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the janitorial staff. “We may have to set some ground rules,” he says.

“I’ll bring him home by eleven,” Michael cackles in reply.

Elias narrows his eyes just as he feels Beholding roll its great omnipresent gaze in irritation.

“I mean to say that you’re not to interfere in Institute business any further than you are right now,” Elias retorts. “I should completely ban all Spiral-related statements on grounds of personal involvement.”

Michael grins. His smile rises up to his forehead like a crescent moon before rolling down the side of his face and hooking back up into the empty space where a normal mouth should be. “I can make this weirder. I can spiral any statement in this place. Every little word can bend in and around on itself like a pipe cleaner.”

Elias glares. “You won’t.”

“You can’t stop me!” Michael sings. “But I’ll keep courting your Archivist nice and proper as long as I’d like, or he’d like.”

“If this is an attempt to draw him into the Spiral’s influence—”

When Michael laughs this time, it seems to be drawn from every laugh that was ever laughed in the history of the muscular and diaphragmatic spasms that caused them. It’s so charged, so loud and explosive that Elias nearly winces at it. And when it’s over, there’s a vacuum of sound in its wake, so it takes a full minute for Elias to hear anything properly again.

Then, Michael taps his horrible fingers on Elias’ desk, eliciting a sharp tak-tak-tak-tak-tak that repeats in on itself fifty times over. “Not everything is about influence,” Michael hisses through too many teeth. “Not every attempt on a person is to draw them in and mark them, unlike what you do. Maybe sometimes, one of us can authentically like one of them. Is that too hard for you to understand, Man-of-the-Eye?”

Beholding tries to truly See Michael, but something about the Spiral’s nature twists the image. 

“No,” Michael goes on, followed by another round of tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. “I rather like the Archivist. And he likes me. Aaaand if you try to get in the way of us, I will peeeeerrrrsonallyyyyy claw your precious little eyes out of your sockets. Understand?”

Elias doesn’t have time to make a reply. Michael is gone in a gunpowder-bright flash of light and a shock of sound. If there was a door, it’s gone. So he sits alone in his office, staring at the space where the Spiral was, and he feels something terribly empty and terribly familiar.

- - -

Jon picks their next date and opts for something as normal as the last one was strange. He chooses a walk at St James Park, eating ice cream and admiring the pelicans while Michael regales him with some bizarre story that sounds more like a backwards recitation of the Jabberwocky poem. He pauses in between stanzas to eat more of his pistachio ice cream with a delighted gusto before he presses on in gibberish.

Something about it makes Jon feel oddly warm and content, even as the early spring wind chills him.

Their last date was to Annwn, which Jon had originally suspected was in Wales. He was half-right; it was Wales as much as it was also the traditional world of the afterlife in ancient Welsh rites. It was rather lovely and Jon thinks very highly of their honey cakes, although he suspects he probably wasn’t supposed to eat them. 

But Michael looks just as pleased to be in this park as he was to be in ancient Welsh paradise. His Jabberwockish story comes to an end and he finishes the rest of his cone before throwing the little paper ring into a nearby litter bin. Then, he stretches his arms out to the side and sighs in contentment. “Just bonny, as they say!” he cheers before reaching down and taking Jon’s free hand in his. It’s got a mind-boggling weight and an odd texture, while appearing to be a normal hand. At first, it gave Jon such an acute sense of discomfort that he found himself involuntarily withdrawing. Now, it’s just another aspect of Michael that he’s learned to like.

Love, maybe. He hasn’t thought on that overmuch.

Yet here they are, holding hands like all the other couples in the park. It’s so simple, so normal. Jon’s life has been so ridiculous lately that the fact he’s holding a Spiral avatar’s nigh-impossible hand on a date in a park is just… maybe the most normal thing that’s happened so far. Michael’s not trying to kill him or throttle his mind to the point of madness.

They’re happy.

Jon’s happy.  

He smiles, and so does Michael. Yes, Michael’s smile is making an attempt to summit his head like Everest before flickering back into place like he remembers where he is, but he does smile and it’s perfectly authentic. 

It could be weirder, and for once, that thought delights Jon.

[citialiin]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. tagged by: @forseenclade thank you ! man i am so bad at doing memes.  tagging: @blossomingbeelzebug @zhrets @lupichorous @dansiere yayayayayayayaya

My muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated [ z/iggy stardust is DEFINITELY not my original character, but 683 is, and every single part of how i rp ziggy from his backstory to his personality was made up by me. that being said, ziggy is still a character that exists in media. ]

Is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO. [ im pretty sure ziggy is tied with the thin white duke as one of b*wie’s most famous fictional personas? ]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES ? / NO / IDK.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK.

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK. [ maybe a little overrated ]

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO.

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. [ celebrity rock god of limitless talent vs inevitable overrated washup. most celebrities are polarizing anyways ]

How strictly do you follow canon?  — there isnt much canon to go off of i think? the album barely even states if ziggy is an alien and b*wie himself got really wishy washy about it (sometimes saying z is a human who was contacted by aliens, he was an alien himself, etc). i dont think we know anything about him besides what he looks like (red hair / weird eyes / pale / “well hung” lmao) and he has a band called the spiders from mars, he plays the guitar left handed, he’s bisexual + androgynous, and he’s charming and popular with the teens but inevitably is a victim of his own ego. and he dies.  that too.  but that’s literally it! we know Nothing else about him.  so i filled in all the gaps because my brain has worms.  theres a little bit of the story that verges on fantasy (that he’s some sort of messiah messenger for “the infinites,” whatever the fuck THAT means, david) so i nix that because i prefer hard scifi.  and theres one BIG part that i just ... deleted out of his canon, in that the world is ending in 5 years in his timeline, and he’s like ... aware of this ?  but that’s dumb and confusing.  i legit dont care anymore. my OC now.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  im so embarrassed i know i could be genuine and actually try but i have brain blockajjolajlakala33lak33klak333ak3jka3akjj323j3 i guess it’s like ... ziggy is truly the ultimate expression OF humanity because he reveals everything both wrong and right about the human condition, he literally embodies the best of humanity and the worst at the same time, he’s a really interesting critique on the idea of genuineness/earnestness vs commercalism in art, the perils of fame, and also how humans are so inherently corrupting?  a lot of thematic stuff i like exploring is like what is innate to humans vs what is learned behavior, what are things that humans do naturally that ziggy mimics out of his desire to be like us?  i think he has a really good story arc -- he went from being a literal nameless CLONE in a society full of pragmatic forward thinking science-oriented people to a sell out rockstar celebrity in a society of people that value individualism and self expression and art, but in the process completely lost his mind and himself and gave into the worst that humanity has to offer like rampant selfishness, drug abuse, self destructive tendencies, etc. characters changing is always interesting and ziggy truly changes for the worse -- but he is never just black and white, he was never good and then suddenly evil, he just was always the same person putting on different facades and trying to be himself by constructing an identity that maybe was who he wanted to be versus who he actually is.  i dont know what im talking about. hes just an alien trying to be too hard to be human in all the wrong ways.   i just like how “gray” ziggy is. he isnt good or bad, he can be very nice and he can be very mean, he’s overtly showboating confident but at the same time deeply afflicted with self-consciousness (why tf else would anyone be So obsessed with how they present themselves?).  hes an icon of individualism but also commercialism.  he’s freakishly alien but is almost more human than humans themselves.  he struggles as lot in his head -- which makes for interesting writing, i guess !!  Im so emabrrased im not going to go back and read what i wrote so if i typoed dont look at me

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  —  i think ziggy comes across as really mean and nothing else.  his horrible bitchy rudeness comes across as hee hee hoo hoo sassy isnt he a rascal when it’s supposed to be more like ... he’s so far gone into the celebrity delusion he’s conflated aggressive rudeness with charmingness because no one told him otherwise and everyone worships him to the point where he’s just given into the delusion that he can do no wrong.  i think theres the general simplification problem that happens with a lot of fictional characters, it’s easy to see him as just a whacky sassy glittery quirky rockstar when i guess it avoids the inherent tragedy of like ... everything else about him. his totally fake and false sense of identity built up from superficial things like fame and labels and stardom.  maybe my version of ziggy is just too weirdly depressing and sad when i know his original iteration wasn’t quite so ... grim.  im not very sure tbh.  

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  hmmm ... a lot of things! i just really got into b*wie stuff in early 2019, i’ve ALWAYS loved aliens and sci-fi, and i was really shocked that db sets up such great visual storytelling potential but does it through music.  i just really liked ziggys “story” and i like any chance to think about aliens so i just got invested into piecing together a little backstory for him using, like, the cumulative knowledge of literally every other piece of science fiction ive ever consumed in my life.  this was summer 2019 when i was making initial pitches for my thesis film, and so i just randomly decided to pitch “animated version of ziggy stardust” as one of the potential ideas.  shockingly everyone liked it a lot and so did my professor who thought it was really cool, and then i just ended up sticking with the character and working on him for an entire year.  ziggy became my hobby but also my homework.  he was such a fun character because everything about him was interesting to me and i had just enough source material to have a starting point but so much room to take him in any direction i wanted to.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  honestly, yooooou guyssssss. i have some really amazing fwends that ive met thru here .... and some of our dumb stupid stories have literally become NOVEL length. it just self generates inspiration because you realize the limitless amount of stories you could tell with this one single character when your character enters his story or he enters their story and etc. etc.  ive drawn endless amounts of comics and stuff for him ... ziggy is just so endlessly interesting ...   cringe be cringed bro but recently (i know this sounds dumb bear with me or die.) ive kind of realized a lot of how i rp z comes as some metaphor for the experience of being an asian immigrant/being asian in the US -- his home “culture” is a lot stricter than the rampant selfish individualism of the usa (he only lives in the uk and usa, so he thinks the whole planet is like this), he’s dissuaded from standing out from his community and his selfishness becomes a community burden rather than a personal flaw, and when he does come to earth, he goes through such awful culture shock, literally nothing makes sense to him and everything is Different.  and while some things are different in a Nice way, something things are different in an Awful way, and he’s given the option between losing his true personal identity as an atominan and giving it up to be a human.  the allure of being a human is a little too much but losing yourself like this is traumatic, in a way.  obvs like ... a little silly and definitely not something that i actively intended to put into his story arc, its just something that fell into place cuz i guess i worked so closely with my own personal experiences and feelings of “alienation” (pun intended) to try to understand how he would feel being a literal alien an shid. its cathartic to write about him. but he also has a lot of my own personal interests just thrown in -- 70s fashion, scifi, science, tryhard implications about human nature, art history, whatever dumb nonsense i get into

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / SOMETIMES?

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO  [ i would prefer information to spring up organically in the story but cuz threads always get dropped i end up just telling people outright. i didnt want anyone to know his home planet/his old name but barely anyone writes enough with ziggy to get to that point to reveal it (i legit managed to do it organically Once) so i just had to write it in a post lmao orz ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO [ wrote a ton of drabbles ! drew a ton of comics! ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO 

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO / I DUNNO?

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / HAHA NO.

Are you a sensitive person?  YES  / NO. / IDK ? 

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  definitely!  like i said ... my version of ziggy ended up being the protag of my thesis film and for 1 yr straight his characterization, backstory, design, and even how i wanted to animate his fucking movements (ziggy stardust timing charts.) were beaten to death in a classroom environment, torn apart and rebuilt into something better.  had i stayed with what i originally wanted to go with, ziggy would be so different than how i write him 2day. amazingly my pre production professor is a literal two time emmy award winning storyboard artist and animator so he definitely helped me design him (my version of ziggy is meant for ... a cartoon, obviously, not real life) and give him a better backstory?  and my post production professor is a retired disney animator who worked on hercules and a bunch of old disney channel shows?  had i gone wah wah wah i dont want to hear ur critiques i wouldnt have made him better.  if you ever think ziggy seems inconsistent or poorly written ... tell me !! i literally major in ... animation. cartoons. entertainment.  my job is to entertain you. if you are not entertained, there is a problem.  ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED ????

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —  I LOVE QUESTIONS? i love ... answering questions ... if you ask me something ill come kiss you.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  sure! i dont know why that would happen, though, because i mean ... he’s an OC. but i gues someone could be like “i feel like this is incongruous to things you’ve previously established in his character” or somethin

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  —  i feel like a lot of b*wie stans would find my version of ziggy weird but i mean thats fine!  i guess my goal is to have a well written character, not necessarily an accurate version of ziggy

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  —  if you hate MY version of ziggy thats fine but if u hate ziggy stardust in general (like the bowie concept) then u need some taste what the fuck is cooler than a egomaniac genderless bisexual rockstar alien with red hair? nothing. go back to watching your CW shows you dirty filthy normie

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  —  yes! dm me though. dont clown me on the dash like that.  i usually write your replies 12 AM - 4 AM so it’s expected.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  hmmm ... maybe! i do like to talk to people and i am VERY nice, trust me, if youre ever sad ill do everything i can to make you feel better. but im quiet! i dont really reach out to people and i tend to just keep to myself.  im not very social or extroverted at all haha i barely can make ooc posts without feeling like god’s coming to beat my head in with a brick. im sitting here at 5:30 AM with this meme feeling like if i post it i will die (BUT I MUST)

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

WARNING: this is a sad post disguised with humor. Long and sad. My apologies for any tears you shed, any heartstrings that are pulled.

TL:DR at the bottom

Long ago, in an ancient time known as 2008, i journeyed to our local animal shelter looking for a murderous fluff ball, known as a cat. In order to make my way to the delightful little critters, I had to cross an open yard space that was fenced in so that dogs could frolic. As I crossed (slowly because i clearly needed to pet all the dogs, it was obviously the task i had to fight my way through to reach the cats), the beautiful creature pictured above trotted up to me, slamming her face into my leg. As I pet her, i noticed her bunny-like tail wiggling furiously. A shelter employee walked by, so i asked him about her and so i learned of her backstory:

Her name was Sarah. She was a poorly bred Australian Shepherd, as some absolute dumbshit had decided to breed two merle Aussie Shepherds together. Now any breeder (and even most non-breeders) have the good sense to know that you always breed merle colored dogs of any breed with a different coat color because there are a great many genetic risk factors that will adversely effect the pups resulting from that union. Sarah was one such pup. She was born entirely deaf, completely blind in her right eye (the one surrounded by white fur), and seemed to be able to see shadows out of the left but couldn't entirely see out of it. This made for a high energy, very intelligent working breed dog that was nearly untrainable due to her disabilities. It was these factors that had caused this beautiful baby to be surrendered to the shelter 5 times in the two years she had been alive. She was scheduled to be put down the next day as she was 'unadoptable'.

I couldn't let that happen, so I ended my quest for a cat, and brought her home for my father instead. The above pictures were from the first 9 months we had her. She was mischievous and incredibly nosey. She was definitely a challenge compared to a dog with all of its senses in tact. We essentially baby proofed the house, installed a doggie door to the backyard, & took her on loads of walks. We spent time with her to learn her quirks and preferences (like that you don't sneak up on her blind side to pet her because she will bite you, or that she will try to heard anyone under 4 ft tall by nipping them). She was a wonderful dog if you were willing to put in the work.

About a year after the adoption, my dad came home to find her barely concious, shaking in the yard. He immediately hoisted her into the care & rushed to her vet. After loads of testing, the vet discovered that she had experienced a massive seizure followed by a multitude of tiny seizures. They couldn't tell exactly how many. The vet told us that we could attempt to control them with medication, but at best she probably had 2 years left and that she'd never be her old spunky self, that she wouldn't behave like a dog at all because there was a very high chance she was brain damaged from the seizures. He said putting her down was a good option, but we didn't want to give up without a fight. So we started meditating the seizures (with monthly bloodwork) and working with her to give her a sense of normalcy and let her know we weren't giving up on her. We did the right thing because...

within about a year and a half, she was a dog again. A few things had changed permanently thought. She no longer vocalized at all (unless you rubbed her ears a certain way, the she made a deep moaning growl sound that let you know you were petting her ears properly), no longer licked anyone, was much more calm, and had put on some weight. We tried putting her on a diet per the vet's recommendation, but when we did she began to eat her poo, so we gave that up after about a week. She still loved pets, waited for my dad to get home by watching for the shadow of his car pulling in through the small gaps in the back fence, hit you with her face when she wanted attention, lived for walks, and was always very interested in what the people were eating.

7 months ago, I moved back in with my dad due to my declining health & an abusive (now ex) boyfriend (that's a can of worms that I'll open at a later date). I had put my service dog in the care of the lady who was my home aide at the time because Sarah was no longer dog friendly. She became my constant companion, looking out for me in that way dogs do when they can tell you aren't well. She only ever left my side to go outside, greet my dad, go for walks, eat, or go to the bathroom. She had begun having hip problems, so she wasn't allowed upstairs anymore (much like myself). We even had a nigh time routine. I would turn off my living room light, start steeping my bedtime tea, then take her for a short night walk, & give her a cookie as I finished making my tea. Then when my tea & reading was done, there was a 30 minute bedtime pet session, I'd get into bed, and she'd snuggle up in her bed. Then it got harder and harder for her to get up. A few days ago, she started having small seizures again.

Which brings us to today. The pictures above are from a few days ago. My beautiful girl would have been 10 in February. But this morning I woke up to hear her coughing, gasping, and gagging. I sat with her, petting her, as I called my dad at work. She was struggling to breathe. We took her to the vet immediately (well, as immediately as possible since it took us about 20 minutes to get her off the floor and into the car). The vet said it sounded like fluid in her lungs. She had a very high fever & really high blood pressure. They said even if they could figure that out & get it under control, they wouldn't be able to get the seizures under control again or help her with her legs because the front ones were starting to give as well. So we had to make the impossible decision to have her put down so that she wasn't in pain anymore. We sat and pet her, talking to her despite the fact that she couldn't hear a word, until she went to sleep. During the consult with the vet, my father's voice started to crack. I could tell I needed to be stoic & be there for him, so I was & reassured him that it was the right thing to do, that she wouldn't be suffering any more. By the end, he was sobbing. I'd never seen my father break down like this. Not even after his 4th wife passed (yes, you read that correctly FOURTH WIFE, but that's a story for another time). As we left, he tried to thank the staff because she's been at the same vet's office since we got her 8 years ago, but he couldn't get the words out. Instead he asked for pen and paper and wrote them a note (later he wrote an email).

Knowing how my father handles unpleasant matters, including grief, I knew he'd go back to work to distract himself and I offered to take care of cleaning out all her things. He dropped me off at home, and I sobbed as I gathered up all her old bones and toys that were beyond use. I gathered her beds, blankets, unused toys, and unused cookies & biscuits, called my grandma with the news and had her take me to the animal shelter we adopted her from so I could donate it all. When he got home, he thanked me for taking care of it all. I could see him breaking again (after all, his best friend wasn't here to greet him today), so I ordered pizza and ordered him to plant himself on my couch so we could watch silly shows and eat junk. He seemed ok, as long as he was distracted. Tomorrow, after my doctor, I may take him to play Pokemon Go. More distractions.

So there you have it. The beautiful tale of Sarah Hall, the blind deaf epileptic rescue Aussie. We made those last 8 yrs count & she made those last 8 yrs undoubtedly brighter. RIP Bunny Butt. ♡

TL;DL: rescued a deaf & visually impaired dog who was on death row, 8 yrs pass & today her reign as queen of our home and hearts has ended.

[silver-the-cat]

Jack in Wonderland - Part 4 of more coming soon, idk, running out of ideas

((Yay, 3rd day in a row where I actually manage to post another one of these things! Or maybe 4th. Idk, I haven’t really been keeping track. I’ll keep this brief, just another thank you for all the positivity! Without further ado, here’s part 4

Enjoy!))

The world outside seemed so strange when everything else was nearly twice your size. The blades of grass were more like trees, while the trees themselves looked like giant legs of monstrous creature that towered over him. Interestingly enough as well, the bugs that someone would expect to see at such a size suddenly looked just like humans, albeit with bug-like features.

Jack otherwise tried to avoid them, a bit uneasy around a few of them, especially the ones who looked exactly like flies. But they really kept to themselves, paying him absolutely no mind. The two parties simply continued along their way, Jack going in the same direction S-3-4-N’s camera showed the rabbit man running off in while the bug-humans only walked both back and forth down the path.

“Aw, what’s wrong you little worm? Gonna cry some more?”

“J-Just leave me alone, will you?”

“Crying ain’t gonna save you when the birds come swooping down!”

“I-I’m not a worm! I told y-you! J-Just go away!”

There was a rock the size of a medium hill, although it was probably just the size of a pebble if he was normal size. There were three bugs on the rock, one crouching down and covering his head with his hands while the other two sneered down at him, sometimes pelting him with with tiny punches or kicks. The two looked like rather rough looking bees, wearing the usual clothes one would expect from a bully. The only difference between them and the stereotypical bullies was that they had pale, fragile wings sprouting from their back. As for the boy they were terrorizing, he wore a white shirt with a bright blue tie. He also had a bright blue backpack, covered with tiny red spots littering the fabric.

“C’mon! Get up and face us like a real man, worm!” One of the bullies yelled at the poor boy, giving him a small kick and nearly knocking him over. “Oh wait, worms can’t stand up for themselves, now can they?” “Might as well get you ready for the fishes then! I bet the fisherman’s gonna come around any second now!” The other one added with a grin, laughing as he said it even. “He’s gonna need some fresh worms for today’s fishing trip after all!” “I-I’m not a worm….I-I’m not a worm….” The boy kept saying over and over in a small voice, only to have the bullies respond with laughter. “J-Just leave me alone…..I’m not a worm…..I-I’m not….” “Hey! You bastards, leave ‘im alone!” Jack yelled, picking up his pace. The two bullies only looked at him, as if sizing him up. Before they broke out into laughter.

“Look, the little worm has a little worm buddy!” One of them said, even pointing. “Isn’t that just precious!”

“Might as well leave the two worms to their playdate in the mud, I don’t wanna see any of that.” The other said, causing an uproar of laughter once more. Before Jack could even remotely give them a piece of his own mind, their wings started buzzing rather loudly, and they flew off. Jack couldn’t help but click his tongue in slight disappointment, part of him really wanted to teach them a lesson for what they had done. But at least this way nobody got hurt.

“Hey, kid. You okay there?” He called, quickly scaling up the rock. The boy timidly looked up, his face still shiny from tears. “Look, calm down. Got rid of those jerks. But if they had stuck around, I would’ve made sure they’d leave you alone for good!”

“Y-You….y-you’d really do something like that?” He asked, rather shakily. He sniffled, sitting up straighter while Jack settled himself on the pebble next to him. “I….I-I really wanna thank you for standing up for me….none of the other bugs really want to even help me….”

“Well, I wouldn’t just let someone get picked on like that, that’s just a jerk move.” Jack said, trying to give what he hoped was an encouraging smile. The boy smiled slightly, rubbing his eyes a bit.

“Again….thanks….I just seriously can’t thank you enough….but I….I just want to know….” He said, looking right at Jack with a slightly tilted head. “W...Who are you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you….er….anywhere around here….”

“Jack. Just call me Jack.” Jack quickly said, thinking as fast as he could. “And I’m….I’m new around here! Just moved in from a different forest, y’know?” The boy only narrowed his eyes, before he simply shook his head.

“No, my name is Jack, I asked for your name.” He said. “Who are you?” Jack wasn’t honestly sure how to respond to that. 

“Well, honest truth is that most people do just call me Jack.” He finally replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe….oh! Can I just call you Jackie?”

“I wouldn’t mind that at all!” The boy, Jackie, said, eyes suddenly lighting up. “I’ve always been hoping that someone would call me that….but...I dunno if you even want to hear why…..er….do you?” Jack shook his head, giving a small smile. “Ok….so, to most humans, I just kind of look like this fat little blue caterpillar. But all of the other bugs, just like those bees, just call me a worm….”

“So you’re just a catepillar, not a worm? Where did they even get the whole ‘You’re a worm’ thing?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. Jackie merely replied with a shrug, pulling his knees a bit closer to him.

“I’m not sure. Maybe they just wanted to find something to call me. Besides, caterpillars are close enough, aren’t they?” He said, rather sadly. “But I tried to show some bugs that I thought were my friends something I really liked. Something I thought was cool. I….I think I still have it somewhere in my bag….” He slid off the blue backpack, zipping it open and digging around for a few moments. After a few minutes, he finally whipped out a scrunched up piece of looseleaf paper, with what looked like a superhero scribbled in red and black ink. A name was written in the corner as well, almost quickly written as an afterthought.

“‘Jackieboy Man?’” Jack read, taking in the picture and trying not to laugh. The name itself was rather silly, but he could tell Jackie had come up with it all by himself, with all the innocence he probably had at the time. 

“I-It’s a stupid name, but once I came up with it, it just stuck.” Jackie admitted, nervously laughing. “Since I’m a caterpillar, I’ll turn into a butterfly one day, right? I thought that when I do become a butterfly, I could be like a superhero! Someone everyone likes seeing, someone who’s probably loved by everyone. And I’m sure Jackieboy Man would never get called a worm. He’d be everyone’s friend, and able to protect everyone.”

“So, you become Jackieboy Man when you get to turn into that butterfly!” Jack said, handing the piece of paper back to him. “If being a superhero is your dream, you chase after that dream, no matter what happens or what anyone else says.”

“Yeah, sure. The little worm everybody hates is gonna suddenly turn into some big shot hero.” Jackie said, almost a bit bitterly. “Jackieboy Man’s the one with the confidence. I’m just Jackie, the bug the entire forest hates.” Jack slammed his hands down on the rock, pushing himself to his feet.

“Kid, listen up right here and right now!” He nearly shouted, making Jackie jump slightly. “If you keep thinking like that, then nothing’s gonna change for you! You said you wanna be like Jackieboy Man, right? Well, that’s not even going to happen if you keep thinking negative. You just need to have….have….”

“Have...what?” Jackie said, in a quieter voice. Jack had to rack his brain for the word he was looking for. It was literally on the tip of his tongue. He just needed to….

“Hashtag Positive Mental Attitude!”

“PMA! How on earth could I have forgotten about that!” He suddenly exclaimed, snapping his fingers. Jackie merely gave him an extremely confused look. “Heh…..sorry, I mean Positive Mental Attitude. It’s something I say a lot….back before this whole fiasco….I-I mean, before I met you! Meeting you is in no way part of the fiasco!” He said, waving his hands quickly.

“But….what exactly does that mean?” Jackie asked, looking just a little less confused.

“It means you gotta stay positive! You can’t get anything done when you just keep thinking negatively, after all.” Jack said. “It’s gotten a ton of other people and even myself through some dark times, so it would seriously surprise me if it just didn’t work for you!” Jackie just sat there for a minute, looking at the rock and just silently repeating ‘PMA’ a few times, before he slowly stood up as well.

“I...I’ll give it a try too!” He said, with a hesitant, but rather new-found confidence. “F-From today onwards…..I’m gonna become a superhero! I’m gonna be Jackieboy Man!” 

“Aw, look at the little worm, suddenly shouting out to the world like he’s some sort of big shot!” The loud hum of buzzing filled the entire area, causing the two to spin around. It was the same two thugs as before, except they now had about three or four more bees right behind them, all of them glaring down at Jack and Jackie with big, rather malicious grins.

“‘Ey! I told you two to leave him alone!” Jack growled, almost protectively standing in front of the boy. “What the hell are you two suddenly doing back here?”

“New word came from the King, says something about a guy who doesn’t belong ‘round Wonderland.” One of the original two bullies said. “Given how you ain’t no bug we’ve seen ‘round here, we figured you had to be that guy. God knows how you got so tiny, but you look exactly like described.”

“But, seeing as how you’re still with the worm, this is just the perfect opportunity! Why not squash two worms with one foot?” The other one added in, causing a few laughs among the new ones. “Mess with the little worm and get that award the King promised us. How could ANYONE even want to pass up a chance like this?”

“Well, me if you really want examples.” Jack shot back. “Listen, how about this? I go with you guys, you take me to whoever this King guy is, and you leave Jackie completely out of this. Sound good to you, dudes?” None of them even replied. Instead, one of them darted forwards and threw a punch, one that Jack just barely managed to duck under.

“Well great, looks like that’s not an option.” He couldn’t help but mutter, jumping back as another one tried to dart forwards. Jack tried to make a move to retaliate, but a sharp pain that shot up his back as he leaned a fist back. One of the bullies took advantage of this and pushed him right off the rock, causing Jack to hit the ground hard. The back pain didn’t vanish, instead only growing so bad that he couldn’t even stand for a few minutes.

“J-Jack! Oh God, a-are you okay?!” Jackie yelped, about to rush down to his new friend’s aid only to be blocked in by all of the bullies. Jack attempted to stand, only to wince as the injury gave an almighty throb. It looked as if the bullies were about to begin their torment of the poor kid all over again when what looked like a short knife flew past.

“Yo! Step away from the kid right now, dudes!” 

The thugs all turned, just as two men, both of whom seemed to be two different species of beetle, grabbed two of the bullies, hoisting them up by the collar of their shirts. Two different men, one of them acting as if he was the leader of the four, followed close behind. 3 out of these four men wore leather jackets with ‘COOL PATROL’ written in golden letters. The odd man out instead wore a nearly face-length mask that covered everything but his eyes.

“And what the hell do you think you’re doing.” One of the thugs hissed, walking and meeting the leader of the four halfway. “We’ve got business with this worm here, so make like a tree and leaf already.”

“Well, we’re obviously stopping this seriously uncool fight.” The leader snapped back. “You heard me, step away from the kid. Or me and my friends here are gonna have to get a tiny bit physical.” The thug merely growled, looking between the four men, catching a glimpse of the leader’s weapon, a claw grasped in his right hand, and the strange masked man, who held a dagger up in one hand.

“Tch, fine. But this ain’t over, ya worm!” The thug finally said, backing off. “C’mon boys, time to get lost. These losers obviously don’t want us here having any fun.”

“That’s the Cool Patrol to you, assholes!” The leader of the gang yelled as the thugs all flew off once more. None of them gave any indication they had heard, not that any of the four really cared. “Yo, kid, you okay there? Looks like you were almost in for a really crappy time.”

“Y-Yeah….I-I’m fine….” Jackie replied, shaky once more. The leader only gave a smile, holding out a hand for him. “T-Thanks….er...you called yourselves the….the Cool Patrol, right?”

“Hell yeah. We were out, doing our normal patrol like always, when we heard the loud buzzing and could literally smell the jerk coming off of these guys.” The leader said as Jackie took his hand, hoisting the boy to his feet. “What was up with those dudes and them calling you a worm? Or was that just them being total asses?”

“I-It’s something you don’t need to worry about...i-it’s fine….” Jackie said timidly, rubbing one of his arms. “J-Just….a small nickname they gave me….t-that’s all.” The leader of the Cool Patrol only exchanged a skeptical look with his fellow members, clearly not buying something like that.

“Yo, what’s this?” One of the members suddenly said, bending down to pick up a piece of paper. It was the picture he had drawn of Jackieboy Man, which he had accidentally dropped when the thugs had pushed Jack off of the rock.

“N-Nothing! I-It’s an….an….er….an…” Jackie stuttered, trying quickly to think of an excuse.

“A totally awesome picture!” The member exclaimed, grinning widely. “Dude, I’ve never seen a superhero like this, it’s gotta be one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen!” Jackie froze in place, clearly not expecting that kind of answer. The rest of the Cool Patrol all gathered around, looking at the picture and voicing the same sentiments.

“Nice one, Jackie.” Jack said through clenched teeth, managing to pull himself back up to his feet using the side of the rock. His back was screaming in protest, but it didn’t feel as bad as the initial impact. “Knew at least someone else would think you’re cool too.” Before he could begin slowly climbing back up the rock, something loud and heavy landed right behind him.

Sure enough, a giant, pale gray tabby cat stood behind him, looking right down at him with big, playful green eyes. Jack didn’t even get a chance to back away or call out for help when it literally stretched its neck over him and plucked him from the ground, holding the very back of his jacket and shirt very carefully.

“The hell?! Put me down, will you?” Jack yelled as the cat straightened once more. His yell was audible from where Jackie and the Cool Patrol all were, thankfully enough. “Guys! Help, would ya?!”

“H-Hang on Jack! I’m coming!” Jackie yelled back in response, running and skidding down the rock. But before he could get anywhere near the giant feline, it had already flicked its tail and began bounding off. “Hey! H-Hold up! Bring him back here!” The cat didn’t slow down, instead racing right to a tree before leaping up it, latching on using its claws. Just before the cat and Jack disappeared into the trees, Jack could hear Jackie yell out one last thing.

“J-Jack! I promise, I’m gonna go find you again when I finally become a butterfly! When I become Jackieboy Man! I promise!”

((Ok, so in the lead up to this chapter, I’ve been watching the Cool Patrol video like whenever I see it. I’m glad I did, since it’s like a really cool (heh) song and video as well as somewhat helpful for writing more about Jackieboy Man. So I decided to throw them in with Jackie’s big appearance here too.

But I’ll be honest, I don’t exactly like this one. I feel it’s one of the weaker parts I’ve written, but that always could just be me being too harsh and critical on things I wrote. Idk. Also, I’m not exactly sure if I’ll be able to post more of these as quickly as I have been lately. My school laptop, which I normally write on,is currently broken. So that’s just peachy, ain’t it? This means I might not get it working again until Tuesday, And writing on my phone and family laptop isn’t exactly the easiest.

So, there may be a small delay in updates for about three days, given I do have Monday off of school. Just thought I might as well warn you guys now, just in case. Anyways, onto the tags!

@watermelonsinmyattic

Also, big thanks to @alexisdevil for creating this AU, still absolutely loving it and thank you so much for the support on this, it means so much.

Anyways, see you God knows when for the next part! And sorry my author notes are way to rambly!))

[seraphladyvenom]

We Are Family. [Fairy Tail FanFic]

Chp.2: Meet the guild.

Most of the guild was gathered around you, concern painted on their faces.  You sat on a bench with an ice pack on your head.  Shifty eyes went back and forth to each and every one of them them as you sat there with a grimaced frown, debating if you should say something or just blast them all into the next life.

Lira sat on the table in front of you as she looked up with concerned brown eyes.  She kept quiet though because she knew you were in a rather foul mood, which was understandable, I mean really...you had a fully grown man thrown at you like a sack of potatoes.  I mean what can anyone say to that really?

"Here you go." A soft, and gentle voice spoke as a beautiful, white haired woman placed an X bandage over the bumps on your forehead and back of your head.  It was Mira.  Mirajane Strauss, an S class fairy tail wizard also known as the shedevil.  Which was a rather strange nickname seeing as she was nothing like a devil of the sort.  She had kind eyes and a friendly smile and her voice that could sooth and calm even the devil himself.

  Almost immediately your anger subsided just by her voice alone.  "Thank you." you managed to say as you pulled the ice pack away from your head.  "How are you feeling?" Another heavenly voice spoke.  You looked up and noticed the blonde haired woman looking down at you with sincere worry in her big brown eyes.  It was Lucy Heartfilia.  The Celestial mage who helped save Fiore from the impending dragon attack not too long ago.  Of course, she did have a part in starting it to begin with but...

"My head still hurts a bit, but not like before." You managed a smile.  She sighed in relief.  "Thank goodness, I was so worried there for a second, when I saw Gray crash into you like that I expected the worst!" She exclaimed as she pointed towards Gray with her thumb.  Gray was standing not to far back behind the crowd, shirtless and arms crossed as he leaned on a pillar, a small scowl on his face as he just huffed at Lucy's response.

That sparked an immediate response from Lucy as she began to yell loudly at him.  "Hey!  At least show a little sympathy for the poor girl!  You almost killed her for crying out loud!"  "Hey don't blame me for her not being quick enough to dodge."  "Really Gray?!  How can you be so rude, clearly she had no idea just what goes on around here on a daily basis so how do you expect her to react quickly?!  AND WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?!"  Grey clicked his tongue but immediately panicked and looked down letting out a small gasp when he saw he was bare again.

You sweatdropped.

She sighed once more.  "Honestly, just what are we going to do with you." She shook her head disapprovingly as she massaged her temple.

Gray reacted the only way possible by pointing at the pink haired fire eater who was just giggling away.  "Don't get mad at me!  If anything it's HIS fault!  He's the one who started it!"  Natsu snapped back with a simple "What'd you say?!"  "You heard me lava for brains!" The little tick forming on his forehead and they were face on face.  "You wanna fight then fine let's duke it out right now!!  But don't go crying when I beat you ice princess!"  "Bring it on cinder brain!"

"Quit it guys!  Your interrupting my drinking time!" A voice from the bar spoke.  The woman in question was sitting at the bar downing a full barrel of alcohol and your eyes nearly popped put of your head at the sight alone.

"Cana, when isn't it drinking time for you?" The older blue haired gentleman spoke.  It was Macao Conbolt, former master of this guild.  The girl was Cana Alberona, the girl who can use the Fairy glitter spell, one of Fairy Tail's strongest spells, and obviously this guild's heaviest drinker.

That's right, you knew exactly who each and every member of this guild was, you did your homework and studied them for quite some time now.  And you needed to for a reason.  You averted your eyes towards the rumbling duo on your left while Lucy tried to break them up, obviously now doing a very good job.

Gray Fullbuster, the Ice wizard who once faught the demon Deliora.  Powerful, but quite the nudist.  "Oh Gray my love, you look so dashing even in the midst of a fight!" She spoke with hearts in her eyes.  She was wiggling like a worm just pulled out from the dirt.  Juvia Lockser, the water mage who was once with Phantom Lord's element 4, turned good.  It's obvious why this bimbo changed sides judging by her reaction toward the streaking Ice prince.

You quickly dismissed them as Gray tried to pry her off him as she latched onto him in the middle of the squabble.  Your eyes gazed towards the pink haired mess standing with his arms crossed next to Lucy with a childish pout on his face.  Natsu.  Dragneel.

You knew that name all too well.  There wasn't anywhere you could go without his name coming up wether it be about the magic games or how he nearly took out a village.  Yes he was famous, but to you, his name meant something more.  "Natsu..." You whispered to yourself.

"Hmm?" He looked up at you questioningly and it was then you remembered about his dragon slayer magic.  He could hear a mouse take a piss from across the street in the middle of a rush, of course he'd hear you whisper his name.  A small tint of pink powdered your face and you immediately looked down and put the ice pack on your head to try and distract this whole situation.

Before anything could be said Grey's voice broke the awkwardness when he yelled at Juvia to back off.  As he did he pryed her off but stumbled backwards and crashed into Natsu, causing another dispute against them.  You mentally sighed in relief and thanked the wizard God's for intervening in the knick of time.

Before the fight could ensue even more a loud, deep, womanly voice thundered throughout the guild.  "Enough!"  This alone sent both men to their side of the corners in a frightened state.  Hell, it made the whole guild minus a few tremble in fear.  The red haired vixen clad in armor stomped up and gave a menacing glare.  Even you and Lira had to admit that even y'all were a bit shaken.

"Can't you see that you've caused enough problems for today?!  Your reckless actions nearly cost this poor young woman dearly and all you can do is continue fighting?!" Her voice was dark and threatening.  "That's enough out of you two."  "Yes ma'am!" They yelped in unison.

Erza Scarlet.  Also known as Titania Erza, queen of the faries.  Her requip was so fast and so rare and her collection of armours was so vast.  Her presence alone was intimidating.  It's no wonder she's the strongest female of the guild.  You felt those butterflies in your belly start acting up again.  She was indeed an amazing woman and seeing her in person was just so...cool.  Her menacing stare then turned towards you.

Nevermind.

You heart sank to your ass as she began to approach you.

What did you do to piss her off?  Was she going to scold you too?  Was it illegal to come into the guild if you weren't a member?  Just what was gonna happen?!  As she approached her stare softened alot and a smile appeared on her face.  "Please forgive the craziness in here.  I am truly sorry you had to go through that ordeal earlier.  It's quite an embarrassment and very shameful on our part."

You relaxed your shoulders and smiled waving franticly.  "Oh no, it's okay really, it was my fault, I should have announced myself before just barging in!"  "Don't be silly, you needn't announce yourself before entering.  Are you feeling alright?"

"Huh?  Oh yes.  I'm much better thank you.  It takes a lot more than that to bring me down, honestly." you chuckled nervously.  Erza chuckled in return.  "I can see that, what's your name?"  "Oh that's right!" You stood up and bowed.  "Forgive me, my name is Seradith, it's a pleasure to meet you all even under these certain circumstances." You smiled.  "Pleasure to meet you Seradith.  My names Erza."

"Oh I know!" You immediately mentally berated yourself at how desperate and creepy that sounded.  "I mean...what I meant to say is I've heard a great deal of this guild and read a lot about you all on Sorcerer Weekly.  I'm...that is we..." You look Lira. "Are bit of a fan." You blushed ever so slightly and looked down.

"Wow to think we've gotten this big and have such a strong fan base, it's so amazing!" Lucy sighed dreamily as she clenched her flushed cheeks.  "Pretty soon, I'll have adoring fans rushing to me asking for my autograph, and men just throwing themselves at my feet wanting a chance to be with a star such as myself!"  "You need to wake up from your dreaming Lucy." Natsu replied monotonously with an unimpressed look on his face.

"Can it jerk!" she snapped back.  "So what brings you to Fairy Tail Seradith?" The small blue haired child asked curiously.  Wendy Marvell.  The sky maiden.  A small, petite little girl with the power of a sky dragon slayer, clearly looks can fool you.  She was amazing, you heard the stories and you see her right in front of you oozing with such power, it was exciting.  But the question asked made you a bit uneasy as you sat back down, both you and Lira looking down shyly.

"Well you see..." You began.  It was a few moments of silence that made everyone sort of on edge and curious as to what y'all were about to say.  "It's just that, we are really big fans of Fairy Tail...and we came here in hopes of meeting you all..." Lira proceeded.  "And maybe meet our idol's." She fiddled with her paws.

"Aww how cute, that's the sweetest thing!  Of course you can meet us, we won't turn you down cutie!" Lucy exclaimed as she cuddled her tightly causing Lira to blush and giggle.  Pretty soon the whole guild was riled up about their new fans coming for a visit and it wasn't long before you were introduced to the members currently in the guild and things went back to the normal fairy tail way.

[allofusandco]

worm + crisis + umbrella

Veronica meets Nik; she’s been taking photos of cheating spouses all night, and he’s working in a bar. A random thread that launched an improbably and gorgeous ship.

with @moonoverbourbon

Nik:

Nik futzed with the umbrella, growling under his breath when the damned thing wouldn’t open. It was quickly becoming a crisis, water pelting down on him in sheets and soaking him to the bone. He’d just gotten off work at the bar, it was seven in the morning, and he was starving - not a great way to end the day. (And to top it off, he was pretty sure he’d just stepped on a worm on the sidewalk - gross.) “Bloody hell,” he spat, spotting a blonde walking nearby on her way (he assumed) to the coffee shop a few doors down.

“Excuse me, love, you wouldn’t happen to know how to work this thing would you? I’m starting to look like a drowned rat here.”

–––––

Ronnie:

A crick in her neck from keeping nice and low under the car window, about four hundred and fifty photographs and a parking ticket, but at least she had the evidence she needed that Mr. James L MacGillicuddy was a lying shitbag who was scamming his customers, his staff and - alright, with a little bit of interpretation - the IRS. So she was smug, and? She was due an Irish coffee. The proper kind. Not with syrup, with actual whiskey.

She squinted at the stranger, and patted her pocket for her tazer.

“I have most definitely worked an umbrella or two in my life,” she said, taking it off him and reaching for the release, high up on the… shaft? Unfortunate choice of nouns. Whoops. She’d never given any thought to umbrella parts before. “Drowned rat no more. Or… at least it shouldn’t get any worse. For what it’s worth - coffee shop has a fake open fire. Doesn’t smell right, but there are flames.”

––––

Nik:

Nik took the umbrella back with a grateful smile, albeit a little sheepish for not being able to get it open in the first place. He must have looked like a bloody idiot. “Thanks, love. I appreciate the rescue. Never let it be said that all Knights in Shining Armor are men.”

He glanced down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop and nodded. “I was actually heading that way. I worked all night,” Nik jerked his thumb back toward the bar behind him. “Figured I could use a proper bite to eat before passing out. It was a busy night – bachelorette party that got a little wild. I, uh, I’m rambling. Shall I walk you? I mean, if that’s where you were headed…”

–––––

Ronnie:

Hmm. Accent. Veronica liked accents.

“Sure, why not?” she said, with a little shrug. “I’ve been working all night myself.” She glanced behind them – oh, she knew that bar. She’d definitely trailed a couple of people who visited it often. Good sort of place to go if you didn’t want to be noticed. “I’m a private investigator. And I think I saw a couple of the bachelorettes puking in the alley a little while back. I didn’t take a photo, but now I wish I had.”

They step inside the café – it was mostly people eating a very early breakfast and downing black coffee in an effort to get sober enough to drive home, she suspected. She visited the place regularly enough to be recognized, and just headed for her favorite table with a little wave.

––––

Nik:

Nik didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t smooth; he didn’t ask…well…anyone if he could walk them to coffee shops, and he didn’t do too well with small talk. The fact that she was a private investigator should have sent him running, would have too if he wasn’t so damned hungry and in need of caffeine after a ten hour shift.

“A private investigator? That must be exciting.” He smiled, though there was an undercurrent of nervousness to it – people looking too deeply into his past was Nik’s greatest fear. “And I think I would have paid handsomely for those pictures. I could have put them up in the bar as a warning to others.”

He followed her into the café, but it became that awkward moment where he didn’t know if the invitation extended to sitting with her or whether he should find his own table. “I, it was nice to meet you, love. I should let you get to your coffee. My name is Nik, by the way. Should you ever need a properly shaken martini, you know where to find me.”

–––––

Ronnie:

“Oh, now, come on,” Veronica said, pointing across the table. “I rescued you from a very unruly umbrella. The least you can do is keep me company while I stuff myself full of caffeine so I can stay awake until my nine o’clock meeting. And then I’m out like a light.”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly. He hadn’t come off like the shy type when they’d met, but people reacted one of two ways to hearing she was a PI. Oh, well, there was the occasional person who immediately threw her a job, of course, but those were the rarity. Unfortunately most people had lives that precluded the frequent use of services like hers.

“Just sit,” she said again, seeing his doubt. “I promise. No invasive questions, I won’t take your photo or try to figure out where that accent comes from, and I don’t sprinkle crumbs everywhere.”

She needed raisin toast with cinnamon and sugar on it. Pronto. “Besides, we’re bound to run into each other again, and this way we’re like pre-made besties.”

––––

Nik:

He hesitated another second, but then took the seat she’d indicated. It couldn’t hurt to sit and chat awhile, and it certainly beat his usual morning ritual – a cup of coffee and spot of breakfast, then home to his tiny apartment to sleep until it was time to do it all over again. Predictable. Boring. Maybe a change would do him good.  

“And a splendid rescue it was,” Nik teased. “I’m almost positive it would have been the death of me had you not ventured along.”  

Nik tried to relax, did actually when she promised no invasive questions. He was being silly, of course; it wasn’t like she’d been paid to find out anything about him – and he’d likely never see her again after this morning. “The accent is from London, just outside the city actually. I’ve been here in America for about ten years now, since I was eighteen.”

There. He could make polite conversation; he wasn’t completely incompetent when it came to talking to women.

“Pre-made besties?” He raised an eyebrow, but cracked a grin at the comment. She was…quite the outspoken one. The waitress came; Nik ordered his usual coffee and bagel before going back to the conversation. “I haven’t had a pre-made bestie since grade school, but I seem to recall knowing their names…” He shot her a teasing smile. “You know mine, but I’m still clueless as to yours. Are you one of those mysterious girls who refuses to give up any bits of information about themselves?”

–––––

Ronnie:

“Local bartender brutally slain by own umbrella,” Veronica said with a nod. “I can read the headlines now. I saved you from a humiliating epitaph, if nothing else.”

For someone as observant as Veronica, it was impossible to miss how Nik relaxed suddenly when she promised no invasive questions. Of course, that made her want to ask some. Damn her brain for being so contrary. She reminded herself this wasn’t high school anymore; snooping got people hurt, and she wasn’t going to do it.

… but she really, really wanted to. Dammit.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was really rude of me.” She held out her hand for a firm handshake. “Veronica. Veronica Mars. I answer to pretty much any nickname except Vera, because that’s an old lady name. Ronnie, Vee…”

She fished in her oversized bag, pulling out a camera and a couple of wireless receiving devices before she found a business card. “There. Feel free to tell me I look too young to be a PI. I miss that.”

Alright, no invasive questions. No invasive questions. “How’d you become a bartender?” she asked; innocuous enough. “You like it? The hours must be pretty bad, but I bet you get used to it. Mine change all the time. These all night stakeouts aren’t as easy as they were.”

––––

Nik:

“I would have been on that bloody show that talks about people who die in embarrassing ways. I can see it now; my father would be so proud.” Maybe there was a bit of sarcasm at that last part. Mikael hadn’t been proud of Nik in…well, ever. “You saved my family’s honor.”

He grinned sheepishly, ducking his head like a bloody school girl. “Veronica,” Nik repeated. He hated nicknames; they seemed so informal. It had been a habit of his since he was old enough to talk; he just didn’t do it – preferred the way someone’s given name sounded. “It’s a lovely name.”

Vera would never do, not for her. He was hard-pressed to see her as a Ronnie either, so Veronica it was.

“I wouldn’t dream of insulting you, love, but I can say that when I picture a private investigator…you’re not exactly what comes to mind.” Nik stirred sugar into his coffee, followed it up with cream, and took a deep sip before he continued. The caffeine was exactly what he needed; it would keep him going for a bit longer. “But when I think PI, I think middle-aged man with a beer gut and a horrible suit.”

The questions weren’t invasive, and seemed to be ones that he could handle without too much difficulty. She seemed to be holding to her promise of nothing too personal. Nik liked her for that. “I kind of drift from place to place. That makes me sound horrible doesn’t it? Bartending was that one job I could always seem to get; every town needs someone to sling drinks.” He shrugged, drinking down more of the blessed caffeine. “It’s a living. I quite like getting to see new people, talk about their lives and what not. What about you? Why this line of work, and do you fancy it?”

–––––

Ronnie:

A drifter. And that accent. And definite daddy issues, but who didn’t have daddy issues of some kind? Veronica swore she wouldn’t try to get a surname from him; it would only be a tiny step closer to finding out everything she could, and she really was trying to be a better person.

Trying. Not always succeeding.

“Ah, that would be my father,” she said, with a grin. “Well, I wouldn’t say a beer gut; maybe a teensy paunch? But he was a PI. He’s the Sheriff of the town I grew up in, these days. Sheriff again. But he’s how I started out.”

She really wasn’t sure why she was still gabbing away, but it wasn’t like she was going to say anything that wasn’t public record in one way or another. And talking about Lily just didn’t hurt the way it used to.

“Grew up in this weird town that was a combination of the very wealthy haves and have nots. Probably before you moved here. About twelve years ago, my best friend was murdered. My dad was the Sheriff at the time. Oh, a guy stepped up, confessed to the murder, but my dad never bought it. It got him thrown out of office, and he started up his own PI company, partly so he could keep investigating. I… accidentally turned out to be a damn fine little apprentice. Before I knew it, I was busting dog-stealing rings and student scandals left right and center. When I was nineteen I got my license, and the rest… isn’t quite history, I guess. I spent a few years determined to go straight, went to law school. But turned out I wasn’t really cut out for the path of the angels. And here I am. Neptune was getting a little small for two of us. And out here no one ever recognizes me. Of course, if I ever get sent to investigate you, we’re screwed, unless you want to pay me to go away.” She leaned in, faux whispering. “I have morals – but I can bought.”

She chuckled as she leaned back, ordering a light breakfast from the waitress.

––––

Nik:

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” Nik said, sincerity in his voice though he winced at the word ‘murdered.’  It still hurt to hear it, even after nearly ten years of being away from his father and last talking to his siblings.

Nik listened to the story, content just to have someone to talk to that wasn’t plied full of alcohol and talking in the hopes of scoring a free drink. It was amazing, however, how often that worked – how many free drinks he gave away just to keep someone talking to him. There wasn’t much of a social life outside of the bar, so this was a novel treat.

“Did they ever find out what really happened?” he asked, too curious to stay silent, even though it may have been something she didn’t want to discuss. “You can tell me it’s none of my business if you’d like. I was just curious if your father’s hunch was correct?”

She’d been a private investigator for a number of years, it seemed. That didn’t make sitting here having a casual conversation any easier, especially with the things she’d been through. Victoria was  seeker of justice; Nik had dodged it – this was thin ice to be walking on.

He laughed at the joke, though he was mentally calculating how much money it would take for her not to investigate him. Probably more than he had. “I’m screwed then, love. I’m a bartender at a local’s bar; I don’t make nearly the money that I would over on Bourbon Street. But then again, I’m not quite fascinating enough for someone to want to investigate, so perhaps I’m safe.”

His father didn’t know (likely didn’t care) where he was, and his siblings hadn’t spoken to him since he left for America – he was pretty sure he was safe unless her own curiosity got the better of her. “What are your favorite cases to work on?” Nik asked, changing the subject before he could delve any further into himself.

–––––

Ronnie:

When she was a little younger Veronica had taken to telling people it really wasn’t a big deal, she was over it; but now, she accepted the condolences, and allowed herself a moment to grieve. Only a moment. She had moved on, she had a big life.

“My father was right… to a degree. And they did find the murderer. I did. You might have even heard about it. The actor – Aaron Echolls. From…a bunch of movies. The Pursuit of Happiness? Cheesy action movie, I’ll honestly respect you more if you don’t know it or make a face…? He and Lilly had been having an affair. He did it.” Did she mention Logan, Aaron’s son, and their on-again off-again, epic tale of love? No, she did not; strangely enough these days that hurt more.

“He was found innocent, but strangely enough, he was killed in a hotel room a few hours after he was released. Can’t even imagine how that happened. I guess karma is a really well connected bitch.”

Okay, enough about Lilly. “Well, then, if I ever get asked to investigate you, we’ll have to work out some sort of barter. I don’t really like paying for drinks, for example?” She grinned, and giggled. “I’m sorry. I’m so far past tired I’m delirious. My kingdom for a job that doesn’t involve insurance fraud or cheating spouses. My favourite cases happen between nine and five, so they really don’t exist. Oooh! Croissant,” she said, reaching for the plate.

Had her career really been more exciting in high school and college? What a terrible thought.

“Of course that begs the question, why aren’t you bartending topless on Bourbon? By the way – not objectifying you. Much.”

––––

Nik:

“I don’t watch a lot of movies,” Nik said sheepishly, as if he knew he should have known and felt bad for being clueless. “I don’t even own a telly. Haven’t in…” He thought about it for a moment, trying to recall the last show he’d watched. “a year probably. Since I got my apartment. Before that, I’d just watch whatever was on at whatever motel I happened to be staying in.”

He stirred sugar into his coffee, listening to her tale of retribution and karmic justice with a bit of a lump in his throat. “Fate has a way of catching up to those who do horrible things,” Nik nodded, eyes focused on the swirl of cream into the cup. He liked his coffee sweet and nearly white – and right now his preference was coming in handy. It meant he could keep his eyes on the drink instead of her.

Karmic justice – he’d certainly had his fair share of that.

“I’m sure that whatever befell him, it was exactly what he deserved.” Verbatim what had been told to him for the three years between the time Henrik was killed and he was old enough to leave home.

Nik sipped at his coffee, listening intently to her as she spoke about the cases she loved. He grinned, shaking his head at her enthusiasm for the food as it was put in front of them. “I can imagine that getting a steady night’s sleep is difficult in your line of work. Cheating spouses and insurance fraud don’t knock off at five o’clock, I assume?”

Waving off her apologies (really, this was the most amusing conversation he’d had in a long time), Nik dug into his own food before nearly swallowing it whole at her question. “I’m not much for the attention. I mean, there are those who can do that and get away with it, but I’m not quite so lucky. I am skin and bones, first of all (and scars – belt buckles left the most telling impressions),” he shook his head, but he was smiling. “And secondly, I prefer the locals. Less crazy, more mellow – more apt to take care of their favorite bartender. On Bourbon, people are sloshed all the time; contrary to popular belief – drunks are horrible tippers.”

–––––

Ronnie:

“Honestly, his movies all had two things in common – they were big hits, and they were bad. And it’s considered to be in pretty bad taste to play reruns of movies starring a guy who killed his son’s underage daughter with whom he was having an affair.”

So glib. Hard to believe she’d come so far. It was a little sad, in a way.

“So lucky you – you’ll probably never see them, even if you end up buying a TV. Which, by the way, kudos. See I go into withdrawals if I don’t spend a few hours a week feeling morally superior to everyone who would sign up for the bachelor or get themselves on Jerry Springer. Maybe I should get rid of mine.” If only she could pretend to be highbrow. Nope. What little television Veronica watched was one hundred percent trash.

“Actually, cheating spouses usually start well after five, although I’ve stuck my nose in on a couple of very tawdry nooners.” She winked. Actually, she could never understand cheating spouses. Lifeblood or not they made her stomach churn. And she had no idea how people lived with the anxiety. She remembered years back, her father and his married girlfriend – enough to make her nauseous all over again.

At least he’d done the right thing, even if he’d only done it for Veronica. And maybe the world’s best dad was allowed a fuckup every decade or so?

“But insurance fraud… you really never know. Guy walking around with a cervical collar in public and taking it off as soon as he’s sure he’s alone – that can take days, and it’s boring as hell.”

She sipped her coffee, sweet and milky and strong,

“You could definitely use some fattening up,” she agreed. “But it’s amazing what bright eyes and pouty lips will do for your tips. I should know – I was a barista for a whooooooole six months.” She grinned, nose crinkling. Her customer service had been a mixed bag at best. “I’d suggest you stick your chest out, too, but you’ve got even less of a rack than I do, so maybe not.”

Sparkling personality notwithstanding, Veronica hadn’t made a lot of friends in New Orleans. So she was enjoying herself – so what?

“Maybe I could get you something really fattening for dinner before a shift one night next week. Deep fried bacon cheeseburgers, anyone? Oh, and one of those onion blossom things.” She shrugged. “If you feel like it.”

––––

Nik:

“Tawdry nooners. That sounds like quite the interesting lot of stories,” Nik grinned. “I image you’ve seen some pretty incredible things in your line of work. It must be a little exciting, despite the waiting around for nothing to happen.” Despite his lack of enthusiasm for her looking into his own life, he’d sit here all day and listen to he tell stories of others.

So he liked a little salacious gossip…

The coffee was hot and strong, just the way he liked it. The food was good too – just what he needed to end a particularly long shift on his feet. It was days like this that Nik wished he had a desk job. (Okay, so not really, but a guy could dream. He liked the newness of his job every night – the new faces, the new situations. He wouldn’t have traded that for anything. Maybe he just needed new sneakers.)

He ducked his head, blushing a bit when Veronica said he could use some more meat on his bones. Nik didn’t think he was that bad, lean yes, but he had never been much of an eater. When he was younger he would eat anything put in front of him, but after… well, after he got older he just didn’t think about it as often.

Truth be told, he didn’t take very good care of himself, and he hadn’t in a really long time.

His head shot up at the bright eyes and pouty lips comment, confusion etching across his face for a moment. Was she talking about him or her? The confusion morphed into a goofy grin when she suggested he stick his chest out. “Perhaps I’ll try that, love. Though round here doing that is more likely to net you cheap plastic beads than extra cash.”

Nik opened his mouth to speak again, or shove food into it – he wasn’t quite sure which – but it closed just as quickly when she spoke about the two of them having dinner. Was she asking him out? That just didn’t happen for him, and he was pretty sure he’d simply misunderstood. Maybe she was just being friendly to the guy who couldn’t even seem to work an umbrella?

“Um.” Well, that certainly wasn’t the first word that should have come out of his mouth. “Are you…uh…did you just ask me out?” God, he was smooth. They should make a fucking shrine to how smooth he was. Nik wanted to bash his head into the table and sink through the floor.

Idiot.

“I’d like that,” he amended quickly, attempting to salvage something from his own idiocy. “I know a great place that the locals go not too far from here. They have cheeseburgers as big as your head. I can give you my number, if you want. Or take yours. I just, uh, I’m sorry. I’m a bloody idiot. My social skills are abhorrent.” He was rambling. Jesus she’d probably already changed her mind. “I’m sorry.”  

–––––

Ronnie:

Veronica tore less than daintily into a very fresh croissant – unless she was much mistaken, fresh out of one of the earliest bakeries in the quarter. The steam, buttery and fragrant, rose like a tease and she tore at the flaky pastry.

Delish.

“I was just wondering the same thing myself. And I think I did ask you out. Which is a novelty, for me, it’s been a while. At least, in the real world. I’ve done enough half-assed entrapment jobs in the last year to retire on – you know, woman thinks her husband is cheating, I can’t find any proof he is, so she doubles the fee to see if he can be tempted into it – nasty, but lucrative. But that’s beside the point. Yes, I think I asked you out. And I’m thinking neither one of us is very good at this, so let’s keep it simple.”

She dug around in her handbag (thing was huge, and completely full of things that would make her look like a crazy person, to most people, but were legitimately necessary – a handful of bugs, three spare lenses, no fewer than eight burner phones with information on the back about who she was supposed to pretend to be if one of them rang. Makeup, a dark bobbed wig in a ziplock bag so it couldn’t get chewing gum on it, a tablet computer, a fold up umbrella she fished out for obvious reasons, three pairs of oversized sunglasses and for reasons she suddenly couldn’t remember, a bikini top.

… some mysteries were best left mysteries.

She fished out a business card, and scribbled her personal number on the back.

“Call me,” she said. “I’m sure even a pair of bozos like us can figure something out. And stop looking like a deer in headlights. I don’t bite, and I haven’t had much of a chance to meet people since I’ve been here. Outside of a professional capacity, at least.”

She reached for the coffee again. One more mouthful and all that milky, sugary goodness was gone. Tragic.

“Well, Nik,” she said, as she polished off the croissant, and reached for the last strawberry, “I need to go home and sleep or I’ll wrap my car around a streetlight. It was really nice to meet you. Really nice.” As she stood, she offered her hand for a shake.

He really did look a little stunned. Yeah, she still had it.

––––

Nik:

Nik’s eyes trailed over the purse she was digging through, wondering just exactly what she was going after – and what the hell else was in there. When Veronica pulled out a business card, he smiled and ducked his head a bit shyly. God, why wouldn’t he talk to women? Hell, why couldn’t he talk to anyone? Something else he would always blame Mikael and his mother for – his inability to think someone actually wanted him, and didn’t have some sort of agenda.

He took the card, glancing down at the number before shoving it into his back pocket. Putting it into his phone would be first on his agenda when he got home. How long was one supposed to wait to ring someone up for a date though? It had been so long since he’d been on one, he had no idea.

“I will,” Nik nodded, standing when she stood. He took he hand, giving it a gentle shake. “I’m sorry. I just don’t do this often; I don’t get asked out a lot, and as you can probably tell – I don’t do a lot of asking out either. I’m not…the most social of creatures.”

Watching as she walked away, he finally sat down to finish his own breakfast – still not quite sure what had just happened. He’d call her though – maybe after he asked someone how long he should wait. Seeming too eager was just as bad as seeming too distant…and he really did want to get to know her, much to his own surprise.

~completed thread

[anautisticdragon-blog]

"That's Captain Andy's video, there. Not Noel's. Andy's good people."

Noel Plum -- Just Another Alt-Right Sociopath

I didn't reach this conclusion easily, I had to swallow back my nausea and force myself to sit through many of his videos and endure the anxiety, just to be sure. It's important to me to not rush to a conclusion like that. What I've noticed as a recurring factor in his videos is that he's truly a masterclass of manipulation. This isn't uncommon in sociopathy, as they are very social creatures and if they're almost entirely devoid of any level of concern, compassion, and care? Well, those social skills will be turned toward getting people to dance to their tune. That's precisely what he does. In his videos, he regularly displays a complete absence of any discernible degree of empathy or conscience. I felt inspired to speak up thanks to his beautifully bigoted video on the constipatedly convoluted construct of 'disability privilege.' A silliness that was admirably, artfully deconstructed by a fellow I'm rather fond of who goes by the moniker of Captain Andy. You can see his video embedded above and it's certainly worth a watch as it really does serve to highlight how manipulative Noel Plum actually is. In this scenario, Noel Plum was having a discussion with Captain Andy about 'disability privilege.' As the discussion went on, the ugly, I'd even say grotesque, levels of confirmation bias present in Noel's words was easily laid bare. Instead of gracefully accepting defeat, Noel rather slyly opted to put together a YouTube video on the topic, one where his alarming hate speech could have an undisturbed platform. And no, he didn't link to the discussion with Captain Andy. He's very manipulative, like I said, which means that he's actually quite clever even though he's an intolerable bag of dicks who's as stark raving crazy as a bag of spanners. Lots of things come in bags. Anyway, his argument is wrong, which he definitely knows but he wants to push it anyway. If you can't achieve a higher ground in a debate, what do you do? A well adjusted person would just admit defeat. If they were intelligent, they might also use the opportunity to be introspective so that they could learn and grow from the experience. Their empathy would give them a primetime reel of how they'd been a right bloody muppet, leading to heartfelt apologies and bridges built between people. It's really not hard to respect your fellow human being as a human being, is it? Well, not unless you're a sociopath. And if you're a sociopath, why admit defeat when you can use your manipulative talents to trick vast numbers of weak-willed sycophants and mendicants who're so unfortunately in need of attention and validation that they'd believe anything? And no, this isn't insensitive, this is concern because think about what I'm saying and then ask yourself this: How do cults happen? Not everyone is strong. In an ideal world I'd want to see everyone built up on a strong foundation so that they wouldn't need to seek attention and validation from others, this isn't a perfect world, is it? This is why, for example, illnesses such as internalised misogyny and stockholm syndrome even exist. It really is very unfortunate, and I know a lot about this myself as a disabled person who has experienced many of these things. I'm not accusing anyone of anything, here. I'm talking from experience. There was a dark period of my life where I was held prisoner. I still have yet to heal from the whole sordid affair as it lasted for years of my life. It's not something you'd wish on your worst enemy. I mentioned prior to this that I'd experienced rape and abuse, I'd been tortured. What happens when your life is nothing but that for so long you lose hope? I'm not going to expect everyone to suddenly understand how PTSD works, but I would use this opportunity to ask you to read up on it and take an opportunity to grow as a person with new knowledge of the kind of suffering I've endured and still endured. Here's an example I can give you, though: If, for example, you're being raped and you hear a train rumble by outside as it's happening? The brain just loves to make connections. I can't ride on trains any more. I used to love trains. An unfortunate factor of autism is that in certain cases of the spectrum (though not all, no aspect of it is Universal as all brains are different) one may be hyper-sensitive. This also means that the autistic mind can be sensitive to trauma, which mine is. Despite efforts made with both CBT and medication, I still can't leave my house. The last time I tried I experienced a seizure. In this sociopath's view, I shouldn't be entitled to any support despite what's happened to me. Noel Plum is telling me that if I can't work, then the government shouldn't provide me with anything. The only reason I have a roof over my head and the small amount of money on which I live is thanks to the charity of the British government and its people. Which weighs on my conscience heavily. Not that Noel would know anything about how that feels. If I could go outside, if I could be around other people enough to work, then I'd do it. I can't interact with people, though, at all. I have to live in isolation. The jobs available to me in this scenario are both simply too scarce and wouldn't provide a high enough pay grade to actually live on. So I'd end up homeless, without a doubt. I wouldn't last long, there. I could see myself having an aneurysm and that would be that. Thanks for helping confirm my fear of sociopaths, though, Noel. I can't ever be around people thanks to monsters like you, just because they're going to share the same kind of face and my mind reacts with such an overpowering, overwhelming, irresistible fear response that I just break. Thanks for confirming my traumas and empowering them. When I was younger, I was incredibly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, an overly naive and optimistic child whose innocence and hope were stolen by sociopaths. I don't have those any more. I have very little faith in humanity in general, these days, and all I know now is the cynicism I feel for the kind of creatures I know humans can be. I'm jaded, and I often wake up wondering whether it's worth actually going on. Yes. These are feelings. Do they make you feel uncomfortable? Do you want to rush off and create a YouTube video about it? Sure, you certainly could be a massive monument to human indecency, much like our wonderful role model, here. You could. Don't. It's a chance for you to actually be a decent human being and actually listen. In my aforementioned glory days, the halcyon days of my youth, as sepia tinted and nostalgic as they are? I was incredibly bright, my reading age was far beyond the average, almost a decade ahead of where it should have been. I was reading physics books when the other children around me were still preoccupied with fairy tales. I was an artist, a musician, tutors regularly told me that I was quite the talented wunderkind. Can you imagine what it's like to have all of that torn away? I'm certain I would've loved to enter into some scientific field or other, given the opportunity. I wanted that, so badly. In many ways, I still do. I don't know if you can grasp what that's like, to have your potential just ripped away so that all you can do is hide inside a house because you feel so much fear. You can't trust anyone as they look like evil demons, it's lead many to incorrectly assume that I'm a misanthrope, which is in stark opposition to how I actually feel. Yes, people scare me. Do I care about them? Yes. Do I want to try and help them avoid suffering? Yes. It's really difficult to do this. What I see though is that if I don't speak out? The people who're so very easily manipulated by sociopaths like Noel Plum are going to sleepwalk through it and spread his hate speech harmfully throughout the world as unaware proxies. It's a difficult effort for me but this simply has to be challenged so that no one else has to endure what I've had to. Do you think I should be homeless? It's a simple question. It's one I'd ask to that sociopath as well, though he'd likely find some way to worm out of it with fallacious arguments and veiled, passive-aggressive attacks as is the way of sociopaths. And, yes, the alt-right is a movement lead by sociopathic key figures who others are being manipulated by, it's a very real, very harmful problem. Take a look at boogie2988 as an example. I don't think he's a sociopath, I think he's one of the people being manipulated as he's a bit of a pushover. He's being an echo chamber for toxic viewpoints simply because he's just too afraid to challenge the sociopaths who're forcing their toxic ideologies on him. It became obvious to me when he went from saying in one video that his followers shouldn't attack Anita Sarkeesian as she really doesn't deserve the hate, to another where he claimed that Anita deserved whatever came her way. That was fast. And no one changes their tune that fast unless they're scared. The alt-right think that boogie2988 is aligned with them. He's not. He's morbidly fucking terrified of them and I really don't blame him. I bet that he's worried that if he speaks out he'll have more threats of assassination, or boxes of shit mailed to his door. He's admitted that's happened to him, which just makes me feel worse. I won't demonise him for this. I'm going to give boogie2988 the benefit of the doubt. He doesn't ping my sociopath radar at all. Of course, there is a possibility that he's simply a more talented manipulator who manages to be more subtle in his efforts. Not that I believe that, as I don't think that that level of paranoia is necessary or justified. As such, I really want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I'm open to being wrong, though, so tell me if I am. I don't think he's a manipulator, though. He's too wishy-washy. It doesn't fit. No, he's one of those I mentioned who're manipulated by the actual sociopaths out there, the YouTube faces of the alt-right. Individuals who obviously have no capacity for empathy or conscience whatsoever. You know how I feel about Noel Plum, though I'd also namedrop the comedy duo of TL;DR and Sargon as obvious candidates as well. As I keep saying: All you have to do is look for the lack of empathy and conscience. A sociopath believes their 'common sense' is the be all and end all, that they can use that to manipulate people as it make them objectively correct. They don't realise that by not having empathy and compassion, there's a lot of nuance and subtext regarding humanity they're never going to understand. So people like Noel Plum, TL;DR, and Sargon wonder why so many react negatively to them, yeah? This is why. They're sociopaths. If you don't have any capacity for empathy, compassion, concern, or care then you'll likely not be well liked, will you? I haven't seen one video where these people have shown any of those traits. Not one. Not. One. As always, I'm happy to be proven wrong. Please note that asinine attacks designed to undermine me based upon my disability aren't evidence that these people aren't sociopaths. I hate that I have to say this. I couldn't hold back the soulful sigh as I wrote those words, but I know all too well how humans can be. Especially when those humans are either sociopaths or the unaware proxies who're acting as their cult of personality. So let's ask another question: Do you think I'm able? The able person has privilege. I wish I did. I had places I used to enjoy going to when I was younger that I no longer can. I, for example, sorely miss video game arcades. There are some left in the UK and I would genuinely love to visit one, I truly would, but I wouldn't be around other people. It isn't fair to expect to have an arcade to myself, either. I am absolutely not the one per cent, nor do I wish to be. I want everyone to enjoy these things. So even if I can't, I can enjoy it vicariously without the guilt of impeding others. I still wish I could go to one, though. I'd like that. It's such a silly, simple thing, isn't it? I want to visit a video game arcade. I don't want a big house, a fast car, or any of that rot, I'd just like to visit a video game arcade as I have some... very fond memories of them from my youth. It was a happier time. I hate that I need to do this. I do. I'm just sick of being victimised by sociopaths like Noel Plum. I'm scared, I'll admit it, this is terrifying to do as I might bring down the wrath of the sociopaths and their proxies on my head. I know that. I live in fear enough and this is likely to make it worse, but I have to be strong enough to try. I have to be bull-headed and give this my all. If I don't, I'm a hypocrite. And as I do have a conscience, unlike Noel Plum, it would just drag me down and burden me further if I didn't make this effort. I am scared, yes, but it has to be done. I think people need to talk about these things. I really believe that's necessary. I'd like to go outside. I can't. I have to pay others to walk my dog for me since I can't do that myself. I thankfully have a back yard with very tall fences and I can play with him there, but I can't walk him. Anyway, I'm registered as having PTSD and autism. The government knows that I'm unable to go outside and I haven't left my house in over two decades. It's like self-imposed stockholm syndrome, in a way. It's why I brought that up. As I said, I wasn't accusing anyone, just speaking from experience. One no one should ever have to have. So, am I able, Noel? Do I enjoy the same privileges as a healthy person who's able to go outdoors and enjoy that kind of life? I'm stuck in a very small house all the time. I use blackout curtains to block out the outside world, I only have one mirror as I can't stand looking at myself due to being physically disfigured. Am I as privileged as you, do you think? Of course I'm not. Noel's a nasty little man as he's fully aware that individuals such as myself exist, though he cares more about the taxes he has to pay than he does about my well being. As I said, he obviously has no capacity for conscience or empathy, he's a sociopath. As is true of every alt-right ringleader I've seen. So let's ask another question: Do you think I deserve support? Noel would say no. I don't deserve that 'privilege.' What's your opinion, though? What do you think? I wish I could go out there and earn money just as you do, that'd be lovely. I don't have that luxury. Yes, working is a luxury as it brings you far more financial stability and peace of mind than I've ever known. Sometimes I'm so strapped for cash I have to choose between electricity, Internet, and food. I would work, if I could. This is why it's important for you to realise that these alt-right ringleaders are sociopaths, and if you buy into their spiel then you've been played. Played like a fiddle, dancing to their tune, obeying their whims like extremely helpful little puppets. Think for yourself. This kind of toxicity is ruining human society, it's degrading the moral values we've all fought for. It's tearing up the fabric of community that would otherwise bind us together. Why? All to benefit the very few -- the sociopaths. I don't blame you for being a pawn, a piece on a chess board. It's easy to be taken in by these people and manipulated, after all. And sadly, there's more of these nasty individuals out there than we realise. Sociopathy is much more commonplace than you might realise. It always has the same hallmarks, though: They're manipulative, they're schemers, and they've absolutely no capacity for conscience, empathy, concern, or care. They're incredibly self-centred, only interested in their own gain, and often extremely narcissistic and overly confident as well. I'm extremely thankful to people like Captain Andy for speaking up for those like myself. And yes, sometimes we do need that. It's unfortunate, but as I said, we are scared. I'm scared. I'm terrified to do this and even as I type I'm debating with myself over whether I'll actually post it... Just look at Anita Sarkeesian, though. I know, I know how the sociopaths want you to think. Instead, take a look at her page on RationalWiki. Not one of the arguments sociopaths make against her is valid, but they're talented and compelling manipulators so they can easily hide their obvious lack of facts, citations, and information, instead opting to use fallacies and manipulative ploys to get people thinking as they want. No matter what you believe Anita Sarkeesian may be guilty of (which, if we're honest, is nothing more than defending a group of humans who've had to endure some terrible shit), the hatred she experiences is entirely disproportionate to any of the crimes she's been accused of. Why do you hate her so much? Do you know? You've been played. This is what sociopaths do, and they're bloody good at it. And what do most humans never want to admit? They don't want to admit that they were wrong. If they're wrong, they look like weak-minded fools who were played (I've been there, that's happened to me). So they will look for information to back up their lack of wrongness, they'll have this confirmation bias that'll turn into something ugly and nasty. The reason they hate Anita is because subconsciously they know. They know they've been played and manipulated by these sociopaths, they're just too ashamed to admit it, so instead they're doubling down on their attacks in the hopes that no one will actually notice. They fear the judgement baggage that'll accompany admitting they were wrong. Guess what, though? I wouldn't blame you. No one would. I think we've all experienced sociopathic manipulation at some point in our lives. There is no judgement, here. I just want people to realise that the reason they listen to people like Sargon and Noel Plum, the reason they hate women, non-whites, disabled people, and so on? It's because on a subconscious level they know they've been played and they're ashamed, so they're just doubling down on this instead of being big, brave, or confident enough to admit they were wrong. And here I am. A person with PTSD who can't leave their house. If I can find strength enough to do this, to stand up for what I believe in and talk to all of you, why can't those of you who're being proxy for this hate speech just be big enough to admit you were wrong? It's okay. We're all wrong sometimes. It happens. In fact, we're often wrong. It's how we learn. I don't see any harm in that. The only bad part is if you can't admit it to yourself, if you don't open up to the experience and learn from it so that you can grow as a person, instead of doubling down and stagnating into something entirely terrible. That's the only horrible thing, here. It's bad for me, sure, but it's also stunting you and that's not great for you. I'm talking to the people here, of course, who sing along to the tune of sociopaths like Noel Plum, TL;DR, and Sargon. This is a chance that I, as a scared, disabled individual who often feels their hate, am offering them to stand up and admit they were wrong. I forgive them. I don't blame any person for being manipulated by a talented manipulator, okay? Life is hard for me, it really is, sometimes I'll lash out just out of the sheer pain and suffering I've endured. I still don't blame those who've been manipulated and played, though. I just blame the sociopaths. They're the only ones who're truly responsible, here. I know I'm going to regret this. I know this is going to add a lot more pain, fear, sadness, and suffering to my life. I'll have people threatening to kill my dog and shit like that, because this is the kind of thing that these monsters pull. I have to do this, though. I hope you can understand. I just can't allow myself to sit by and watch this happen any more. I hope, at least, that this message is received loud and clear by boogie2988, as I genuinely believe he's a good person who's just as very scared as I am, who's been manipulated and pushed around by these sociopaths. I'm hoping he'll understand where I'm coming from. Thank you for reading. And maybe... thank you for understanding?

And thank you to Captain Andy for making that video. Really, thank you. It gave me the strength to do this. I appreciate that. You are good people.

I'm going to post this thing, now, and then go and hide under my bed because I'm a fucking coward and this was way more difficult to do than it had any right to be. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but my need to stand up, speak, and not be a hypocrite is overpowering my cowardice. Just enough to hit post...