#the block button is my best friend truly like i cannot be bothered

[charlesleclerctv]

help i just saw a carlos blog with a red theme actually celebrating charles being out in q2 because they’re loving the “ferrari downfall and can’t wait for it to get worse next year” i need bleach i think

are they aware of the fact that their driver still doesn't have a job? and when (if) he gets one, he won't be seeing past p10?

[blueprint-han]

[Image ID: A black picture with the title “HOW TO SUPPORT FANFICTION AUTHORS” written in bold caps lock, colored with a winter forest picture. End ID.]

Well, this post has been made countless times, but I’m making one too because I’ve seen a lot of people say they’re new to tumblr and don’t know the whole “reblogging is better than liking” rule and other stuff. So without any further ado, here are ways YOU can support the fanfiction authors. Now keep in mind this applies to almost every author out there, not just the stayblr fandom, so if you’re a silent reader (or even if you aren’t), I advise you go through this post. Warning, this is a fairly long post going into detail, so yeah. I still expect you, the readers to read this, and if you’re a writer, feel free to lmk if i’ve written smth wrong or if you want me to add something! ^^

In this post I’ll go into thorough analysis of the pros and cons of each of the methods listed here and how YOU as a reader can show the authors whose fics you read more love and motivate them to produce content.

WARNING; LONG POST! GOES INTO A DECENT AMOUNT OF DETAIL. NOT EDITED, EXCUSE ANY TYPOS.

#1 : LIKING !

I think this is basic common knowledge, and a lot of people tend to do this. When you like the post, the author sees it, you see it, and if the author has their liked posts accessible (which majority of the time they don’t), and if someone deliberately goes to check it, then they see it. See why so many authors say just liking does nothing? Only liking says “Hey, I’m gonna tell you your story is not that good by simply liking it and not sharing it with other people. :D”

♯ PROS:

You’re telling the author that you've read their fic, and either you’ve enjoyed it to a certain extent, or you’re just saving it to read for later.

Likes are seen by you, the author and anyone who has access to your likes (which, most people don’t).

♯ CONS:

If you ONLY like, you’re not really helping the author’s work reach a wide audience because this site isn’t Instagram. Reblogging is the only way people can SEE our works. I’ll cover more on that in the next section.

In a nutshell, liking is good! But you should most likely use it in a combination with the other stuff I’ve listed below, because just the like itself doesn’t really do much in giving the author any feedback or interaction on their fics.

To clear shit up; I’m not talking about those people who don’t read the story or appreciate it in the first place. I’m talking about those who appreciate the fic, like it, but don’t leave any sort of feedback to show that.

#2 : REBLOGGING !

This is SO, SO important. I cannot stress on this enough. Let me explain WHY so many writers stress on reblogging content: 

Tumblr’s tag system is inherently fucked up, and has grown more so over the year. I’m not kidding, at first, the fic either used to show up in the tags or it didn’t, but now, sometimes your fic can be REMOVED from the tags because of,,, idk tumblr tag shit. Anyways, as you can see, it’s very demotivating for authors at that point, because the major way for people to find their content and expand their blogs has been blocked.  

Due to this reason, tumblr authors need to RELY on you, their followers to help spread their works to a wider audience. Now again, before you get me wrong, I’m not saying you ae forced to rb our works regardless of whether you like them or not. BUT, that being said, if you DO infact like the story, there’s no harm in reblogging, right? By doing this you’re indirectly telling the author — “hey! :D I liked your fic! Which is why I am gonna share it to my followers so they can read it too :D” Trust me, you’re doing nothing but helping the people who produce content for you to read. Seems like a worthy cause to hit the reblog button, right? It’s only a one, or maximum two step procedure.

Leave tags in your reblogs! Trust me, as an author myself and as much as I know from all my author friends, we oft check the tags of your reblogs to see if you found any part amazing or even if you have anything to say about the writing we put so much hard work into. Even a key smash or a “This was so [insert adjective] 🥺” is enough to leave a smile on your authors face. 

♯ PROS :

You’re !! Sharing !! Your authors !! Works !! This leads to them getting more recognition, so for the content they’re so graciously providing for free, you’re promoting their blog and helping them expand it.

If the tags are being a shit, which majority of the time they are, then you’re literally making an author’s day by reblogging! You’re showing them that you, a follower and appreciator of their works are willingly sharing their content because it deserves to be seen by more people. Again before any dumb people decide to attack me, i am talking about people who like the fic but don't bother reblogging and are silent/ghost readers. I am not forcing anyone to read anybody’s work.

YOU’RE MAKING YOUR AUTHOR SO HAPPY WHAT MORE REASONS COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT !! 🥺

♯ CONS :

Literally none, because as far as I remember no author is against reblogging of their works. It’s quite literally the way this platform functions. Reblogging is IMPORTANT.

#3 : COMMENTING/SENDING FEEDBACK !

This kind of overlaps with the previous section, but THIS IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT STEP !! When you leave feedback, you are directly giving the author something so much more valuable to them than high follower/note counts or money. Your feedback is literally our serotonin. I kid you not the number of times I’ve received a positive comment and smiled and it has made my day. There’s a reason youtubers (though not the best example, bear with me here because it was the only one I could think of) ask people to subscribe, like and COMMENT. The subscription is like a follow, the like is ofc like a heart, and the comment is equivalent to an rb with comments in the tags. 

You might argue and tell me that a comment is basically like an ask so the reblogging step isn’t necessary, but I’m sure 99% of you use YouTube and you know that more comments leads to people’s videos boosted in the stream/trending charts. This is what reblogging does. Reblogging shares the piece with other people like minded, which leads to a boost in reads. You are literally helping your author grow.

It’s quite literally the same thing as youtubers. Youtubers NEED validation to keep their content creation going, so do writers, so do other ccs on this site. This post is however, focused on WRITERS, so keep that in mind.

♯ PROS :

By doing this, you’re giving author valuable feedback! It’s similar to what you do in rbing with tags. Interactivity with their fics boosts their note counts and helps expand their audience, so srsly, now think of it: your one comment is playing such a massive role to help ccs create more content.

Imagine how much of a difference the note counts will be in when every person who simply likes after reading the fic, reblogs, leaves a comment and sends an ask. the note counts would be high on each and every fic, which is validation in itself, but your comments would inspire the writer so much more! Please, don’t skip the commenting part. Even a simple one like: “this is so cute!” is wonderful. 

♯ CONS :

Remember, if you’re gonna give constructive criticism (which I’m sure you all are smart enough to know if different from hate), make sure the author is okay with it. Authors need to be in a specific mindset and must be ready to accept criticism, so if you’re gonna give constructive criticism to them when they’re at a low point, it may demotivate them.

Just commenting, instead of reblogging and commenting in the tags/ reblogging and then leaving an ask in their inbox, while it gives validation in plenty, will not lead to the author’s work being spread. Therefore I suggest either reblogging and commenting in the tags or reblog and then leave an ask, or comment under the fic!

!! reminder; I am not saying that if you don’t rb and just leave feedback, your feedback has no value. We authors truly appreciate every bit of feedback, but this post is aimed to help you learn how to interact with and support authors, and make them feel more motivated, because the current scenario of liking and scrolling is taking a toll on their creative abilities. Take it from a person who’s been writing for a year.

#4 : COMMSIONING VIA THEIR KO-FI/OTHER APPS !

Before any of you attack me, let me tell you that this is not a step that is 100% necessary to do. ONLY donate if you can and if you genuinely want to, and if anyone is forcing you to pay for something against your will, you need to get yourself out of there.

Regardless, if an author has a kofi and you’re able to and you want to donate, you definitely should! It’s also a valid form of support.

#5 : ADDING THEM ON REC LISTS/ RECOMMENDING THEM TO REC BLOGS

This is such an underrated option, to be honest. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen my fic was recommended onto some rec list and it’s made me smile so hard. If you like some fics, create a rec list! They’re oft very popular amongst the fans too. Making rec posts is such a great way to share your favorite stories with others. 

Rec blogs! I’ve seen a couple going around, and needless to say they are a great way to get someone else to read your favorite author’s work whilst also giving them your own feedback. These blogs oft accept recs via a form or ask box, and they leave your feedback along with their own, or else they’ll oft tag the author in the feedback post, so look! You’re basically helping your author share their fic to many more people, because you’ve given them feedback and a reblog.

♯ PROS :

Validation! Feedback! Reblogs! More exposure! Helping a blog grow! Spreading love! basically a run down of the stuff I’ve said before!

♯ CONS :

Literally no con of this. Unless, a one in a million case, this author says they don’t like receiving feedback/being tagged, and I’m sure NO person has said this before, at least none that I’ve heard of.

#6 : FINAL COMMENTS; MISC !

When an author points out about how the interactivity is drastically reducing, don’t just give them blind apologies. Yes, you feel sorry for not interacting as much, we understand, but rather show that you’ll become a better content consumer through your actions. We need to see that we’re not just throwing words into a void and that people are actually trying to be better content consumers. 

Understand the fact that authors don’t get paid for this, and 99% of the time, these authors don’t take commissions either. They’re giving you novel worthy writings for free. Take Percy Jackson: You think the author would have felt motivated to write the subsequent parts, let alone two whole series based off of it if literally no one showed that they were interested? Rick Riordan has sales, he is being paid, there are millions of people and big agencies who provide him feedback. Now take that huge amount and simmer it down to an audience of maybe 10000 people This is what fanfic authors want. They don’t want your money, nor are they telling you to risk your lives for them. All they want is, a reblog, some tags, some feedback, some INTERACTIVITY.  A sign that they aren’t throwing fics into the void and that people actually like them, some motivation to continue. Seems fairly easy to throw an rb with some tags, right?

Don’t bother to tell me that we do this for ourselves and we shouldn’t ask for likes and reblogs and feedback, because 1) you are consuming the content that we “write for ourselves” and 2) writers post their content here for interactivity and feedback. We could just not post and write and save our fics in our dungeon drafts for years. But we choose to post to entertain the readers, the consumers. And we aren’t even asking that much in return.

Don’t give me the whole “I’m scared that authors feel that comments are annoying” excuse either because seriously this has been DEBUNKED SO MANY TIMES. Istg, in the nicest way possible, if you still think writers are annoyed by interaction and feedback, after so many posts, long rants have been posted as to how we’re not, then you must truly be living under a rock. There, I said it. Please stop thinking this way, I’ll say it again, AUTHORS ARE NOT ANNOYED OF FEEDBACK, COMMENTS, TAGS, REBLOGS. WE LOVE IT. Saying this is like saying that the audience in a theatre play shouldn’t clap when the play ends because the actors would find it noisy. 🤡

I’ve seen some people saying they have anxiety issues and such, so pls note that I’m not invalidating your condition. If you’re trying to be more interactive, I really appreciate it! If you can’t, that’s fine too. You’re trying.

But for the people who have no reason other than feeling lazy to rb and comment, your lack of interactiveness is not excused. Please. Tumblr is a reblogging site. If you’re gonna consume content like authors are some sort of machines, I encourage you to go get some more perspective.

This site is not Instagram or the satan bird app. Your likes are appreciated but frankly speaking, they do nothing to the author except tell them “Hey i read ur fic but i'm not gonna support u :D” and honestly, that is detrimental to their creative capabilities and mental health. 

DON’T FOLLOW AN ACC JUST TO MINDLESS RB THEIR SIGNAL BOOST POSTS AND THEIR REBLOGS OF GIFS AND NOT INTERACT WITH THEIR WRITING AT ALL ! Trust me, authors prefer a lower amount of interactive followers than a high count that doesn’t even give them any feedback. Again your follows are appreciated, but when you’re following, you know the type of content the author creates, so the author expects that the more followers, the more interactivity. These days, this is just becoming the opposite. So don’t do it! If you’re gonna follow to read, interact with their works. I promise, this will make both you and the author happy. A win-win situation.

In conclusion: SUPPORT YOUR FUCKING AUTHORS! THEY ARE NOT MACHINES THAT HAVE NO FEELINGS TO PRODUCE CONTENT FOR YOU! FICS TAKE DAYS AND DAYS OF PLANNING, PLOTTING, OUTLINING, WRITING, EDITING, MAKING TEASERS. SO JUST SHOW THEM YOU APPRECIATE THEM WITH AN RB. IT’S THE L E A S T YOU CAN DO.

I will be liking this post here written by the lovely @chaninfused​ and @scriptura-delirus​ . Please take time to read it because if you weren’t convinced by my arguments, you will see how much frustration we as writers face on a daily basis. Please, just show support. Here is the post by @stayndays​ about how to get more people to read your work, because it also has a note on reblogging. Please educate yourself, and put an end to this mindless consuming culutre and bring up some interactivity.

If you’ve read this far, I want you to go to two of your favorite authors and leave some feedback in their inbox, and tag me in it (either tag me yourself or ask the author to do so, they won’t mind). Show your writers that our words are taking effect and you are becoming better consumers. I mean it. I’m serious. I want every single one who reads this post to do this. besides valid reasons, if you’re lazy to do this, you’re a part of the problem. PLEASE get more perspective.

Also, feel free to add to this post! I’d love to read your thoughts too, remember to be kind though. And, if I think your rb is somehow contradicting my points and is bringing down the reason I made this post, I will politely ask you to delete your comment, because this post is about being truthful about the harsh reality of tumblr consumers and how we can change it. I’m sure none of you will let it get to that point, though. <3 love you guys. 💓

And, just a reminder, don’t just blindly like this too. Do what I said before, and while I am not forcing you, I’d appreciate your reblog, because seriously, it took me 3 whole days to write this, plus, I’m sure this will help more of your followers understand the fault in consumer culture. haha, that’s it! This post was way too long uff.

also, this is ur cue to not be stupid in my inbox. You have something to say? Think I worded smth wrongly? I’m sure it wasn’t my intention to do so, point it out with manners. 

[captainseaweedbrains]

The Hunger Games Again Ch. 6 Thoughts

I am chugging through finally! Here are my rambling thoughts on chapter 6: 

I remember our Carson’s had a see-through elevator in it and I used to *love* going up and down it as a child. This just reminds me how young and pure Katniss is wanting to ride the elevator again. 

She and Haymitch will be overseeing us right into the arena. In a way, that's a plus because at least she can be counted on to corral us around to places on time whereas we haven't seen Haymitch since he agreed to help us on the train.// I am just imagining these two wandering aimlessly if they were just left in Haymitch’s charge and have a little chuckle

Effie knows everyone who's anyone in the Capitol and has been talking us up all day, trying to win us sponsors.

"I've been very mysterious, though," she says, her eyes squint half shut. "Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district." // Similar to the prep team, I cannot help but love her because Effie is just so tone deaf to how she comes off. It's funny. 

what's she basing our success on? Our table manners? // You absolutely know she is, Katniss

I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'" Effie beams at us so brilliantly that we have no choice but to respond enthusiastically to her cleverness even though it's wrong. // It’s stuff like this that endears me and everyone just goes along even though they’re like “wtf. No, idiot.” *wipes tear* You’re so stupid, Effie. I love you.

"But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary." // It is with a curling wand and she is lethal with it

Yo. Sign me up for this instant dryer and hair detangler. I need that NOW. 

A meal presided over by just Effie and Haymitch is bound to be a disaster. // I would pay to see it. And they totally do after the war Yes I am a Haffie shipper Don’t @ me

Katniss, you are not wrong. Sweet wine is the best. 

Haymitch showing up right as the food is coming out is my kind of style. No, I don’t want to socialize. I am here to eat and I need to make that as clear as possible. 

I wonder who’s the unfortunate soul who is stuck cleaning Haymitch up. Do you get paid enough for such a task? Probably not

Last time I mention it, but ughhhhhhhh with the food descriptions. 

Katniss’ reaction to seeing Lavinia warms my heart for whatever reason and then I get sad because it’s connected to sadness

Peeta coming to Katniss’ slightly drunk rescue...What a saint. 

WHAT DID DELLY EVER DO TO YOU, KATNISS? Calling her LUMPY? Part of me wonders, because clearly Peeta is close to Delly as childhood friends and the fact he thinks of her right away despite the two girls looking nothing alike, if there is a tiny itsy bitsy part of Katniss that is jealous of her. Maybe not so much because Delly and Peeta are close (though perhaps…), but I imagine Delly can easily thank people and talk to people and Katniss, bless her caring heart, does not have that natural skill. So there’s bitterness there and Katniss turns that bitterness into unfair slander on my girl. SLANDER. 

Again, can we just talk about how these two work so well as a team? Picking up easily where the other leaves off? Amazing. Brilliant. We stan.

I still have many thoughts on Cinna and the hand holding. Clearly he was working with the rebellion and they were waiting for the right match to set it going. Maybe Cinna was just wiggling his way in and more like opportunity came a knocking? 

When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, not blocking my entrance exactly but insisting I pay attention to him.//Peeta, your popular jock boy self is showing.

Maybe sharing a confidence will actually make him believe I see him as a friend.// I know you don’t fully trust him, Katniss, but your subconscious seems to disagree with you if you’re willing to share anything with him.

I really enjoy how SC does this. She distracts us with the flash and glamor and then swiftly reminds us of the horrors that is Panem and the whole reason Peeta and Katniss are here. So similar to how we handle information today and how the news and government try to change our focus to other things to hide from the big, scary picture.

*cries because they read each other so well and pick up meaning behind what the other is actually saying* 

You do have the sense that we might be under surveillance here. // They are, no worries

Lmao at it just being such an obvious thing that Katniss and her dad hunt(ed). I know the Mellarks trade(d) with them, but still funny. The not-so secret of the district

There was a moment, after the bird call, but before the hovercraft, where the girl had seen us. She'd locked eyes with me and called out for help.// I love when Katniss tells stories of her past. It’s so haunting and somber. Very clear to picture, and the obvious guilt she feels here. Gets me every time. 

Peeta takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I start to take a step back, but then I let him, deciding for a moment to accept both his jacket and his kindness. A friend would do that, right? // *weeps* Peeta is such a good egg. A true gentleman. Yes, Katniss, accept his kindness. 

HOLD THE FRONT DOOR. He *buttons* the coat? Peeta is really going all “Last few days of life. We’re just going for it.” 

The 1950s vibe of giving the girlfriend the letterman jacket I feel in this Chile’s tonight

And now begins Terri’s frequent comment about how Peeta Mellark is a rebellious boy by nature and does not get the credit he deserves by helping set the building blocks for Katniss later on in the book/series

Sldkmflm PEETA, YOU ARE SO OBVIOUS. Asking about Gale all ~casually. iS He yoUr CoUsIN??? As if you don’t know. 

Peeta is a really good liar, yes, Katniss. but he would never lie to you

I find it interesting that Peeta flat out says Mr. M probably wanted a daughter, yet in fandom, it’s Mrs. M.. Interesting. 

The idea that I might ever have been discussed, around the dinner table, at the bakery fire, just in passing in Peeta's house gives me a start. It must have been when the mother was out of the room.// Now all I’m imagining is Peeta talking about Katniss to Delly, his confidant, and her just patting his head. 

It seems impolite to say she never mentioned the baker except to compliment his bread // Dang, Mrs. E.. Show us how you truly feel. 

We're at my door. I give back his jacket. "See you in the morning then."

"See you," he says, and walks off down the hall.// 

I know Katniss is going through A Lot right now, but child, pick up your clothes before you shower. 

At least she apologizes. 

But still. 

You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope. // Honestly, one of the best lines of the whole series. Fight me on that, but it’s so true. 

I wonder if Katniss has anxiety with how her thought process goes with the guilt and her feeling like she’s not good enough, etc..

On to the next chapter!

[laguera25]

An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

[ddaenggtan]

give and take | knj

when your beloved jeep breaks down, you have no choice but to take it to a mechanic for once instead of trying to fix it yourself. you fully expected to empty your wallet or get told to just buy a new car. you don’t expect to meet kim namjoon, nor do you expect him to be hot like burning, sweet as honey, and interested in you.

pairing | kim namjoon x reader

genre/warnings | mechanic!namjoon, fluff (seriously so fluffy), smut: hickeys, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all), dirty talk, dom!namjoon, brat!reader if you squint, creampie, slight mentions of choking

word count | 10.5k 

cross posted to ao3

a/n: ayyyyyy i’m finally finished with this monstrosity!! it was supposed to be a short smutty drabble and yet HERE WE ARE bc i’m a slut for namjoon, both emotionally and physically. pls pls pls let me know what y’all think!! i’m doing my best out here in the world, but i always love to hear what people think about my work!! 

You groan, for possibly the millionth time that afternoon, as your jeep sputters to a halt once more. You’ve had JeepJeep since you first got your license, a gift from your parents since they were getting a new car anyway. Held together with duct tape, prayers, and more than one swift kick to the bumper, the thing has gotten you through your entire school career and then into the big wide world of adulthood.

Now, as you sit in the nearly-empty lot of a mechanic, not even properly parked because your jeep died not two seconds after you pulled in, you feel like crying. Fixing this will cost everything you have. There is no doubt in your mind that this is going to be expensive. Probably expensive enough to wipe out what little you still have in your bank account after grocery shopping yesterday, if you aren’t forced to dip into the meager savings you have put back.

With a resigned sigh, you pop off a quick text to your best friend, heave yourself out of the jeep, and head through the open garage door. There’s a couple of cars up on lifts, parts strewn around them haphazardly, and faint music thrumming from somewhere, but you don’t see any actual people around.

“Hello?” You call hesitantly into the large room. There’s no response, which irritates you a little. First your jeep dies - possibly for the last time, not that you want to think about that right now, keep hoping, you remind yourself - and then you spend four hours getting ten miles to the closest mechanic so you didn’t have to pay for a tow only for there to be no one fucking here.

“Fuck this,” You tell yourself, sidestepping what looks like a car battery, and make your way further into the building. Music is still vibrating through your bones, there has to be someone in this rusty old shop somewhere, and you are on a mission, dammit. JeepJeep requires immediate attention, especially if you want to get home at any kind of decent time tonight.

The shop, you discover as you follow the sound of deep bass, is a minefield. There’s a truly ridiculous number of parts and tools you couldn’t name even if you wanted, all of them just thrown about like a four-year-old’s discarded toy. You think you may see a chainsaw in the corner and for the first time, you wonder if wandering around a potentially-abandoned-but-possibly-still-inhabited auto shop alone is a good idea. Do it for JeepJeep, you tell yourself, steeling yourself as you pass the Maybe A Chainsaw. Light gleams off grimy windows just past it, and the music seems to be coming from there. You give the tools - and the possible murder weapon - a wide berth, making your way to the lone door that you see. It’s nearly impossible to see through the windows of what looks to be the office, but the door itself is open, a lone figure sitting at a desk inside.

You knock gently against the open door and plant a friendly smile on your face. “Hi, sorry to bother you, my car died and I was just wondering if you could take a look at it?” The words rush out before the person - a guy, you belatedly notice - can tell you to get lost. When he spins around in the chair, your breath catches in your throat and you think you may actually physically choke.

He’s honestly gorgeous. Like…the hottest person on the face of the planet, gorgeous. Warm eyes blown wide with surprise and framed by strong dark brows, a jawline that makes you wonder why he needs the chainsaw lying around, bleach-blonde hair hidden away under a dark blue cap that matches the jumpsuit hanging around his waist revealing the most beautiful sight of that chest in just the white tee with grease stains that shouldn’t be so attractive. It’s all beautiful, but what gets the heat pooling between your legs is the sight of the long fingers. They aren’t even doing anything erotic, just wrapped around a thick book and a pen, clearly having been in the middle of writing something when you interrupted.

“Sorry,” He says quickly, fingers reaching out to slide over a button somewhere. The music softens, no longer shaking your bones, but that only makes you more aware of how hard your heart is beating. “I thought I had the closed sign on the door, I must have forgotten. You said your car died?”

It takes you a second to find words, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t judge. “Yes,” You say, filling your voice with the confidence you usually save for unruly customers at work, “Yes, my jeep. It’s out front, I just kind of left it since it wouldn’t start back up again. I really just need someone to take a look at it and tell me what to tape together so it’ll run again.”

He laughs, soft and sweet, and you never want to hear another sound in your life, but he sets the pen and the book to the side and stands. “I can certainly try,” The guy says, waving for you to follow him out to the lot.

You do, though it becomes quickly apparent that the wide berth you gave the chainsaw should have been saved for this walking hurricane. He manages to run into or knock over nearly everything on the way out, barrelling through areas you’d avoided due to clutter and just sliding things out of the way for you. He’s got a pretty blush on his cheeks when you finally emerge into the waning sunlight, and it warms you more than you expected. You’ve never seen someone so clumsy be so damned endearing.

“So, what exactly has been going on with your jeep?” He asks. You give him a brief rundown of all the things that have been patched in the years you’ve had your darling vehicle and go into more detail about the chinkchinkchunk sound it made right before it died in the middle of the turn lane outside the store where you worked. He tells you to pop the hood and you do. You don’t even take offense to the choking noise he gives upon seeing what’s left of the engine block and the several rolls of tape holding everything together. He manages to cover it with a cough, but you know what your engine looks like, and have no illusions about the disaster it must be to a mechanic.

“Uh…no offense, but I’m honestly a little surprised that it ran at all,” His voice echoes as you exit the car and come to stand by him. He scratches at his jaw, leaving a small trail of grease behind that your fingers itch to wipe off. You startle a little as he makes eye contact, but you can’t help but return the soft, shy smile that he wears. “I can definitely try, we’ll get her up on a lift to take a better look at everything, but I can’t make any promises. Uh…hold on, let me-” He stops and pats at his clothes before he turns, jogging into the garage once more.

You sigh a little as you turn to look back at JeepJeep’s engine, patting the side lightly. There are so many memories in this jeep, you don’t want to go buy a new car, nevermind that you can’t even afford it. Just a quick look and you can see where you hot-glued two of the tubes back together when they split outside your school, where you had to tape a belt back into one piece on the side of a highway at 3 a.m. with an ex-boyfriend holding the flashlight, the time you got stuck outside a McDonald’s and had to use no less than a hundred straws and four rolls of tape to form a funnel so your coolant could fill enough to get the thing home without catching fire. And that's just the engine, there are so many more things that happened in this jeep, so many memories and milestones that you don’t want to end up in a junkyard somewhere.

A loud crash from inside the garage breaks you from your thoughts, and you start to get worried by the suspicious silence that follows it. You wait a few moments, but there’s just a deafening silence hanging in the air. It takes a second but eventually you decide you cannot in good conscience wait by your dead jeep while this random, insanely hot mechanic bleeds out under some Honda. It’s just as you step forward that said mechanic stumbles out of the garage, clipboard in one oil-smeared hand while his other massages a spot on his (incredibly strong looking, holy shit) thigh.

He lights up when he sees you still there, as if he thought you would leave while he was gone. Your heart skips a beat at the thought.

“Okay so! Just fill out some quick information for me here, as best you can,” He hands you the clipboard and a pen and you dutifully start writing down your name, number, and information about JeepJeep. “As I said, we can’t guarantee we can fix…all of this, but we’ll do our best. The diagnostic will help figure out everything that’s really important to get her up and running, so we’ll do that first thing, and then call you with an estimate for labor and parts.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you so much,” You reply, truly grateful. Every other mechanic you’ve been to in the last two years had taken one look and immediately written the thing off as a lost cause. It’s touching to know this guy was at least going to try. You hand the papers back with a smile, ignoring the slight flush that comes over you when you look up to see him already looking at you. He turns a pretty shade of pink and averts his eyes.

“So, all I need now is your car key, if you don’t mind.” He says. You hurry to comply, sliding it off your keyring just as a horn honks behind you. You turn to see Taehyung’s car idling just outside the lot, the man himself waving at you before settling in. He's entirely too accustomed to this routine, and you decide to buy him some noodles soon to pay him back.

The sound of your name coming from the mechanic’s lips has you turning around, pink-cheeked, and you give an embarrassed smile. “Yep, that’s me,” You joke. “I gotta go, but take care of her…?” You trail off, never having gotten the guy’s name.

“Namjoon,” He says quickly, almost dropping the clipboard in his haste to pull his jumpsuit up and show you the name stitched into it. “Kim Namjoon. I’ll take care of her, don’t worry. We’ll call you soon.” His smile is blinding, and you want to dive in headfirst to the dimples that appear but Taehyung’s horn beeps before you can.

“Thank you again, Namjoon, so much,” You say as you grab your bag from the passenger’s side of your jeep and hurry off to slide in beside Taehyung, who immediately starts whining about how his own shift at work had gone.

You can’t stop yourself from looking out the side mirror as Namjoon’s image gets smaller and smaller, and you find yourself looking forward to when you'll see him again. 

As it turned out, that would be much sooner than you originally thought. The shop calls you the very next day, a very bubbly sounding guy who introduces himself as Hoseok telling you that it won’t be nearly as expensive as you first thought and that though it'll take a week or two, they have faith that they can get JeepJeep running again.

You could cry, you'e so relieved. How they’re going to do such a thing is a mystery to you, especially for such a cheap price, but you aren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Any other shop in town would’ve been sure to charge you out the ass for such a thing, and your bank account would never have been able to recover from such a hefty price tag. You would’ve paid it, of course, because JeepJeep is everything to you, but you would’ve been back to your diet of instant noodles for a while if you had.

You can’t help but wonder if this is normal for their garage, or if it's a special case. As much as you want to think that it's because Namjoon is interested in the same way you are, it’s more likely whoever runs the place took one look at your heap of wishes and hushed prayers and was intrigued at the challenge of fixing such a piece of junk. Or that they were just cheaper in an attempt to poach business from other shops, because if they do manage to fix JeepJeep then you’re never going to another mechanic again in your life. Especially if Namjoon keeps working there, because that man-

You force the thought out of your mind, focusing instead on the work ahead of you.

You last four days. Four whole days before you finally cave and go to see how your jeep is doing without your loving kick to the rear and possibly also catch a glimpse of Namjoon while there. Taehyung applauded you on your restraint, though it was somewhat sarcastic, but you honestly don’t care. You love that jeep and you have to know if it’s in pieces or if they’re actually fixing it. Taehyung had no idea what he was talking about when he asked dryly why you’re wearing the shorts that cling in all the right places and the top that highlights your chest in all the ways you love just to go check on a jeep.

You mentally rescind your earlier note to buy him noodles as you make your way to the garage.

What you’re expecting to find at the shop, you aren’t entirely sure. In the deepest part of your heart, you want to see JeepJeep looking shiny and new and running perfectly already, but you are fully aware of how unlikely that is. You’re already getting a miracle, you don’t need to tempt fate. Still, the idea has planted itself so firmly in your mind that walking up to the shop at three in the afternoon and seeing your precious baby up on a lift with the parts you’d lovingly taped or glued back together thrown to the side in a haphazard pile almost brings tears to your eyes.

Indeed, it likely would have, had you not immediately heard a beautifully rumbling voice barking orders.

You step forward again and contain your surprise at how different the garage looks when it’s full of people. At first glance, you don’t see him, but after getting close enough to stand right at the edge of the open garage door, you spot him. You expect the rush of blood to your face, but you don’t expect the way your knees go wobbly and the sudden flip of your stomach.

If you thought he looked good the first time you met, it was nothing compared to now. The jumpsuit is buttoned halfway up his chest, giving the slightest peek to the white shirt underneath. The long sleeves running down his arms are pushed up to his elbows, which only highlights the way the material hangs off his biceps and complements the tan of his forearms. He still has that blue cap on, but the shy smile is gone, as is the pretty redness on his cheeks. He looks much more serious now, barking orders out to a couple of his coworkers as he looks up from the heavy book in his hands to the undercarriage of your jeep. The lid of a highlighter is stuck in the corner of his mouth, and his brows are drawn together in complete focus.

As you watch, doing your very best to not think about how absolutely hot like burning this guy is, he calls another guy over. The new guy is pretty, too, as they all seem to be, but nothing can outshine the sight of Namjoon, serious and laser-focused as he gestures to parts of your jeep and then to the heap of parts they’d removed, circling a couple of things with the highlighter. He speaks quietly to the other guy, who nods and also looks up at your jeep before disappearing down a set of stairs you hadn’t noticed before.

You’re not to be mistaken; you’re a strong, independent young woman, and you have no need to have a man around to tell you how to live or what decisions to make. But seeing Namjoon, looking like that, barking orders at people…well, you’ve always had a thing for authoritative men, and now you can’t help but wonder just how it would feel to be on the receiving end of Namjoon’s no-nonsense attitude. Him telling you to drop to your knees in such a firm voice, leaving no question that he was to be obeyed, and running one of those long fingers along the column of your throat before wrapping his whole hand around it and giving just enough pressure to make your head spin before he slides his-

“Can I help you?” A voice calls, and you just barely catch yourself before actually jumping in shock. Turning to find a third guy - also gorgeous, what is it with this place? - you plaster a smile on your face.

“Yes, hi!” You say quickly, hoping the redness on your face can be attributed to the afternoon sun and not the very lewd thoughts you were just lost in. “This is my jeep, I was just coming by to see how things are going.” It occurs to you halfway through the sentence that it might not be considered normal to check in on a vehicle and perhaps you should have readied a better reason.

The guy - Jungkook, by the name stitched into his plain grey tee - just nods, though, and gives you a quick once-over before turning. “Hey, hyung!” Nearly everyone in the garage turns except for a couple of people, but Jungkook makes instant eye contact with Namjoon. You only barely register the vague wave that Jungkook gives you, and you can’t hear whatever he says next past the rush of blood in your ears, because holy shit. The focused gaze was powerful enough to make your knees weak before, but having it leveled straight on you is another thing entirely. Your stomach is in knots and you honestly think you may just collapse right there and then, just from the sheer power that Namjoon radiates. You’re so focused on him that it’s impossible to miss the way his eyes rake up your form, lingering on every curve and leaving a heat behind that you hadn’t felt in much too long.

You give a shy wave and can see the moment he snaps out of whatever he’s thinking. He takes a breath and tries to speak at the same time, which mostly just results in him nearly swallowing the highlighter cap. You stifle a laugh as he spits it out and caps the marker, stuffing it in his pocket as he makes his way over. There’s a clear path to the lot that you have a sneaking suspicion is there entirely because of his penchant for disaster, and you meet him at the entrance. He’s got a wide smile on his face, yet again showcasing his dimples, and you find yourself returning the smile before you can stop yourself.

“I just came to check on JeepJeep,” You say before you can actually tell him how you think he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “I’m a little attached, and I wanted to be sure you all didn’t need any other information or anything like that.”

“Ah, well, we’re actually doing alright with her. We stripped out everything that needed to be replaced,” He points to the pile of parts you’re intimately familiar with, “And now it’s just a matter of putting in the new ones and making sure there isn’t anything else going on. We’re gonna go ahead and do an oil change, fill your coolant, and clean all the parts that didn’t need to be stripped, so she should be almost good as new when we get her back together.” Your heart swells at the news, and you beam at him.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Namjoon,” You tell him. He turns slightly pink and rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Seriously, I never expected you to do so much for me. Anyone else would have just written her off and told me to go buy a new one. Are you sure you’re charging enough? It seems like a lot more work than I’m actually paying for.”

Namjoon just waves a hand, looking up at the jeep. “No, it’s the least I can do. Your Jeep really isn’t in terrible condition, just a lot of wear and tear, and it’s so obvious that you love it. What kind of mechanic am I if I turn down something like this?” He goes quiet, and you can feel him looking at you even as you watch several men hand parts back and forth.

You’re both quiet for a long while. You aren’t sure what��s going through his head, but you’re hoping that eventually, he’ll say something else to keep the conversation going.

“Well, I’ve got to get going soon, I’ve got a meeting in about an hour,” You say eventually, resigned to the fact that Namjoon isn’t as interested as you thought he might be.

“Oh, yeah, of course, don’t let me keep you,” He says quickly. Your heart sinks as you give him a smile and wave. You’re halfway to the sidewalk when he calls your name, and you turn to see him jogging after you. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the book in his hands but his voice is steady.

“If you really want to pay me back, let me take you out to dinner,” he says. “Friday night at seven.”

The confidence in his tone surprises you, but not in a bad way. Your first instinct is to immediately agree, but the memory of that blush from four days ago has you biting your lip. You want to see it again, and you wonder how far you have to push him to bring it out.

“I dunno,” You say teasingly. “Just a dinner? That doesn’t really feel like I’m paying you back much, honestly. Shouldn’t there be more of a…I don’t know, a give and take?”

Something sparks in the mechanic’s eyes. Namjoon steps closer to you and traces the curve of your wrist with one finger. Your skin burns where he touches it, and your breath catches in your throat. “Friday at seven,” He says. His voice is low and lingering and you can feel it deep through your skin and sink into your bones. “Have dinner with me, and then we’ll see just how much give you can take.”

You clench your teeth again the urge to whimper as he slides your arm forward and uses a marker to write something on your arm. He backs up after he’s finished, a cocky smirk coming over his features that makes you want to bring him to his knees and drop to your own in equal measure. He presses a light kiss to your knuckles before he drops your hand entirely.

“Text me your address, I’ll pick you up,” He tells you as he disappears into the garage once more, barking for someone named Jimin to get off his ass and keep cleaning parts. You stand there for another few moments until you’re sure you can walk without tripping over your own feet. When you finally are able to breathe once more, you book it out of the lot and down the street. It takes ten minutes to realize you walked in the complete opposite direction from where you’re supposed to be meeting your friends for a late lunch.

Friday night comes with nervousness that you haven’t felt in a long time. With every one of the last few dates you’ve been on, you’d been the one to pursue things. You asked out the last three dates you’d been on, and the last time you’d gotten laid - months ago, unfortunately, which could explain the very visceral reaction you had to Namjoon - had been because you’d approached the most attractive guy you’d seen at the bar and blatantly asked him if he wanted to go home with you that night. It’s been a while since anyone bothered to chase you, and the fluttering in your chest just reminds you of how much you really do love it.

You’re wearing your favorite date outfit, a cute ruffled top with an A-line skirt that grazed the tops of your knees, and a pair of truly adorable flats that you got for 75% off the last time you went shopping. You’ve put more effort into your hair and face than you had in a while, making sure everything is the best it could possibly be for your date.

A knock on your door at exactly 7 o'clock has you grinning and rushing to grab your clutch. After you make sure you have everything you needed - phone, keys, wallet, condoms, as usual - you open the door. The sight that greets you has you almost wishing you’d offered to cook just so you could keep him locked inside.

You’ve only ever seen Namjoon in his work clothes, and whatever you expected his style to be, it wasn’t this. A gorgeous seafoam button-up tucked into white pants and his hair styled so well you aren’t sure why he wears a hat ever. None of it compares to the beaming grin he’s giving you, though, dimples on full display as he looks you up and down.

“You look amazing,” He says as he takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Really, I’m…I can’t believe I get to take you to dinner.”

“Well, you’d best believe it,” You tease. “I don’t get this dolled up for just anyone.” You turn to lock the door behind you, glad for the millionth time that you were lucky enough to find a good townhouse that wasn’t wildly out of your price range. He laces his fingers with yours and guides you to the street where he’s parked.

“There’s a pretty nice place close to the shop that isn’t too fancy or anything, if that works?” He tells you. His brow furrows and he bites at his lip just slightly, and you melt a little. “I wasn’t really sure what you liked, and it’s got a bit of everything, and it isn’t that super stuffy atmosphere, so I thought it would still be casual enough for us to be relaxed and talk, but if you’d like, we can go somewhere else, it really isn’t a big deal so-”

“Namjoon,” You stop him and squeeze his hand a little. “That sounds lovely.” He smiles at the same time you do, relief clear on his face as he relaxes slightly beside you. When you reach his car - a nice, obviously well-kept model you don’t recognize - he opens the door for you to slide in. Within minutes, you’re shooting off into the fading sunlight. There’s soft music playing - some old-school American hip hop you’ve never heard - and Namjoon is tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. He looks effortlessly attractive, one hand on the gearshift and the other on the wheel, and it makes heat pool between your thighs. You rub them together just barely, trying your best to soothe the ache; the night has just begun, and at this rate, you’ll be a sopping mess before you even order your food.

Namjoon’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, and as you turn to look at him, you realize he’s not actually speaking to you, but instead quietly rapping along with a new song that’s playing. Your brows shoot up and you grin.

“I didn’t know you could rap,” You say, delighted. Namjoon turns slightly pink and his grip on the wheel tightens a little.

“Ah, yeah, it’s just…a hobby, I guess.” He says. There’s a shyness, a humility, that makes an emotion swell in you that you can’t name. It almost seems like he doesn’t think he’s very good, and you decide then that you’re going to show him he is.

“You’re good,” You tell him, and he shoots you a disbelieving look. “No, really, you are. Do more, c'mon, I wanna hear you.” You reach for the stereo and turn the volume up so that it throbs through your chest, and then turn to him expectantly. He looks away as best he can while driving, scratching at the back of his neck as he starts to quietly rap along. It takes a minute, but he gets louder, more confident, and the excitement in your belly only grows.

“That is so sexy,” You say under your breath. You don’t expect him to respond, but the flush on his cheeks tells you he definitely heard you. He glances at you, curious and searching, and before you can ask why, his hand is settling hesitantly on your thigh.

It’s an innocent gesture, he doesn’t tease you or anything you could expect; he just leaves it there. The heat from his palm is scorching through the material of your skirt, and you catch yourself daydreaming several times about what exactly that hand could be doing to you. The rest of the drive is spent with the two of you talking about what music you listen to and your favorite artists, yet you find it impossible to completely focus on what you tell him. The weight of his hand on your thigh is too distracting.

Get it together, he isn’t even touching your skin, you tell yourself as he finally parks and rushes around to open your door for you. You beam at him in thanks and take his hand when he offers it. Together, you walk into a cute restaurant, already filled with people. You’re worried you won’t be able to get a table, and you start to voice your concern, but Namjoon just holds a single finger up and flags down the host.

“Reservation for two, Kim Namjoon,” He says easily, as if he dined at restaurants that required reservations every night. The host is quick to lead the two of you to a table in the far corner by a window, giving you an excellent view of the street. You can’t help but rake your eyes over Namjoom as he pulls your chair out for you and then takes his own seat. The light is soft and complimenting, making him almost seem to glow with obvious happiness as he perused the menu.

You do the same and find that several dishes look appetizing. You’ve just said as much to Namjoon, who agrees, when you notice the print at the bottom of the menu stating that this is apparently a Michelin-rated restaurant, and with a quick review, you’re shocked to find that there aren’t even prices listed on the menu. Your eyes shoot up to Namjoon, but he’s completely focused on his own menu, lost in the decision as he debates aloud what to get.

“Namjoon,” You say after a second. He looks up, eyes shining in the light, and smiles at you. “Not to be ungrateful, but you know you could’ve taken me somewhere else?”

He frowns, looking around. “If you don’t like it, we can leave,” He says quickly, and is clearly about to stand when you stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“No, it’s not that, this place is lovely, and the food looks delicious, I just…” You trail off, unsure how to verbalize the emotions swirling in your chest. “This is just a lot more than what a lot of guys would do for a first date.”

“Then I pity their dates,” He says without hesitation. He twists his wrist to catch your fingers in his and run his thumb along the back of your hand. “I want to treat you the way you deserve. If you want to leave and go somewhere else, we can. But I asked you out because I want to treat you, and this is how you deserve to be treated.” His expression is soft and earnest and the complete honesty in his words has you floored.

“Okay,” You say softly. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” He says firmly. He keeps his hand on yours as the server comes, and Namjoon proceeds to order each dish you’d mentioned an interest in, silencing your protests with a single hard look that has your legs shaking. The waiter disappears, and you force yourself to relax. Even if whatever this is doesn’t go anywhere, you’re getting excellent conversation and Michelin-rated food. Like you would turn that down.

As the food appears, the two of you settle into a rhythm of conversation. You learn that he’s only at the garage part-time, the rest of his days spent pursuing one Master’s degree in Business and a second in Engineering and that while he originally interviewed at several other auto shops, none would hire him because they were so worried about his knack for destroying things around him. You tell him about how you got your jeep, how it got you through a Bachelor’s degree that you haven’t been able to put to use yet and a job that sucks most days but pays the bills well enough that you can still afford your Netflix account. Namjoon is ridiculously easy to talk to, so much so that by the time you’re digging into a fruit custard pastry dessert, it feels like you’ve known him your entire life. By the time you get back to your apartment and he’s walking you to your door, you can hardly believe you’ve only known him a week.

“So tell me,” You finally say as you stand in front of your door, key in hand. “How does a mechanic that’s studying for two Master’s degrees afford a restaurant like that? And you have to tell me, no backing out. I told you about the Great Flubber Incident of 2014, you owe me. Just don’t tell me you’re secretly a mafia lord or something.”

He laughs, and you memorize the sound. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just lucky, honestly. My parents were fairly well off and set up a trust when I was born so they put back a bunch of money for me my entire childhood, but then when I went to school, they were supportive and weirdly excited, so they’re covering all those expenses as well. The garage pays really well, and I split costs with my roommate at home, so that trust has mostly just been gathering dust. I like to bring it out every so often, just to treat myself and my friends.” He smiles, lacing his fingers with yours once more. “And really beautiful girls with remarkably awful jeeps that are somehow interested in going out with me.”

You can feel your cheeks turning pink even as you grin and step closer to him. “Well, I have to say, the whole ‘humble and clumsy yet gorgeous mechanic with a heart of gold’ thing is really working for me.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.” You tug gently at his hands and he lets you pull him closer until you can slide your hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. His arms automatically wrap around your waist, hands lingering innocently on your lower back. “I have to admit, though, you gave me a really good first date. I just expected there to be more of a take.” You chance a look up at him and delight in the way his pupils are dilated and slightly hazy.

“I’ll have to make a note of that for next time,” He says. You cock an eyebrow and you don’t miss the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“You seem confident that there’ll be a next time,” You tease. His hands slide to grip your hips, tight and unyielding, and your breath catches in your throat.

“There will be,” He says. His nose is brushing yours, and you aren’t even sure when he got so close, but you know you want him to get even closer. The heat between your thighs is enough to make your legs weak, and it only worsens as he reaches up and glides his hand along your cheek and neck. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Will you please just kiss me, Joon, before my neighbors can come out and comp-” He does, then, cutting you off in the middle of your sentence and you can’t even remember what you were going to say because his lips are so soft and they’re moving against yours so perfectly that you can feel your actual soul expanding and filling every inch of your being. His hand slides to cup your cheek, tilting you so he can deepen the kiss and slide his tongue along yours, and his grip on your hip tightens so hard that you know you’re going to have bruises the next morning and you relish in the thought.

Your own hands are busy exploring; they slide up to grip Namjoon’s biceps - firm and strong and you want to bite it - before moving to feel along his chest, finally getting to touch the muscles that you know are there. You whimper slightly as your fingers dip along the edges of his pecs, and your legs are threatening to give out completely.

Namjoon kisses you like he won’t get to do so ever again; it’s sweet and exciting and hesitant and dominating all at once, much like Namjoon himself, and your skin feels like it’s going to melt off your bones if he doesn’t run his hands over it, and you don’t ever want this moment to stop because your heart is beating out of your chest and your stomach is doing somersaults but your head is spinning and you also need to unlock your door if you want to get him in your bed, but you can’t feel your keys in your hand anymore and you don’t even know when you dropped them.

Eventually, he pulls away, eyes still closed as he leans his forehead against yours and just breathes. His chest is heaving in time with yours and you can feel his hands trembling slightly where they rest against your cheek, and you want to kiss him until they’re steady again but you also have a sneaking suspicion that it would be counter-productive.

“I really should get going,” He whispers, and he winces like he can feel your heart drop to your feet. “I know, but I have to open the shop in the morning, and I wanna get there early to finish a project.” The grimace on his face is more than enough to tell you that he wants to leave just as much as you want him to - which is to say, not at all, you’re almost to the point where you’d like him to come in and then never leave again. Nevertheless, you know the pain of opening shifts and deadlines, so you force yourself to nod.

“I get it,” You tell him, though neither of you has made any move to let go of the other. “I’ve got work tomorrow anyway,” true, though not until the afternoon, “And my apartment could use a clean,” false, you cleaned it that day so it was perfect if he happened to come in, “And…and your job is important.”

He sighs, grip tightening once more before he takes a single step back. He bends down to grab your dropped keys and slides them into your still-somewhat shaky hand.

“Text me?” He says, and his voice is hushed and tentative. You wonder if he expects you to say no.

“Like you can ever stop me now,” You reply with a grin, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. He grins and this time you don’t hesitate to poke at the dimples that appear.

“I’ll see ya,” He says with a grin as he presses one last kiss to your hand before turning and heading back to his car. There’s a lightness in his steps, and even from here you can see his grin.

“See ya,” You call into the night before heading into your apartment.

That one date quickly turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many you can’t count. It seems like every time you both have time off that overlaps, you’re out. Movies, dinner, an afternoon at a museum exhibit, even a picnic by the river. It’s wonderful and your heart flutters with joy every time you think about it, and even Taehyung had commented about how happy you seemed recently. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the worst thing that happened was that they had to wait for a part to come in to finish fixing JeepJeep, and that couldn’t be helped. Namjoon was even paying out of pocket to get it expedited, despite your protests that he didn’t have to and that you’d be happy to pay for it yourself.

Still, as adamant that Namjoon was that he treat you at every turn, you had your own plans. You’d paid for several meals before he had the chance, bought him more than one gift that made his eyes crinkle in delight, and frequently brought him dinner on nights where he worked late.

This was one such night. Bag of takeout in hand as you walk the short distance from the bus stop to the garage, you can see the light inside even from here. The music can be heard even as you step into the lot, a thudding bass that drowns out all other noise around it - not that there’s anything nearby open at this time of night. You can just barely see Namjoon’s legs sticking out from under the back of some Kia, and you hear him muttering along to the song playing. He’s the last one here, as you’ve discovered is the usual schedule in the garage; it gave him a multitude of time to work and study, and he seemed to prefer it when no one was around. The garage was warm inside, a combination of heating and the industrial lights that kept everything blazing, but tonight you were grateful for it; the cool breeze of the afternoon was just starting to turn that bit too chilly, and the sundress you’d put on earlier was just shy of being warm.

“Hey,” You call, “I brought you some dinner. You wanna eat in the office?” He rolls out from under the Kia, and as usual, you’re floored by just how sexy he looks in his work uniform. Jumpsuit rolled down to his hips to combat the heat in the garage, white tee sticking to his chest and highlighting the muscles that make you drool, the cap on and turned backwards so the oil and gunk doesn’t get in his hair. He gives you a dimpled smile as he stands and wipes his hands on a nearby rag.

“Nah, we can eat out here, give me a second to wash my hands.” He disappears into an employees-only area, and you can hear the faint sound of water running as you pull over a couple of stools and get the food set up on one of the workbenches. Namjoon reappears, drying his hands on a clean rag that he tucks into the waistband of his uniform. “I actually have a surprise for you,” He says as he sits.

“Oh really?” Your mouth is stuffed full of chicken, and he laughs at the sight. You make a face at him before swallowing. “What surprise?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you ahead of time, would it?” He makes a face in return and digs into his own food. You huff a little; you’ve never been very good at being patient, especially when you know you’re getting a present. You were notorious for sneaking into Christmas presents early, to the point where your parents started keeping them at your grandparents’ house to keep you from breaking into them.

The two of you eat in relative silence, only broken by the occasional anecdote of your day. When the food is finished, you both clean up the trash and Namjoon stretches as he leans back against the workbench. The position highlights his body and you can’t help yourself wondering what it looks like without the layers. As many dates as you’ve been on, there’s always been some reason or another why neither of you could spend the night; one of you worked too late, the other worked too early the next day, his roommate was home, you were dogsitting for Taehyung. It was frustrating and infuriating and you’d been about five seconds from ripping his clothes off the last time you’d seen him.

“So,” You drawl, giving him an expectant look. “What’s my surprise?”

“I really thought you’d last longer than that. Is the pleasure of my company not enough for you?”

“Joon, please, I’m dying, I waited for you to finish eating and everything because I’m such a good girlfriend.” You pout at him, but you don’t miss the stifled grin when you call yourself his girlfriend. He heaves a dramatic sigh and pushes off the workbench to take your hand.

“Alright, close your eyes,” He says. You obey immediately, following carefully as he leads you through the garage. You hear the bay door closing as you pass, and you assume the automatic timer kicked in to close them all for the night. You’re distracted from your thought as a soft clunk echoes in the garage and Namjoon lets out a soft curse. Still, he’s careful to keep you from any hazards as he guides you, eventually stopping you at what you figure is the other end of the garage.

“Okay,” He says, apprehension ringing through his voice. “You can open them.” You do, and you nearly sob at what you see.

JeepJeep, in all its glory, polished and waxed and shined, and looking nearly new again. You step forward and run your hand along the hood slowly. You whip around to face him with hope in your eyes.

“Go ahead, start her up.” You rush into the driver’s seat and find the key on the dash, ready and waiting. You slide them into the ignition but find yourself hesitating before you start it. You’re so hopeful, so ready for her to work the way she did when you first got her, that you aren’t sure what you’ll do if she doesn’t. Apprehension settles in your chest, clawing its way up your throat. You glance to Namjoon again and at his encouraging grin, you turn the key.

Your jeep absolutely roars to life, immediately, and she sounds beautiful. Better than the day your parents handed over her key, better than you’ve ever heard her, and you could weep, you’re so happy.

Instead, you turn her off, exit the vehicle, and stride the few steps to the hood where Namjoon is standing to pull him into a heated kiss. Your hands tangle in his hair immediately, pulling him in as close as you can. Words aren’t enough for this, can’t express the sheer and immense gratitude that you feel, the absolute elation at having your jeep back. He returns the kiss, surprised but content as his hands settle on the curve of your hips.

You deepen the kiss, surging upwards and pressing your body flush against Namjoon’s until you’re almost stumbling forward. He steadies you and, without breaking the kiss, walks you back until you’re resting against the hood of your jeep. You can feel the beginnings of his arousal against your hip, and you want more. You want to show him how grateful you are. You part from his lips to ghost your lips down his neck until you get to his throat, at which point you bite. It’s gentler than you usually would be, but it still makes him hiss, and you lap at the mark left to lessen the pain.

When Namjoon’s hands start sliding down, dangerously close to your ass, you bite again, this time suckling at the skin. You don’t stop until he hisses your name and tangles a hand in your hair, loose and wild, and when you finally do pull back, you give him the most innocent smile.

“We’re in the middle of the shop, are you seriously trying to-”

“Do you want me to stop?” You interrupt, cocking a brow at him. His eyes are blown wide and there’s a quickly-forming hickey on his neck that you take great pride in, and he looks like he’s struggling with himself.

“This isn’t how I pictured this,” He finally admits, and you smile.

“It’s not how I pictured it, either,” You agree. He looks slightly relieved that you had other plans as well, but at this point, you’re too far gone to care about those plans. Your nice, comfortable bed is ideal, yes, but it is also so far away, and you really can’t wait that long.

You maintain the eye contact with him as you slide down to your knees, hands massaging up and down his thighs. “Do you want me to stop?” You ask again, softer, as your hands hesitate just shy of the hardness you can feel through his uniform. Your breath ghosts along it, you’re that close to it, but you refrain from touching it at all until he gives you a sharp look.

“Fuck, no, I don’t,” He finally says, and you grin. You can hardly believe you’re about to do this, honestly, even as Namjoon unbuttons the next few clasps to his jumpsuit to reveal all he’s wearing under it is his boxers. You don’t wait for him to take them off, instead sliding the band down just enough for his dick to spring free.

You’re not ashamed at how your mouth waters at the sight.

You’ve never thought of dicks as being anything attractive, in and of themselves. For everyone else you’d been with, they were merely a tool to be used, attached to an attractive man and attractive in their skill, but not in their looks.

God, you were so wrong.

Namjoon’s dick is glorious. Seriously beautiful. It’s long and thick and curves just barely, and you clench instinctively at the thought of it inside you. You’d be worried at how you’re going to fit it if you couldn’t already feel the wetness dripping down your thigh. You were so turned on it could probably slide right in, and you clench again at the thought before reminding yourself that you were on a mission.

The first brush of your hand against his dick has Namjoon huffing, impatient and ready to feel your mouth on him. It’s the first you’ve seen of his authoritative side all night, and you decide that you want more of it. You glide your fingers along the length of him, ghosting over the tip just enough for him to know you were there at all before repeating the motion, again and again. He thrusts forward just a small bit each time, chasing the feeling of your hand, and you can’t stop the smirk on your face as you look up to find him glaring down at you.

“I thought you were going to do something down there,” He growls. You do your best not to shiver at the sound of it.

“I am doing something,” You reply cheekily as you slide your thumb along his slit. He hisses again and shudders. “Isn’t there supposed to be a give and take?”

“If you don’t put that mouth of yours to work, you’re going to see exactly what take means,” He tells you, and you grow hotter at the thought. It must show on your face because he raises a brow at you. “Oh, is that what you want, baby? You want me to take it?” You moan a little at the thought, and though you’re never going to admit it, he knows, just by that small tell.

“Then I’ll take it.” He tightens the grip he has in your hair. “Open your mouth for me, baby.” You comply, and he slides in completely. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat and your nose is buried in the small patch of dark hair at the base of his dick and you don’t even care. Your eyes roll back a little as he slides himself back out before thrusting in once more, and you moan around his cock.

The sound makes him shiver, and he repeats the action, tip hitting your throat once more, and you moan again. He hisses your name and it sounds like music to your ears. You slack your jaw, allowing him more room, and run your tongue along the underside as he slides in and out, groaning softly at the feeling.

“Fuck, you like this baby?” He asks you, falling forward slightly to brace himself against the hood of your jeep. “You like it when I use your mouth like this? Like it when you’re just a little cockslut for me?” You whimper and do your best to nod, though it’s difficult when he’s shoved his dick so far back in your throat that you’re swallowing around it. The taste of his pre-cum hits your tongue as he slides back out, and you’ve honestly never tasted anything so good in your life.

“You’re so good for me like this, baby,” He says. “You’re so pretty like this, on your knees for me. So fucking gorgeous, god, I could cum just like this.” You whine at that; if he’s going to cum inside of you, you sure as hell don’t want it to be down your throat.

He stops the next time he slides out, a soft pop echoing through the room as he does. There’s a trail of spit connecting your lips and the tip of his cock and it’s so erotic you could cum just from that. He’s dripping pre-cum and you give small kitten licks to lap it up before it can fall to the ground. His free hand cradles your chin and he pulls your face up to look him in the eye.

“Get up,” He commands. You obey, scrambling to your feet and glad to get off the cool concrete floor of the garage. He pushes you back until you hit the hood of the jeep, hands running along your legs and up the skirt of your dress. He grips the backs of your thighs and lifts, with more strength than you realized he had, until you’re sitting on the hood, legs splayed around him. He darts forward and sucks a mark into the skin of your collarbone, and you whimper at the feeling of his lips on you.

His hands slide up your thighs, teasing and light, and they drag the skirt of your dress up with them. By the time you can feel the air against your clothed core, he’s pulled back, and when you open your eyes, you find him staring straight at it.

“Shit, babe,” He hisses, “Lace? Fuck, I almost don’t wanna take them off.”

“Then don’t,” You reply without hesitation. He looks up at you, and a crooked smile slowly comes over his face.

“God, you really are fucking perfect, aren’t you?” He mutters. He leans in again and kisses you hard. It’s unforgiving and sloppy and hot and when added to the heat of his hands against your inner thighs as he slowly strokes your skin, it has you grinding against the air for some form of release.

“Please, Joon,” You gasp, hands grasping desperately at his shirt. “Please, please, I need you.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” He whispers, laughter clear in his voice as one finger moves to slide against your slit. Even through the fabric, the friction makes you buck, and you can’t stop the moan as he flicks at your clit. “You’re so wet, baby. Absolutely soaked. Tell me, are you always like this when you’re around me?”

You whimper as he moves his fingers to the side to slide his fingers along your slit once more, collecting your wetness as he does. One starts to slowly rub circles just above your clit, close enough that it has you moaning, but so far away from where you need them to be. Your body is shuddering, and you’re dimly aware of your hips rolling to match his circles.

“I asked you a question.” His voice is harsh in your ear as his palm slaps against your thigh. The pain lingers, just enough to make you clench around nothing, and you can feel yourself getting wetter. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” You gasp. “Yes, I’m always this wet around you.” He smiles and slides a finger inside of you. It’s easy, and you contract around him,

“Good girl,” He tells you, thrusting his finger in and out. You whimper again, and he presses a kiss against your neck. Your hips are moving of their own accord, rutting desperately into his hand. “Now tell me, have you imagined this? Did you think about me fucking you in this garage, making you cum with just my fingers?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, yes, I’ve thought about it.” You moan as he slides another finger inside and begins you fucking with them, curling them just enough that they brush against the one spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. “Fuck, Joon, please, I need you.” You’re fucking yourself against his hand, hips grinding hard against his hand. The meat of his palm presses deliciously against your clit, and you feel like sobbing, you’re so close.

His fingers slide out of you, leaving you contracting around nothing, and the emptiness echoes throughout your chest. “Ssh, baby,” Namjoon says softly. You feel a finger against your lips and instinctually open your mouth. He slides his fingers inside and you suck, licking your own slick off of them. You look at him as you do it, and relish in the fact that he looks just as wrecked as you feel. “Fuck, I need to be in you. Do you have a condom?”

“No, it’s fine,” You say quickly. “I’ve got an IUD, we’re both clean, please just fuck me, Joon, I need it.” His grip on your thigh tightens at your words, and he nods.

“Yeah, okay,” He mutters. He pushes lightly against your shoulder and you let him. He lays you back on the hood, gripping your thighs and pulling your hips down to line himself up with your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.”

“I know, it’s all you, Joon,” You tell him, back arching as you feel the tip of his dick against your entrance. “It’s all because of you, you get me like this, just wanna fuck you all day.”

With a groan, he slams into you, and you gasp. Your back arches up off the hood at the same time your legs wrap around his hips to keep him inside you. The moan tears itself from your throat, echoing through the building, and you’re glad for the music still booming through the garage. Namjoon moves, one hand bracing himself against the jeep as he lets himself adjust to the feeling of your raw heat against him and the other keeping your hips steady in an iron grip.

“Fuck, Namjoon, move, please,” You whine, hips already grinding against him in an effort to entice him into following your wishes. He nods and starts shallow thrusts. The stretch burns in a way that makes you want more, and you can feel every inch of him inside of you as he begins to fuck you harder.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He moans, and if that isn’t the best sound you’ve ever heard, you aren’t sure what is. “God, I fucking…fucking love the feel of your pussy around me, it’s so good, and you’re fucking beautiful like this, taking my cock so well, babe.” You whimper and roll your hips against his, hands scrambling for any kind of purchase against the hood of the jeep and finding none.

“Harder, Joon, fuck,” You pant, moving to grip your own thighs in a desperate attempt to release some of the energy building up in your gut. He complies, fucking you harder against the jeep. You think you can hear it moving, but you can’t be sure, because all of your focus is currently on the pressure against your pelvis, the way the rolling heat between your legs is expanding, and you can’t even be bothered to control the wanton moans coming out of your mouth. Namjoon is just as loud, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he pumps in and out of you. One of his hands moves and he shifts, angling so that he hits your sweet spot with every thrust while his other hands begins to rub hard circles on your clit in time with his fucking.

“Fuck, yes, come on, baby, cum on my dick, wanna see you cum for me, wanna feel you as I fill you up,” Namjoon hisses, slapping at your thigh once more. That does the trick, the rubber band in your belly snapping as you reach your high; your back comes off the hood completely and you shoot forward, hands gripping Namjoon’s shirt so hard you think it might rip, hips rocking against his as you ride out your high.

It only takes a few shallow thrusts while you’re spasming around him for Namjoon to fall over that edge as well, and you can feel the hot liquid settling inside of you. There’s more of it than you thought there would be, enough that even as he slides out, you can’t miss the way it drips out of you.

You’re both panting as Namjoon slides your panties back into place, a smirk on his face as he does. You look at each other, and you let yourself fall back onto your elbows.

“I’ll get the lights and the music if you get the door,” He says. You’re up in a flash, heading to the door controls by the bay your jeep is parked at as Namjoon hurtles through the garage to turn off the music and lights. It takes less than five minutes, and only a couple of minor incidents in which you hear something fall to the garage floor, and you’re speeding down the road to your apartment.

If you had to stop in the parking lot of your building and ride him in the backseat, then, well…no one needed to know but the two of you.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Two Of A Kind

Main Characters: Loki (Laufeyson) Odinson, Thor Odinson

Summary: Loki receives an unexpected and gift from his brother.

Warnings: None! Just sweet fluff :)

Word Count:3,276

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Two new fics in two days... ya’ll are getting spoiled again! So this little fic is for the amazing @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ‘s writing challenge. Star is such an incredible writer, if ya’ll haven’t read her stuff I highly recommend checking her out. For her challenge, I snagged the prompt  “Why did you do it?” for Loki. 

Please note:  this is very non-canon compliant! It’s set after the first Avengers movie but let’s just pretend Thor has Loki kept at the Avengers Tower under house arrest instead of taking him back to Asgard for punishment. Okay? Okay :)

XOXO - Ash

Two Of A Kind

Loki is not the most agreeable man on the best of days, and on the worst of days, well it’s better just to let him roam the halls in solitude. Thor had started to worry about Loki though, too many days spent in self imposed isolation and biting people’s heads off at every turn. Thor knows Loki doesn’t want to spend his “sentence” in the Avengers tower but he needs to be contained after the incident in New York and the tower is a safe place. Thor trusts his fellow Avengers with his life. Thor spends hours researching online how to bring comfort to people who were housebound and isolated. Most articles recommend a companion animal and Thor is coming around to the idea when Natasha comes home raving about a litter of kittens she found on a mission and dropped off at a local animal shelter. 

Thor doesn’t think to ask Tony about bringing a pet into the Avengers tower until he’s halfway to the shelter and at that point he decides to risk it rather than go all the way back. The shelter looks almost like a regular pet store with various pens around the shop, each containing a different animal. All of the puppies in their bins jump up to greet him as he walks through to the desk and he has to resist the urge to pet them along the way. He is there on a mission. 

“Hello, excuse me.” Thor says anxiously. He doesn’t want to interrupt but he’s been standing in front of the desk for a while and the girl hasn’t lifted her head once. 

“Sorry, one minute.” the girl replies. She’s young, barely in her twenties with bright purple hair and a delicate silver hoop in her nose. She types furiously as she squints at the computer screen and ends whatever she was working on with a sharp, satisfied press of the enter button. “Okay, what can I help you with?” she asks looking up at Thor for the first time since he’d arrived.

Thor chuckles despite himself as her face falls and she begins stammering an apology, “It’s alright. You’re doing important work here.” he assures her, “I’m looking for a cat if you could help me. My friend Natasha brought in a litter of kittens earlier and I thought I might want one.” 

“Sure, yeah, of course. They still need their shots and vet visit but you can see them at least. They’re still in the back.” the girl motions for Thor to follow her around back to the holding area. “They’ve been cleaned up but you still might not want to handle them until a vet clears them.” 

“Aesir cannot contract any Midgardian ailments. I have no concerns over these little ones.” Thor opens the gate to the four small kittens inside the cage and begins petting them, seeing which ones are the most friendly. One little pure grey kitten in the back perks it’s head up but is pushed back by the others when it tries to approach. It lets out a pitiful mew and Thor scoops it up in his large palm to bring it out to him. The kitten looks up at him with wide green eyes and what Thor thinks must be appreciation. He gives its little head a few pets and to his surprise the kitten begins to lick at his palm eagerly. “Do cats usually do this? I thought licking was a dog trait?” he asks the girl.

The girl shakes her head, “No, it’s not common. She must like you.” 

“I’ll take her.” 

The girl blinks in disbelief at his decisiveness. “Well, we have a lot of forms to fill out and you have to be approved and then there’s the vet visit she still needs but that should be tomorrow afternoon. Can you bring the forms back later today or tomorrow and we’ll let you know once she’s seen by our vet?” 

“I can fill them out now.” Thor offers and the girl nods, leading him back out front. 

True to his word, Thor settles in to fill out the forms on a clipboard sitting crossed legged on the floor by a pen of jack russel puppies. He leaves the shelter with a lighter heart, knowing he has a plan in motion to help ease his brother’s suffering. 

~~~~~~

It takes two days for the kittens to be cleared to leave the shelter and Thor was a nervous wreck waiting. He gave Tony a heads up since he’d had the time and all Tony did was shrug and warn Thor he wasn’t going to get stuck with litter box duty. 

Thor arrives five minutes before the shelter opens the morning he can finally pick up the kitten and he’s bouncing lightly on his heels when an older woman opens the door at 9am. “You’re here for the little grey kitten?” she asks but it’s a rhetorical question.

Thor nods, “Yes, ma’am. And I was told I would be able to purchase some basic supplies as well?”

“Mmhmm.” the old woman mumbles as she takes out the forms for Thor to sign to release the kitten to him. “We have a litter box and some litter, a bag of dry food, a few cans of wet food, food and water dishes, and a collar all set aside for you. That should get you started for a few days.” 

“I appreciate it.” Thor says genuinely. 

“Just be sure to get more supplies within the next day or two and set up the next vet appointment for her last round of shots in four weeks.” 

“I will, thank you.” Thor signs the last of the papers and hands them back to her. 

The woman collects the kitten and the two large bags of supplies and brings everything out front for him. Thor takes the crate in his hand gingerly, trying not to upset the kitten inside, and loops the other two bags around one heavily muscled arm. “Thank you, again.”

“Take care.” the woman smiles at him kindly and opens the front door for him.

Thor heads back to the Avengers Tower walking much slower than he usually would. He doesn’t know much about kittens but he knows a little about babies and those you can definitely not jostle around too much. Every block he stops to check on the kitten and she just blinks at him hesitantly with her wide green eyes. He finds himself talking to her along the way, assuring her she’s going to have a lovely home and be well taken care of from now on. Thor hopes that Loki will feel the same level of protectiveness over her. 

Back at the tower Thor sets the bags in his room, wanting to surprise Loki with his gift. “FRIDAY” he calls out to the ever present AI, “Can you please tell me where Loki is?” 

“Loki is located in the common room.” FRIDAY announces.

“Thank you FRIDAY.” 

Thor takes the kitten out of her travel crate and after giving her a few pets, tucks her into the large front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. The kitten snuggles in and Thor heads out to find his brother.

Loki is draped artfully over the cream colored sofa in the common room, stretched out across two of the wide cushions with one leg dangling off the armrest. He’s reading a thick leather bound book in one hand and tossing an uneaten apple in the other. 

“Hello brother.” he says before Thor can speak. He doesn’t look up from his book until he finishes the paragraph he’s reading and then he assess Thor with a curious expression. “What do need, Thor? Out with it.”

“I wanted to help bring you solace in your time here.” Thor explains hesitantly.

“Really, Thor? What could you possibly think will help this situation? You’re the one who imprisoned me in this god awful tower.”  

Thor has the decency to look chagrined, “I got you a companion.” 

“A companion?” Loki parrots with an eye roll.

“Yes, look.” Thor pulls the kitten out of his pocket and holds it towards Loki. The tiny kitten looks even smaller in the god’s large palm and her eyes are bright, emerald green against her rich grey fur. 

Loki all but recoils, “A cat? Are you mad?” Loki backs away on the sofa. “Thor, why did you do it?” 

“You seemed lonely, isolated. I thought a companion would bring you comfort.” Thor is beginning to question his decision and is about to say never mind and keep the poor kitten for himself. 

“Fine then,” Loki huffs, “Give it here then.” 

“You do not have to…”

“I said give it here, Thor.” Loki gets up off the sofa and plucks the kitten out of Thor’s hands. He lifts it up closer to his face to study it. “Is it a girl or boy?” 

“A girl.”

“Hmm. Fine. Fine. Where are her things?”

“I’ll move them to your room now. Truly, brother, if you do not want her…”

“Let it be, Thor.” Loki rolls his eyes and stalks off with the kitten clutched against his chest. 

Loki wanders the halls giving Thor time to move the kittens things into his room. By the time Loki makes his way back to his room at the far end of the tower there are two large bags sitting on his table. Loki is reluctant to put the kitten down but can’t set things up one handed. “Alright, little one.” he tells her, “Settle in here and I will get your things sorted out.” He sets the kitten down on his bed and she crawls up to lay down on his pillow. Loki smirks and doesn’t bother to shoo her off. 

Loki skims over the care instructions provided in the bag and sets things up around his room. He’s pleased by how well he’s able to fit her things around his. Once done Loki stretches out across the bed to watch the kitten who’s currently watching him with her intelligent green eyes. “You need a name, little one.” he tells her. Loki rolls onto his back and pulls her onto his chest so he can watch her as she nuzzles at him. “Affectionate little thing, aren’t you? We’ll call you Elska then.” Loki gives her soft pets atop her head and croons her name, letting her get used to hearing it. 

Elska lays down on Loki eventually and falls asleep right on his chest. He wants to move her but doesn’t have the heart to, so he scrolls through his phone instead, looking up all sorts of things to buy for her. He never would have gotten a pet on his own but now that he has her, he will do everything to give her the best life possible. All funded by Tony Stark’s Amazon account. 

~~~~~ 

Several hours and almost a thousand dollars later, Loki hears a tentative knock on his door. Elksa has wandered off and Loki wraps up his latest purchase before going to the door. Thor is standing in the hall, hands tucked in his pockets, and he glances anxiously inside Loki’s room. 

“Can I help you?” Loki asks, eyebrow raised.

“Just checking on how you two are getting along.” he admits. 

Loki rolls his eyes at his brother. “We’re fine. You need not fear for her well being.” 

“I didn’t mean to imply… I know you wouldn’t hurt her….” Thor sighs heavily, “Do you want me to order food and supplies for her? The woman at the shelter said it was only enough to get you started and you’ll have to get more.”

“I’ve already procured everything she’ll need. Tony really needs to update his Amazon password more often.” 

“Good. Good. Well, if you need anything…”

“We’re fine. Goodbye Thor.” Loki’s tone is pointed and Thor knows he’s being dismissed. He nods and heads off down the hall hoping desperately that Loki comes around to the idea of having a pet. 

Loki closes the door and scoops Elska up from where she’s nosing around in his shoes. “Silly Uncle Thor.” he tells her. 

~~~~~~~~

The following day the Amazon truck pulls up to the Avengers Tower and begins unloading a mountain of boxes in the lobby. Everyone is milling around, confused and concerned when Loki strolls through to collect his things. “Thank you, I’ll be taking all of this up to my quarters.” he announces lifting up the first large box. 

Tony sputters in annoyance, “You owe me, Rock of Ages!” he shouts at Loki’s back. 

Loki ignores him and continues on his way to the elevator. After numerous trips Loki finally gets everything back to his room and the space is covered in cardboard boxes. It takes him twice as long to unpack everything as it did to get it up there and he’s ready for a break by the time he’s loading the cardboard out to the trash chute in the kitchen. 

Loki looks around realizing there are more things for Elska than there are for him in his room now. “We might have overdone it, little one. You’re a spoiled girl.” he gives her a quick pat on top of her head and starts assembling her new cat tree. It’s more of a cat condo by the size of it and he very carefully rearranges his room so that it fits next to his desk. By dinner time he’s finished his unpacking and rearranging. He’s settled in for the evening, eating his meal with Elska who’s enjoying her grain free organic pate in a pink floral china dish opposite him at the table. He would never admit to it but he adores his new little darling. She’s inquisitive and feisty, having played fiercely with all of her new toys, and he loves when she sits on his chest and pads her little paws on him to make herself comfortable. Loki is slightly irked by the way she laps at his t-shirt leaving wet marks on it but he doesn’t have the heart to scold her.

Elska gives Loki something that he’s been sorely lacking in the past few months: a purpose. He wakes to Elska curled up with him basking in his warmth, gets up and shares breakfast with her, spends time throughout the day playing with her and teaching her simple tricks, he eats dinner with her, and then they curl up together at night while he reads before bed. The companionship makes his days significantly less painful and he’s actually smiling when Thor finds him in the kitchen a week later.

“Long time no see, brother.” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s back making the younger god jump, startled.

“Yes well, I’ve been busy taking care of that feline you gave me.” Loki grumbles at him, unwilling to show his cards just yet.

“Is she working out? Loki, if you do not wish to keep her please let me know. I’ll take her back at once. You both should not suffer each other’s company needlessly.” 

Loki stifles a laugh at his brother’s distress and decides to have a little fun. “She’s a beast, Thor. An absolute terror. All those Amazon boxes were replacing things of mine she destroyed with those razor sharp claws. She took out my drapes again just yesterday.” 

Thor pales, “I’m truly sorry, brother. I did not mean to bring you trouble.”

“Thinking was never your strong suit, brother. Now, if you’re truly willing to take back your ill-advised gift come collect it now and let me be rid of the cursed thing.” Loki is rolling in mirth internally but keeps a stoic face as to not clue Thor in on his fun. 

Thor nods solemnly and follows Loki back to his room. The first thing Thor notices is that Loki’s drapes are still intact. The second is the large carpeted piece of furniture in the corner by Loki’s desk that he assumes is a cat home of sorts. Thor scans the room more thoroughly and notices various cat toys, a small leopard print bed, a motorized water dispenser, and several other new additions to his brother’s room. Thor glances over a Loki who has his arms wrapped around his slim waist literally holding back his laughter. Finally Loki’s laughter bursts and he doubles over, eyes watering as he cackles. 

“I was tearing myself up worrying about that cat!” Thor booms.

Loki gasps, fighting for words between laughs. “I’m sorry! Your face though, Thor. You can be so dense sometimes!” Elska hops up on the bed and licks Loki’s arm waiting to be picked up. His laughter eases and he scoops her up, “Come here, Elska. Show Uncle Thor that you’re well cared for.” 

“Elska?” Thor asks, still shocked from the sight of Loki’s room.

“Yes, I thought it fitting. She’s such a good little love.” Loki coos the last part at her while rubbing a long finger under her chin. The kitten purrs happily and leans in against Loki’s chest.

“You had me worried.” Thor complains and gives Loki a shove.

Loki glares at him, holding Elska tighter, “Don’t jostle my girl, Thor.” 

Thor huffs but doesn’t argue. “I’m glad you two are getting along. I’ll be going then.” 

Loki looks down at the little bundle of grey fluff in his arms and decides maybe companionship isn’t overrated after all. “Or you could stay awhile?” 

Thor turns from the door, stunned by Loki’s suggestion.

“You don’t have to if you have plans. But maybe you could stay and see some of the tricks I’ve been teaching Elska. She’s such a bright little girl.” 

Thor’s throat is thick with emotion. He’s yearned for his brother’s company for so long he had started to wonder if they would ever find their way back to each other. They had been brothers and best friends for 1,500 years but the last few years they’d grown apart and it had been devastating to him. “I’d like that very much.” Thor finally says. 

“As would I, brother.” Loki smiles at Thor and waves him over to take a seat. He grabs a feathered bird on a string so he can show off Elska’s great hunting prowess. She’s lively, chasing the bird around the room and pouncing on it happily. 

“Here, let me give it a try.” Thor motions to the string and Loki hands it over to him without complaint. 

Thor moves the toy around for her a few times and decides to give it a higher swing to make the chase more exciting. Unfortunately Thor does not consider his hair falling over his shoulders and the string tangles in his blonde mane, the toy lodging itself in it. Elska was already on the move and she leaps up, tiny claws out, and latches on to Thor’s shoulder and neck. She scrapes his jaw as she tries to catch her toy and Thor cries out as she rakes shallow cuts on his skin. Loki is watching, horrified and amused, as Thor struggles to pull her off of him. 

“You’re a demon!” Thor scolds her mildly, holding her out directly in front of his face. Loki is about to intervene when Elska leans forward and takes a long raspy lick right down the center of Thor’s face. Thor is silent for a moment, shocked, and then begins laughing heartily. He hands Elska back to Loki who is barely containing his amusement. “This is definitely your cat, brother.” Thor tells him, “You’re two of a kind.” 

Loki joins in his laughter and has to agree, they truly are two of a kind.

The End 

Thank you so much for reading! Fun fact: elska in Old Norse means affection/love. So if anyone was wondering about the name, there ya go!

[oswaldsirius]

why does fandom assume everyone who likes the mature men has a k*nk about it? for god's sake some of us are just mature fans who feel more connected to someone who appears closer to our age

I’m going to preface this with a couple things. I am in no way kink shaming anyone. Kinks are great for some people. Not so for others. That’s fine. Everyone has a preference. @/edgarbright said it best with: Your Kink is Not My Kink and That’s Okay

That being said, people need to tag their kinks. Even if it’s only a bare mention. A kink is a kink and not everyone reacts to them the same way. Be polite and tag them so people can avoid them. The tags are filled with k*nktober right now and your tags are crucial for people that find certain kinks upsetting. It’s on us as writers to identify anything problematic or kink related in our writing. That’s our responsibility. If someone reads it despite tags that’s on them.

But in regards to people assuming because you like character X you must be into kink y...

People need to remember that just because you personally apply a kink to a character doesn’t make it gospel. We all like characters for different reasons and apply different things to them. I have specific attributes that aren’t canon that I apply to my faves because I like that headcanon. But that’s my like and I don’t expect anyone else to have the same thoughts about that character because it’s something I’ve chosen to put on them. The same can be said with kinks. Just because you have decided that this character must like this kind of thing doesn’t mean everyone else thinks the same. That everyone should think the same. It’s your headcanon. Even if others agree with you, you cannot make a blanket statement for the entire fandom because you aren’t the entire fandom. Assuming that is just kind of gross and negligent on your part.

I make no secret of the characters I like. They are the ‘mature’ older ones. That resonates more with me as an ‘older’ player. I have an easier time connecting and relating with them. And on the flip side I have a harder time connecting with the younger characters because of the age difference and how they act makes it hard for me to relate to them. And I mean I won’t lie, I get frustrated because a particular kink does get applied to them in a lot of fan fiction so it can be hard to find things to read. But it bothers me more when it’s untagged and I encounter it without my consent. I have the tag (and many others) blocked and so I try to consume what material I can where it hasn’t been applied.

So I get your frustration. I really do. The only advice I can truly offer is to block the tag and also be liberal with the proper block button if they aren’t tagging. Your dash and enjoyment of a character is your own and it shouldn’t be diminished by something you don’t apply to them. It can be hard sometimes to find other people who like the same thing as you without particular things that are attached but when you do, keep them close. I saw a post the other day that was talking about fandom experience and how to last long term and it’s mostly that you find a core group of people you share likes with and that’s your fandom. There’s nothing saying you can’t branch out further but at the core you’re not going to be friends with or agree with everyone. Find your group, anon, and keep them close.

And if you wanna come off anon to talk more you can or if you’d like to talk elsewhere that’s okay too. I’m not always the best to keep in touch but I do try!

[anarcoqueer1994]

Please Don't Go: Chapter 3

Another chapter in my post costume day fic. I will be posting another chapter of my Trans Tarty story soon. Let me know if you want to be on a tag list for either.

Yesterday had been one of the best days Cyrus has had in a long time. TJ, his sweet, oblivious, gorgeous boyfriend, took him on a real date. They even held hands...in public! As he lays in bed, letting the morning sun shine on him from his window, it's all he can think about. He can't believe anyone could care about him so much.

Every wall TJ has ever put up, he let Cyrus tear down. He even let Cyrus help him with his fear of thunder. He knows how proud TJ could be so Cyrus knew that this was a big deal. In fact, anytime TJ let Cyrus see his vulnerable side, he knew it was a big deal. He could not get over how happy TJ made him feel. TJ captivated Cyrus with everything he did.

He picks up his phone and stares at a text from last night. It had started storming again around 11pm, and without a second thought he had sent TJ the playlist from the museum with a short note.

Cyrus:

"Songs That Make Me Think of TJ"

In case you need this <3

TJ:

Thanks Underdog.

TJ:

Can I FaceTime you? I kind of rather hear your voice…

TJ:

You don't have to though. I'm sorry.

Cyrus:

Don't be sorry. Of course you can.

Moments later, he got a video call. That's how they spent the next few hours, with TJ under a blanket with headphones on, just listening to Cyrus talking about anything to block out the the thunder rumbling outside their windows.

Cyrus keeps smiling as he sits up in bed to get ready for the day. He blushes to himself as he thinks about TJ's cute text. He actually said he wanted to hear Cyrus' voice. Cyrus can't help but gush over TJ. How could he be so lucky?  He considers sending a good morning text to TJ but decides against it. He knows his boyfriend likes to sleep in most weekend mornings and really does not want to bother him. So he throws on his clothes and gets ready for the day.

**********

After breakfast, Andi had called Cyrus to see if he wanted to hang out with her, Amber, Buffy, Jonah, and Marty. They were going to spend the day at Andi's, maybe watch some movies and order pizza. Of course he accepted, but part of him was a bit disappointed that he couldn't invite TJ. Obviously with the exception of Amber, none of them liked TJ. They only tolerated TJ at school because he was Cyrus' friend.

Cyrus actually feels really guilty towards TJ. He wishes his friends would be kinder to the older boy. He sees the way they shoot him looks; he is not blind. He knows they are being protective, but he does not need babysitters, he needs friends  When they are all hanging out together, he tries to ignore those looks and focus his energy towards TJ. Most of the time he gives him gentle, apologetic smiles to counteract his friends' negativity. He never wants TJ to feel bad and he hates that his friends are part of the reason he may. Even Andi, who has a crush on TJ's big sister, won't let up on him.

One of the things that stuns Cyrus the most about TJ, is he doesn't complain about the way the GHC(and friends) treat him. Cyrus would understand if he did. They could be terrible towards him. He is a little worried that he is doing that so Cyrus won't feel bad. He knows his boyfriend always puts Cyrus' feelings before his own. He does this to a fault.

On more than one occasion, Cyrus has run into TJ at school, and noticed how sad the basketball player was. Whenever he asks about it, TJ promises that it is nothing, and puts on a big beautiful smile but Cyrus can see how the smile doesn't reach those green eyes. Cyrus knows that when TJ is truly happy, that happiness radiates from his entire face, like yesterday when he stared at Cyrus talking about every dinosaur in the museum. He can't believe how TJ could make him feel like he was the only one that mattered.

That is the problem though; TJ did not treat himself like he mattered. That's why Cyrus is convinced there is something happening at school that TJ is not telling him. He does not know what to do because he doesn't want a push him to talk though. One thing that is for sure, his friends are not making whatever it is better.

***********

In the early afternoon, he starts heading towards Andi's. It is mid November but it had been pretty warm, so he did not expect it to be that cold. He is only wearing a light button down. It's a little chilly when he gets outside but not cold enough to go back inside and grab a jacket.

Boy, did he regret that decision. By the time he reached Mainstreet, the wind picked up and he was shivering. He walks past the little supermarket on the corner when he spots a familiar tuff of dirty blonde hair. The older boy is examining some apples on a stand outside the store, trying to pick out the right ones. He doesn't notice Cyrus sneaking up behind him. Cyrus stands on his tiptoes and whispers "Boo" into the TJ's ear.

TJ spins around around and smiles as he sees Cyrus. Cyrus takes a moment to absorb how cute TJ looks right now. He does not have his hair done up with the usual copious amounts of gel. Cyrus likes it better this way. He likes the way little strands of hair fall on TJ's forehead. It reminds him of the night at the park when they first got together. He is wearing a pair of faded jeans with his blue basketball team hoodie, and a jean jacket over that. Cyrus thinks he can stare at TJ all day. He reminds himself that he should speak though.

"Hey Teej." He flashed the other boy a smile.

"Hey Underdog." *TJ fought everything inside him that wanted to pull Cyrus in for a hug. He couldn't help it. Every time he saw Cyrus, he wanted to touch him, even if it just to hold his hand.

"So what are you doing today?" Cyrus immediately feels dumb asking. Obviously TJ was shopping.

"Just picking up some things for my mom. We are going to bake some apple pie flavored muffins tonight."

"Bake? I didn't know you liked to bake."

"What can I say, Cy? I have layers." He laughs softly before continuing."It's kind of a thing my mom and I do together when it is just us. Dad is working 2nd at work tonight and Amber is going to be at Andi's for some movie night. I'm guessing that's where you're heading, right?

Cyrus nods his head slightly. He still feels bad going, knowing TJ was not invited. He really wants to hang out with his friends, but he also wants them to see TJ like he does. TJ was genuinely a sweet boy, albeit misguided at times. He has worked so hard to let the good come through. God, was he proud of TJ.

As if TJ could read his mind, he says kindly "Enjoy your friends tonight Cy, I'm okay. I promise."

"I just...I just think you deserve to be seen for who you really are…" Cyrus wants to say more but a small gust of wind blows, sending shivers through his body.

TJ notices Cyrus shivering from the cool fall air because of course he does. He notices everything about Cyrus. He slips off his jacket before pulling the hoodie up over his head. He puts back on the jacket and then hand Cyrus his hoodie. "Put this on, it's cold. I don't want you getting sick."

Cyrus cannot bring himself to argue with TJ. Plus he is pretty cold, so he welcomes the idea of warmth. The smaller boy slips it over his body. He likes the way that it smells. It smells citrus-y, just like TJ. He is not sure if it is the soap TJ uses or what, but whenever they are close together, he swears TJ smells like lemons. He takes a second to inhale the scent from the piece of clothing.

TJ blushes as he looks at Cyrus in his hoodie. The sleeves are too long and the hoodie is too big for his small frame, but TJ thinks he is adorable. Something about his boyfriend wearing his hoodie makes him feel so pleased. He always sees other sports players' girlfriends in their hoodies and letterman jackets. So giving Cyrus his hoodie felt so right. He says quietly "You look good in my hoodie...I think you should keep it for a while."

Cyrus' face is bright red at this point. He has to remind himself not to do anything to give them away. He settles on a soft smile as a response. TJ lets out a quiet laugh before saying "Better get going, Muffin. Text me later?"

"Yes of course." Cyrus says before turning around to head out. TJ's eyes linger on Cyrus a little longer before going back to what he is doing.

The rest of the way to Andi’s, Cyrus is smiling like an idiot. He can’t really explain why TJ has this effect on him, but he does. He pulled the hood over his head so he could literally be surrounded by TJ’s scent. He wants fill his entire world with this smell. It makes him feel like he is not alone, like TJ is with him, even when he is not.

Before long, he arrives at Andi’s front door. He forces himself to put on a nonchalant face before knocking. Andi comes to the door and lets him in. “Cyrus, took you long enough.” She laughs as she holds the door open.

By the looks of it, he is the last one to arrive. When he walks into the living room, Marty and Buffy are on the ground in front of the couch, talking about something that Cyrus really has no interest in. Jonah is on the chair in the corner, while Amber is on the couch next to an empty spot that Cyrus assumes is Andi’s. Cyrus takes a seat on the floor and faces the rest of the group.

“Hey Cyrus” Buffy says taking her attention away from Marty for a second. Her greeting is echoed throughout the room. Cyrus looks around at his friends. He loves them all so much and they are so wonderful to him. He tries not to let them see him frown as his mind drifts back to TJ. They all go back to what they were previously doing.

It is Amber who ends up interrupting his thoughts. “Hey, isn’t that my brother’s hoodie?” All the eyes suddenly turned to look him.

Crap. He forgot to take it off before he came in. He has to come up with a good cover. “Yea, I saw him on the way over here. I forgot my coat and I was really cold. I asked him if I could borrow his hoodie since he had a jacket. Honestly, it was pretty dumb of me to leave the house without a coat…”’

Buffy rolls her eyes. “Wow, TJ actually did something nice for you for once. Don’t get used to it.”

Cyrus didn’t know what to say, he did not want to give away too much and he knew he had to be careful what he said. Luckily, he did not have to worry about that right now because Amber piped up.

“Hey, I know you guys don’t like him but that is still my little brother so be nice.”

Buffy rolled her eyes even harder. Cyrus knew Buffy wasn’t Amber’s biggest fan either so he did not know if she would listen. For now though, Buffy seems to have dropped it. Jonah, ever spacey to what is going on around him, says “So when is the pizza going to be here? I am starving.” The room laughs and he just shrugs his shoulders.

**************

Cyrus should have known that Buffy was not going to drop the TJ stuff permanently. It was not long after the pizza arrived that she started at it again.

"I don't get it Cyrus, why are you still friends with that guy? I mean, he is not..."

Marty interrupts her. "Buffy, if he wants to be friends with him, isn't that his business, not ours?" Cyrus has never been more thankful for Marty.

She shoots back at him. "Cyrus is my best friend and it is my business when some jerk isn't worth being his friend." Andi nods is agreement.

Cyrus doesn't know what comes over him but he stands up and says louder than intended "Don't call him that! He is not just some jerk. He is a really great guy. And you know what else? He is so considerate and sweet. You don't know anything about him, Buffy. So just stop.

Everyone is quiet for a moment. They are all shocked by his outburst of assertiveness. To be honest, Cyrus was shocked by it too. He looks around at his friends' stunned faces waiting for someone to do something. Buffy takes a deep breath and stands up to be face to face with Cyrus.

"Cy, do you still like TJ?" She says in a quiet, understanding, voice. Cyrus doesn't know how to answer. In reality, he wants to just tell them all the truth. He wants them to know that he doesn't just like TJ but TJ likes him too. More than that, TJ  is his boyfriend. He wants to tell them all how happy TJ makes him, how even now, in this tense situation, his boyfriend's scent, enveloping him in the form of a hoodie, helps him feel stronger.

"I need some air, okay?" He manages to choke out. He knows Buffy wants to push more but he is grateful that she doesn't. He gets out of the living room and into the backyard.

He really doesn't know what to. His head is spinning as he sits down on the bench. Why is this so hard? Being with TJ is so easy. Why can't telling people be this easy? He knows it is not his right to out TJ so telling his friends now is not an option.

He really doesn't want to bother TJ tonight. After all, he is spending his night baking with his mom. But it is as if his fingers have a mind of their own.

Cyrus:

I don't know what to do.

TJ:

What is happening? Are you okay, muffin?

Cyrus:

Yea, I'm okay. It's just, I screamed at Buffy. She just called you a jerk and I lost my temper. Then she asked if I still had a crush on you and I panicked, and now I am outside like an idiot.

TJ:

Cyrus, I'm so sorry...I hate that you are feeling bad.

Cyrus:

I wish you were here

After that text, Cyrus does not hear anything. He hopes he did not weird TJ out by being too clingy. He is kicking himself for being so dumb. He sits outside for another 30 minutes and he is glad his friends let him be. He keeps staring at his phone in case TJ texts him back.

He finally collects himself enough to head back in and face his friends. He does not know what he is going to say but he will figure it out.

He walks back through the back doors to the living room. He is still lost in his thoughts so he barely notices his surroundings. He is not even looking up because he does not want to meet his friends' eyes. That’s why he is caught off-guard when he hears an unexpected voice say "Hey Underdog..."

Cyrus' voice catches in his throat. He can barely believe who he is hearing. He looks up from the ground to meet TJ's eyes. Then he quickly looks around at his friends who all look as confused as he is. He goes back to TJ's eyes. "You actually came..." Cyrus thinks back to the last text he sent.

"Of course, I came." TJ beams at the younger boy. TJ had shown up a few minutes prior. Andi had answered the door. She was not expecting him but let him in anyways. He was just about to head outside to look for Cyrus. TJ continues to stare into Cyrus' eyes. They are in their own world again. Cyrus feels his heart flutter in his chest. TJ dropped everything to be here for him. How could he be so lucky?

As usual, Buffy is the first to break the silence. "Okay, what is going on between you two?"

Cyrus bites his bottom lip and silently asks TJ with his facial expressions for permission to say out loud what he wants to say to his friends. TJ nods his head slowly and Cyrus feels a weight lift off his shoulders. He mouths "Thank you."  Without removing his eyes from TJ, he says in a shaky voice "TJ is my...boyfriend." He feels it get harder to breathe as his chest restricts. He knows that this is also difficult for TJ but once again, TJ puts Cyrus' feelings first.

Everyone in the room stares in shock at the two boys.No one quite knows what to say. The air is thick and Cyrus could practically cut the tension with a knife. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees everyone's faces. Buffy, Andi, and Jonah all have mirrored looks of surprise on their face. Marty looks kind of clueless, which Cyrus expected.

But it is Amber he appreciates the most right now. She is smiling over at her brother. TJ is so focused on Cyrus, that he doesn't notice her but Cyrus does. He is so thankful that someone else really cares for TJ. He focuses his attention back to his boyfriend. As soon as sees his face, he melts. TJ is practically glowing as he smiles at Cyrus.

TJ steps closer to Cyrus. He moves so he is at Cyrus' side, grabbing his hand. He squeezes his hand gently, urging Cyrus to continue on. He clears his throat and begins to talk, this time in a way more confident voice.

"TJ and I started dating a month ago yesterday. It’s been the best month of my life. He even took me to the Natural History Museum yesterday, on like a real date.  TJ treats me like I'm important."

TJ interjects "Because you are important, muffin." He blushes when he realizes he said that out loud. Cyrus smiles even bigger. He runs his thumb over TJ's knuckles. Buffy looks like she is going to laugh at the overly cutesy nickname but Cyrus shoots her a look that makes her reconsider.

Andi steps up closer to the boys. She looks hesitant at first but then gives a small, nervous smirk. "That explains a lot...but I still don't get it. " She turns her head to TJ. "Why did you abandon Cyrus on costume day?" Cyrus goes to speak but TJ interrupts him. "It’s okay, Underdog... I want to be open with your friends..."

He pulls Cyrus to the couch so that they are sitting against each other. Their fingers are still laced together. The other kids sit down too, getting ready to listen. He takes a deep breathe. “It was Kira…she figured out I liked Cyrus…a lot. She had come up to me to ask about being on the boy’s team, and I turned her down. Cyrus had come up, and she seen how we interacted. At the time I was oblivious to how obvious I was about liking Cyrus. She made me feel bad for wanting to do a costume with a boy. She made it seem like people would know I was…gay if I did. It was dumb, I know. I was dumb. I understand why you all hate me, because I hated me after what I did. I kind of still do.” Cyrus looks at TJ with sad eyes. It kills him that TJ feels this badly about himself. He tries to focus on the rest of what the boy has to say.  “Cyrus deserves the best and it makes me so happy to know that you care for him so much.”

Buffy looks so angry. Cyrus is afraid of what she is about to say. He does not want her to still hate TJ. She spits out “How could she do that?! Oh god, I am so sorry, guys. I kicked her off the girls team, and she went after my friends…I can’t believe her! I’m sorry for the way we have been treating you, TJ.” She pause and thinks about something. She laughs to herself. “Who would've thought a year ago, I would be apologizing to you?”

TJ laughs back. "It's fine, you were only protecting Cyrus...I would of done the same thing."

Jonah chimes in. "So is Kira still bothering you, man?"

TJ gets quiet and Cyrus feels him tense against him. Cyrus turns to face TJ. "Wait...TJ is she? Is she doing anything to you?"

"It's nothing, I promise…"

"Teej, don't lie to me...please tell me. I see you sometimes at school, looking so sad. I never want to push you to talk when you are not ready, but it is breaking my heart knowing that someone is making you that upset. "

TJ looks around at the room. Marty speaks up "Look, if I know anything about this group of people, they will all go above and beyond for their friends, and that includes standing with them when someone is giving them trouble.” Buffy looks behind her at Marty and smiles.

Cyrus squeezes TJ’s hand and pleads with him. “Baby, please tell me if something is happening.”

TJ feels so vulnerable right now. He has worked so hard for the past month to hide this from Cyrus. He hates putting so much on the brunnette. Cyrus has already done so much for him, he really did not want to add to that. But now, here he is with his big brown eyes peering through TJ. The way Cyrus called him baby made his breath catch in his throat. Cyrus literally could make him putty in his hands. TJ could not possibly hide anything from him now.

He tries to keep his voice calm and as detached as possible. He does not want to come off as too emotional over this. “It’s really not that important. She just says some mean things sometimes…”  TJ tries to look anywhere but back at Cyrus. But it is no use. Everywhere in the room he looks, he sees a pair of concerned eyes looking at him.

Cyrus says tenderly “TJ, what kind of mean things does she say? “

“Just...just like..umm things to remind me that I’ different. She likes to point out how unfortunate it would be if my secret got out. She is right though, this is a small town and not everyone is that accepting.But  like she is threatening me for the fun of it. But she doesn’t have any proof so I think that is why she hasn’t outed me...us. Oh and sometimes she brings up cute girls in front of my teammates and asks me what I think about them.I  think she just wants to embarrass me. She gets some sick pleasure out of making people feel small. Or like...on Friday, she noticed I was struggling in math so she started basically calling me stupid. I did not even turn in anything to Coleman…” TJ was rambling and he was starting to speak faster. Cyrus could see how upset he was getting.

Cyrus pulled TJ into a hug, squeezing him tight, in an attempt to push away any hurt TJ was feeling. Cyrus was so beyond angry. How could Kira be so cruel? He never wants to see TJ hurting.especially when that hurt was caused by a senseless reason. Kira was a bully and for some reason, TJ was her target. It just wasn’t fair.

Cyrus could tell that TJ was getting uncomfortable around all these people. He knew TJ was trying to hold himself together and put on a strong face for them. As he hugged TJ, he whispered “Wanna go to the swings?” TJ  nods slightly as a response.

Both boys let go of each other as they go to stand up. “We are going to go, okay?” Cyrus gives them all a weak smile. Everyone understand and bids their farewells. Right before TJ walks out the door, Buffy grabs his arm. “Hey, you know we got your back, okay? We will figure out a way to handle Kira.” TJ gives her a little smile. “Thanks, Driscoll.”

*************

It's about 6:30 when they get to the swingset. The sun is starting to set, and the park is pretty empty. TJ likes it that way. Now it can be just him and Cyrus. He takes a seat on the swing next to Cyrus’. “Hey Cy?”

“Yea?”

“I am glad we told your friends… 

“Me too...but can I ask you something?” The shorter boy asks meekly.

“Anything, Muffin.”

“Why did you change your mind about telling them? Was it just for me?”

“Well part of it was for you..” The blond says honestly. “But part of it was for me too. I was kind of hoping that...they could be my friends too. I know that sounds pretty lame but sometimes  I get jealous of anyone who has friends. Besides you, I don’t really have any.”

“That is not lame, not lame at all. And I think after tonight, you have a huge group of friends.”

Tj smiles at the thought of that. He clears his throat to continue speaking. “I really am sorry for not telling you about Kira. I just did not want you to worry.”

Cyrus looks around for anyone who may be watching. They might have come out to their friends but neither of them are ready to come out to anyone else. Their friends are pretty understanding people, but Shadyside could be kind of conservative. Not every kid, or even adult would be so kind to them. When Cyrus is sure they are alone, he twists in his swing to face TJ. He grabs the other boy’s hand.

“Teej, it is my job to worry about you. It is part of the whole boyfriend deal.. Think about it, You would want me to tell you if something was happening to me, right?”

“Yeah, of course!” *TJ says almost matter of factly.

“Well I feel the same way. Kira doesn’t get to bully my boyfriend and get away with it, you understand?” Cyrus says in a very controlled voice.

TJ nods.How could he be so dumb to believe that Cyrus wouldn’t want to hear about his problems, about his bully. God. He does not understand how Cyrus does it  He already thought Cyrus was attractive, but he has never looked cuter than right now. TJ took in the image in front of him. Cyrus’ face looked so confident as he spoke about standing up for his boyfriend. Adding to that, Cyrus was still in TJ’s hoodie. The sleeves were pushed up slightly and the hood was draped down the top of Cyrus’ back.

TJ reaches for one of the strings hanging from the hoodie, and plays with it as Cyrus stops talking and looks at him. TJ’s green eyes meet  Cyrus’ brown. He bites the bottom of his lip as he notices Cyrus’ eyes flicker down to his lips. He stands up from his swing and steps closer to the other one. As he stands over Cyrus, he leans down and cups the bottom of Cyrus’ chin with on hand as his lips press against the other boy’s.

It is like the world stopped spinning around them. TJ has never felt more connected to another person in whole entire life. He could stay like this for hours, if only he did not have to breathe. When they break apart, TJ goes back to his swing and sits. They spend the next few minutes in blissful silence, both of them lost in their own happy thoughts.

Unfortunately, neither boy realizes they were not alone in the park. Come tomorrow, their whole worlds are going to change.

@abg-blah

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

First Strike - Cor Leonis

(This takes place during the first chapter of Born Into the Wilds. Here’s the Link to AO3.)

Cor sat near the radio set in the military issued tent, arms crossed over his chest, and frowned at nothing. It was the early hours of the morning – dawn wouldn't set in for another two hours – and something within him was too restless to let him sleep.

At this point in time he had been a military man for over half of his life and he knew to trust his gut feeling. And his gut told him that something was fishy about this whole situation.

As General of the Lucian army and Marshall in this war, it was his duty to know the finer workings of the army as a whole, and not just the Crownsguard he had direct control over, ever since Clarus stepped down to only focus on his duty as a King's Shield. He knew the people working under him and trusted them to watch his back and do what had to be done. Most of their duties fell under guarding the Citadel, the King and securing the dwindling numbers of supply lines going in and out of the Insomnia.

The last of the big divisions – and the youngest – was the Kingsglaive and at the same time they were his biggest headache. Regis had had a good idea with drafting every willing refugee into his newly built special forces, but it had the negative effect of every Lucian native commander that may have been qualified for the job refusing the post. Since the Kingsglaive was to be the only active fighting unit of the military they needed a qualified commander.

Finding Titus Drautos for the job had been a stroke of luck.

The Captain was half Galahdian, half something else that apparently didn't matter because he carried a Galahdian name and had managed to nearly single handedly guide a group of refugees into the city. They had been part of the last wave that had been allowed into the city before the borders had been closed for good.

Cor still remembered how the slightly younger man had looked then. Dirty, emaciated, but his eyes had burned with a fire that still managed to impress him to this day. And that ragged, wilful young man had flown through base training with a discipline that had amazed everybody. He had earned himself the trust of the Galahdians and that small handful of other refugees that made up the newly formed Kingsglaive and had been made their captain.

However, there was something that didn't sit well with Cor. No matter how he trusted Titus and his capabilities as a captain. And that was why he sat here tonight.

Everybody higher up in the food chain of the military that had to deal with happenings outside the protective embrace of the wall had their informants. Most of them were members of the Border-patrol. Cor's own network spanned a bit farther since he had been part of then Prince Regis' entourage on his journey to Altissia, but it had nothing on the assumed vastness of Titus'.

It was mostly guesswork on Cor's part, which was why he never breathed a word on it to anybody. In their current situation they didn't need infighting on top of everything else. However, it was disconcerting that he couldn't even begin to guess where some of Titus' information was coming from. It didn't happen often, now far less than at the beginning.

Maybe that was why it was bothering him so much. That or hurt pride, but he thought he knew himself well enough to recognize the signs of it.

When he had heard about this truly reckless and stupid plan of Titus' to infiltrate a newly built Niflheimr base, because an informant of his had made allusions to plans of some kind of magic suppressing technology, all alarm bells had gone off in his head.

He didn't know what had been said in the meeting to convince Regis of this plan and he still wasn't happy about that, but it was no use to cry over spilt milk. Instead he did as he always had since he had become part of the Crownsguard at age 14: he rolled with the punches and made his own plans.

Currently he was on a military exercise drilling his forces in guerrilla warfare in mountainous terrain, that just so happened to be relatively close to the new base. Clarus had stared at him as if he knew exactly what Cor was doing. Cor himself had all but dared Clarus to breathe a word about this.

The steady light of the lantern next to the radio station on the table burned in his eyes. Cor blinked. He checked his watch and then turned the radio on.

The reception was strangely spotty even after he fiddled with the buttons and switches. He cursed quietly. There was a reason he wasn't a radio operator. There was a whirring sound, more static, a click. Then a voice he could identify as Lazarus: “On my mark.”

He listened to the chatter as best as he could. Which was not very well, but he might have learned a new Galahdian swear word or two.

Another person stepped into the tent. Quiet steps drew near over the rocky ground of the haven and a hand pushed his away from the radio set.

“Didn't we say you would keep your hands to yourself when it comes to the radios, Marshal?” asked Dustin with a grin on his face.

Cor just raised an eyebrow and gave him an even stare until his friend and subordinate huffed a quiet laugh and set a cup of coffee down in front of him.

“Here you go, Marshal.”

“Thank you, Dustin.”

Cor hummed in appreciation as he took a sip. Dustin was the only one he knew that somehow managed to make their military issued coffee into something palatable.

“I knew this was one of your gut feelings,” stated Dustin. “Those are the only times you pull something like this.”

Taking another sip of his coffee Cor watched as the other man dragged another chair over and started to fiddle with the radio. Slowly the voices grew clearer and the static less.

“I knew why I made you come,” he said instead of answering the unasked question.

Dustin threw him a reproachful stare that Cor returned without blinking. He had been at the receiving end of Regis', Clarus' and Cid's stares combined; he had grown immune to them a long time ago. Dustin knew that, too, and instead of saying anything else, simply leaned back in his chair, sipping at his own coffee. The two of them listened in silence as the Kingsglaives voices drifted through the tent.

Everything seemed to be going fine. Until Glaive Khara's voice crackled through the speakers.

“Luche, call the Captain, now! We need an extraction team and Kresch won’t be enough.”

“That will take more time than we might have.”

“I don’t fucking care. Do it. I hope to the ancestors that Drautos has a good explanation for this fuck up. Otherwise I’ll haunt him from beyond the gate.”

Cor didn't jump up or curse, even when he wanted to. Instead he went completely still. His gut feeling had been right. Again. Carefully he set his coffee cup down and turned towards Dustin who now wasn't the amiable friend sitting next to him, but his subordinate awaiting his orders. They listened for another few seconds.

“Go wake the others. We'll be on the move in ten.”

With a sharp salute Ser Ackers left the tent and not half a minute later the siren sounded. The radio gave a sharp whine and then the connection broke. Cor hissed and turned it off before leaving the tent. He walked towards the edge of the haven they were using as their base and stared into the darkness. It wouldn't be too long now, until the sun rose, which was lucky because the deamons could make their advance stop in its tracks, if they weren't careful.

Behind him he could hear people cursing and yelling while they tried to find out what was going on.

An hour, Titus had said over the radio. How was he planning to manage that when he was supposed to be in Insomnia? The Crown City was half a days ride away, if one drove without break. It could be done, if one went by airship. The thought made something heavy settle in his stomach.

Dustin Ackers stepped up next to him. “Marshal, we're ready to go.”

The drive took a little over an hour. Under better circumstances they could have made it in maybe 45 minutes, but they had to maneuver around a newly emerged daemon nest. Cor's face was a thunder cloud.

First light was a silvery wisp on the horizon when they drew to a halt, their vans hidden in a small group of trees. Cor could hear the sounds of firing guns the moment he stepped out of the van before it had truly stopped. He could practically feel Dustin’s disapproving gaze drilling into his back. Cor didn’t care.

It didn’t take long for him to organize the people he had taken with him. He had trained every single one of them and everyone had gotten the briefing while they were on the way.

They were to clear the terrain of enemies and rescue any survivor they came across. The people organized themselves into two teams which consisted of two units each. Cor examined the happenings with a critical eye.

In front of him stood 27 people waiting for his go ahead. Not quite enough for this kind of clean up and rescue but it would have to do.

“This is not an ordinary rescue mission,” Cor started, his voice hard and cutting. All eyes were on him. “Be careful out there; since the enemy managed to block communications the others cannot come to help you fast enough should something happen.” His gaze grew more stern than cold for a moment. None of the people in front of him showed any sign of hesitation. “Go, and may Bahamut guide you.”

At the beginning of his little guerilla exercise he had divided the four squads he had managed to take with him, into two teams. Team Steel consisting of Squads Shinryu and Almasy, and Team Wire consisting of Squads Qun'mi and Rui. The only squad at full capacity he had managed to take was the Shinryu Squad. The other three lacked either members due to sickness, injury or death in the field.

Now Cor himself lead Team Steel towards the sounds of fighting and Ser Ackers lead Team Wire towards the Base to stake out the situation there. Squad Rui was also to acquire all information they could from the Niflheimr network before the connection was cut, if it wasn't already.

They found what was left of Kresch Unit entrenched in a group of trees that grew on a small hill. Smart decision. Without prompting the two Squads with him split up, Shinryu for a frontal attack and Almasy slunk off into the undergrowth to get rid of the snipers and the commander, if there was one. Cor himself summoned his sword from the armiger; he could feel a strange resistance when he did so but ignored that for now, and charged at the MT trying to attack Squad Shinryu from behind. A few seconds later the rest of Kresch Unit joined the fray.

The fight was over within 20 minutes with only one causality on his side.

“You're damn late,” he heard someone grouch. Judging from the voice it probably was Sir Ostium.

“I apologize, Sir Ostium, but we had to pick our way around a deamon's nest on our way here. I hope our service was to your satisfaction,” Cor said in an even deadpan.

“General!” the Glaive cried, his eyes growing comically large.

Cor suppressed a smile, his face settling into a dark frown. “We must make haste. Sir Bellum, tell me what you can about the situation on the base while we get there. Squad Alamy will stay here and take care of the people too injured to fight.”

“Ser!”

Sir Bellum stepped forward with a sharp salute. The Glaive was pale, sure signs that magical exhaustion wasn't far away, and covered in cuts and bruises, but seemed fine otherwise.

All in all there were eleven people left able to fight. Cor nodded, satisfied. Together with Team Wire they should hopefully be enough.

“Units Roh and Firn are sitting fr... ducks,” stated Sir Bellum while they jogged through the trees at a brisk pace. “It was a trap. According to Sir Lazarus, General Ulldor is here and set the whole thing up. He couldn't tell me how many there were exactly before the connection was cut, but he said there were more than Captain Drautos reported.”

Not enough. That was not enough information. Cor hoped that Team Wire had been able to find out more.

Dustin Ackers was waiting for them by the entrance gate. A broken down MA Veles laid near it in a crumpled heap along with a squad of magitek soldiers.

“Report,” Cor barked the moment they arrived.

“The base is empty with the exception of the drill ground. It's been closed off and until now we haven't been able to get in. Squad Qun'mi is currently trying to hack into the electronics to open the gates. There is some kind of shooting mechanism that goes off when you try to climb over the wall. Three people have been shot, but luckily no one has died yet.”

Cor frowned in discontent. Behind them people were cursing. Sir Ostium being amongst the loudest.

“Ser Ackers!” called a young woman, running up to them. Her name was Energa Curro, the youngest and newest member of Squad Qun'mi and a budding stealth specialist. She skidded to a halt the moment she saw Cor and saluted. “Marshal! We have managed to hack the gates. Waiting for further instructions, Ser.”

The Marshal's long legs practically ate the distance towards the drill ground. “Squad Qun'mi will secure the gate and take out the automatic shooting system. Rui will continue with securing what information they can. Shinryu and and Kresch will follow me in the assault. Concentrate on the heavy hitters first.”

They arrived at the gate and Cor gave the order to open it. Sir Ostium was the first person through. The situation on the drill ground was a strange one. The enemy had been eliminated entirely, with no hint towards if General Ulldor was still on the premises.

With sharp eyes Cor took in his surroundings. Black marks, some still smoking, were littered around him, the highest number being situated around a cluster of Glaives surrounded by a staggering number of fallen enemies. There were MT torn limb from limb, twisted metal everywhere and the heavy smell of ozone in the air.

He stepped further inside, ignoring the loud questions of Sir Ostium and Sir Lazarus' attempts to calm him down.

There, at the heart of destruction, in a circle of fallen MT and MA Veles, laid Sir Ulric, clearly injured, and being supported by Sir Khara and Sir Arra. Startling greyish blue eyes caught his. For some reason they reminded him of a lightning storm. Sir Ulric threw him a feral smile, all bloody teeth and cutting edges. Cor couldn't really say why, but to him it looked like a promise.

[theprivilegedshatlord-blog]

I am the friend known as “H” from CancerChaser blog in Chapter 6

I am here to corroborate what my friend said and provide my side of the story of this situation. Walhartonsclub (WC) told me about CancerChaser (CC) back in 2016 after the first incident where CC was wiling out on WC because of what seemed to a misunderstanding of affording a phone. I initially told WC to ignore him because he was not worth shit or at least is what I initially thought. From there he kept me informed about what CC did throughout.Now to go into when i was first referenced in the chronicles about CancerChaser. From what I knew at the time, CC asked WC to send emails over and over from phone to his email. Have no idea why would he need WC to do that. He could have used something like Imgur. Given that CC had a phone that was not a smartphone based on what I was told, it would probably be impossible. Of course trying to make simple suggestions to him like this is enough to make CC go into a hair-triggering temper tantrum, so there is no use to try to convince him to upgrade. It was 2016, being up to date shouldn’t be too hard, you can even get refurbished smartphones for a fraction of full retail price. My parents have the latest phones and they are older than CC by decades. Why did CC chose WC instead of other friends for these favors is beyond me. So he asked and asked and asked WC to send him these pics over and over. WC complied with generosity. WC likes to please his friends. He has pleased me multiple times. He also tries to be the best person he can be. Needless to say CC took advantage of him.So when it came time for CC return the favor, he was resistant initially. When he finally did start playing, he did until after half of the game was over. The game was Spring Breeze from Kirby’s Super Star on Super NIntendo. Did you know that Spring Breeze is a remake of the original Kirby’s Dream Land on Game Boy with a missing level and boss? So CC did not even bother finishing such a short abridged game. That betrayal was just foul play on CC’s end.

Then CC would later use WC’s insecurities to gain him back and asked for more favors. WC then approached me on rethinking the situation. I initially thought that he probably did not like the game and was bored. I made the suggestion to pick a game that has much less interaction. Like some touch screen DS or 3DS game. WC brought up Warioware Twisted Touched!, so I thought would be a good choice there. My reasoning is that CC probably has no real interest in video games. I have heard that he has play Super Mario Bros. 3 growing up. Which makes me realize that CC is a very casual non-gamer person.

Reading the situation in question at Chapter 5 reveals that CC had been simply holding the controller where the direction pad in the upper right corner and seemingly pressed no buttons which means he was faking interest and had no intention at all to return the favor. He really should have said that he had no interest in playing video games. He was lying to manipulate WC. Which comes to no surprise that CC refused to play Warioware Twisted Touched! when asked. He cannot play easy games. He cannot play very simple games. But he would lie about having an interest only for him to evade that with excuses. With friends like these who needs bullies?

The next time I was involved was when WC was having his panic attack resulting from personal issues that are stated in Chapter 6. I have received certain pictures that hinted that he was contemplating suicide. Being under vacation time from my job, I decided to actually come see WC to check up on him myself. When I saw him, he was sitting on a couch. When he saw me he was excited to see me I asked if he took any of the pills or hurt himself, he told me that he gave himself more time to think about it. Perhaps to think about the people that love him.

He told me about the situation that led up to the panic attack. Best way to describe what was happening without revealing confidential information is that someone was very sick and emotions erupted. I had told him that he needs more time to hang out with friends. We not only did Spring Breeze in full, but also Meta Knight’s Revenge, Dyna Blade, and Great Cave Offensive as well. Games in that collection that are larger than Spring Breeze. We did not get to do Milky Way Wishes that day, but we did eventually got to do it at another time. We also played Brawl Brothers, all I remember is that there was a code to play the Japanese version and we did that and completed the game. It was short at 5 levels long. We also played Events in Super Smash Bros. for Wii U. We did not clear all of the event, only some but we did have fun.

At Applebees we discussed the situation further. There I learned that he had sent the same pics to other friends as well which made me concerned. I thought that WC was going to get a wellness check on him or worse be committed to a mental ward for days. I only knew one recipient among the 7 besides myself (I never met CC in person). The person I knew is a mutual friend. The mutual friend never really got to see the messages, so he was unaware (it reached an old phone and when he got a new one, the messages were deleted). The mutual was relieved to know that WC was okay and felt better. And yes the mutual is informed of CC and his bullshit antics; I can confirm that he heavily resents CC, as I do.

So I had to get WC to do damage control to avoid being institutionalized. As information like this can scare people and be irrational. We needed for cooler heads to prevail. So WC told everyone that it was for attention. So WC can still run his panel at a upcoming convention and not be stuck that weekend in a mental hospital. He really needed to avoid the ruining of plans like that.

After all, my cousin once told me about the one time she told exactly one person that she felt suicidal because an aunt of hers  being diagnosed of cancer (from her dad’ side, I’m related through our moms being sisters). Telling her best friend was enough for the BF to call the ambulance and my cousin had to stay in a mental ward for 16 days!

CC’s response was very callous. As far as I know, he never asked what was going on around that time. He just stayed silent and only responded with that shitty “I knew it” bullshit when he received a fucking coverup. WC was crying for help and I answered the call. I live 2 hours away and this asshat lives minutes away in walking speed, yet gives radio silence to someone he calls himself a friend to, is mere blocks away, while I invest in gas and mileage to make sure WC is okay. Some friend CC is. For someone who claims to be “a good friend” in his hate mail; he sure shows no effort in even trying to check up on him. Real piece of scum CC is.

I later go to see the panel and I liked it. Which comes to no surprise in my perspective. The next day I played Streets of Rage 1 with WC. The only other thing I remember is that there was some dude I met who was in a wheelchair because he broke his foot days before.

Now for my thoughts about CancerChaser and his narcissism.

Walhartonsclub would later work for New York Comic-Con and buy the Super NES Classic. Which meant for the later part of September and early October he would be very busy. He also was seeking for connections, so there would not be any room for free time. CancerChaser did not give a shit about the adult responsibilities WC had to do. And despite CC being older than WC, CC would not take no for an answer and start guilt tripping WC. Having enough of CC’s scummy actions, WC finally cut ties. This was met with harassment and hatemail. Which truly shows CC’s irredeemable character in full form.

CC is a fucking disgrace to everything it means to being gay. If I was gay, I would rather live in a fucking fraternity of homophobic bullies that to ever have anything to do with CC. This old man never seemed to learn a single thing about accountability or responsibility. How dare does he interfere with a job? What gives him the right to call his target for the simple reason to give expletives to him? And his emails? Disgusting does not come close. Making empty threats to for law enforcement for intimidation and truly showing his true colors on how he uses people only to claim they are useless after the fact. And his latest unprovoked email where he makes more empty threats and more shitty insults is fucked up. I have heard that CC passed by a block away from WC’s home twice after 2017. That is obvious projection. CC’s knows WC’s location. Clearly CC is the stalker. Stalking close to his target’s home and then acts like he is the victim and being harassed is scummy behavior. I have never seen such a scummy person ever as far as stalkers and harassers go.

I honestly have no consideration for him as a human being. If he receives anything terrible short of death, it is karma. He deserves nothing but negativity and hate. This man is among the lowest of monsters. I have had to deal with people with psychosis several years ago, but this man is worse by the power of 10. There is bad people and there is EXTREME SCUM. CancerChaser is the latter. The only people worse than CancerChaser are child rapists, pedophiles, murderers, terrorists, abusive parents, and human traffickers. All those aside, CancerChaser is the worst kind of person out there. Fuck this man. Fuck him HARD!

And finally I got one thing to announce. I get the feeling that people do not really want to read long as fuck posts like this on tumblr. I am going to fix that. I am going to working on readings of the CancerChaser blog and post them on YouTube so people who don’t really care about reading essays can listen to the situation as well. Because we really to expose CancerChaser and let tons of people know who much inhumane scumbag CC truly is.

[bloojayoolie]

Apparently, Beautiful, and Best Friend: Very sweet, shy, tender hearted brindle boy in need of a soft voice and a quiet, structured home where he can feel safe, loved, and thrive. TIMON OLUNTEEP Id 67422, 4 Yrs., 38 petite lbs., Dreaming of a family of his own, at Manhattan ACc TO BE KILLED 8/27/19 From Shy to Social, Smiley Boy Timon Wants to find His Forever Home! ~ Timon is a tiny little guy with big bat ears and a gentle heart, who craves a loving & quiet home and a family to love. He was found in the streets and brought to the shelter by police, a teeny, tiny petite little man of only 38 lbs who was frightened after his experience and only wanted to feel safe and loved. But the shelter is no place for sensitive souls with tender hearts, and a bravery deficit, so TIMON didn’t find the quiet, calm, “safe space” he had hoped for. He’s so incredibly adorable with his big bat ears, his white socks and his gorgeous tiger brindle coat. Add to that his big smile, or the way he sits so straight and tall, trying to project a courage he doesn’t feel as he tries to negotiate the Brooklyn Center. The volunteers do their best to give him comfort, always taking time to talk to him in a soft voice, snuggling with him on a bench, softly petting him and telling him not to worry – it will be ok. But it won’t be ok if no one picks this beautiful sweet boy. He needs an experienced foster or adopter who can give him the quiet space he will need to find his rudder. Can you help this little man out? Message our page or email us at MustLoveDogsNYC@gmail.com for assistance fostering or adopting him now. A volunteer writes: Hakuna Matata is not Timon's moto but it could be if he gets to move in with you, as your forever best friend. Timon is a handsome lad whose face and moves light up as he distances himself from the care center. He strolls beautifully, does his business, sits on command and respects small critters and other dogs. I was surprised to see that the noises and crowding of the park did not bother him. He seemed to feel like home. Timon got lots of compliments from passerby's. He is a unique Boroughbred I said! Still everyone was trying to take a guess about his mix. Maybe you will too? Timon is shy but after a while spent with him, he will jump on a bench near his caretaker and accept caresses. There is love at first sight and love that comes with trust and time. Timon is waiting for you at the Manhattan Care Center, dreaming to be his carefree self, in your hands! Volunteer Evelyne Cumps writes: Timon (67422) is a lightweight (37lbs) brindley 4 year old neutered male, a very elegant, healthy stray that was very shy upon arrival but opened up amazingly. He truly is a favorite of all here at the care center but for some reason has not caught the attention of the public. may be because he is such a quite mouse in his kennel. He is one pretty dog who could have some BT up his family tree. He was so shy in PG but now, he plays nicely with males and females in PG. he is a great walker, goes to the park, is fine with all its activities and noises, nears other pooches politely, sits, comes when called and is likely HT. His behavioral eval is level 3 as he was scared (although NEVER) aggressive upon arrival and for days. Staff, behav staff and vols have been working daily with him and Timon has really bloomed. He is waiting for his Pumba at the Manhattan Care Center! MY MOVIE: Timon, The Magnifique! https://youtu.be/ldDHl3QiJZo TIMON, ID# 67422, 4 yrs old, 38.6 lbs, Unaltered Male Manhattan ACC, Medium Mixed Breed, Brown Brindle / White Surrender Reason: Stray, brought by police Shelter Assessment Rating: NEW HOPE ONLY Medical Behavior Rating: BEHAVIOR NOTES Means of surrender (length of time in previous home): Stray Behavior toward strangers: A woman, living with dog, said he growls at her and snaps FOSTER BEHAVIOR NOTE Timon was with the foster and a 10 year old girl at the street came close to him, Timon jumped on her and scratched her. SHELTER ASSESSMENT SUMMARIES - Date of assessment: 30-Jun-2019 Leash Walking Strength and pulling: Moderate Reactivity to humans: None Reactivity to dogs: None Leash walking comments: None Sociability Loose in room (15-20 seconds): Fearful – avoids; tense; cowers Call over: No approach – nervous, tense Sociability comments: Body tense Handling Soft handling: Fearful Exuberant handling: Fearful Handling comments: Body tense, tail down, moves away when legs are touched Arousal Jog: Follows (body low) Arousal comments: None Knock: No response Knock Comments: None Toy: No response Toy comments: None PLAYGROUP NOTES - DOG TO DOG SUMMARIES: 7/1-7/3: When introduced off leash to the female greeter dog, Timon approaches, sniffs, and continues to follow while sniffing. He solicits play at times, but is more intent on following and sniffing. 7/5-7/15: Timon engages in bouncy play with a female dog. 7/16-PRESENT: Timon is playful in a group of male and female dogs. INTAKE BEHAVIOR: Date of intake: 28-Jun-2019 Summary: scared but warmed up MEDICAL BEHAVIOR: Date of initial: 28-Jun-2019 Summary: trembling, tense, fearful, allowed handling ENERGY LEVEL: We have no history on Timon so we cannot be certain of his behavior in a home environment. At the care center, he displays a medium level of activity. IN SHELTER OBSERVATIONS: Timon was initially fearful and uncomfortable with touch when he arrived at the care center. Through daily interactions with handlers and dogs in playgroup, Timon has become increasingly social and on 7/5-7/6 began soliciting attention from handlers. He will approach with soft body and wagging tail and when handlers pet him he will lean in. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION: NEW HOPE ONLY Behavior Asilomar: TM - Treatable-Manageable Recommendations: No children (under 13) Recommendations comments: No children: Due to how uncomfortable Timon is currently with touch and novel stimuli, and that he was reported to growl and snap with the person he was staying with, we feel that an adult-only home would be most beneficial at this time. New Hope Rescue Only Potential challenges: Fearful/potential for defensive aggression. Potential challenges comments: Fearful/potential for defensive aggression: Timon was reported to growl and snap by the person he was staying with. At the care center, he has been very fearful. Please see handout on Fearful/potential for defensive aggression. MEDICAL EXAM NOTES 11-Jul-2019 Progress Exam SO Post op recheck skin -- clean, dry incision site A healing sx site P continue to monitor post op 10-Jul-2019 Spay/Neuter Summary Surgery report - canine neuter Was this dog a cryptorchid? No - normal canine scrotum and testicles Scrotal incision along median raphe Spermatic Cord Ligation with: 0 Monocryl in modified Miller's knots Sub Q closure: 0 Monocryl in single stitch Skin closure? Left open to drain Green linear tattoo near incision site to denote neuter status. Pre-op exam. Reported occasionally sneezing. S: Tense, trembling during exam O: BAR-H, MMs pink and moist EENT: No discharge OU, AU, nose. PLNs: Not significantly enlarged. H/L: NSR, NMA. Eupnic, quiet lung sounds. No coughing or sneezing during exam. Abd: Soft, no pain on palpation, no masses palpated M/S/I: Amb x4. No skin lesions noted. UG: Male intact, testicles soft and symmetrical. Neuro: Alert and appropriate, no sign neurological deficiencies A: Appropriate surgical candidate P: Neuter today Anesthesia Summary: Canine Neuter Pre Medication: Hydromorphine 4 mg, injectable, 0.18 mL IM Dexmedetomidine 0.5 mg injectable, 0.2 mL IM Induction: Propofol 10 mg, injectable, 3 mL IM Anesthesia Notes: Size 8.5 fr. ET tube placed, maintained general anesthesia throughout procedure on isoflurane and O2. Used rebreathing system with 3 L bag. 22 g IVC placed in right cephalic vessel. Intraoperative IV LRS at 5-10mL/kg/hr at: 170 mL/hr Rimadyl 50mg/mL injectable, 1.4 mL, SQ, once post-operatively, for post-operative pain relief. Other: Testicular block 0.88 mL of Lidocaine 0.88 mL of Sterile water Recovery Status Recovery was uneventful. Post-operative Medications Prescribed: Rimadyl 75 mg Tablets, Give 75 mg (1 Tablet), Orally, once a day for 2 days beginning the day after surgery. Anesthetist/Surgical Monitor (P#’s): 28-Jun-2019 DVM Intake Exam. Estimated age: 3-5y. Microchip noted on Intake? No. History : stray brought by police, Subjective: BAR, Observed Behavior - trembling and tense, allowed all handling, but very fearful. Evidence of Cruelty seen – no. Evidence of Trauma seen – no. Objective: T = , P =wnl, R =wnl, BCS 4/9, EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted. Oral Exam: unable to examine due to muzzle. PLN: No enlargements noted. H/L: NSR, NMA, Lungs clear, eupnic. ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated. U/G: male intact 2 testes palpable in scrotum. MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat. CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities. Rectal: external normal. Assessment: apparently healthy. Prognosis: good. Plan: neuter and all intake tasks. SURGERY: Okay for surgery *** TO FOSTER OR ADOPT *** HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! *PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! ** STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: https://ift.tt/2ynocEZ Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account \ Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU *CANNOT* GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications.

[quietpagan]

What Falls and What Grows, ch. 18

*Warning for suggestive themes, bloody violence, character death, and violence and injury to a child*

Chapter description in end notes.

  I wouldn’t mind if life left me…

Wingless

Burnt to cinders

Ripped by storm

Scattered…like weeds

Celestially wounded

Without cherry blossoms to perish with

But I would cry

With head held in my hands

If it left me…unfulfilled.

-          Sanober Khan

  The baths were honestly becoming her favorite place, and Alex moaned when she sank into the warm, sulfuric waters. The stench of decaying flesh and gore washed off from her and away into the rest of the underground river, and she fervently scrubbed her arms and face, taking care to not aggravate her wounds but ignoring all orders to keep her bandages dry. Getting wendigo residue off was more important than not having to re-wrap her wounds. She hated that thing.

It was a good thing that the armor, once banished, reappeared whole and untouched by previous battles, or else she would have the worst time repairing it and getting the blood and muck out of its crevices.

She could only scrub her hair with one hand, since her top left shoulder had a very lovely gash in it. It was getting longer and she no longer bothered to keep it bound in a ponytail. It didn’t act quite as stiff and immobile as troll hair was supposed to, but it still wasn’t as tame as human hair. She wondered if she should cut it, but it was the only thing that made her feel rellay feminine; her species of troll didn’t have much in the way of sexual dimorphism apart from size, and there was nothing that could be considered feminine in a human perspective. She’d gotten the gist that females of her kind were supposed to be larger and scarier, but in terms of human standards she probably looked more male than ever. Throughout four centuries, Alex had always been more aggressive of mind and action if she could get away with it, but she had never thought herself unfeminine, and the loss of it with her troll form was a bit jarring.

Bagdwella at least could boast the hips and the bust; washing in the gleaming semi-dark, Alex felt nothing but flat planes and developing muscle. Missing boobs was not something that she had anticipated when taking up her troll form for good.

But trolls had different standards of femininity and beauty, she remembered. Although her human form became uglier and uglier over the years, due to her two forms beginning to blend, the twisted scars and muscles she was accumulating in her troll body were considered attractive, which would simply have to do. After her years of manipulating and flirting her way out of sticky situations, it was an ugly truth that being attractive in at least one way afforded one more opportunities and paved easier paths.

One thing, at least, had not changed, and Alexandra laughed out loud in the cavern at the thought of sidling up to Draal and asking him to help make her feel like a woman. The poor boy would probably have no idea what she was talking about, but his father, at least, would have himself a ghostly heart attack.

Still giggling, Alex rose from the baths and left for the Forge, not bothering to don more than her trousers and belt, since wearing her vest was less a necessity than a habit.

True to his word, Blinky was waiting there for her, looking significantly more grouchy than usual and it did not take much to guess that he was still annoyed about the trick she had pulled the evening before.

“Ah, Alexandra,” he said, throwing out his arms in welcome. “Our illustrious and honorable Trollhunter, returned from a dangerous but successful mission! I have no doubt that your considerable skills will hardly be challenged by today’s training.” Alexandra’s mood, lightened by her relaxing morning, fell immediately. Nobody heaped that much praise on somebody without planning on shitting on their day.

“You have either excelled or steadily improved in all areas except one,” Blinky said, crossing his arms behind his back and pacing around the arena’s edge. “So today I introduce to you your opponent: the lady Vorfrida!”

Alexandra turned to the right as a door opened, and saw a troll of Nomura’s ilk jump into the arena.

Blinky, returning to his spot by the stairs, pressed the button for the arena’s controls.

“May she teach you well,” he said with a grin. The floor shivered beneath Alexandra’s feet, and when she looked back up at Blinky there was a very ugly amusement in his eyes.

Fuck.

Alex had it made where strength and agility were needed; she had four arms to block and attack, enough upper body strength to hold her own, and flexibility to roll and maneuver however she liked. Her troll body’s main detriment was that, in contrast to her sizeable upper torso and arm strength, she had itty-bitty mother-fucking weiner dog legs.

Vorfrida jumped like a cricket as the arena turned from its usual flat surface into the three-dimensional nightmare that was hidden under its floors, and Alexandra vehemently cursed under her breath.

Blinky, being a cousin of Alex’s clan, knew very well that they were one of the few species of trolls that had absolutely no jumping ability. Even Draal’s stumpy little legs could get him far, far into the air, and a troll like Vorfrida, who was tall, lithe, and built with legs like springs, laughably outmatched Alex.

The other woman was an acrobat in comparison to Alex’s clumsy, heavy jumps and stumbles. She used her arms as much as she could, but the reality was that even if she had the reach to catch a ledge, she still needed to be able to jump high enough to actually grab it, and she probably looked like a really hideous little kid, trying to hop onto a too-high table.

Fucking Blinky, Alex grumbled internally, running forward and grabbing another level as it rose past her. Vorfrida, who had been allowing her to get her bearings, swung up like a lemur and kicked her in the face, nearly causing Alex to lose her grip. She swat, but the troll was already dancing across the next level, watching her with amusement.

“You’re putting too much on your legs,” Vorfrida said, walking along the edge of the level as it turned vertically. “You’re never going to catch up that way. Use your arms as much as you can and just let your legs supplement.”

Alex growled with effort but pulled herself up, pushing off her level with all six limbs. She landed on the level below rather farther than before, but the movement had pulled at the cuts on her shoulder and when she landed, she landed badly.

Blinky, being the goddamn son of the Devil, apparently was having a marvelous time watching.

“If I apologize, will you stop this,” Alexandra yelled, teetering unpleasantly on the edge of a blade. Blinky raised a brow.

“Why, Master Alexandra, I quite forgave you,” he said calmly. “But this is an important part of your training, and I would be remiss as an instructor if I did not allow you to learn it.” “I’ve learned enough, thank you,” Alexandra snarled, managing to land a glancing hit on Vorfrida as she twirled past. “Are we done yet?!”

“Oh, good gracious no, we’ve barely started! I can’t imagine why you seem to be having such difficulty.”

Alexandra, lowering herself off of a ledge before Vorfrida could strike her, shot him a brief middle finger.

“You know bloody well why! We’re not made for this shit!”

She couldn’t see over her shoulder, but just as Vorfrida crouched down by her hands she heard the grin in Blinky’s voice.

“That, Master Alexandra,” he said, and she knew he was having himself a wonderful time, “is why we train.”

  Alexandra was allowed to collapse when she was finally able to grab Vorfrida’s knee and hurl her off of the top of the Death Arena, where she landed on one leg and sprained the ankle. Alex still had to get down, but it was so much easier when she didn’t have another troll trying to pin her. Vorfrida allowed Alex to help her into the healing dwell, and they parted on amiable terms. She and Blinky, however, were apparently still at odds, because once she dropped Vorfrida off he gestured for her to follow him without a single word. She paused to buy some breakfast and then hurried after him as he slid through the crowds on the way to the library.

AAARRRGGHH was already inside and happily ate the food wrapper that Alex offered him.

“Good session?” he asked, grinning at the glare Alexandra shot him. She finished off her breakfast and threw herself down on a heap of books at his side, stretching luxuriously before lounging against his thigh. AAARRRGGHH was a touchy enough troll that she could get away with it, but she knew it would probably annoy Blinky to see her getting familiar with his friend.

“Your dear companion is a sadist, you know that?”

AAARRRGGHH rumbled happily and Alex relaxed further, enjoying the unusual amount of heat he put out against her sore and tired limbs. Blinky came in a few minutes later and was, as she predicted, annoyed.

“You may need to take notes, Master Alexandra,” he said, shoving a pencil and booklet into her left hands. She pulled herself into a sitting position as he scoured the bookshelves.

“I know that Vendel wished to be a part of our meetings,” he said quietly, with a short glance to the doorway. “But – given the unusual nature of our situation – I felt it may be prudent to discuss what we must do about the Killahead Bridge without…erm, censure.”

Alexandra was at full attention now.

“We have the bridge piece,” Blinky continued, pushing a desk away from the wall and peering through the bookshelves behind it. “In which case we have little worry about the bridge actually being completed whilst we formulate a plan, however! We cannot rely upon our one advantage, especially now that Trollmarket has proven itself to be not as invulnerable as we would have hoped.”

“The best course of action would be to steal the entire bridge, I should think,” said Alexandra. “Or find a way to truly destroy it. I can go back to the void and ask if there’s anything to be done there.”

“A reasonable idea, Master Alexandra, but consider: if the bridge were able to be destroyed in any way, why was it not?” Alex scratched her chin with her pencil, chewing the metal nub off of the end. “They could have wanted to be able to open it eventually,” she said quietly. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH both looked at her in surprise. She shrugged and leaned over her notebook, staring frankly at Blinky. “There’s no Trollhunting job without Gunmar and his army, is there? That’s what this whole job is about. Not everybody is as noble as you, Blinky.”

“…Su…ccinct, but not wholy accurate,” said Blinky slowly, hands wavering over a pile of crumbling scrolls. “The Trollhunter ‘job’ predates Gunmar’s reign; it was appointed as a way to battle the Gumm-Gumms, who were ruled by Orlagk the Oppressor at the time. Even with Gunmar dead, the title of Trollhunter would still be used for the warrior most capable of protecting both worlds, for even after Gunmar’s death there will still be danger, still be threats, do you see?” Alex nibbled on her pencil and nodded. “And destroying the Killahead Bridge will not destroy the cracks between our dimension and the Darklands; things will always be able to get through.”

“And just like Orlagk, when one leader falls, another will rise in his place.”

So much for the easy way out.

Alexandra lay back down on her pile of books, playing with the amulet in one hand.

“Then all we can do is try to prevent the inevitable for as long as possible,” she murmured, “and reduce Gunmar’s armies as much as we can.”

“Indeed. You said that you had a tentative alliance with the Changeling you spoke with, did you not?”

Alex huffed; Stricklander only allied himself for however long he felt it necessary, and breaking promises was like snapping a string of spider silk to a Changeling.

“For the gaggletack and Anstramonstrum crystal only. I merely gave them something to think about.”

“An unusual gesture,” Blinky said, quietly and with a hint of question.

Alexandra stayed silent, staring up at the carved ceiling as she thought.

This might not even end with me, she contemplated. She could die the next day, or a century from now. Gunmar’s defeat may come at the hand of the next Trollhunter, or never at all. She was merely the next name in a long list, the pen hovering in place for when the time came to cross her off and write the new name down.

I have a lot to do if I’m going to get anything done.

“I don’t want to alienate an entire people,” she said again, listening absently as Blinky sorted through books in the very back of the room. “They didn’t choose their ways; they didn’t choose which side they were taken in to. It wouldn’t be right for me to protect the troll and human worlds if I did not also protect those in between the two.”

“One would think that the Changelings have already chosen their sides,” said Blinky delicately. “As changeable as they may be, they have chosen Gunmar.”

“They’re brainwashed into a cult of violence and subjugation,” Alexandra said heavily. “They can break from that. We’ve already heard one story of it.” Behind Alex, AAARRRGGHH rumbled uneasily. Blinky paused from his search to glance at his friend, before resuming his perusal of the bowels of his library.

“Blinky, what the hell are you even looking for,” Alex said, raising her head just enough to look at him over the top of her chest. Blinky shoved a pile of books to a different area of floor and started to dig through them.

“I am looking for information on the bridge, Master Alexandra,” he said, finally coming up with a heavy blue volume. “And first-hand accounts are always the best. Especially when written by yours truly!”

Blinky set the book down with a THUD; the spine crackled and dust rose from the pages as he opened the tome. AAARRRGGHH had to duck his head to sneeze and Alex blinked dust from her eyes as she rose and sat at the table.

“How long as it been since that book’s been used?” “A few centuries, at least,” Blinky said distractedly, searching through the delicate pages. “I haven’t needed this sort of information since I got wind of a conspiracy two hundred and, oh, perhaps forty years…ago…”

He trailed off, looking at the table with distant eyes. Alex was about to ask what was wrong when he SNAPPED the book shut, releasing another cloud of itching dust.

“Blinky what the fuck,” Alexandra coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. AAARRRGGHH sneezed mightily.

AAARRRGGHH sneezed.

He sneezed.

Trolls couldn’t sneeze.

But AAARRRGGHH sneezed.

They didn’t have a gaggletack in the room and hadn’t AAARRRGGHH been tested already? He’d held the thing, tested other trolls with it – there was no way…

Blinky set down the book and hunched over, placing two hands against his stomach.

“Excuse me, dear friends,” he said in a pinched voice, “but my stomach seems to be giving me grief. I shall return in just a few minutes!” And then he left, abandoning Alexandra with a huge troll who could sneeze. Alexandra slowly edged around the table, carefully opening the book again and looking through it.

“I hope you didn’t eat whatever got him,” she murmured, trying to stall for time while Blinky hopefully fetched a gaggletack. AAARRRGGHH rumbled in response, knuckling through the crowded library to look at the book.

“Bridge,” he said thickly. “Not again.” “It won’t happen again,” Alex assured, still not certain if she were talking to AAARRRGGHH or a Changeling.  “We won’t let it happen.”

“Still new at Trollhunting,” he said.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Alex replied, smirking at him as she summoned her sword and leaned on it. “I’ve got myself covered.”

AAARRRGGHH…looked her up and down.

“See that,” he said, with the hint of a smile. Alexandra didn’t stumble, but it was a very near miss.

What. What?

AAARRRGGHH didn’t flirt, which was exactly why Alex had avoided flirting with him for the most part, since it would garner neither amusement nor favor. There was no reason to waste time flirting with someone if it wasn’t going to get her anywhere. And AAARRRGGHH did not look at her with interest. It was like a fucking glitch in the Matrix.

Blinky came back through the doorway with three arms full of food, the fourth hidden behind his back.

“Nothing like a bout of bad stomach to make one hungry again,” he said with a nervous laugh. “AAARRRGGHH, my fine fellow? A spot of breakfast?” He pressed a number of metal scraps and plastics into AAARRRGGHH’s arms, and when the larger troll happily began eating Blinky drew forth his hidden arm and gently tapped AAARRRGGHH with the gaggletack.

Nothing happened, and AAARRRGGHH didn’t seem to notice. Blinky slipped the totem into a pocket and made his way to the table, setting down the rest of his bounties and looking at Alex with confusion. She shrugged. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t Changelings.

As they pored over the book, the softest breeze of breath over the top of her head made her shiver. She braced her hands on the table and leaned over the book, which was open to a depiction of various trolls who had died in the battle.

“You ask our formal Trollhunters for ideas,” Blinky said, getting them back on track, “while I study this account. There is, I know, much that I have willed forgotten about that battle.”

Alexandra took the dismissal for what it was, knowing that Blinky would want to examine AAARRRGGHH by himself. It occurred to her as she gathered half the foodstuffs and headed back to Draal’s room that Blinky probably would not want an audience when he went over the Battle of Killahead with his companion. By all accounts it was an exceedingly unpleasant fight, with immense casualties on both sides. The battle was a particularly significant one for Alexandra’s two trainers, since AAARRRGGHH switched sides during that fight and Blinky lost his brother. An audience for their reminiscing would not be welcome.

Before going to the Forge there were a few things she wanted to get from Kanjigar’s quarters and from Draal himself, who had probably been present at the battle or heard accounts from his father. Shifting the purloined junk in her arms, her thoughts of Draal turned darker and angry.

If Draal was acting funny too, she’d fucking slam him. The one person in her life that she currently trusted, enough to Change in front of him, enough to talk with him, enough to just be - if that was gone, if that was ruined…

The door opened when she kicked it, cats scattering everywhere. Sheset the food down on the desk, knocking over the various books and items Draal had acquired and placed there.

The larger troll, eating his own breakfast in bed, startled as Alex stomped up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder, making him stumble as she pulled him close.

“Trollhunter, what – “ She almost asked him if he wanted to fuck her, but found her self at a loss for words. He truly looked so surprised, staring at her as she huffed in his face.

They stood there for a moment, breathing in the other’s presence, until Alex watched his eyes and saw nothing but confusion.

She let go of his shoulder and backed off.

“Um. Is there something wrong - ?” “No,” she said, backing away another step. “Not with you. But – “ She stopped, trying to find the words. Working with someone wasn’t usually her deal.

But Draal knew everything. Everything. And she knew – if it came down to it – that she would be willing to take chances with him.

It was a Changeling rule to trust no one.

Screw it.

“Have you noticed Blinky or AAARRRGGHH acting strangely? At all?”

He considered it for a moment and slowly nodded.

“Perhaps a little. Do you believe they may be hiding something from us?” A cat rubbed up against her leg and she sat down on the nest, scratching behind its ears with one hand.

“I don’t think so,” she murmured. “They’re just strange. Do you know AAARRRGGHH tried to flirt with me just now?” Draal’s brown furrowed.

“That is…” “Extremely unlike him, I know. He nearly charged me for flirting with Blinky one time. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t like that.”

“Maybe we should check on the bridge piece, just in case,” said Draal; Alex turned to him so fast her neck cracked.

“You think they’re working for Bular?” “I don’t know what to think,” Draal said loudly, waving his hands through the air. “But it could not hurt to check. And I believe that they are perhaps suspicious of you, Alexandra.”

The use of her actual name was what startled her the most, and she felt herself still.

“What do you mean?”

“Blinkous came in here not long ago, asking for the gaggletack I had taken from him. He looked so unnerved, I guessed that he was after you with it.” Alexandra shook her head, staring unseeing at the floor.

“No,” she said softly, “he was after AAARRRGGHH. We both thought he…was a little bit off…” “Oh,” said Draal slowly. “Then I made a mistake in giving him a false gaggletack?” Alex looked up at Draal sharply. “What?” “The gnome haunting your bathroom was in possession of one, I had to trade one of my belts for it. I assume it was the one you used to trick Blinky before?” Alexandra nodded but did not otherwise respond. The gaggletack didn’t work on AAARRRGGHH because it was a fake, but would the real one have worked anyway? It was AAARRRGGHH. AAARRRGGHH had held the real thing, used it – there was no damn way.

This is so damn messed up.

“I can’t process this right now. Let’s just go and ask them.”

Draal looked down at the half-finished breakfast in his lap.

“Now?” “Yes, now,” Alex said, donning her armor and pulling him out of bed. “We need to confront them directly, while he’s still being weird.” “I would not expect a direct approach to be a Changeling’s way.” “It’s not,” Alexandra replied, pulling him out of the room and through the quiet hallways. “Which is why direct confrontation is the best way to do it, otherwise we’ll keep going in circles and circles of lies and secrecy.” Draal muttered something like you are the expert, his words muffled by the last bite of breakfast he’d shoved into his mouth.

Yes, I damn well am.

When they arrived at the library they found it missing one occupant. Blinky looked up from the book he was studying and smiled grimly at them.

“Draal; good to see you recovered. Master Alexandra I hope you do not mind, but AAARRRGGHH excused himself several minutes into our recounting of the battle; the memory of it became rather overwhelming. I quite understand the feeling.”

Alexandra nodded, but gave Draal a gentle nudge to the abdomen. He briefly touched a hand to her arm and then left, heading off toward AAARRRGGHH’s rooms to investigate himself.

Alexandra settled back down in the library, gathering up the notebook and half-eaten pencil she’d left behind.

“Before we continue with our plans on the bridge, I’d really like to discuss some further security measures. The Isarnan community gave me a few ideas about runes and charms. They didn’t have much in the way of physical protections, but nothing dark or Fae could enter through the spells they had placed around the Heartstone.”

“It is certainly worth the research,” Blinky said, “but I would hesitate to up security much further. The economics of Trollmarket depend on its travelers and pilgrims, and already we have bottlenecked entrances.

“I’m not asking for pat-downs and interrogations; I’m just asking if there are any charms or spells for that sort of thing. There’s no such thing as being too cautious,” Alexandra said, and her eyes pointedly lifted to the bookshelf where hid the stolen piece of Killahead Bridge.

Blinky followed her gaze and softly trailed his fingers across the shelves, pressing aside the books until he uncovered the little wood and iron box. The piece of stone within clunked against the sides.

“There are several protection spells that can be made with the Heartstone itself, or pieces of it like the horngazels. Those would be best, in exchange for imported charms or homemade totems. A protective spell for Heartstone Trollmarket should come from the heartstone itself.”

His stony fingers scraped softly against the bridge piece as he lifted it out of the box, turning it this way and that to examine the carved lines on one side. Apparently satisfied, Blinky put the stone back in its box, handing it to Alexandra when she gestured for it.

“Are we quite sure that its safe here,” she murmured, lightly clawing the wooden sides of the container. It opened.

The box was spelled against Changelings.

“Nobody has stolen from this library since its beginning, and it will remain that way. My library is completely open and accessible, making thievery unnecessary. More to the point, nobody knows the bridge piece is even here to steal.”

“I still think we should move it somewhere else, somewhere not so public,” Alexandra said, handing him the box to replace as she internally panicked. The stone was secure but somebody had replaced the box. “Perhaps some protective runes as well. For this and the entrances and exits.”

Blinky had a mischievous glint in his eye as he played with the box and then put it back on the shelf.

“Well,” he rumbled quietly. “It’s a moot point by now. Every horngazel has been recovered, and our security is tighter than ever.”

“True,” Alex said, reaching past him to cover the box in its hiding space, very aware of the open door behind them. “But we should research just in case. I would rather not have to worry about Bular himself invading Trollmarket, on top of everything else.”

Blinky turned around and crossed his arms, glancing at her sideways.

“You don’t believe you’re overworking yourself, do you? Do not think that I haven’t noticed your lack of care toward your own wellbeing.”

“What, you’re watching me, Blinky?” Alex flirted half-heartedly, just to bother him.

Instead of grimacing as he usually did, Blinky smiled.

“As your trainer, naturally,” he said. “Your eyesight may be impaired but I assure you that my eyes miss nothing.” What the fuck, what the fuck? Blinky too?!

Alex called his bluff and turned into him, using her height to stare him down.

“I could name a few things,” she said, deciding to test this odd mood further. To her immense shock Blinky pushed himself off of the bookshelf and moved to her front, pressing her backward until leather book-spines dug into her shoulder-blades. He didn’t touch her, just barely, but he leaned close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, and chills ran down her back.

I’ll kill him if I have to.

“Then you underestimate the weight of my glare,” Blinky said at length, four eyes locked on hers while the other two roamed excessively. Two upper arms rose to grasp against the shelves, blocking her in. Despite being quite taller than him Alex was extremely unnerved by the unexpected change in demeanor. His abrupt shift made him suddenly unpredictable. Her body felt too-warm and chilled at the same time. Her breath shallowed and quickened, and the back of her neck prickled.

He would be easier to kill if he wasn’t expecting it, and Alex found herself responding on automatic.

“Perhaps I like it,” she purred, and smiled down at him. “But we still have work to do.”

“It can wait,” he said.

One hand landed on her hip-bone and she slammed her fist underneath Blinky’s chin, lifting him off of the ground.

But the troll who landed was not the one she punched. His body shivered, and then Changed.

Bular crouched from where Blinky landed, and loomed over her like an immense shadow.

He gingerly licked the lip Alex had bloodied; her back and her limbs shivered with cold terror. “You have a heavy fist for one so light-handed,” he said.

“What the fuck are you?”

Not-Bular grinned, picking himself up with deadly grace.

“I am not surprised to find that you don’t know me,” he said, an odd Germanic tinge to Bular’s hostile timbre. “We have been unable to locate you, after all.” The Janus Order.

He’s from the Janus Order!

“I wouldn’t expect some idiotic Changelings to have good record-keeping,” Alex muttered, wildly looking around the room for something to help her. If she summoned the armor now he would attack immediately. She had to keep him talking, had to find a way to get him down with minimal damage. Someone who could Change at random could destroy half of Trollmarket if set loose.

“But then I recalled something from a very long time ago,” Not-Bular continued, very slowly beginning to advance across the room. He looked so alien, so utterly out of place in the warm, crowded library. And there was nothing to use as a weapon. She couldn’t armor up, she was getting backed into a corner. Armor or no armor, she couldn’t fight him like this.

“I remembered a little Changeling who always stayed in the back of the meeting, ja? She took her assignments and left, never spoke. I never saw her monströs form, but I remember those eyes, always looking for a way out.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but this old friend of yours ain’t me,” Alex muttered, scooting as slowly as she could around the end of a table. They were nearing the side wall, and she was running out of space. Her heart thudded at a strange quick pace to her achingly slow feet.

Not-Bular gave a dark, throaty laugh.

“No, you see,” he said, and he started to grin at her. “This freund of mine died many years ago. We always check. But I started to do a little digging and fortunately for me, I have several contacts in the Eastern coastline, and found the hospital records for the day my dear freund died.”

If Alexandra’s breathing got any shallower, she would pass out; her claws dug into the table in front of her but her legs were shaking so much it hardly mattered. Black was seeping into the edges of her eyes and her chest felt too tight, too tight to breathe and she couldn’t move and he kept looming over her, he kept talking and talking and talking and talking about this –

“Cardiopulmonary resuscitation,” Not-Bular said, taking his time to feel the words on his tongue. “Only just beginning to become widespread, but I think it served you well, did it not, Verity?” Alexandra lost her grip on the table and went down, feeling as if she were swimming through deep water. The armor materialized around her body the moment Not-Bular’s fist hit her side, and although she went flying she at least didn’t die. The jarring pain forced her into some of her senses; her whole body shook and she still couldn’t breathe, but at least her shaking hands could hold a sword. Not-Bular advanced as Alexandra tumbled to the ground but she rolled toward him and slashed with sword and claw, catching him on the legs and underarms before she scrambled to her feet and fucking booked it. He roared in fury and stomped after her, narrowly missing her with a giant fist that instead smashed a shelf of books into pieces. Loose leaves and pages flurried around the room and Alexandra got a solid hit to his face in the mess and confusion and Not-Bular went down.

His father rose in his stead.

Gunmar… was terrifying. An immense shadow of power and stone, pulsing with energy and rage, but in the split-second after the moment of sheer panic Alexandra felt only anger.

How dare this asshole invade her home, impersonate the people she was actually trying to trust, bring up ALL HER SHIT and then try and attack her with the scariest troll imaginable? What a fucking dick!

It took two seconds for her to remind herself that although he looked like Gunmar, he wasn’t actually Gunmar, because although he fought with strength and stolen agility, he didn’t have Gunmar’s skill and Alexandra still could wound him, and he bled like any other troll.

Not-Gunmar fell back when she sliced open his chest, and he turned into Draal.

“Trollhunter!” he said, reaching to her with pleading eyes. “Please! You can’t hurt me, can you?” His accent wasn’t quite right – hah! that’s why! – and Alex snarled as she pounced on him.

“YOU WANT TO BET?” she roared, smashing two fists into his fake blue face. She’d dealt with this shit with the wendigo, no thank you, she was not going to deal with it again! Not-Draal tried to slap her away but her claws dug deep into his face, deep into his eyes and his cheeks and he screamed in pain, finally kneeing her in the abdomen and sending her to smack against the ceiling. She came down swinging her sword, and half of a horn was loped off as he ran.

Her fingers burned with energy, melting the stone beneath her claws before she pushed up off of the ground and followed him.

He may have been able to blend in, but his wounds remained on whatever body he took, and Alexandra followed the blood on the ground, splashed against the stalls and the crystals and the trolls he ran into.

Several of the market-goers shouted in alarm at the sight of the Trollhunter fiercely pursuing a bleeding, panicked Draal, but Alexandra ignored the angry yells, jumping on top of a pile of broken televisions. She drove herself forward too forcefully to pay heed to the unstable surfaces beneath her feet, and leapt from the top of the pile, landing on top of Not-Draal’s back hard enough to bruise her unarmored joints. They went down in a graceless heap but Not-Draal still had Draal’s strength, and Alexandra was yanked up as the Changeling scrambled to his feet, Alex still grasping his dorsal crystals. Her shin banged painfully into a fallen tv and she was heavily battered for the first few feet as he ran, but his crystal protrusions offered excellent handholds and she pulled herself up and over his head, grabbing his horns on the way down and throwing him forward into a market stall.

He Changed, and Not-Vendel got up and backhanded her.

One of the trolls in the growing crowd helped brush debris away from Alexandra and it turned her attention briefly to the public watching them. Her breath came in coarse, wet gasps as her chest ached with old forgotten pains; the cries of the crowd seemed to come as if through water to her.

“The Trollhunter is attacking Vendel!” “No, you fool, didn’t you see him change? It’s some sort of trick – “ “It’s a Changeling,” Alex yelled, slashing at Not-Vendel with her sword and two broken poles from the stall. The trolls gasped in horror and yelled in anger, but Alex didn’t have time to listen. Not-Vendel charged her way, throwing his arms around her torso even as she stabbed him in the shoulder, and they hit the ground hard, two fists nearly the size of her face pounding against her head. She bit one as it landed in her teeth and shoved him away, gouging a line across his chest with a broken pole. Not-Vendel stumbled away from her when she tried to claw him again, and this time when he turned, he turned into a human child.

Alexandra paused with her arm raised, even as her eye swelled and her ribs ached; she knew it wasn’t a child, she knew it was a trick, but her sword arm took on a heavier weight than she had ever held before. The tearful, crying not-child jumped of the way just before the sword came down on his head, and then shrank into a troll-child, sobbing and whimpering at her with fear. The crowd watching the fight began to murmur harder, several of them speaking with alarm.

Could she kill something that looked like a kid?! In front of all these people? Would they understand?!

The Changeling knew he had found her weakness, and shrank down once more, although the Change this time seemed harder for him. He was now nothing more than a tiny human baby, naked and blood-streaked on the dirty stone floor. Alexandra’s anger grew, but her sword arm shivered. She was seeing things that she didn’t want to remember, and her anger and disgust was only barely enough to push it back.

Please don’t make me kill a baby. I can’t do this fucking job.

The baby hiccupped and began to cry, looking fearfully at the trolls surrounding it. One of the crowd started forward to pick it up.

“Don’t touch it!” Alex yelled, halting the troll in his tracks. “It’s still a Changeling. It’s still dangerous.”

It’s a fucking baby

She couldn’t sweat like a human could, not in this form, but her skin felt cold and prickly, too tight around her forehead and neck and collar.

The not-baby screamed and its form shivered as Alex’s shaking sword missed the chest and hit the arm, almost slicing the tiny limb right off. Light wavered from the Changeling as it struggled with its form, shifting rapidly like some Lovecraftian demon, fleeing from her in the skin of a middle-aged man, an elderly woman, a rotund male troll.

Blinky – the real Blinky – only just cleared the edge of the crowd when the Changeling pounced on him, partially changing again into Bular as he knocked down the troll and tore at his pockets. Blinky yelped in horror as he hit at the Changeling but the damn thing was already running again, the yellow glow of a horngazel in his hand. Alex ran past Blinky without giving an explanation, leaving him bloody and shocked on the floor.

Blood splashed from the Changeling’s ruined arm as he scrambled through Trollmarket and Alex knew she had to stay on her feet, knew she had to follow, knew she had to either kill him or see him driven out. But he knew. He knew her.

The quaking Changeling was fast despite his injuries, and when he reached the crystal staircase Alexandra nearly screamed in rage, hurtling herself after him. He could hop up the crystals easier than she could and she was sorely tempted to just Change then and there for the advantage of her longer human legs, and screw everybody else; she wanted this bastard dead! A smear of blood made her slip down, aggravating her banged shin again as she landed two crystals down.

She hauled herself up with her arms and launched back up the staircase, hearing gasps of pain and desperation echo across the stone. The Changeling was partially finished with his portal when Alex threw her sword into his back, piercing the hipbone and upper buttock. He went down with a yell and Alex went down with him, bodily tackling him even as he fell. His features expanded, distorted, shifted between a human man’s and her own scarred blue face, and half-formed claws raked at her exposed chin and hands even as her own fingers dug into his skin and burned him with the stench of scorched copper and stone.

He went down slow, and he went down ugly, screaming bloody murder the entire time until Alexandra’s ears rang with a dozen agonized voices, and when he finally stopped moving she could do no more than fall off of his body and shake to pieces on the floor.

   Description: Blinky has Alexandra undergo a grueling training session to both train her to jump on her stubby little legs and in revenge for the prank she played at the end of the last chapter. She and her trainers discuss what to do about the bridge situation and Alexandra is later perplexed and concerned when Blinky and AAARRRGGHH occasionally act out of character, both of them acting flirtatious toward her. She confronts Draal, who is the same as ever, and they set out to find what had Blinky and AAARRRGGHH acting so strange. This comes to a head when Alex corners Blinky and he reveals himself to be a Changeling who can shift into many different forms, fighting Alexandra under the guise of Bular, Gunmar, Draal, and Vendel in efforts to shake her. They fight until he turns himself into a child, stunning Alex into hesitation. She kills him just on the edge of Trollmarket and collapses under the strain of her memories of the Darklands and her younger years. Sorry, Otto.

Bitch do y’all know how difficult it is to write Blinky and AAARRRGGHH out of character and flirting? Without cringing? It’s awful.

Otto didn’t impersonate Draal simply because he couldn’t convincingly imitate Draal’s accent. His polymorph trick gives him the voice, but he’s got to do the accents and personal inflections on his own. He also had more time to watch Blinky and AAARRRGGHH interact and was able to mimic them well enough to not raise suspicion with each other, but Alexandra – being either around and about Trollmarket or off killing a monster, was a bit of an unknown, and when she came back teasing and flirting and being herself, he interpreted that she and those two had more of an intimate friendship than they really do. I’m a little sorry to have killed him off, but Alex needs to both embrace and destroy her own fears and darknesses, and Otto was a representation of a good few of those. Prepare for angst in the next chapter.

I took a lot of this from the chapter in the Trollhunters book where Jim has to kill a Changeling that looks and sounds exactly like a human infant. It was a short but emotionally challenging scene to read, and I hope that this chapter wrenched a few hearts and guts as well.

So there’s what happened, folks. Alex – then Verity – was killed in an accident in the late 1960’s. Her death immediately meant the death of her familiar, but Alex herself was revived by the hospital staff. Her familiar was dead, but she was not, and since she ‘died’ in her human body she kept it – her familiar never left the Darklands, after all (it was eaten, actually). I hc that Changelings stay human-looking if they die like that, otherwise we’d have strange stories about people suddenly turning into monsters upon their deaths.

Also on AO3 and ffn

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 2: Fifteen Hundred Megawatt Aperture Science Heavy Duty Super-Colliding Super Button

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: Thomas meets some new friends, and learns some new names... including his own.

Chapter Warnings: Captivity, Death Mention

The next few chambers fly by quickly, once again devoid of life. You try to distract yourself with the solving of the puzzles so you won’t start worrying about where Logic and Morality went, or what the Voice wants with you, or who else might be lurking around. It doesn’t work terribly well, and by the time you’ve completed the third test chamber where no one appeared, you’re once again starting to wonder if they’ve given up on visiting you entirely. You’d think your anxiety would come up with some new material, but no such luck.

For this reason, when you enter test chamber 9 you’re already on edge. At this point, you’re used to the others dropping in at odd times, and so have learned to expect someone to suddenly begin speaking to you from the ceiling or wall.

What you were not expecting, however, was to have someone show up directly behind you.

“Hey.”

You shriek and jump, whirling around, then you do a double take at what you see. It’s a Core, made of the same dark metal as Logic, but unlike Logic he isn’t attached to tracks in the ceiling or walls, but instead is floating in the air at about chest height, gently drifting slightly up and down. What really draws your eye, though, is the two robotic arms coming out of either side of the Core, which hang casually at his sides as he regards you with a deep purple eye.

“Oh!” you say, catching your breath. “Hey there. Are you here to introduce yourself?”

“Yeah, no. I’m here to tell you to give up,” the Core says, his voice a low rasp.

You raise an eyebrow. “Give up?”

“You can’t solve this puzzle,” the Core says. “It’s impossible. You shouldn’t even bother.”

“I… highly doubt that.”

“Oh, really, Mr. Smarty-Pants?” he says snottily. “Well, let���s look at the facts, shall we? What you’ve got there is an Emancipation Grill. You can’t shoot through it, if you try to bring that cube through it it’ll be vaporized faster than you can say ‘oops’, you walk through it and all your portals disappear. You see where I’m going with this?”

You rub your temples with one hand. “Well, yes, but there has to be-”

“Nope, nadda, don’t even bother looking,” the Core interrupts. “You’re going to get trapped here and die of thirst, which I’ve heard is a really sucky way to die by the way. Might as well curl up on the ground and cry.”

“O-kay, I think we’re done here,” you say, turning away and doing your best to ignore him..

After a few minutes playing around with the Emancipation Grill, you’re starting to think Anxiety’s assessment was dead on. You move back and forth through the field several times, shooting portals at different angles, but nothing gets through, and you don’t see any way around.

You feel like you could focus better on the puzzle if the Core watching you would lay off the “helpful” comments.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t ‘Emancipate’ your teeth this time,” he says casually as you walk through the field again. “Let me know if you taste blood, that’s probably a bad sign.”

You shiver and subconsciously swipe your tongue across your teeth before you can stop yourself. Then you turn and glare at the Core.

“Could you shut up already?” you growl. “I’m trying to think here!”

“Well excuse me, Your Highness,” the Core drawls.

“Did someone say Your Highness?!”

Another Core pops down from the ceiling, this time clearly hanging off a movement rail like Logic and Morality. Unlike Logic and Morality, this Core is a pure white, and his eye glows a bright red. His handles are uniquely shaped, as well- where Logic’s and Morality’s were relatively simple, this Core’s handles look almost crown-like. It’s an elegant look overall, and gives you an inkling of which Core this may be.

“Greetings, my good-” the white Core starts, then stops as he turns and sees the other Core floating behind you.

“Oh,” he says, eye narrowing, “It’s you.”

“Hey, Princey,” the floating Core drawls.

“What are you doing here, Anxiety?” Princey shoots back.

“I’m helping, can’t you tell?” Anxiety says, his eyelid lowering in a smirk.

Princey scoffs. “You, helping? Please.”

“Hey, now-” you start, but Anxiety cuts you off.

“And you think you can do any better?”

“But of course!” Princey declares. “As a princely Core like myself, it is my duty to aid brave adventurers in perilous quests!”

Anxiety crosses his arms and cocks his head- er, himself- in challenge. “Oh, really? Well then, how would you suggest he solve this?”

Princey gestures broadly towards the Emancipation Grill. “Why, it’s simple! Just g-AAAAAAGH!”

“Princey!” you shout, half-expecting him to explode or something, but after a moment the scream dies off with him looking none the worse. Princey takes a deep breath before turning to glare at an audibly snickering Anxiety.

“That was a dirty trick,” he growls.

“We can’t give solutions to test subjects, idiot,” Anxiety says. “It literally goes against our most basic programming.”

Princey huffs. “Well excuse me for not remembering every minor detail! At least some of us are trying to be helpful!”

“Hey, it’s alright guys,” you say. “I’ll just figure it out myself.” Eventually.

“Hmm,” Princey says, pensive. “I may not be able to give you the solution, but that does not mean I cannot aid you more… creatively. When faced with a challenge that seems insurmountable, it can often be helpful to find a different perspective.”

Princey turns and gives a significant look behind himself, before quickly turning away, whistling to himself.

A different perspective, huh? You look back towards where Princey was looking; it’s this level’s orange portal, set into the wall above a platform about the level of your head. You saw it before when you entered the room, but had been more preoccupied with how to get your blue portal through the Emancipation Grill. But maybe, you could see more from atop there.

You shoot a blue portal on a nearby wall and walk through, making sure to grab the cube you’re supposed to be moving before doing so, and come out atop the ledge. The room doesn’t look all that different from up here, and you’re starting to think you took Princey’s advice the wrong way, when something catches your eye. Above the doorway which the emancipation grill blocks, there is a small, square hole in the wall, one that unlike the doorway has no noticeable glimmer of energy. Lifting the portal gun, you shoot a ball of blue light through and watch as the blue portal appears on the opposite wall. You turn and walk through the orange portal behind you, and find yourself- and the cube- on the other side of the Emancipation Grill, never having needed to have walked through it.

You hear a whoop as Princey pops back up into the ceiling, then reappears above where you’re standing.

“You did it!” he cheers.

You grin at him. “Couldn’t have done it without you. You’re my hero, Princey.”

“Nonsense,” Princey scoffs, but you can hear in his voice that he’s touched. “You would have prevailed no matter the odds. I simply helped move things along.”

“This is so sweet I think I’m gonna puke,” Anxiety says sardonically, following you through the portal. “And I can’t even physically do that so you know it’s bad.”

“Could you just lay off for once?” you snap. “What even is your problem?”

“Sorry, dude, but it’s kinda my job,” Anxiety says, shrugging. “Deal with it.”

Princey waves one handle in a shooing motion. “Off with you, Marilyn Morose, you’re not wanted here.”

“Ugh, whatever, you’re just going to fail the next test anyways,” Anxiety grumbles. A floor tile recedes, creating a hole that Anxiety floats down through, the floor tile sliding back into place behind him.

You look back at Princey, wincing a bit. “Were we a little hard on him?”

Princey scoffs. “Of course not! That villain is likely plotting your demise with your dastardly captor as we speak.”

“He… works with Voiceover Guy?” you say uncertainly.

“Why do you think he’s all floaty and arm-having?” Princey says. “He-” he nods towards the nearest security camera, “altered Anxiety to be like that for a reason. We need to be ready for whatever villainous plan those two are concocting together.”

“Maybe he just really likes hugs?” you try.

Princey gives you an incredulous look, and you wince. “Yeah, it seemed a bit far-fetched to me too.”

“Mark my words,” Princey says, “Those two are up to no good.”

That torpedoes the conversation for a moment, both of you falling into silence as you contemplate the fact that you’re completely at the mercy of someone Princey just described as “villainous”. It doesn’t exactly feel great to think about.

“Well, regardless of the danger,” Princey finally says, “you have no need to fear! Not when you are under the protection of Yours Truly!” He strikes a heroic pose, and some of your fear fades into amusement.

“It’s the Creativity Core, right?” you say. Morality’s previous mention of a Creativity, combined with Princey’s appearance and demeanor, make that fairly easy to figure out.

“Indeed, I see my reputation precedes me!” He dips forward in an approximation of a bow. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Brave Adventurer.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you say. “Uh, should I call you Creativity or Princey? I’ve kind of been calling you Princey in my head but I know the other Core- er, Anxiety- called you that and you don’t like him much, so…”

“No, no, Princey is fine,” the Core says. “Despite such a name being wasted in the speakers of a ruffian like Anxiety, I must admit that I am… partial, to it. A princely nickname for a princely Core!”

“You are quite prince-like,” you agree. “You have a crown and everything.”

“Why thank you, my good adventurer!” Princey says, bowing again. “I shall endeavor to live up to such a title.”

“And uh, the other Core is the Anxiety Core, right?” you say. “You keep calling him Anxiety, so…”

Princey waves a handle dismissively. “He might as well be. His real title is something more official-sounding- Threat Detector or whatever- but everyone just calls him Anxiety.”

You nod. Thinking back to the Core’s behavior, you can see how he attracted that kind of nickname.

Unable to put it off any longer, you hop down and place the cube on its corresponding button, opening the door in front of you to reveal another elevator. You’re really starting to hate elevators.

You turn back to the Core above you. “Thanks for your help, Princey.”

“It was my pleasure,” Princey says. “Perhaps we will meet again, in the coming trials.”

“I would like that,” you reply.

Nodding one last farewell, Princey disappears into the ceiling as you turn and head into the elevator.

Aperture Science would like to congratulate you on solving the test in such an atmosphere of extreme negativity, the Voice says as the elevator doors close in front of you. Cake will be available at the completion of all nineteen testing chambers, as a reward for your tenacity.

The next chamber- Test Chamber 10- is devoid of any traces of life, machine or otherwise, apart from the mysterious Voice’s impersonal instructions. You try to focus on the test and not let the anxiety creep up on you again- or Anxiety, for that matter, you think your heart is still recovering from that last jump-scare- but you do miss the companionship.

The Enrichment Center promises to always provide a safe testing environment, the Voice says as the elevator doors open on Test Chamber 11. In dangerous testing environments, the Enrichment Center promises to always provide useful advice. For instance, the floor here will kill you - try to avoid it.

“Great, thanks,” you mutter, moving forward to a large window overlooking the test chamber. Sure enough, the floor of the room below is covered in the toxic sludge you’ve seen in previous test chambers. A second later your eye is drawn to the raised pedestal in the middle of the room, on which a very familiar object is placed. A familiar, gun-shaped object.

Like the previous room with a portal gun, the device is spinning and shooting portals at different points in the walls. Unlike the previous room, the portals being shot are orange rather than blue.

The thought of the other portal gun room makes you think of the Core who introduced himself to you there- the first one you ever met. You could use Logic around right now, to explain how the heck you’re supposed to wield two portal guns when the one you currently have uses both hands.

Actually, now that you think of it, could you have Logic around right now? Could it actually be as simple as…

“Logic?” you say to the empty air, “Logic, hey, are you there?”

For a brief moment nothing happens, and you start to think this was probably a stupid idea. Then a ceiling tile slides away, and a familiar black and dark blue Core lowers himself through the opening.

“Ah, Subject One,” he says. “I see you have made progress. What is it that requires my presence?”

You shove down the twist of discomfort at the clinical form of address, trying to focus instead on the excitement of Logic having actually shown up.

“That gun,” you say, nodding towards the device shooting portals at the walls, “how am I supposed to wield it? I only have so many hands.”

Logic looks over at the gun. “Well, it would help for you to actually access the chamber in which the device is held.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, Logic, I figured that one out myself.”

“Well there’s no need to get huffy,” Logic says, ironically sounding rather huffy himself. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Is he going to huff and puff and blow the test chamber down?” Morality says playfully, popping down through the ceiling next to Logic.

“Morality!” you exclaim, grinning. “You’re here too!”

“Of course, kiddo!” Morality says. “I couldn’t let you solve all these puzzles by yourself, now could I?”

“Wait, this was supposed to be my chamber,” Logic complains. “He called for me first!”

“Oh, get over yourself, Calculator Watch,” a familiarly bombastic voice says, "not everything has to be about you."

“Princey!” you say, turning to see the Core hanging out of an opening in the wall.

Logic rolls his eye. "I believe that is the anthracite figuratively calling the iron chloride anhydrate black, Princey."

There’s a pause as you try to digest that. “Uh, did you mean ‘the pot calling the kettle black,’ Logic?”

"Of course not. Most pots and kettles are silver in color, not black."

You shake your head. "Never mind. Are you guys going to help me solve this puzzle?"

"Technically, we are unable to-"

"Well of course we are!" Morality says, cutting off Logic, who gives him a dirty look. "Where do we start?"

You look back down to where the portal gun is still shooting regularly. “It looks like it’s another moving portal puzzle. Figure out which rooms you need to get to in which order, press buttons, and so on.”

“Should be simple enough,” Logic says, adjusting his eye lens. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Things are going pretty well- going great, even- right up until Anxiety shows up.

“Not so fast!”

You valiantly fight the urge to jump in surprise. “What is it now, Anxiety?”

“Are you really going to go in there?”

You look over at where your blue portal is on the nearest wall, waiting for the gun to revolve around and shoot the orange portal to the right place.

“Uh, yeah, that’s the idea.”

“You’re going to die,” Anxiety says bluntly.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “And why, exactly, is walking through that portal going to kill me?”

The blue portal briefly turns foggy and then resolves into another view as the spinning portal gun shoots a new orange portal. Through it, you can now see the moving platform you just jumpstarted, now slowly floating back and forth from the portal to the gun’s pedestal and back again.

Anxiety rolls his eye. “A small platform moving slowly over toxic sludge with absolutely no cover. A device shooting balls of concentrated light that, by the way, would incinerate you if it hit you. Gee, I wonder.”

“C’mon, Doctor Gloom, where’s your sense of adventure?” Princey says. “This is nothing we can’t handle!”

“Indeed,” Logic says. “If he gets the timing right, the device should not shoot at him while he is on the platform, and either way he can still dodge.”

Despite the others’ encouragement, you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as the moving platform approaches the portal.

“You can do this,” Morality says softly, and that final assurance is what it takes for you to muster your courage and step through the portal onto the platform.

You watch nervously as the moving platform approaches the portal gun, while meanwhile the portal gun itself continues to shoot orange portals around the room. It rotates to face you and you instinctively drop to your stomach on the platform, watching as a ball of orange light flies harmlessly over your head. You scramble back up just in time for the moving platform to reach the center pedestal and then hop onto the pedestal as the others cheer.

“See?” Princey declares, “No problem at all!”

You reach out and cautiously grab hold of the orange portal gun. Just like the first time, as soon as your hand touches the gun it immediately stops shooting, coming to a rest beneath your fingers.

“That should slot into your existing Portal Device,” Logic says, nodding to the blue portal gun. You look down at it, skeptical since it just looks like a smaller gun, but when you bring it up to the blue it folds in on itself, melding to the blue device as if they were always one. The combined portal gun is only a little bulkier than the original, and you heft it, getting a feel for the new weight.

The Device has been modified so that it can now manufacture two linked portals at once, the Voice says. In case of life-threatening situations, Aperture Science would like to remind testers that the Portal Device is now worth more than your entire family could earn in ten thousand generations, and will be taken out of your paycheck if destroyed.

If any of the others notice your grip subtly tightening on the Portal Gun, they don’t comment on it. You shoot a few portals around the room, getting used to the two different triggers the combined gun has, before putting them back into the positions they were in preparation to leave.

“Now that you have access to both portals, you will be able to use it to solve more complex tests,” Logic says approvingly. “Well done, Subject.”

“That’s not all you can do!” Morality says, bouncing excitedly. “You could shoot them on both sides of a hallway so you see yourself a hundred times like in funhouse mirrors, shoot them on the floor and ceiling then hop in and fall for as long as you want, shoot them next to each other and see the room behind you even with your back turned…”

Logic huffs. “Well that is patently ridiculous. The Portal Device is a powerful tool and is meant to be used carefully, not as a toy.”

“Doncha mean, Patton-ly ridiculous?” Morality says, a grin in his voice, and Logic groans.

You look back and forth between the two of them, confused. “Uh, sorry guys, was that supposed to be a pun?”

“Oh, yeah, kiddo!” Morality says. “I changed it to include my name!”

“You have a name?” you say incredulously.

“Yes, of course! We all do,” Creativity says.

You turn back to Morality. “So your name is Pattonly!”

“Uh, no kiddo, it’s just Patton,” he says.

“Oh, that makes more sense,” you say sheepishly. “So your name is Patton!”

Patton smiles and then nods over at Logic. “Yup! I’m Patton, and this is Logan-”

“Pat,” Princey says, chiding, “You should’ve let Logan introduce himself.”

Patton gasps. “Oh, I’m so sorry Logan, I got excited!”

“It is no matter,” Logic- Logan- says smoothly. “I still fail to see why we needed names in the first place.”

“Because they’re something unique to us, my dear nerd!” Princey says.

He turns to you and dips his round body forward in a bow. “And as for me, Brave Adventurer, you may call me Roman.”

“Roman,” you say, trying it out in your mouth.

“That is my proper name, yes.”

You look up at each of the Cores in turn. “So you’re Patton, Logan, Roman, and-”

You turn and look at Anxiety, and the others follow suit.

“Yeah, not happening,” Anxiety says.

You shrug. “Patton, Logan, Roman and Anxiety, then.”

“And you?” Patton asks. “Do you have a name?”

Do you have a name? You haven’t thought of it before, but once you do the answer floats up into your awareness as if it had always been there.

“Thomas,” you decide. “My name is Thomas.”

“It is nice to meet you, Thomas,” Logan says, his voice warm.

You smile at him. “Same to you, buddy.”

“Well this is all very heartwarming,” Anxiety drawls, “or maybe that’s just my processor overheating. If we’re all done with the introductions, can I remind you that we’re still standing on an island in the middle of the death-floor?”

You feel your face heat. “Right.”

The moving platform is just reaching your little pedestal, and you carefully hop onto it and let it carry you back to the orange portal. A few well-placed portals later, you’re standing in front of the Emancipation Grill and elevator. The others pop out of walls and ceilings, having followed you up, and for a few moments you all just stare at each other.

You shift from foot to foot, not wanting to be the one to break the silence. From the looks on the others’ faces- er, in their eyes, you guess- neither do they.

“Thanks for your help,” you finally say.

“Of course! We make a good team,” Roman says.

“We do!” Patton agrees. “I’m really proud of how you’re doing so far, kiddo.”

“Thanks,” you say again.

There’s another long pause.

“Oh, for Science’s sake,” Anxiety groans. “This is just painful. I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but spit it out already!”

You jump at the sudden shift in tone, adrenaline kicking in despite yourself. “Okay okay, geez."

You look back at the others. "I guess I was wondering when you guys would show up again? I like having you here, but you seem to, uh, pop in and out.”

The Cores turn and look at each other, as if having a silent conversation. Heck, maybe they are; isn’t robots communicating with each other a thing? You’re pretty sure that’s a thing.

“You have just completed Test Chamber 11,” Logan says, “and as such have eight out of nineteen test chambers remaining. While the first ten were relatively simple, from here on out they will become longer and more complex as they combine the techniques you have learned.”

“Your point, Teach?” Roman says impatiently.

“My point,” Logan says, adjusting his eye lens up and down, “is that it is likely that Thomas may require support in future levels. However, the assistance we will be able to provide would be limited, as we are unable to give you the solutions.”

“Now Logan,” Patton says, “Don’t underestimate the importance of moral support!”

Logan hrms. “It is true that the presence of other sapient entities can improve-”

He stops and belatedly turns to look at Patton. “Was that a pun.”

“Mayyyybe,” Patton says, and Logan groans.

“I must confess,” Roman says, “I had already been considering asking to join your... quest, as it were, in a more permanent manner. If our companionship is something you truly wish for, I would be happy to oblige.”

You give the others a big grin, your chest feeling lighter than it has since… well, since you can remember.

“Alright then, I’m off to Test Chamber 12. Anyone who wants to come, can. Or, well, anyone who wants to meet me there; you still can’t come into the elevator.”

“It’s a date!” Patton declares.

“That’s not- you wouldn’t use-” Logan starts.

Patton looks at him with a wide, innocent eye. “What?”

Logan sighs. “Never mind.”

“You’re all idiots and are definitely going to die,” Anxiety says.

Roman puffs up indignantly as if getting ready to snap back, but Anxiety just gives a two-fingered salute with a, “Later losers,” and vanishes into the ceiling.

Roman huffs. “I do not like him.”

“I believe that is our cue to go,” Logan says. “We will see you soon, Thomas.”

You wave. “See you.” Then the others all sink out of the room, vanishing into the walls and ceiling themselves.

You take one last look at the test chamber, which feels strangely empty now, and quickly walk through the Emancipation Grill and into the elevator.

You grin and adjust the Portal Gun on your arm. Eleven test chambers down, eight to go. You got this.

[limitedrevolverworks]

[>>>]

There is always a certain hesitation involved into making a phone call to a friend you haven’t heard in a while, even more so if you’ve known the friend in question since your puberty. The bond formed between people who have shared their formative years is the kind that transcends such staples as childhood friendships and even blood relations - you’ll have to admit, it’s hard to rival the chemistry built between individuals who have shared the awkward pain of the first time they bled between their legs or saved the town from its fated destruction by your future husband.

It’s a matter of relatability.

With that said, it’s a wonder why the face reflected on your cellphone’s screen should be wearing such a hesitant expression, or why you would even deem it “hesitant” at all when “already prefiguring the impending arrival of a headache” fits it a hell of a lot better. Maybe you’re trying to be optimistic, and God knows how hard doing that’s been since the start of this day. That’s not a figure of speech, by the way: you’ve always harbored this feeling in your gut that whatever greater entity represents the forces of justice has never quite seen your unholy matrimony with the evil’s Number One representant in a good light. Or maybe that’s just your way of rationalizing the whole baggage of stress that sometimes gets unloaded all over your daily life. You’ve every right to be superstitious when you have Princess Levia, Crown of the Western Hellsea (although she prefers it when people call her Levia-tan) doing the laundry for you on Sundays.

Alright, look, you can’t keep hesitating like this. Just press the button and make the damn call already! It’s just your old friend Tomoyo, what’s the worst that can happen? Sure, so maybe you’ll probably have to spend at least an hour listening to sugary platitudes so sweet you’ll end up turning into a blushing sack of diabetes, but it’s also true that somehow, you’ll feel immensely grateful to that bubbly bundle of boundless love you used to (and still subconsciously do, let’s admit it) call Leader for reminding you that it’s not really the end of the world and you haven’t failed as a mother, after all. It’s like swallowing medicine, only instead of bitterness, it makes honey seem like a jellified version of salt by comparison. You’ll swallow it with lips curled into every complaint they know how to vocalize but, dammit, it’ll make you feel better.

Okay, deep breaths. Well, more like the first of many a deep, exhasperated sighs, really. It’s too late for regrets now - actually, a recent flood of those is precisely why you’re pushing a trembling thumb on that Call button while muttering ‘Good grief...’ so pathetically in the first place. Oh crap, you did it, you really did it now! What now, should you just cut the call before it goes through?! No, no, that’d be rude and the last thing you want to do is accidentally hurt that airhead’s feelings because you cannot get a hold on yours... oooh, it’s ringing, you can hear it. Bad idea, really bad idea. Come on come on think---

“MAWARI-CHAAAN!”

“IT’S HIMAWARI, IDIOT!”

Some things never change, do they? Even as you alert the whole house by screaming into your phone, you can feel the warm pang of nostalgia suffocating under the humonguous block of stress inside your head. It makes zero sense, but you’re already beginning to feel a lot more at ease, once you’re done testing your vocal folds and your giggling friend’s ear on the other side of the conversation.

“It’s been forever since your last call, Mawari-chan! How rude of you to leave lonely little me hanging for so long...” You can envision with perfect clarity the ridiculously exaggearted pout adorning your friend’s visage. It makes your eyes trace a trajectory as they roll that is almost as wide as your spontaneously born smile.

“Yeah, as if you have any time or energy left for that after spending every day coddling a bunch of brats.”

Although hearing a grown adult go ‘Ehehe’ in such a childish tone, you have to wonder who the brat really is, or how exactly this woman could lead a group of superpowered heroines when she was just starting to learn how tampons work.

“Sounds like you’re having fun with your job as usual.”

“Of course! Thinking up new activities for the children means that every day is always full of surprises... that goes for them and me both! Boredom’s an unknown guest in these premises, ahaha.”

Tell me about surprises... no, no, too soon for that. Take your time to catch up a bit first at least. Indulge a bit. You’re already sprawled on a sofa in your pjs like the hoboest hobo who ever hobo’d, might as well use the opportunity to its fullest before everyone comes back home and make things awkward for you because you’ll inevitably make things awkward for them.

“But what about you, Mawari-chan?”

“Eeeh, same old, same old? I’d probably sound excited about my work life too, if the kids I gotta babysit weren’t a bunch of manchildren. The sorts we get at the office sometimes Tomo, I tell you... like this due the other day, walked straight to my desk asking me if I could save his sorry ass from some sexual harassment charges...”

“My, that sounds serious! Did you end up helping this poor man?”

“You can bet your innocent tushies I didn’t! Bastard didn’t realize I was the same lady whose buttocks he decided to rest his hands on while riding the morning train a week earlier. I figure he got memory loss when I flipped over my shoulder straight onto the station’s yellow line.”

“Mawari-chan, that’s so cruel!” she says, but you can distinctly hear her giggling in unison with you, you grinning demon. Taking some cues from your husband, mh?

“Can’t leave all the fun to the prosecution, you know?”

“So rowdy... You never change, Mawari-chan.”

Neither of you really ever did. In the case of Tomoyo, it’s reassuring. In yours... aah, could this awkward pause end, already?

“So, what’s troubling you then?”

Nevermind, bring the pause back! No? Urgh.

“W-what do you mean?” Dammit, get out of the way, nervous stammering!

“Now, now, Himawari-chan... there’s always something not quite right whenever you take the time to phone me, isn’t there?” ‘Sideglancing’ isn’t a tone of voice. It’s still the word that best corresponds to the guilty sensation you feel when you find yourself on the receiving end of them, trying to avert your gaze as if the phone’s receiver could capture and send it on the other side.

“I’m sowwyyy...!” Yeah, who’s the kid now, you moaning baby? If curling up into a ball and hiding under the protective warmth of that gaudy plaid your husband made won’t do much for your case, Miss. And the judge’s verdict is... a judgemental sigh? Sentenced to death?! No, wait, it was too short... condescending hint of laughter? Maybe there’s hope yet...?!

“Don’t be silly, Mawari-chan. You’re not the kind of villain who would burden others with your problems unless you knew how to deal with them yourself. So don’t worry, I’m not mad... well, maybe just a little bit! It would be nice if I didn’t have to become worried every time you call... or if you called more often at all! I really mean it when I say that I miss hearing from you, you know?”

Such gentle cruelty! The compassionate harshness of a Buddha! Truly, Sakuramiya Tomoyo is befitting of the title of Leader after all!

“I will, I swear I will! I-it’s just, with work and the family a-and everything else I b-barely have time for stuff and and and...!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Leave it to she who commands the Power of Love and works with children on a daily basis to bestow metaphorical headpats with the sole use of her words. “Silly Mawari-chan. How about you tell me about your problem now, mh?”

“Guuuh.” Any reluctancy would fall under the gentle caress of that tone. There’s nothing you can do but nod and sniff, maybe recover some semblance of composure while you’re at it.

“It’s... it’s Kyouya... he--he’s a bully!”

“Kyou-chan a bully? I’ve heard them all now!”

“It’s true! I spoke with his teacher this morning and she told me about it. That he leads this group and that he uses it to bother other students...”

“Well, it’s no wonder you’d be so distraught then... Kyou-chan! He was the sweetest little thing back when I was his teacher... did you talk with him about it, Himawari-chan?”

Oh, you sure did. And as you take in a deep, deep breath before beginning, you have to wonder if this’ll sound more or less outrageous than that one time you told Tomoyo about your daughter’s first accidental summon. If nothing else, this time you won’t have to change homes because your previous one got devoured by a giant matter-eating worm.

[>>>]

[kingfallena]

I have sat here over the past weeks really debating whether to say something or not. I am not some overly popular blog that what I say is going to have a huge impact or even be seen by that many people. And I know I am not going to change anything, I know one post will never influence anyone. It will just be liked and reblogged by my friends who agree. But I think I need to write this for me. I know nothing I say or do will every change the heart of truly vindictive people who take pleasure in shaming and attacking others. This is not a call out post nor is it a vague post at anyone in particular. It is just a build up over the past few weeks from several people and several circumstance. 

But honestly I am ASHAMED of this fandom lately. I told people how welcoming people were for the most part, and how kind. I always knew we had our bad apples like every fandom. But over all it wasn’t bad. And then in the last few weeks it has been a mess among The 1OO RP community. I don’t know where it has come from, because things were fairly calm for a while. And now it is devolving into a TOXIC and hypocritical community. Anon hate is not unusual, every fandom gets it and honestly, it bothers me less than what I keep seeing. And that is people acting like children. It is immature, foolish, and petty to openly attack someone when you do not even know them. It is incomprehensible to me, that people could be so self absorbed that they cannot even take the time to have the common sense to message someone private and CALMLY ask for an explanation, ask to understand their side of things. I am sorry, but there is almost NEVER one person who is right, one and who is wrong. But you DO make yourself the person who is in the wrong when you make a post aimed directly or vaguely at someone, with the intention of turning your friends and followers against them, when you take the time to instead of talking to them like an adult, have this attitude of ‘calling them out’ and tearing them down. People are doing this so much to the point, that you are making people not want to even log in. You are making REAL people with REAL struggles and life problems that you do not even know about, feel threatened and unwelcome when they try to access something is supposed to help them work through their issues, or just ignore them for a while. There is no good reason or excuse to ever do that to some one. 

And yeah, you know what, while I’m at it. I’m gonna talk about this ‘anti’ attitude in this fandom. Because it’s utterly RIDICULOUS and ignorant, and just so foolish. Yes, you are very much allowed to not like something, to not like a character, I get it. I have characters I don’t like. But this idea, that it is wrong for someone to enjoy a character just because they have flaws, is so messed up  I can’t even sit here and being to accurately break down how flawed that thinking is. CHARACTERS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FLAWED. It would be freaking boring if they were all perfect and never made mistakes. They are supposed to do bad things. Especially on the 1OO it is about the moral grey areas, and how people are challenged. It is about seeing characters go down paths that we do not want them to. So before you sit there and rant again about whatever character it is you’re going to project your aggression onto, think about all the bad things your fave has done. Because no one on this show is good, in black and white terms, they’re all villains. They have all done horrible things. And if you do still somehow feel the need to waste your energy on adding to fandom negative, at least tag it. Or, I don’t know, maybe message your friends about it and have REAL discussion. Because all anti posts do, is make people feel bad, or pissed off, or unwelcome. You are just starting arguments and adding to an already negative environment. 

So you know what. I’m sorry if I hold people to high standards, but someone should. I’m not perfect, I make mistakes and writing this post is probably one of them and I am most likely gonna end up getting some back lash. But I don’t care anymore. I am tired of the pettiness and the childishness. Learn to think about more people than yourself. If you’re angry over something fictional, or angry about something someone else is doing that doesn’t even concern you, just step away. Unfollow, block, or be mature and learn to let it go and ignore it. Close your freaking lap top and get some sunshine. People need to stop with this idea that their opinion is fact, sorry but while you’re opinion might have truth in it, it is not THE truth. Life is not that simple. And if you cannot talk to someone civilly, first off, you need to take a good look at yourself in the mirror, secondly don’t say anything at all. Find a constructive way to take care of your anger, because attacking and tearing people down isn’t it. That is just a disgusting, evil, and immature way to deal with your aggression. 

I am tired y’all. I have real problems, in real life, that are way more important than the petty things going on around here. Next time you wanna get mad at someone and go on some delusional holy crusade, maybe try to take a step back and think about what could be going on in their lives. This is why I made @yolukot​ maybe people think it is me ignoring real issues and problems, but it’s not. I try to live by this verse “If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.” Romans 12:18 & “Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a blessing.” 1 Peter 3:9. Yes, gasp all you want and unfollow if you feel, oops I brought out my Bible. But that’s because me being a Christian is a huge part of who I am and I am not going to hide that. It’s the reason I try to live a certain way. Obviously, I am probably failing right now, but I am just so worn out. I am trying my best to return evil with good. Encouraging ‘positivity’ when I see so much negativity, because if we keep fighting fire with fire we’re gonna get nowhere. I’m sorry if that offends someone. But it’s what I believe and it’s who I am. If you don’t like it, new flash: there’s this thing called an unfollow button. Either grow up...or just at least learn to walk away. To the people who have been kind, and supportive, and done their best not to add to fandom negativity. Thank you. And I’m sorry this post is hella long and probably gonna piss some people off, but I’m just tired of all of this.