#this genuinely took months of trial and error to get right

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

I have very complex thoughts about the ethics of AI generated images but merthur and morgwen weddings go brrrr

[vlkyriesgf]

pink cigarette // cruella x fem!reader

a/n: OKOK i finally got this out im so sorry it took so long! took a break but jumped right back into it. courtesy to pink cigarette for motivation for this fic <3

summary: As captivated as you are by Cruella, work for the Baroness’s Charity Event is the second thing to invade your mind. Seeing her on the balcony has you debating whether or not it’s the perfect time to let her know how much she’s charmed you.

warnings: mention of fake death, internalized homophobia (like for one sentence), some previous rudeness and insults, very much fluff and pining! but all in all enemies to lovers i guess you could say?

word count: 2.6k

Helping Cruella get her plan in motion for the Baroness’s Charity Event had you busy day after day. It was nice to get back into how it was before the “accident” which had you scared for someone that you had come to care for deeply.

When Cruella brought Artie on board to help her make her label, he also brought you along knowing that you’d be useful, since he considers you an amazing tailor. At first, she seemed like some cold, self-centered designer wanting to make her way to the top of the industry.

During the series of her stunts you’d get snarky remarks and sarcasm for your work. Though your designs would come out great and seem like they’re greatly appreciated, but you couldn’t help but have feeling like you’d be thrown out the moment she doesn’t need you anymore. It was comments that made you feel small and like if you were wasting your time helping her. Maybe it was because of the way she’d talk you down. She was so close to the point where her attempt at intimidating you worked, leaving the scent of her perfume lingering around you. Honestly you don’t know how you put up with her at all.

Cruella showed a liking to you over time, meaning she wasn’t as hard on you as she was on Horace and Jasper. Surprisingly, she told you about her motivation for what she’s doing: her mom and that little necklace. She even went as far to tell you her real name. It was bittersweet, though it was mostly her talking and you listening as her back faced you, unable to see her vulnerability. But you swore heard something genuine in her tone as she decided to show a little bit of herself to you, this changed your mindset about her tremendously.

Unexpectedly, she kept you and Artie around and you noticed that your relationship with her basically went from trial and error to a genuine friendship. You thought it might have been because she had another girl to be around, you know, similar struggles and/or interests. Though, you never would have thought that it would because she started to fancy you.

Throughout the preparation days for her planned Fashion Riot at the Baroness’s Spring Show, she was a little more flirtatious while being cautious about it. Instead of the usual spiteful comments, she’d give you smiles and glances and if she’s having a good day she’ll give you a cup of tea. You admired those gestures and it kind of excited you, making you think what would come next. So it’s safe to say that you were distraught when you saw the warehouse on fire and definitely relived when she came back to you alive.

You now find yourself going around and doing a few finishing touches before you catch a glimpse of Cruella sitting outside on the balcony. Buddy is comfortably sat by the window, his tail wagging when you come near to pet him.

Looking out the window, Cruella is staring out into the city as the sun sets. You gaze at her for a little longer, she looks so peaceful, like it was the first time in a few months that she’s able to relax this way. She’s beautiful. But you can’t confess to her now, not tonight. It was obvious to you that she was in a contemplative state. Of course she would be though, tonight is a big deal for her.

You decide to pour some tea for her and yourself. Walking back towards the window, you place both cups near Buddy before stepping outside. You take a deep breath in as the cold weather hits you, slightly shuffling in your coat while taking the cups and using them to warm you hands.

“Feeling alright?” you ask her after clearing your throat. Sitting on the window ledge, you admired her as faced the city.

“You could say that.” she replied, her tone almost showing no emotion, leaving you to figure out if she was telling you the truth.

“Tea?” you softly spoke out. You aren’t sure where this interaction was going but honestly you’re willing to go with it.

Cruella nods as she finally turns her head to your person, tapping the space next to her. You assumed that she meant to put the cup next to her, so when you turned back after placing it you didn't expect her to call out to you.

“Come sit, darling. I don’t want you to tire yourself out before the tonight.” she coos out.

When you realized the action, you felt your face heat up as you make your way next to her. Her eyes never came off you, even when you take a sip of your tea while you muster up the courage to ask her something.

“Do you really want to go through with this?” you don’t face her as you ask, mainly because you know the answer and expect her to berate you about why she is.

All Cruella does is sigh and put her attention back to back to the city. You were taken aback but weren’t entirely surprised at the action. You’re definitely not going to take her back facing you as an answer this time.

“Cruella, no, I’m being serious.” you retort, attempting to move your head into her view so she can’t avoid your question.

“Awh and you’re so cute when you are.” she teases, quickly turning to you as she said so for your reaction. It’s just the one she wants, her comment flusters you but to her surprise you managed to swiftly compose yourself as you gave her a serious look.

Sighing, she looks at her lap in thought, trying to figure out the right words. “I want to. Have to, need to, it doesn’t matter but its for her.” She looks back up at you and sees you’re finally meeting her eyes, catching her off guard a bit. “..And for me, of course.”

You hum in reply, knowing that shes referring to her adoptive mother. Though, you can’t shake the fact that she can actually get killed this time if anything goes wrong.

“Look, you’re so strong and brave I wish you knew you don't always have to be. I'm here, if you're ever willing to let me help shoulder those burdens." you insisted.

You put your cup down as you move your body towards hers. Looking down, you realized that the tip of your fingers were on hers. “I just want you to be careful. You need to look after yourself as well, not just us so don’t actually die this time okay?” you plead, staying fixated on both of your hands.

Cruella stays staring at you, not just with awe but also with perplexity. “I won’t.” she says breathlessly, the feeling of your hands brushing around hers making her heart race.

To her, it almost felt like a promise, it sounded like your cared about her. She doesn’t know exactly why or when it happened, but Cruella feels like she has to protect you. She came to terms with her infatuation, knowing that there’s so many things that she admires about you. Then again, her mind has always been obscure, you have to let her know gently so she doesn’t-

“Even after all this, after how I treated you, the amount of trust you have in me is truly marvelous.” The recalling of her behavior around you before made you lift your head, it almost had you protest but she continues.

“Sometimes you amaze me, darling. I mean you always do, you have such intuition and real wisdom about things. I like understanding the way you see the world, how you see me." she admits, realizing with each word, she takes a risk.

“Well then, I guess it’s safe to say that we can leave that behind us.” Finally looking back down, you notice that her hands are lightly holding yours. Though it’s not your entire hand and it’s just over your fingers, that gave you enough sense of bravery and reason to let her know how you feel.

“Cruella, I feel like there’s something I should tell you.” you almost blurt out, quickly darting your head up towards her which startles her for a moment.

Stopping yourself to collect your thoughts, she stares at you out of confusion. “Alright, spit it out then, darling.”

Wondering what you’re going to say next, Cruella softly rubs her thumb across your fingers to see if it calms you. It didn’t, though it feels nice, it’s getting you no where near to what you want to say.

Doubt and fear clouds your mind but you breathe in and decide to see how this plays out. After all, this could be the only opportunity to tell her. You turn to her and grab hold of her hands, having them rest on top of your knees comfortably in your gentle grasp.

“Cruella, I really like you. I know it’s.. “unnatural” for me to feel this way about another woman but, honestly, I can’t help it.”

You looked down out of nervousness saying that last part, her staring made your mind start to trail off thinking she was about to explode on you. She didn’t do that at all, surprisingly. Instead, Cruella’s expression is plastered with confusion, her eyes still locked on you. You see how they shift from side to side as if she’s trying to some some complex puzzle.

The silence is deafening, you quickly remove your hand off hers as you’re about to stand and begin to apologize. “Okay, never mind, this wasn’t a good time for this. Just forget that came out of me, I’m sor-“

“No wait, stop.” Cruella interrupts, grabbing your forearm to stop you from walking away. “I was cruel to you, why are you not intimidated like the others?”

Why is she asking that? Did she disregard what was just said? You assume this is her processing, so you just comply. “I said it’s in the past” you start off, still standing with your arm in her grasp while.

“But if it makes you feel better I was, my perspective changed later on. You’re a person too, you know. One that’s capable of change no matter your status or ego.” you tell her, seeing her face soften as you sit back down.

“After the fire, I’ve put you all under great worry. Ever since the start of all this, all I’ve done is hurt the ones I love.” Cruella doesn’t make eye contact, knowing it’s a sign of vulnerability.

Though, what she said gave you hope, she was being vulnerable and admitted her love. As much as you didn’t want to push her boundaries, you really needed to know if her feelings were mutual.

“So you do love me?” you say abruptly. Her shoulders tense slightly but drop right after. She’s tried of trying to go around this conversation in any way out of fear, so she decides to just go with it. No matter how it ends.

“Unfortunately, I do” she finally says, reluctantly.

“Why say it like that then?” you ask her, confused as to why she seems to hate the idea of why she likes you.

“Because I can lose you, don’t you understand?! What’s the point of having you to myself if there’s a chance where you can be taken away in an instant?”

All you could do was stare and listen as Cruella continued her short outburst. You wanted to give her a big, warm hug since this was probably the first time in a while she was able to express her emotions like this.

“I’m sorry. It’s just..you’re very valuable to me” Cruella then shifts closer to you to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, hoping that her motion of gentleness calms you.

Bursts of confidence surge within you as you decide to hold her hand in place. “It’s nice to know you mean it.”

You then turn your head towards her wrist, placing a kiss and letting your lips linger. A small smile forms on you lips after feeling the pulse on her wrist.

Before anything else can be said, you hear a honk from below. Startling the two of you and feeling Cruella’s warm hand swiftly leave your space.

Leaning towards the edge you see Horace standing next to a newly fixed car not believing that it was the very car that Cruella had driven, badly, after the Black and White Ball.

“When I fixed it, I noticed a name. Do you now what this car’s called?”

Your eyes shift to Cruella in confusion to Horace’s question, her attention still on him.

“A devil!” He proudly yells out, not knowing he mispronounced the name on the license plate.

“Horace, I think it’s pronounced “DeVille”. You know, “De-Ville”?” you reply, chuckling as you spoke.

“I like that.” you hear Cruella simply say before she grabs your hand to head back inside. You tug her arm to stop her. “Cruella?”

“Yes darling?” she replies genuinely as she turns to you, the nickname that she always throws around seeming personal this time.

“Please be careful tonight.” You tell her, remembering the possibly life changing event tonight with the Baroness.

Cruella sighs and and fully envelopes you into her embrace, you hands comfortably placed on her waist and her head slightly tilted down to meet your face.

“I will, love. Don’t worry too much, it’ll mess with your lovely head while going through with the plan” Cruella stares at you for a moment, an intrusive thought starts to swarm her mind. She then takes hold of your face and teasingly squishes your cheeks, making your lips pucker.

You’re about to protest since you don’t know why she’s squishing your cheeks, furrowing your eyebrows out of confusion. She then leans in and pecks your lips quickly, gently resting her forehead against yours afterwards.

You freeze up because of that, it’s nice to see this side of her. The side where it seems she has no worry and where she can begin to appreciate these new moments.

“I wonder if this would’ve been different before the fire” you whisper, breaking the comforting silence. Keeping your eyes closed, too shy to meet her eyes after what she did.

“I’m not too sure. I don’t want to ponder on that.” A few seconds pass until Cruella feels you lean in close for a kiss before she backs up a little, confusing you once more.

“What’s wrong?” you look up at her, your tone coming out a little defeated.

“Doing that would be very dramatic, darling. I’ll give you this for now.” Cruella places her hand under your chin and gently lifts your head, titling it to the side a bit.

Goosebumps quickly form on your neck to your shoulders from the sudden cold air hitting your skin. You see Cruella lean down towards your neck, feeling a soothing mix of her warm breath and the cool air.

She places a kiss, similar to the one left on her wrist, where your neck and head meet.

The feeling of her lips makes you melt but when she places one last peck, the blissful feeling is replaced by a tickly feel that makes you let out a small giggle. Facing you again, Cruella fixes your hair to cover the mark her lipstick left.

“When this is all over, you’ll get a proper one, I promise.” she says as she finishes adjusting your hair and coat.

“I guess I have something else to look forward to then.” you tell her, gently squeezing her sides out of excitement.

Nothing else is said as the smug grin you’ve grown to love forms on her lips, her hands reach for your hands once again as you both start to head inside. Even if you both didn’t know where tonight was going to go, you know that you wanted to be by her side the whole way through. Cruella, too, hoped for this, knowing that she’ll get to love every single bit of you.

[eyra]

Would you be comfortable sharing more about your experience with pmdd? I'm certain I have it, but I feel like it's pointless visiting the doctors because women's issues are often brushed to the side. But every month, the week to two weeks before is hell. I'm here now, and I've been crying all day yet feel empty. I can't bring myself to do a single thing. I've been snapping and just want to sleep all day. I feel like I just want to give up on everything 🩷

oh bless you 🤍 that’s no fun at all. and you’re so right in that women’s health is far too often brushed aside, and doubly-so with anything relating to periods. PMDD is a very isolating condition because unless you’ve got it, it’s so easy to dismiss it as “just PMS” and I find that so frustrating and upsetting.

basically: I had very easy periods all through my 20s and fairly good overall health. then in my early 30s (I’m 34 now) I kept having these bouts of feeling physically unwell, like I kept feeling as if I had a bad cold that I never quite managed to shake, and I was so tired and low energy all the time. I went to the doctor in summer 2022 and summer 2023, both times just telling them that I felt as if I couldn’t get well. I had various rounds of blood tests and scans and stuff and they eventually told me it was long covid and that there was nothing to be done other than get on with it. then towards the end of last year I started having moments of feeling desperately low emotionally - usually signposted by a few days of properly overreacting to stuff, which isn’t like me, and it would then descend into a few days of feeling very sad and not myself. I noticed that this was always happening in the days leading up to my period, so I just dismissed it as PMS, but then - as the emotional stuff was getting worse - I noticed that all the physical stuff was lining up with my cycle too. it got to the point where I was losing days and days every month to headaches and unbearable fatigue and I also just felt fully insane so I finally went back to the doctor and said I think all this stuff is related to my period - not long covid.

fortunately the doctor I saw that time was great. she took it very seriously and after a bit of back and forth she diagnosed it all as PMDD.

if you’re able to I’d really recommend trying to see a female doctor and speak to her about what you’ve got going on. keep a diary of your symptoms for a few months, literally tracking everything day by day. it’s arduous and frustrating but keep pushing them to take it seriously! there’s no cure and (obviously, annoyingly) very little research into it but there are things you can try to manage it, whether that’s lifestyle changes or medication. it’s very trial and error but speaking to a doc is the best place to start.

worth mentioning that not everyone with PMDD experiences physical symptoms - so even if you feel physically well, it’s still worth looking into.

I’d love to say I’ve found a load of really helpful resources and support online that I could share with you but genuinely I haven’t - hence the feelings of isolation - but always happy for anyone to reach out for a chat.

x

[cannedbeefaroni]

Get This (Joby Taylor X Reader) (SMUT)

Summary: You're the lead singer of a less than successful local band. You find yourself unlucky enough to run into your very first shitty rock guy at a gig, and hatred blossoms.

Content: SMUT 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, unhealthy dynamics, don't replicate irl, hatefuck, public sex, bathroom sex, clothed sex, dryhumping, finishing in pants, joby gets slapped in the face

Reader is written to be entirely gender neutral, but is implied to have an androgynous appearance (Joby implies he can't tell whether they're a boy or a girl)

Genuinely, you felt like you were going nowhere. Being stuck as a local band playing gigs at dingy bars and clubs with 15 max patrons was taking a big hit on your ego as the lead of a band. Your band members didn’t seem to give a shit, gladly taking whatever they can get, getting high off their balls every week and generally not caring about life. You wanted more out of this, and being so stagnant made you agitated all the time. After trying so hard to make things work, ultimately, very little progress was made. At one point the band got lucky, getting a gig at a park for a couple shows sprawled throughout the month. Sure, the set lists were composed of songs you hated and thought were boring, to appeal to the local community but the teenagers who came to watch thought you guys were the heaviest motherfuckers on the planet. Sadly, 21 and up venues did not have dumb teens with bad taste, and most of those audiences were either dead or unamused.

At the very least your drummer was passionate about the band, despite being a little too laid back. Your guitarist and bassist straight up couldn’t be bothered. You contemplated trying to recruit new members, but it would’ve taken so much trial and error. Until your guitarist quit. You always had the tendency to lash out at her whenever she acted diva-ish, but the last time was the last straw. You threw a bottle at her head, missing as it shattered against the wall behind her. Before you could apologize, she got up and left. You had to pick up the slack, since you knew how to play, but you weren’t used to singing and playing at once while performing. Every show since then had been exhausting, and you and your band members had failed to find any recruits. Months had passed, and you accepted that you had become a three person band. 

Through all the bad shit, you were lucky to get a new gig at a lounge. You were nervous, knowing if the manager didn’t like the band's performance, you probably wouldn’t get to play there again. Despite how hopeful and excited you were, you were worried sick. You wanted to practice with the others as often as possible, but you could only push them so much, so you spent even more time practicing the set list alone. You were losing your mind, feeling overwhelmed despite the stakes being low. You wanted to prove yourself, but you didn’t know who to. Maybe to yourself, or to random people you didn’t even care about. 

Setting up for the show, you ran around with equipment, skipping around like an idiot trying to get everything ready. The two others took their time, which they had every right to, since there was no rush. At some point, your drummer placed a drink on the table next to you, insisting you needed to loosen up before the show. You were hesitant to accept, but you eventually agreed and downed the drink. It was strong, but just one drink wouldn’t get you drunk. Turning around to take a seat, you notice some fucked up looking guy slouched in a seat at the table. The sun had just set and he already looked drunk, head leaning back with his legs spread and ass on the edge of the seat. His jeans were too low waisted and too tight, and his overall look could be described as greasy. Wondering how long he’d been there, you pulled a chair away from the table, awkwardly sitting trying to keep a distance. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around, sweetheart,” his voice creaked like a door, deep and lazily. You gave him an uncomfortable look. 

“This is our first gig here,” you gave a half smile, trying to be polite but ending up coming across dismissive. 

“Oh, shit. I had no idea you were in the band. I thought you just worked here or something,” he chuckled, but you failed to find what was funny. “Y’know, I’ve toured with a couple bands, but none of them had any female members.”

You had no response, so you sat silently, somewhat hoping the conversation would die out. 

“You are a girl, right? It’s hard to tell sometimes,” he doesn’t stop talking, and for some reason thinks he can salvage the conversation. 

“What’s your fucking problem, dude?” you sigh, wondering why you keep entertaining his bullshit. 

“Chill, man, I know your nerves are shot ‘cause of this gig. You guys are new, right?” he scoffs, hanging his head to the side, pushing his hair back with a cocky grin. 

“Yeah, but I’m not young. I’m in my late 20’s,” you roll your eyes. 

“Hang on, I didn’t say-“

“Come on man, you’re a shitty rock guy. I know you’re trying to get with younger chicks. Your bullshit won’t work on me,” you snap back at him, losing your patience. He fucking laughs, and you have no idea why it enrages you so much. 

“You got a rockstar attitude, that’s for sure,” his smile pissed you off.

You scoffed as you got up without uttering a word. There wasn’t time for this, you needed to get some vocal exercises in before the show, so you headed to the bathroom for some privacy. You had no idea why you were so embarrassed of warming up your voice, it just felt awkward doing it in front of other people. There were only two bathrooms in the establishment, both having only one toilet. While you really hoped the turnout would be good, you also hoped it wouldn’t get crowded enough to the point of the bathrooms having a 2 hour wait time. 

When the show was about to begin, all your worries skyrocketed. You started worrying if the audience wouldn’t like the set list, but the manager who booked you guys approved it and even picked some of the songs. It was going to be the first time a venue let you play as heavy as you wanted, but by the looks of the patrons who were primarily older men, you weren’t sure if you had the right audience. They were probably expecting classic rock, which your band definitely would not deliver on. Despite your worries, the manager assured you that it’d be fine. 

As the show was minutes from starting, you and the band made your way to the stage. You went to plug your mic into the amp, and as you did you caught a glimpse of that weirdo you spoke with earlier. He was sitting at a booth across from two women who looked like they just turned 21 yesterday. They were squealing with glee at the sight of him, which utterly confused you. You couldn’t help but eavesdrop, hearing one of the girls exclaim, “oh my god, are you Joby Taylor?” No wonder he had such a massive ego. He’s probably from some hotshot band that’s popular with teenage girls. You rolled your eyes hearing him soak in their praise, and humble-brag about himself. Everything Joby did enraged you. He caught you staring and shot a wink at you, and you could’ve sworn you popped a hernia. You knew it was stupid to let something so dumb bother you, but it was as if Joby was created in a lab to be the most insufferable rocker guy on the planet. You egged yourself on, needing to convey that rage in your first song.

The show started, and you jumped up on stage and swung your guitar over your shoulder. You gave your usual intro, but before starting you pulled an index card out of your pocket to read out the promotion you were forced to by the manager. You tossed it aside, readying yourself for possible humiliation. You made it a habit not to look at the crowd, because that always leads to awkward eye contact with a stranger. Staring at the back wall was the best bet, but of course, with your luck, your eyes glanced at Joby, and he stared at you with his eyes hooded and his chin resting in his hand. He was judging you, probably thinking he was better than you. 

“Gimme a scream,” the drummer called out, and you did, without breaking eye contact with Joby. If there was one thing you were proud of, it was your voice. You’d often get compliments on how you can scream like hell, but also have a pretty singing voice. This first song, however, was all screaming. It felt risky doing it first, but watching Joby’s eyes widen in horror as he heard the demonic growl ripped from your throat was priceless. 

I DON’T LIKE A FUCKING THING

MUSIC SUCKS DICK

SUCK THE SNOT END OF THE TIP OF MY PRICK, YOU FUCKING CUNTS

GET OFF MY BACK

I DON’T WANNA DO A SHOW WITH YOUR SHITTY FUCKING BAND

You leaped into action, jumping around as you played along with the band. Being a more eccentric performer, you liked having freedom to take the stage and command an audience, but the added guitar playing made that way harder, especially when you just started learning the instrument 3 years ago. It exhausted you, and was probably the reason you were so much more irritable all the time. You were kidding yourself when you thought you didn’t need a guitarist. Considering Joby, though, you wanted to prove in your performance that you could do anything. That you were better than him, no matter how famous or experienced he was.

DON’T BERATE ME ‘CAUSE YOU CAN’T STOP ME 

FROM BREAKING YOUR FACE, IT’S YOU I’LL ERASE

IT’S HATE, MOTHERFUCKER, HATE, MOTHERFUCKER, HATE 

It felt good screaming all this out after all the bullshit you had to endure. You didn’t care if the audience didn’t like your band anymore, you just wanted to fuck shit up. As you looked back at Joby, you noticed that the girls who were sitting with him just a while ago had gotten up and were headed for the door. It seemed like they weren’t big fans of heavy metal. Joby seemed isolated and upset over it, and you grinned to yourself as if you did a job well done. Two less girls who get to be manipulated by some greasy dude. You felt euphoric as you screamed the vulgar lyrics, as if you finally got the chance to cuss out everyone out there who’s hurt you. 

LIFE’S SO SHITTY, BUT AIN’T IT FUCKING GREAT? 

LIFE’S SO SHITTY, BUT AIN’T IT FUCKING GREAT? 

Then you realized that you wanted him all alone. Joby was inside your head, and no matter what you couldn’t spin it any other way. He had you wrapped around his finger and you couldn’t do a damn thing. You hated him for seemingly no reason. Maybe it was the way he seemed to try pulling you in, as if he wanted to push you into doing things you’d regret. Like you were a piece of meat. You weren’t even a person to him. He thinks he can just run around fucking any groupie he wants and run off like nothing ever happened. You’re not a groupie. You’re the motherfucking lead singer of Poor Impulse Control. 

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE,

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE,

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE,

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE,

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE,

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE,

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE,

GET THIS OR DIE, GET THIS OR DIE

You were jumping and stomping on every GET THIS OR DIE. You wanted to stomp it into everyone’s thick fucking skulls. By the end of the song, you felt like you just underwent an exorcism. There was no more hatred, just sweat, tears, and your racing heart. The audience actually clapped. Though it was dry, they were pleased by the performance. You laughed as tears rolled down your face. 

About an hour or so later, the show ended, and the turnout was decent. The audience seemed somewhat impressed by the performance, and that was good enough for you. Right after signing off for the night, you headed straight for the bar, completely spent and sweaty. You weren’t planning on getting drunk, you were just in desperate need of some water. 

“You were really cool up there,” the bartender smiled, sliding a glass of water over to you. “Are you guys gonna be a regular gig?”  

“Thanks,” you said shyly, voice quiet and horse from the performance. “Not sure. Depends if he likes us or not.” 

“He would,” another voice interjects. Joby was sitting at the stool next to yours, taking shots. You groaned, almost inaudible. “He likes that kinda trashy stuff.” The bartender left the scene, sensing the tension rising between you and him. 

“Trashy?” you sneer. 

“I mean, you gotta admit it’s trashy, but you make it work, babe,” he ruffles your already messed up hair, like he’s cool with you. 

“You would know. You’re the definition of trash,” you grumble. “I doubt your band’s music is any better.”

“Actually, I’m not in a band right now,” he admitted, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Y’know, something’s got me thinking.”

He leans his head against his hand, elbow on the counter. As he leans in a little, you sit unphased.

“You guys seem to be short a member, right?” 

“What makes you say that?” you brush him off. 

“I don’t think you’re all that great of a guitarist,” he starts, but you’re ready to counter argue. He presses a finger against your lip, shushing you so he can continue. “Your vocals are good, but that guitar is holding you back from being great.” 

“So what? I can get better,” you swat his hand away. 

“It would be easier if you had a guitarist, no?” his tone becomes soft, like he’s pretending to be a nice guy all of a sudden. “Someone with experience?” the way he inched closer made you feel cornered.

You were absolutely stuck. After all this time, what you wanted was handed to you on a silver platter, but in the form of a walking greaseball. Staring at your glass, you still felt his gaze burning holes in you. “I guess. If you really want we could hold an audition for you,” you say reluctantly, “but I don’t know if the band would be cool with it.” You search around for them, but they have already packed up and left. There goes your scapegoat. 

“I think they left without you,” he leaned in, whispering in your ear as if it was a secret. It sent a shiver down your spine, making you tense. His hand brushes along your thigh ever so slightly. Though every feeling you had about Joby was visceral hatred, your body reacted to him embarrassingly. You wanted to find him completely unappealing, but unfortunately he was totally your type. The way he made you feel was unbearable. Uncomfortable pulsing as you sat in your soiled underwear. The fact that your band members weren’t there to judge made you bolder than usual. 

“They tend to do that,” you replied, looking down at your lap pensively. He slowly brought his hand to your knee, resting his palm against it as he dragged it upward slightly. You stared at his fingers with jealousy. They were incredibly long, which probably made fingering any instrument easy. Then again, it would make fingering easy, period. His fingers gripped your thigh, startling you. 

“Guess I have you all to myself,” he grinned, and it sent a rush through you. 

You’re an idiot, so you got up, grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the bathroom. Luckily the bar was nearly empty again by the end of the night, so there were no occupants. You wish you were drunk right now so you had something to blame this on, but you needed relief and he was very much willing to give it to you. As you shut the bathroom door, you pushed him up against it, and before you got the chance, he was the one to break the space between, kissing you intensely. You instantly melted into him, pressing into him as your arms hooked around his neck. He was way too good at this, instantly taking the lead, grabbing the base of your hair and tilting your head, allowing your lips to lock perfectly. You pressed your knee against his crotch, and he groaned. His legs intertwined with yours, and you started grinding against his thigh. Snaking a hand down your back, it grabbed your ass, forcing the movement of your hips to stay in rhythm with his. Eagerly, you took his tongue into your mouth, letting him lick up the inside. He tasted just like you expected, like cigarettes and vodka. You whined for him like you were begging, and it felt humiliating. 

He pulled you away by your hair, making you whimper. You stared up at him as he chuckled at you, loving the way you submitted to him. “Admit it,” he said, slowly repositioning your hips, lining your crotch up with his. “Admit you need me,” he grinded into you, the head of his cock brushing over the perfect spot, making you moan for him. He humped you like he was showing you how he’d fuck you, and it made your mind go numb. Grabbing your face by the cheeks, he forced you to make eye contact with him. He thrusted hard, watching you squeal at the intense stimulation. “You can do it, sweetheart.” 

“I need you. I need you,” you whined, breathless and weak as he gave you a few sharp thrusts. 

“What do you need?” he pulled your face closer, lips inching closer to yours. 

“Fine! I need you in my band!” you exclaimed.

He chucked. “Now, was that so hard?” he cooed before pulling you in again, brushing his tongue along the seam of your lips, wrenching your jaw open once again to let it in. His thrusts were ruthless, abusing your nerves, pushing you to the edge. His lips traveled to your neck, licking the delicate skin over your pulse point before sinking his teeth in. As he bruised you, all control was lost as you were pushed to the point of cumming in your pants. Despite trying your hardest to stay quiet, you let out a borderline pornographic screech. Most embarrassingly, in your foggy state of mind, you moaned his name as your head fell to the crook of his neck, body melding into his. Heavily, you panted as you came down from your high. 

“So, you do know who I am,” he chuckled cruelly, making you scowl. You suddenly felt his hands come between you two, and you failed to notice his fingers working his buckle, then unzipping his pants. Only when you pulled away slightly and glanced down, you were met with the sight of his cock springing from the waistband of his underwear, unprompted. 

In a state of shock, you delivered a sharp smack to his face, making his head recoil to the side. You stared widely in horror as your hand slapped over your mouth, watching his cheek bloom red. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered meekly. “I don’t think I want to go any further,” you clarified as you pulled away from him. 

“I can see that,” he brought his hand to his face, rubbing the stinging skin. Hastily, he pulled his pants back up.

“Uhm,” you started, trying to find what to say. “We can have the audition tomorrow, if you still want,” you suggested awkwardly, hoping the original plan was still in motion. 

“Only if you promise not to slap me again.” 

“Only if you promise not to take your cock out again,” you rebuttal.

“Deal.”

[compassionatereminders]

How do you go about making friends and keeping them? It feels like everytime I meet people I click with, they move on within a month and I never get messaged first. I tried not messaging first and nobody talked to me for 2 weeks, which is when I caved and started talking to people again. I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong

I have absolutely no idea. I don't have friends. Or well, I have friends, but not many - and it took me a long time to start viewing them as real friends. So my advice is that when you find someone you really vibe with, you gotta latch onto them like a dog to a bone.

- Tiny

The secret is to not give a fuck about whether people like you or not. That way you will eventually start to attract people who like your genuine self without even trying. That's what I did. It worked.

- Cuddly

You just gotta put yourself out there and survive the insecurities and the rejections and the fuck ups and eventually you'll start feeling less insecure, getting rejected less frequently and fucking up less often. If socializing doesn't come naturally, it's all about practice and trial and error. When I grew up I was extremely socially awkward, insecure and didn't know how to connect with my peers, but now my social skills are above average. Why? Partly because I'm now properly medicated and not as insecure and paranoid as I used to be and partly because I kept trying until I eventually started to learn how to talk to people without panicking. Once I mastered that, it was just about finding the right people - and that comes naturally if you keep putting yourself out there.

- Kat

[infested-tea]

Bakugo, Shoto, and Deku x Trans! Femme Reader

I don’t really see any Trans!F headcanons for any my hero characters. So, why not do the three most simped characters in the show?

I’m trans masc myself, so there are some of them. Though not many. And even less for my trans femme friends out there. So, here’s an all inclusive to anyone on that side of the spectrum!

And don’t worry boys. Imma get y’all out there too. Working on it!

Enjoy my sugar buns! Love you all

Type: Fluff, headcanons, and a bit of angst

Katsuki Bakugou

High key will murder violently whomever even looks at you weirdly

Helps you with transitioning in whatever way he can

He spoils you with stuff than tries to deny it because tsundere

Katsuki 100% loves you and nothing changed afterward outside of more gifts and him cuddling you more.

(He claims it’s to comfort you but it’s really because he’s a big softy and will never admit it)

Need a tuck? He’ll get that. Need your estrogen? He’s on top of it already. Someone makes the unfortunate decision to dead name you and continue too? They don’t have a tomorrow.

He does ask questions but tries not to overstep any boundaries. And does his own research himself. He doesn’t need his hand held

Also, Bakusquad behind you 100% Mina and Sero especially. Especially Sero since, to me, he’s an nb.

I think it’s a general consensus that Bakugo is 100% an Uhh… passionate supporter of the lgbt

It’s also a general consensus that he’s gay

So, with him being gay, you were scared to come out to him

He would notice you growing distant

Now, you had trusted Bakugo with everything. And he was the same with you. He wouldn’t date you if he didn’t trust you.

So if you were really a girl and NOT a boy, you felt as if you betrayed his trust

But this is Bakugo. He’s way to perceptive

Probably knows more about you before you do

He’d notice how you’d look longingly at girls, especially when window shopping

How you would wear make-up or dresses but always denied anything about it

So, after six months of you dating. A long time for him in his book, and you growing distant. He knew something was off

You always looked guilty when you were caught by him

But he never put two and two together

He’s smart. But also kinda dumb

And he’s the type to let you come to him

But when he saw you crying in a skirt one day, looking at a mirror, he broke

He immediately ran to your side as fast as you can say “Trans rights”

He starts aggressively holding you in a great big bear hug and asks

“What’s wrong, baby? What’s been going on?”

A bombardment of questions made you shrink back and try to pull away

But he stubbornly held on

This was your gay boyfriend. He wasn’t going to accept you.

Or would he?

He gets you to calm down eventually, though it took a lot of trial and error

You pour out that you want to be more feminine

He looks confused

“Wha-? If it’s bothering you to where dresses then-

“No, Kat! I’m trans!”

He’s in a shocked silence

A feeling of betrayal stabbed him, but not for the reason you think

You take it as him about to verbally assault you and try to run off

He grabs you

Hold you as close as he can with his big, protective arms against your frame

“Why didn’t you come out to me sooner?” His voice was soft

You mumbled something about being scared and he just looked at you in both a mix of anger, betrayal, and devastation

But there was also a lot of love there.

He was hurt because you felt as if you couldn’t talk to him. And he said so. You began crying again and he held you

“Baby… I love you. Boy or girl. I don’t care. I’m gay. But I’m also in love with a beautiful girl right here.”

You looked at him with glassy eyes.

“I’ll support you in whatever way I can, ok? And as far as you want to transition. As feminine as you want to be. You’re my girlfriend or my boyfriend or whatever! But, you’re still my teddy bear.”

Izuku Midoriya

Now this boy

Mmm lemme tell you this boy

He is such a sweetheart to you

You came out to him along the first few months of dating

Both of you pride on strong communication and trust

And like Bakugo, he’d notice you dressing effeminately or growing distant

And when you came out to him

He was so happy you trusted him with it he cried

This bean is 100,000,000,000% your supporter and biggest fan in whatever you want to do as an adult or now

And this never changed that

You’re trans. You’re his girlfriend. Nough said

This boy will is on top of it when it comes to questions

And this boy is on top of anyone who decides to insult you

He will avidly defend you from people being transphobic or invalidating you

Honestly an overall supportive bean who will always be there for you and help you with whatever you need to transition comfortably

As for the Dekusquad… you will never have to worry about transphobes or homophobes because Ochako and Tsu may be sweet… but they can and will murder

Also Iida is just best boy. He is so sweet to you too. And of course he accepts you, HAVE YOU SEEN HIS BOYFRIEND?

Aoyama loves you and will totally dress up with you because to me, he’s a drag queen and I love him so much

And this was totally not to gush about the squads I love so much

Either way, Deku loves you and will absolutely love you until the end

May break a bone or two to beat up some transphobic trash… please don’t be mad

Shoto Todoroki

Oh Shoto

Oh poor Shoto

Poor poor dumbass Shoto

He is so damn oblivious

He just sees you in a dress or make-up and doesn’t even flinch

It’s you. So it’s fine

He noticed the looks of guilt you had

Mostly after a while of you doing this

You would have been dating for about a year before coming out to him

Because guilt bit at you

You were a girl with a gay boyfriend how could you do this to him?

But this is Shoto we’re talking about

And he started to notice you growing distant

Cuddle sessions became a lot less

Ok. He respected your space

But dammit he needs cuddles. They are magical

So, he confronts you about it.

“Baby, why aren’t you cuddling me anymore?”

You stutter a little

You start bawling and this boy is so confused

But he hugs you

And you spill out everything

Shoto is quiet afterward

You think it’s because he hates you

But he genuinely doesn’t know what the fuck is happening

A lot of thoughts and questions come through his mind

But right now the main one was “my girlfriend is sad… so I must cuddle her.”

He scooped you up and put you in bed, spooning you

Both of you were confused and fell asleep like that

You woke up the next morning with him gone

You started to cry before he burst through the door with a bunch of shopping bags

Motherfucker stayed up last night searching up transitioning process for Trans!F people and went out and bought everything he could that morning

Skirts, dresses, tank tops, bras, tucks for gaffing, whatever you could want

No medical transitioning however since he doesn’t know how far you want to go

You cried

He was alarmed but when he saw the smile on your face he was so happy too

“Does this mean we can cuddle again?”

You laughed at him and told him yeah

CUDDLES FOR THE WIN

[blooeyedtroll]

Home on the Range

Rated PG-13ish Lolz. For occasional cussing and maybe innuendos(?). Lolz. This can also be read on Ao3. Feel free to read it there if you prefer.

More art scattered though out this fic, hope you like it!

Hello friend! Welcome!  

This is a One shot fic that takes place in mine & @messybitch802 ​‘s : 

Efflorescence AU. 

This is the beginning of our tale, I hope you enjoy.

This is in Hickory’s POV. I thought this would be a fun way to introduce Bloo and Messy. It also seemed fitting since Hickory will play a larger part as our tale unfolds.

However, I’d like to think this could be enjoyed as a fun one-shot Hickory & Dickory fic as well. This fandom needs more Yodel Brothers content!

Big thanks to @jade-green-butterfly ​ and her random ask that kicked my butt in gear, giving me the inspiration to finally start writing:

Anyway, let’s get to it. Enjoy!:

HOME ON THE RANGE

"Rock Trolls... no doubt about that.”

The rugged, orange haired Troll put down his hammer and stepped away from the task at hand. Fence work could wait. This needed his immediate attention.  Around this time of day he'd expect to see, at most, a tumbleweed passing by the entrance to the Ranch. Maybe. Nobody ever came out this way. Not since he'd been here anyway. At a good clip, it was about an hour trek away from Lonesome Flats. Which suited his needs perfectly.

The perfect place to lay low and still blend in.

"Bist du sicher?" whispered a muffled voice behind him.

"Of course I am. Now hush, I'm gonna check it out. Stay in character. An’ be ready, just in case."

The orange haired Troll patted the front of his jeans, freeing them of a satisfying amount of dust from the day’s hard work and checked his reflection in a nearby trough. Grinning as he placed a straw of wheat that was kept in the brim of his hat; between his teeth.

Perfection.

Who would guess otherwise, that the reflection in that water, was anything but a genuine Country Troll?

It took a lot of work shopping, trial and error, but he did it.

Well, they did it. The four legged, rugged, handsome, Country Troll was in actuality...two Trolls.

Two brothers to be precise.

Yodel Trolls by the names of Hickory and Dickory. 

The last Yodel Trolls by their accounts, and they happened to be the best damn team of Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries in all of Trolldom.

For good reason.

The best tool to their disposal was their ability to blend in. So much so, it was only until it was “too late” for their marks, by the time their true colors were revealed. And this disguise has been their best yet.

Hickory, though the youngest brother, was the much taller of the two. So he was the face to this particular get-up. Making Dickory to be left with the tail end. Literally. Understandably, this was not ideal for him. 

And he definitely made it well known on many occasions how he felt about having to play a literal “horse’s ass”.

But by gum, was he the best ass you could ask for.

At this point, Dickory had mastered the art of synchronizing with Hickory's movements, in such a way, it was now practically impossible to spot anything amiss. It was as if they shared one mind while under the guise of this centaur-esk being.

And while Dickory was fairly sour about the whole situation, Hickory found himself more and more, fond of living day to day as a Country Troll. Very much so to his brother’s shagrin. The look, the music, the lifestyle...everything.

It had been two months now since the brothers found themselves here, in Country Music territory. However, last anyone on the outside had heard about them, was that they had "yodelled so hard, an avalanche fell on them"...or something? Which was just what they wanted. For the time being anyway.

The brothers had struck a deal with their last mark. 

For his freedom, he was to spread said rumor, so the Yodelers could lay low for a while.

Queen Barb, of the Hard Rock Trolls, was no stranger to the two brothers. As a matter of fact, she was one of their most frequent clients for the past few years. Which suited them just fine. Well, almost. The last few jobs they did for the young Queen, left a bitter taste in Hickory's mouth. Not so much for the tasks she asked of them, but because of something she said and what he saw on their last few visits to Volcano Rock City. Maps. Marked up. Plans of some sort. Hanging everywhere. The young ruler, looking the most tired he'd ever seen her, yet looking as if ready to burst from being too tightly wound, at any moment.

"Hopefully next time I see you dudes, one way or another, we'll all be singing to a different tune. It's gonna be so Rad."

Whatever was going on, both Yodelers agreed that it was definitely not worth getting caught up in. They could just feel it. Deep down. They were hired to track Trolls down and do what needed to do, to get by.

Both of them could be shady characters at times, but they had decent moral compasses to live by. So they told themselves.

That's why the presence of Rock Trolls at this moment made Hickory's blood run cold. Could it be possible somehow, some way, they had been found out? That whatever Queen Barb was up to, she was looking for them? What is it that she’d need them for anyway?

No. Their plan worked perfectly. Blend in as a Country Troll, lay low for a while, only do the occasional "job" when the opportunity presented itself, just until the Queen of Rock cooled her head or went through with... whatever she is planning.

Not a soul knew about Hickory and Dickory being here.

Well.

Unless you counted, July.

Miss July, the owner of the Ranch. A rather interesting Troll.

A Pop-Country Troll. The only mixed genre Troll around these parts. Unlike her four legged, centaur, Country loving neighbors; she walked on two legs... well, hooves. Her appearance could be compared to a more "Satyr" like build, with a perfect blend of both genres in her appearance. The bright colors of a Pop Troll, but the sturdy build of that of a Country Troll.

A Tough, stern older lady-Troll, with a heart of gold.

Running this place all on her own, while tending to her extremely elderly parents.

That's one of the reasons he never expected any visitors here. Nobody in town wanted anything to do with Miss July or her family. Didn't much like associating with “their kind” if they could help it. Though you'd never hear them say it in polite conversation. But that suited Miss July just fine. That's how she liked it. Ever since Miss July and her folks suffered a terrible loss to their family, decades ago, she rarely went into town if she could help it.

Which on one such occasion, is when she stumbled upon the Yodelers, in their first attempts at putting together their  “Country Persona”.

They had been camping not too far from her Ranch and the Town, when she found them both, struggling to even walk in time together, in a pair of poorly made four legged pants.

July took their word as Gospel. That they were just fulfilling a lifelong dream of wanting to, in some way, be a Country Troll. So she offered them a place to stay and to show them the ropes on what it meant to be a Country Troll. If they agreed to work for her at her family’s Ranch.

"Until you feel you can stand on yer own four hooves!' She teased.

It could be easily wagered that July being an outcast in her own community, could be a factor of sympathy she felt towards them, making her wanting to help any way she could, and possibly what made her not judgmental in the least. That, and as tough as she put herself on as, she was sweet as apple pie, through and through.

Which did make Hickory especially, feel guilty about not being more upfront with her. As much as he could be anyhow.

Especially so, when the occasional “job opportunity" presented itself around Lonesome Flats during the Yodelers free time. Turns out, there were plenty of Trolls who had a bone to pick with others, or needed matters settled around these parts. Not to mention, crooks-a-plenty to turn in.

But both brothers always repented.  By being very diligent working for Miss July on the Ranch. Anything she needed done, got done. It was the least they could do for what she had done for them for these last two months. So the last thing needed was for anything to get ugly around here.

As Hickory approached closer and closer, he could feel his brother tensing up.

"Easy.” He whispered under his breath, smirking, patting behind him in attempts to calm his hotheaded companion. While still maintaining a nonchalant and calm demeanor.

Having spent a fair amount of time in Volcano Rock City for past jobs, and even on several occasions for other clients; needing to spend time incognito as Rock Trolls, it was fairly easy to recognize them from afar.

Upon closer inspection, it did come across as rather curious to see them wearing Country attire. They couldn't be trying to blend in, could they?

No. Not by the way these two held themselves.  

One Troll in various shades of blue in appearance, the other in peculiar shades of green from toe to tip. Both faces, still covered by wide brimmed hats. The blue Troll's demeanor was nervous right from the jump. Their green companion, holding them by the hand, grounding them. As if to keep them from sprinting away at a moment's notice. Both looking tired from the trek they must have taken from town to get to the Ranch property and from the sun's unforgiving afternoon rays.

Nothing but what seemed to be electric guitars and simple backpacks on their backs. However, these were definitely the most impressive guitars Hickory had seen in all his life.

The blue Troll’s, from what he could make out, was sage in color and looked as if it was made of some large critter's battered wing. Almost bat or reptilian in nature. The green Troll’s guitar, an imposing, venomous violet, crafted by what could only could be guessed as being once the claw and stinger of some scorpion-type critter. One he certainly wouldn't want to tango with. 

Lackeys of Queen Barb’s? No... couldn't be.

"Nobody knows we're here"

"We've been so careful."

He repeated over and over to himself. Almost mantra-like. He really had no reason to be this paranoid he kept reminding himself.

“Who are the most feared Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries in all Trolldom?”

“The Yodel brothers. That's who.” He smirked at that last thought. Puffing his broad chest a bit more, in response to his inner pep-talk.

And no Troll, no matter now--

"H--Howdy!" The blue Troll, clearing their voice, shakily called out.

"Right fine day, isn't it?"

The traveler seemed to ease into the drawl like putting on an old pair of comfy shoes, and with each word, their confidence seemed to boost. Stepping forward from their green companion, they removed their wide brim hat and gandered up at Hickory, with a small smile that damn near made his heart leap through his throat. In a good way?

That was...unexpected.

His usual quick witted mind and tongue, on the spot turned into a train that just left the station.

Those eyes. Absolutely pierced him right through. Large, inquisitive, pale, cerulean eyes. Staring right at him under dark lashes, and surrounded by a cascade of cobalt freckles.

The closest shade of color he could compare those eyes to were a color he hadn't thought of in ages. Snow. Snow that as a Trolling he played in. Usually when you found yourself making forts or laying in heeps that came up so high, you would look, and you'd catch the glimmering sunlight, shining through it. A shade of blue that just melted you to the core and drew out a smile, without you being the wiser.

"Right fine.”  he responded. Recovering from his wandering mind.

No time to be side tracked by an adorable, freckled, blue-eyed Troll. With sweet, curvy features, who has solid looking muscles that look they could easily crush--

"How can I help you? You folks seem a bit far away from home. Don't get a lot of Rock Trolls around these parts.”

Thank goodness his voice seemed to be the one on track; at the task at hand.

“Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?”

The green Troll stepped forward, hotly, removing their own hat, as to glare directly at him. Sizing him up. Only a tad taller, but much more lithe in figure to their companion. Definitely much more fierce. Not just in attitude, but in appearance. Their eyes, deep as sapphires. Teeth, the bottom row protruding two large tusk-like lower canines. Ears, pointed back and just as sharp as their claws, which he found himself one the other end of, being pointed at. Just as he felt his hair prickle, preparing himself for what was bound to happen next, the tension was immediately neutralized.

"It's okay Mess” The blue Troll cooed, calming the green one.

"Sorry to just come on over uninvited, but uh, does a Troll named July still live here?"

"You mean Miss July? Sure does. Why, if You don't mind my askin’?"

"Well you see, she's my... can--can I please talk to her? If she's around here today?”

A good long pause washed over the three.

Hickory could feel the trepidation radiating from Dickory behind him as he swished "their tail' in annoyance. Normally, if this was any other situation, it'd be too bad for these two. He'd send them right on their way, or worse if it came to it. They seemed capable. They had guitars, they were Rock Trolls. Random Rock Trolls, showing up, asking for not himself or his brother, but Miss July. Out of all the Country Trolls in Lonesome Flats.

But the waves of anxiety radiating from this freckled Troll were massive; and when their friend wasn't staring daggers at his direction, they were gazing so tenderly and sympathetically at them. These weren't agents of Queen Barbs. These seemed like folks on a sad mission of delivering news, or something of the like. They looked as though this was the last place they would ever want to be.

Dickory always insisted that Hickory was too quick to let his heart think first before his head when it came to their line of work. He didn't see it that way though. Hickory thought himself a good judge of character. Hell, that's why they found themselves in this situation now. Tipping his hat in a friendly manner, he smiled at the two.

"Well, why dontcha follow me then. I'm sure Miss July is making lunch right about now. You folks are just in time. Name's Hickory"

"Messy." replied the green.

The blue Troll remained silent.

"Adorabull got yer tongue cutie?" he teased

Those freckled cheeks lit up in seconds, a flushed lavender. Too cute.

"Somethin' like that' They smiled sheepishly.

All the while, as Hickory walked with the two up to the main building on the property, they stuck to idle chit-chat. About the weather or the nearby town. They passed by many of the fences that housed just some of Miss July's critters. As well as a few stables, paddocks, a decent sized workshed, and the small house the Yodelers had been staying in since they arrived here. It was once they passed that particular building, the blue Rocker stopped in their tracks momentarily. Just staring. Almost trance-like. They only moved again once Messy had firmly grabbed their hand and they followed.

Finally, they reached the main building's porch. The family home. Without any prompting, the two travelers waited at the bottom steps of the porch. Hickory nodded, thinking that might be best. He walked up to the open door. The wafting aroma of today's lunch filling his nostrils. Chili with sweet rolls? If he wasn't mistaken, he could smell fresh squeezed lemonade too. Knowing better to barge in while she was in the Kitchen...

"Pardon me, Miss July?" he called out.

"Dammit Hic, I told ya once, I'll tell ya again. Lunch is on when I ring the damn bell, that's when it’s good and ready!"

Hickory couldn't help but chuckle. That July was a firecracker.

"It's got nothin' to do with that Miss. You see, You've got yourself some visitors."

"For the last time Hic, just call me Jul--"

July emerged from the doorway, holding in each hand a glass of lemonade with mint garnish. No doubt as something to appease the Yodelers until lunch was done. As soon as her eyes met the two travelers, she stopped dead in her tracks. Glaring at them something fierce.

"These two are the visitors I was talkin' about."

"Rock Trolls, huh? Here? Whaddya want?"

The blue traveler, clearing their throat, voice cracking; they smiled, eyes glazed and sparkling with unshed tears. Staring at July as if a secret wish had been granted.

"Aunty Ju-Ju? It's m-me. It's Bloo. I'm home."

Bloo? That Bloo? Could it really be? Hickory didn't need to dwell on that too long though. July suddenly yelped out loud, in such a way that it startled absolutely everyone. Including herself apparently because those glasses in her hands dropped and shattered to bits.

"You couldn't be-- w-what kind of game are ya playin’ at?!"

July at a loss for words. This was serious. There she stood, knees buckling, lip quivering, tail thrashing. Unable to look away from the Troll in front of them at the end of her porch. A look of torment across their face.

Slowly, the freckled Troll smiled sadly, and reached behind their back for their instrument. Hickory acted quickly, putting himself between the two. Staring intently at the Rocker. They stared back, as they slowly brought the instrument forward.

"Please. Let me play?"

Hickory's nostrils flared, biting down hard on the straw in his mouth. How was he so stupid? Well, he wouldn't be fooled this time.

*~strum~*

Though the guitar was imposing and electric, with a stroke of their hand, it played a long, twangy, unmistakable, Country cord.

Silence.

Laying a hand on Hickory's shower, July gently moved him aside, her attention almost trance-like on the player. Waiting.

As if they understood, they shifted and picked up their guitar in earnest. Strumming again, but to a much more upbeat melody. Much more upbeat than most Country music Hickory had heard around town that he grew to enjoy. This sounded more... Pop? Much more like something he'd hear July singing on a day she was in a particularly good mood. Or something July’s elderly mother, the Pop Troll of the family might hum.

That's when they began to sing along, starting off slowly and gaining strength with each note. A large smile on their face as tears cascaded down their round cheeks. As if putting on the show of their lives. It was raw, and beautiful.

"She loves rock ‘n’ roll,

they said it's demons’ tongue,

She thinks they're too old.

They think she's too young,

And the battle lines are clearly drawn.”

“She's a wild one,

with an angel's face,

She's a lovely Troll in a state of grace,

When she was three years old on her daddy's knee,

He said you can be anythin’ you wanna be.

She's a wild one.

Runnin' free."

“She has future plans,

and dreams at night,

they tell her life is hard,

she smiles, sayin’ “that’s alright”, yeah!”

“She’s a wild one,

With an angel’s face,

She’s a lovely Troll in a state of grace,

When she was three years old on her daddy’s knee,

He said you can be anythin’ you wanna be.

She’s a wild one.

Runnin’ free.”

"She's a wild one”~~

"~~Runnin' free.”  July finished and sobbed the last line.

"That was the song I wrote for your Mama... all them years ago..My Bloo. My little ‘Bloo-Jay’ came home!"

Hickory stood fully aside now, allowing the two to embrace, for what he now had realized had been the first time in more than two decades. An embrace that both warmed and broke your heart, all at the same time. This was July's pride and joy. Her niece. Bloo, the only child of July's older sister June.

June and July were extremely close sisters. Best friends even.

June was a very free spirited Troll who fancied herself a part-time singer at one of the local bars in town. On one of these trips to town, she met a traveling Rock Troll by the name of Ziggy. Busking for food and drink. Let's just say, it didn't take long at all until wedding bells were ringing and Ziggy was part of the happy family here on the Ranch. The couple waited a while before having a Trolling. The two were busy enjoying married life, Ziggy took June traveling, fulfilling her dreams of seeing life outside Lonesome Flats. And wherever they went, they were singing up a storm. When they returned home to settle down, at any bar or club, or bingo hall that would have them, they continued singing their hearts out. Occasionally even dragging July along. The three of them became inseparable. Especially after Bloo was born. The townsfolk even seemed to warm up to the entire, oddball family. It was all turning up roses for the family finally, after what felt like ages of trying to live in harmony. But it all came to a crushing end. 

Shortly after Bloo turned five years old, a serious, contagious illness spread throughout Lonesome Flats. Most folks who caught it, eventually recovered, but there were eight fatalities in the end. June was one of them. The family was torn to pieces by June’s passing. Ziggy just wasn't the same Troll after. A year passed and just as they thought things might slowly start looking up, Ziggy and Bloo were gone.

Apparently he had packed himself and Bloo up one night, and just left without a word. July knew he had family back home in Volcano Rock City, and figured that is where he would take Bloo to raise them. But July dared not go there. For good reason. A Pop-Country Troll, travel to Volcano Rock City?  Demand her niece back from a heartbroken father? While leaving her extremely elderly parents to fend for themselves? No. July would be turned away or torn to pieces. King Thrash at the time was feared for good reason in those days and most Trolls feared Rock Trolls the most out of all the other Tribes.

July and her folks basically moved on by learning to mourn the loss of June, Bloo, and Ziggy. They never expected to ever see Bloo or Ziggy again. Yet here Bloo was. Embracing their aunt, while Hickory and Messy looked on fondly. His smile grew wider as he realized how overjoyed July's folks: Clay and May, would be to see their grand-baby again. Something they thought they'd never live to see.

He could see it now that he got a better look at Bloo, as they were bombarded with kisses and hugs, that they did share a little resemblance to their Pop-Country Aunt. Though without a doubt, they took after their father Ziggy the most. No wonder Bloo wasn't easily recognizable at first glance, they looked so different in comparison to how they looked back then as a Trolling.

Who would have thought that he'd meet the Troll who's childhood pictures adorned the home he and his brother were staying in? Which happened to be Bloo's Old family home on the Ranch. The same house they had stopped to stare at on their way to the main house.

"Small world we live in!” He barked with laughter.

"Welcome home Miss Bloo, glad to meetcha." And he meant it, whole heartedly.

"Glad to be home again.”

END.

(Song used was Faith Hill’s ‘Wild One’. Tweaked for this story)

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 25: Martin Prime

“Well, she was right about one thing,” Jon said dryly, a moment or two after they pulled away from the curb. “I definitely don’t care much for the original Helen Richardson.”

Martin forced a smile, although he knew his heart wasn’t in it. “Our Helen said that, did she?”

“When I was in her domain. Or, well, when I was on her doorstep, anyway. She told me I wouldn’t have—how did she put it? I wouldn’t have liked ‘Helen Classic’ all that much.” Jon sighed. “I’ll give the Distortion credit for that much, anyway. She—it—never really lied to us.”

Martin hummed and turned his face in the direction of the window. “She didn’t need to. Why lie when the truth would disorientate just as well?”

“That’s a fair point. God knows our world was confusing enough as it was. It was never very hard to get us—well, me, I suppose—turned around just by presenting me with a truth I’d never considered before.” Jon went quiet, but it was the sort of quiet he usually got when there was something he wasn’t saying and really ought to.

Ordinarily, Martin would have pried at him, tried to prod him to open up and just be honest, but right about then, he was just too tired. Not physically, mentally. Partly it was the edge of navigating a new place while blind. He’d been at one time intimately familiar with the Archives, and he’d had at least passing familiarity with both Tim’s house and the tunnels, back before. But he’d never been to the house they’d just toured before, had no frame of reference, and he’d decided to go without the cane despite Jon’s objections—he was still sort of learning how to use it properly, since it was mostly trial-and-error on his part, and he’d also got it in his head that Helen would probably be the sort of person to look down on someone visibly disabled like that. The fact that he strongly suspected he was right wasn’t helping his mental energy levels. He’d spent the last—God, four months? Had it actually been that long?—surrounded by people he knew, trusted, and loved, for varying definitions of love, and who reciprocated those feelings. Helen Richardson was the first person he’d interacted with outside of the Archival team, and he hadn’t been prepared for the way she’d acted around him. Around them, really, and he wasn’t sure if it was Jon’s appearance or the fact that they were two men in a relationship or both. That, at least, was something he was well used to—he’d been out since he was fourteen and Jon was by no means his first boyfriend, although he hadn’t really dated much since starting to work at the Institute—but it didn’t make it any less upsetting, or exhausting.

And despite that, despite the fact that she was objectively not a particularly nice person, Martin felt a weariness settle over him as he realized they probably weren’t going to be able to save her. They’d known they probably couldn’t prevent every horrible thing that had happened to the people they knew, of course, but both Jon and Martin were determined to do what they could. And since Helen’s initial statement had been rather…imprecise about how long after her experience it had been before she decided (or, as they’d later learned, was pushed) to come to the Institute and give her statement, they’d decided to see what they could do to warn her, as best they could. It probably wasn’t a surprise that it hadn’t worked. Martin didn’t need any special powers, or indeed the ability to see her face, to know that she’d been deeply skeptical of Jon’s questions about the door. He believed her when she said she hadn’t seen it—Jon had said from the beginning that the Distortion had been lucky to grab her on the first go—but he’d kind of hoped she would at least be on the alert for it, and he somehow didn’t think that was going to be the case. The Spiral was going to target her, and now Martin wondered if they’d inadvertently drawn its attention to her. God knew they’d accelerated enough other things in the timeline.

There was also something else preying on his mind, something fairly major, but he knew better than to bring it up.

Finally, Jon spoke again, in a voice so soft Martin almost couldn’t hear it over the engine. “She was selective about what truths she told me, though. It was easier to remember that when I wasn’t alone.”

Even though he knew it wasn’t meant to be a censure of him, Martin felt a stabbing of guilt in his stomach, and he had to swallow hard before he could answer. “You know I wouldn’t have—”

“I know,” Jon said immediately. Martin felt his touch on the back of his hand and instinctively laced their fingers together. “I could have…I’m not blaming you. I didn’t even realize how hard it was until I was in her domain.”

“Alone,” Martin reminded him. That was the sticking point. Jon wouldn’t have been alone when he faced down Helen if he hadn’t realized how badly Martin didn’t want him to see what his domain was like…or more accurately, what Martin in his domain was like.

“I could have waited for you. I could have gone into your domain and tried to find you. I could have taken the path that avoided Helen entirely and dealt with the spiders. I had options, Martin, and I chose to take the option that led me through Helen’s domain alone. That’s not on you.” Jon forestalled any reply Martin might have had by lifting their joined hands and kissing the back of Martin’s gently. “I don’t care what your mother said to you. You don’t bear the responsibility for anyone but yourself.”

Martin managed a smile. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know.” The smile in Jon’s voice was audible. “I love you, too.”

They lapsed into silence for a while. Martin almost thought that was the end of it, until Jon spoke up again. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Martin repeated, although he was pretty sure he knew what Jon meant.

“Martin. I don’t need the Eye’s power to know that there’s something on your mind.”

Martin considered denying it, but in his heart of hearts he knew he wasn’t going to do that. They were trying so hard to communicate, and they’d been doing really well at it. He wasn’t going to break that now. Best to just say it and get it over with.

“That took a bit more out of me than I thought it would,” he admitted. “Not just dealing with—pre-Distortion Helen, or, you know, trying to maneuver around a space I didn’t know without being able to see it—”

“I told you to bring your cane.”

“I know, but she was having enough trouble being civil to us as it was. Why make it worse? Not like it would have helped all that much.” Martin sighed. “That’s really only part of it, though. Not even the most significant part, if I’m being honest.” He bit his lip. “I just…I didn’t realize how much I wanted that.”

There was a short pause before Jon spoke, sounding confused. “The house? I-I mean, we can probably buy it, if you really want to.”

This time, Martin’s smile was at least genuine, if small. “Look, Peter Lukas might be a bit oblivious when it comes to technology, and he might have more money than he’ll spend in a lifetime, but even he’d notice a sudden payout of two and a half million pounds to a real estate firm.”

Jon snorted with obvious amusement. “Probably closer to three by the time Helen was done working us over.”

“Point still stands. Anyway, it’s not the house I’m talking about.”

“Then what is it?”

Martin took a deep breath. “It’s just—I never thought about a future for us. I mean, yes, of course I knew by the time we’d been in Scotland for a couple weeks that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I-it’s just, well, once the world ended? I never really thought about the rest of our lives actually being that long. Yeah, we had the plan to stop Jonah Magnus and save the world and turn things back the way they were, but—let’s be realistic, Jon, I think we both had it in the back of our minds that we were both going to die. I guess I just never considered the possibility of a future beyond that, because I figured we didn’t have one. I figured the best I could hope for was dying with you and there being a life after death we could spend together. Even when we came back here to fix everything, I—I didn’t really think beyond immediate goals. Stop Jonah, save Tim, save Sasha, save the world. I didn’t think about what might be ahead for us. But then we were in there talking to Helen, and I was listening to you spin that story for her, and—and something just clicked, you know? I suddenly…it suddenly hit me how much I really wanted all of that. How much I want to have that—that future. That life together. A home. A cat.” He swallowed hard. “Kids.”

Jon didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Martin closed his eyes and lowered his head. He shouldn’t have said all that. He should have just left it at wanting them to have a future. He shouldn’t have mentioned how right everything Jon had lied to Helen about felt. It was too much pressure, and God knew Jon probably didn’t want it, didn’t want to risk…now Jon was going to think he had to let Martin down gently. Hell, there was no guarantee Jon even wanted this to be forever. Martin knew he loved Jon, would love him until there was nothing left of either one of them to love, but what if Jon didn’t feel the same way? Especially since most of their relationship had developed while slogging through a literal hellscape. Could they even survive a future free of conflict? But he was trying to get better about not assuming, so he pressed his lips together to keep from saying anything else and tried to fight back the tears.

At last, Jon spoke. “Do you remember the first person who came to give a live statement when we started working in the Archives?”

Leave it to Jon to change the subject rather than break his heart. And of course Martin remembered Naomi Hearn, but—wait. “Right, the—the civil engineer?” He didn’t trust himself to say much beyond that, still trying to get his emotions under control, but he remembered now. The man had found a book he thought might have been deeply cursed and been sent down to the Archives to give his statement. They’d eventually found out that the leather-bound book with its holographic, eerily styled illustrations and weird stains and symbols scattered throughout it was part of an ill-conceived but ultimately harmless viral marketing scheme for an independent horror movie that tanked at the box office and bankrupted the filmmakers.

“Mm-hmm. He brought his daughter with him, and when I came out to give him space to make his statement privately, you were keeping an eye on her for him. I don’t think you saw me—or Tim, for that matter, when he got back in—but I was…captivated. Didn’t know why then, but I just stood there watching you pacing around the Archives singing nonsense songs.”

“Polish,” Martin said softly. Jon was right—he hadn’t seen anyone else there. He’d offered to watch the little girl so she didn’t interfere with the recordings, or get scared, and he honestly hadn’t noticed another soul until the man came back for her. God, he didn’t even remember the man’s name. The girl’s name was Juliana, though. He remembered that mostly because of the children’s song he’d sung at her that had her name in it.

“I should have known. Still…my point stands. It’s…it’s a memory that’s stuck with me.” Jon exhaled. “You’d make an excellent father, Martin. I think I’d like to see that.”

A sudden weight lifted off of Martin’s chest, and he drew what felt like the first free breath he’d drawn in ages, even though it had really only been a few minutes. “Yeah?”

“Very much so,” Jon replied. “I…you’re right. I never let myself consider the future beyond…well, beyond stopping the Apocalypse. But you deserve so much more. We deserve it. So yes, Martin. To all of it. If—when we survive this, I’d like to have that future with you.”

Their fingers were still laced together. Martin turned his hand over and squeezed Jon’s tightly. “You know, that…was not how I imagined proposing to you.”

Jon’s laugh was a balm on the raw edges of Martin’s nerves—warm, affectionate, and maybe a little surprised. “Technically, you didn’t actually propose. You mentioned a lot of things you wanted, but—”

“Fine, you overly-precise bastard.” Martin laughed, too, then turned his head and hoped like hell he was actually looking at Jon. “Jonathan Sims, will you marry me?”

Jon’s hand tightened around Martin’s, and Martin could have sworn there was a hitch in his voice as he replied, “Yes, Martin Blackwood, I will.”

Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever stop smiling, even if his face hurt. “Sorry I don’t have a ring to give you, but…”

“I think I’ll survive,” Jon said dryly. He was audibly smiling, too. “I love you. So very much.”

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

For a moment, Martin let himself be content. They’d had more and more moments of happiness and comfort since coming back in time, and even in the short month they’d been living in the tunnels, emerging at night to let Jon feed off of statements and try to figure out what to do with the table in Artifact Storage without getting caught by Jonah, there were periods of time where they were almost as happy as they’d been in Scotland. But this moment right here? Sitting in a car with his boyfriend—his fiancé—and talking about a future Martin couldn’t have even imagined was possible even a year ago? This was the closest thing to heaven he thought he’d known since the first time Jon said I love you.

So, naturally, it all went to hell almost immediately.

Martin couldn’t even really say for sure what happened. He just felt the sudden waves of tension coming off of Jon. Jon’s fingers clenched briefly around Martin’s, then slowly relaxed and slid away. It was all done carefully and naturally, but Martin knew something was wrong. He fought down the instinct to apologize—the lingering remnants of his mother’s conditioning. It wasn’t always his fault and he knew that. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. Which meant that whatever was upsetting Jon was something external.

“Jon?” he asked carefully, worried and maybe a little afraid. “What’s wrong?”

Jon took a slow, even breath, which told Martin he’d maybe considered saying nothing before remembering that they were being honest with each other. “We’re being followed.”

“Oh.” Martin rested his hands on his lap and tried to resist the urge to bunch his trousers up in his hands. “By who?”

“It’s a police car. Which I know isn’t all that helpful, all things considered, but I’m reluctant to use the Beholding’s power more than I have to, so I don’t know who’s in it. It could be just a regular police officer on patrol who thinks we’re out of place in the area. It could be a complete coincidence. But it’s beginning to get dark and this isn’t a well-populated area.”

Martin swallowed. “So what are you going to do?”

Jon took another deep breath. “I am going to obey the exact speed limit and—”

The single whoop of the siren made Martin jump, and Jon sighed. “Shit.”

“They want us to pull over, whoever they are,” Martin guessed.

“I am pulling over.” Jon paused. “Martin, just—please let me handle this. Promise me you won’t—just, please.”

Martin fought back his instinctive response and nodded. “Okay, Jon. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Jon said softly.

Martin forced himself to sit still and stare straight ahead, even as he heard the faint squeaking of the window rolling down and Jon’s voice of forced calm. “Good evening, Officer.”

“License and registration,” a voice said. Martin bit back the gasp that instinctively rose in his throat. He knew that voice, even though he hadn’t heard it in a while—low and faintly menacing, unmistakably one Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner, still part of both the police force and the Hunt.

There was a sound of fumbling, and then a short pause before Daisy said, “Know why I pulled you over?”

Martin could guess, but he’d promised to keep his mouth shut, and he knew why Jon had asked—begged, really. Even with a regular police officer, if Martin mouthed off to them, Jon would likely take the brunt of it. And with Daisy, that would be worse. Jon was likely hoping to protect Martin, but Martin would do whatever he had to in order to keep Jon safe, too.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Jon was still keeping his voice even, but Martin could hear that it was shaking, just a little.

“Step out of the car.”

Martin stiffened as fear shot through him. This isn’t a well-populated area. Was it secluded enough, abandoned enough, that Daisy might do something to Jon? Even with him sitting right there? Quickly, he chastised himself. That wasn’t the Hunt, that would be the Slaughter—purposeless violence, violence for violence’s sake. The Hunt was about the chase, the tracking and following. Prey that did what you wanted it to wasn’t very interesting, and even if Daisy had sensed Jon wasn’t fully human, she wouldn’t hurt him the first time she met him. She would threaten him, let him know she was on to him…

He had to try very hard to keep his breathing even and keep from climbing out of the car himself when he heard Jon’s door shut. The window was still down, so he could hear Jon’s voice, a bit fainter but still audible. “What is this about, D—Officer?”

“You really can’t guess?” Martin had to strain hard to hear Daisy, and he tried to breathe as lightly as possible so he wouldn’t miss anything. “Let’s start with what you’re doing in this neighborhood.”

“We had an appointment to view a house.”

“That I’m sure you can’t afford. Doubt the Magnus Institute pays that well.” There was a faint hint of malicious satisfaction in Daisy’s voice, Martin thought, and she probably had that sharp, smug little smile of hers.

“There’s no law against looking, even if we won’t be able to buy,” Jon said. “A-and there’s always a chance we could manage it together. There’s—there’s a lot we can do together.”

Martin noticed then that Jon was putting slight stress on we. Like he was reminding Daisy that he wasn’t alone. He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking as he listened. The knowledge that Daisy was the only person who’d tried to help Jon when Martin couldn’t had made him try to trust her, and he’d thought a lot over the last however long it had been about her lowering her gun and letting Elias live rather than risk Basira dying, but try as he might, he could never shake the memory of Jon standing in that office, disheveled, frightened, and neck still tacky with blood. This Daisy wasn’t their Daisy, the one who’d forced Jon to listen to The Archers to ground him to humanity or asked Basira to find her and kill her once she’d saved the Institute. This was the one who would shoot Jon, or slit his throat, and not lose a moment’s sleep over it. God only knew what she’d do to Martin, even though he was—in theory anyway—human.

“Mm-hmm. Of course,” Daisy replied. “And you certainly didn’t have any…designs on anyone in the neighborhood.”

“I don’t mean harm to anyone.”

“Sure you don’t. Does the real Jonathan Sims know you have his car?”

Martin’s body ran cold. He knew Daisy hadn’t met Jon this quickly after Basira’s first visit to the Archives—she’d come with the third tape—so there was no way she knew the Jon in this timeline either. She couldn’t possibly. How could she know—?

“I am Jonathan Sims,” Jon insisted.

“Uh-huh. And who’s in the car with you?”

“My fiancé.” The pride in Jon’s voice overrode his fear, just for a moment, and Martin’s lips twitched involuntarily. Jon had always taken an inordinate amount of delight in claiming Martin as his boyfriend, regardless of the tone whoever they encountered addressed them in; he should have known Jon would be even more thrilled to tell people they were engaged. Fleetingly, he wondered what the Archival team would think of it, or if they were going to mention it before everything was over. He didn’t think Jon would manage to keep it a secret.

“He have a name?”

“Of course he does.”

A faint growl came from somewhere, and the hair on the back of Martin’s neck stood up. There had been a time when he would have considered his inner animal or daemon or Patronus or whatever you wanted to call it to be some sort of small squeaky mammal, because growing up, whenever he came up against a choice between fight, flight, or freeze, his body inevitably chose to freeze, or more accurately to curl in on itself and fight the urge to cry because that made things worse. Since escaping his mother’s clutches, and even more since becoming part of the Archives, he’d drifted towards a weird blend of fight and freeze that usually manifested in him getting angry and doing something stupid. That growl, though, made him want to hunker down in the grass and pray not to be seen. Not even metaphorically. He shrank back against the seat and swallowed hard, willing Jon with all his heart to get back in the damn car already.

The sudden sharp rap on the window right next to Martin’s ear made him almost jump out of his skin, and he couldn’t stop his frightened gasp this time. It took him a second to realize he was probably expected to put down his window. He fumbled for the crank and managed to wind it down.

“Step out of the car,” Daisy’s voice ordered.

Martin scrambled to get the safety belt undone, then reached for the car door to open it. He gave a fleeting thought to his cane, but he couldn’t quite remember if he’d brought it with him or left it at Tim’s house when they’d borrowed Past Jon’s car and he didn’t think he had the time to ask. The door suddenly jerked from his hand, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. He only barely managed to keep himself steady and get out without falling.

Keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut, he chanted to himself as he braced himself against the roof of the car. This could still go badly for Jon—for both of them, really, but if Martin mouthed off Daisy was likely to take it out on Jon.

“On the curb,” Daisy ordered.

Martin nodded, making what he hoped were being taken as noises of agreement, and started around the car, keeping one hand on it to make sure he didn’t wander off into the street and get run over. Jon had mentioned it was starting to get dark. Besides, the last thing he wanted was Daisy to think he was trying to run.

“Leave him out of this.” Jon sounded more scared than Martin thought he’d heard him since they’d been separated in the Lonely house. “He hasn’t done—”

“Shut up,” Daisy growled. She—or something, anyway—prodded Martin sharply between the shoulder blades. “Hurry up.”

Martin’s hip slammed into the side of the car. He bit back a grunt of pain and tried to pick up the pace, but moving faster meant he didn’t have time to figure out what was ahead of him and he almost tripped over the curb when he finally reached it. The slap of his hand on the car’s hood echoed loudly—which was good, he supposed, it meant there was something for the sound to echo off of, which meant they weren’t in a completely isolated area—and he pulled himself onto the sidewalk and edged around the car. He bumped into the mirror and stopped moving. Daisy would tell him if she wanted him somewhere else. He hoped.

“Jon?” he whispered as loud as he dared. Hopefully he was still quiet enough to cover the thin edge of panic.

“I’m here, Martin,” Jon whispered back. It wasn’t soft enough to cover his panic, or maybe Martin just knew him well enough to hear it. He doubted that, though. Jon had admitted, simultaneously not long ago and forever ago, that what Daisy had put him through was still one of the most terrifying things he’d experienced, and even though they’d later become friends, it was hard to forget what she’d nearly done. And this was the Daisy who would do that. Add in the fact that Martin was here, and far more vulnerable than Jon was, and it was going to terrify him.

Martin took a deep, steadying breath. He had to hold it together. He had to. If Jon was that scared, the last thing he needed was to know how scared Martin was.

“What’s your name?” Daisy demanded.

“Martin Blackwood,” Martin answered, managing to keep his voice even.

“Oh, interesting. I don’t suppose you’ve got any ID on you to prove that.”

Martin pressed his lips together hard for a moment. He might, actually; his wallet was somewhere in one of their bags, unless he’d lost it slogging through the Apocalypse, and they’d made sure to bring everything out of the tunnels with them, just in case Leitner went snooping around and tried to do something. But there would be a lot of digging around involved in that. “Not handy, sorry.”

Daisy’s snort was close enough that the air from it curled against Martin’s cheek, and he flinched. He hadn’t realized she was so nearby. “Of course not. That would be easy, wouldn’t it?”

Martin swallowed back his instinctive response and kept as still as he could. He strained his every sense to listen, but apart from the usual sounds of a late summer evening, he couldn’t hear anything. Daisy could be right next to him, or right in front of him, or right in front of Jon. She could be anywhere, doing anything, and it set his every nerve on edge.

“So,” Daisy said finally. It sounded like she’d moved, but Martin couldn’t quite tell where she was. “The two of you are claiming to be half the staff from the Archives at the Magnus Institute. You’re driving around a tony neighborhood where neither you nor the people you’re pretending to be belong. And you’ve stolen car and ID. If I were to call the Magnus Institute, I wonder what I would learn?”

“Likely nothing. I-it’s well past closing time,” Jon answered. He sounded a little breathless. Something brushed against Martin’s hand, and he almost jumped before his mind registered the familiar feel of the roughness and slight ridges of Jon’s worm-scarred hand. He flexed his fingers slightly, and Jon gripped him like a dying man might grasp a lifeline. Martin rubbed his thumb over the back of Jon’s hand as gently as he could, hoping to give him at least a little comfort.

“Hmm. Then maybe I should reach out directly. Or maybe…” Daisy’s voice shifted slightly, and Jon gave a small, frightened gasp and tightened his grip on Martin’s hand, which set Martin’s heart rate kicking into overdrive. “Maybe I should just handle things now.”

“Y-you wouldn’t.” Jon was obviously trying to sound confident, but the fear overrode everything. “Not here. N-not so close to—people. Whatever I am, Martin isn’t—”

“What gave you that scar?” Daisy demanded.

“I—I have—”

“That one,” Daisy growled, and Jon let out a choked gurgle that told Martin she’d probably jabbed a finger into his throat. “Looks like something already tried to shut you up.”

“You did,” Jon gasped.

There was a long pause, and Martin heard a faint crunching noise, like Daisy had taken a step back. “What?” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Not now.” Jon’s breath was coming in short, panting gasps, like he’d been running—or like when they’d been in Scotland, when he’d woken from the worst of the nightmares. Martin wanted to wrap him up and soothe him, but he couldn’t, not here, not now. “We’re—we’re from the future. We’re here to—to stop something awful from happening.”

“Oh, what, the end of the world?” Was there maybe a little bit of uncertainty in Daisy’s voice?

“Yes. Actually. The world ends and—and so many people died. You died. You—we were friends. Later.” Jon sounded a little desperate. “I-I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true, Daisy, I swear it.”

Daisy inhaled sharply. “What did you just call me?”

“D—oh, shit.” If Jon squeezed Martin’s hand any harder, he was going to break Martin’s fingers or his own or both. “I—look, I told you, we knew each other in our timeline. Your name is Detective Alice Tonner, but everyone calls you Daisy. You don’t really tell people why, but i-it’s because of the scar on your back. I—we know you. We’re here to save you. You, and Basira, and—and everyone else.”

The silence stretched on so long that Martin wanted to scream—anything to fill it. He wanted to bundle Jon back into the car and get out of there. He wished, more strongly than he’d wished in ages, that he could see, so he could see to get them away, to know if they were safe, to make them safe. He didn’t know what Daisy was about to do and he couldn’t anticipate it without being able to see her. And of course the Hunt would keep her hidden from anyone who couldn’t see her, so he couldn’t even hear where she might be.

Finally, Daisy growled, “Whoever you are—whatever you are—I’ll let you go. This time. But if we ever cross paths again, monster…you’re mine.”

A door slammed, making Martin jump again. An engine revved, tires squealed, and then it was just the sounds of a summer night and Jon’s desperate bid for air.

“Jon?” Martin managed to maneuver around the mirror and reach for Jon with his free hand.

Jon latched onto Martin even more tightly than he had during the thunderstorm, his arms wrapped around Martin’s neck and his face buried in his chest and his body pressed so close to him it almost hurt. Martin wrapped him up securely in a hug and rocked him back and forth, trying to murmur soothing words, but they got stuck in his throat. He was only just realizing how scared he’d actually been.

“Jon, I’m here, I’m here,” he said instead, clinging to his boyfriend—his fiancé—to reassure himself that he was still there. It had been one thing to hear Jon tell him later about Daisy holding a knife to his throat in the woods, another to see that portrait of her menacing him, but living the moment they’d just lived through…

Martin realized that he’d never truly been afraid of Daisy. Not really. He’d had a hard time trusting her, he’d been angry about what she’d done, or nearly done, to Jon, but he’d never actually been afraid to be in a room with her, even when she’d been in full cop mode all but accusing him of being an accessory after the fact to murder. This was probably the first time Martin really, truly realized how close Jon had come to dying in that forest. How scared he must have been. How hard it must have been to trust her after that, to call her a friend. It was sobering. And humbling. And terrifying as fuck.

“She still scares me,” Jon whispered into Martin’s shoulder. “I meant what I said, we were friends, I cared about her. I did. I trusted her. But…”

“But she was the only person who could hurt you after the Apocalypse for a reason,” Martin murmured.

“Not the only one. Just the only one who would.”

Martin blinked hard, then decided to unpack that later. “We’re—we’re safe now. For now. We’re safe for now. It’s okay, Jon, we’re both here. We’re here. She won’t—she didn’t—” He pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and tried not to cry.

He couldn’t fall apart. He had to be the strong one. He was good at that, at pushing down his emotions and being the steady one. The hardest part of being with Jon had been learning to lean on Jon too, to let himself have emotions and weaknesses and moments where he was the one being held and comforted. And this was a situation, a tiny part of his brain clinging to rationality told him, where they could, and probably should, lean on each other. They both needed comfort, they both needed reassurance. But Martin had been pushed too far in his fear, and when he went this far, he defaulted into caretaker mode. He could fall apart later, when he was alone and had the time, even though he knew he would never be alone, Mum would make sure of that, and even if he was alone he’d have so much he had to do, there would never be time…

“Let’s get out of here,” Jon choked out.

Martin didn’t want to let go of him, but he eased back anyway. Jon didn’t let go of his hand, either, instead leading him around the car and opening the door for him. Even then, he didn’t let go of Martin’s hand, but climbed into the passenger seat.

“Jon, I cannot drive us,” Martin protested, even though instinct was telling him to do exactly that. Jon’s upset, he won’t be able to concentrate, you need to get us home safe…no, he needed to remember that he was blind and that, even in the throes of a panic attack, Jon would get them back to Tim’s safer than Martin would.

“No, I just—come on.” Jon tugged on Martin’s hand, which he hadn’t let go of, and as Martin ducked under the roof of the car, he heard grunts and rustling noises and realized what was going on. Jon had climbed over the center console from the passenger’s seat rather than let go of Martin’s hand for an instant.

Neither of them bothered with the safety belts, and Jon kept a tight hold of Martin’s hand even as he managed to put the car into gear. They didn’t speak the rest of the drive. Martin couldn’t tell how fast they were going, but it hardly seemed like they’d been driving any time at all before the engine cut out, and then Jon was crawling back across the console and into Martin’s lap.

They clung to each other tightly. Martin could feel Jon shaking, and honestly he wasn’t doing much better himself. He tried to hold back the tears—he didn’t have the right to be scared, not like Jon did, she hadn’t really been threatening him—but then Jon whispered brokenly, “I thought I was going to lose you,” and Martin’s control shattered.

“You thought—Jon, I thought she was going to—” Martin choked off the words and tightened his arms around Jon, hoping he’d tell him if he was hurting him. “You were—she could have—a-and I couldn’t see her, I didn’t know where she was, I—God, Jon, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?” Jon parried. “I-I couldn’t—when she told you to get out of the car, I—I didn’t want to—I was afraid to Know anything about her, I didn’t want her to sense it and—I know you couldn’t, not really, b-but she’s part of the Hunt and her whole thing is hunting monsters and—oh, God. I was afraid she was going to hurt you to punish me and—a-are you okay?”

Martin tried to figure out how to answer that question and finally said, “She didn’t hurt me. And I asked you first.”

Jon made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t know. I asked how you were because I—I can’t be okay if you’re not okay.”

“Yeah, that goes both ways,” Martin said. He managed a shaky laugh and added, “Weirdly, despite the fact that I’m an absolute mess over here, I’m feeling better than I did before.”

“I-I know. You…you don’t let yourself…” Jon broke off. “I know.”

A long silence settled between them, broken only by Jon’s choked, stuttered breathing as he tried not to burst into tears. Martin could feel the panicked flutter of Jon’s heart in his chest, and he knew he was crying too, but them being together and alive and safe, or at least relatively safe, went a long way towards calming him. He rubbed Jon’s back, grimacing at the unfamiliar feel of thin silk barely masking the ridged scars that still mottled Jon’s back.

“You don’t feel right,” he said without really thinking about it.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how they sounded, but before he could take them back, Jon huffed lightly. “Neither do you. L-let’s—if they’re home, m-maybe Tim will let us change back into our regular clothes before we head back. I—I’d rather wear your sweater. I-it makes me feel safe.”

God, how was it possible to love this man any more than he already did? Martin pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s head, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

It took a bit of awkward gymnastics for them to get out of the car without letting go of one another, or falling to the ground, and Jon wrapped his arm around Martin’s waist as soon as they were both standing upright. He fished one of their bags out of the backseat—Martin presumed—and the two of them shuffled up to the house like some sort of odd four-legged creature. Their height difference made it hard, but Martin understood. He didn’t want Jon that far away from him, either.

He’d thought they probably still looked fairly presentable, but that idea was dispelled when they stumbled into the kitchen to be greeted by Tim’s shocked and horrified shout of “Jesus Christ!”

“Are you all right? What happened?” The only reason Martin knew it was Past Jon asking and not his Jon was because it was coming from the wrong direction.

“Here, sit down,” Past Martin added. “Let me—um, I can get some tea—”

“It’s fine. We’re fine,” Jon said, despite all evidence. “Just—we’re fine. Tim, can we—borrow your room to change?”

It was probably a mark of how worried Tim was that he didn’t reply with something along the lines of No, you have to strip right here in the kitchen. “Sure. You know where it is. We’ll—go get comfortable.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Martin said softly as he and Jon headed through the kitchen.

They made it to Tim’s room without too much difficulty, and by the time they reached it, Martin guessed they’d both calmed down enough that they didn’t have to be attached completely—which was good, since that would have made getting changed awkward. That didn’t mean they wanted to be far away from each other, though. Martin sat on the edge of Tim’s bed and listened to Jon rummaging around in the bag for clothes while he undid the first couple of buttons on his too-stiff shirt, then paused. An idea began to form in his head.

When Jon came over and draped a sweater in his lap, Martin reached out and caught Jon’s wrist gently before he could move back. “Will you let me help you?”

He would have given almost anything to be able to see how Jon was looking at him just then. Was it confusion or resignation or annoyance? When Jon spoke, though, it was in a voice that was soft and laden with affection. “Only if you let me help you in return.”

Martin nodded. “I’d like that.”

There was a bit of fumbling and murmured apologizing, but they managed to arrange things so that Martin could undo the buttons on Jon’s shirt while Jon unbuttoned Martin’s. It was something they’d done before, although not since coming back to the past, but Martin remembered the first week they’d been in Scotland when he’d managed to convince Jon to come on a walk with him and they’d been caught in a sudden rainstorm. They’d run back to the safe house breathless and dripping, both of them fussing at the other to get out of their wet clothes before they got pneumonia, and they’d both moved in to help each other at the same time. By the end of it, their cheeks had hurt from laughter and Martin’s shirt was missing two buttons, but since it had been the shirt he’d worn to work the day everything happened—just like the shirt Jon had been wearing had been—they’d agreed it was no great loss.

This felt different. Well, it was different. That had been two men just starting to feel out the edges of their relationship, coming out of a time of stress and uncertainty and into what they’d thought would be a time of peace, struggling to find their place in the world and how they fit in around each other. This was…well, it was two men who’d been through literal hell together and come out the other side, who knew what they were to each other. It was about taking care of each other, but it was also about reassuring themselves that the other was there and whole and well. They took a little more care with getting each other’s shirts off, partly out of respect for the quality of the shirts—although Martin was already silently wagering with himself about whether they’d ever be able to wear them without thinking about Daisy threatening them—and partly because they were both still more scared than they were willing to admit. Martin could tell exactly how scared Jon was when he stepped forward and silently embraced Martin instead of getting dressed again once their button-downs were off.

“Are you all right?” he asked again. His voice was soft and raw.

Martin hugged Jon back, pressing their foreheads together and soaking in the calm that Jon’s presence could always draw in him, no matter the circumstances. He nodded slowly. “Getting there. You?”

“I will be.” Jon shifted the angle and kissed Martin, warmly and tenderly, then pulled back with a small sigh. “Let’s finish getting dressed and go…I don’t know, apologize?”

“I don’t think they’ll let us, but we should probably at least warn them,” Martin said slowly. He was reluctant to let go of Jon, even though they’d both at least stopped shaking. “You know, in case Daisy thinks we’re…actually them?”

“I—I don’t think she does, but you’re right, we should.”

It was probably too warm for sweaters, but the tunnels were underground and made of stone, so they stayed cool year-round. Besides, as Jon had said, the weight was comforting. Martin pulled on the sweater and changed his trousers, then waited while Jon repacked their bag. They were still wrapped around each other when they headed back to meet the others, but at least they were a bit steadier.

That was always the way, though. They were partners; they held one another up, supported one another, steadied and anchored one another. No matter how bad or scary things got, there was nothing they couldn’t face if they held onto one another and stayed together.

[monkey-network]

Crash Bandicoot It’s Aboot Time Review

5 out of 5. Holy Shit Award

“Crash Bandicoot 4″ feels like such a dream. I was practically out of the loop of It’s About Time’s initial announcement and at the time, I probably would’ve shook it off. “No way is this gonna be a thing.” But I saw the official trailer, and it caught my eye. Then I saw more news on it, and my brows were raised. Then the final week of September came around and it suddenly occurred to me that this game could be genuinely the best. Then I played the game this premiering Friday and it’s like... the biggest dream come true.

I feel Toys for Bob, the studio behind the Spyro Reignited Trilogy, took what they experienced from that into Crash 4. Vibrant, well condensed levels with fresh, more cartoon-y redesigns of our heroes and villains. Incredibly responsive gameplay where it's indeed more like the first game but better thanks to having precise edgecatching on top of giving us the 2nd and 3rd game's moveset off the bat; something Crash’s N Sane Trilogy slips up in some cases. And a surprisingly good story that while keeping things tight, clearly feels like they had fun giving Crash and the others an adventure that expands on the third game exponentially without getting too ambitious. 

Giving us my new favorite version of Cash Banooca himself

As for how it affects the canon, for someone that never really cared about Wrath of Cortex, I won’t knock anyone’s who miffed about this erasing that and Twinsanity but it is hard to deny It’s About Time has a far better direction in being a continuation in both story and gameplay, especially when the two go better hand in hand with the new mask mechanics in addition to the new characters we get to play in moments. The gimmicks add onto the basic platforming format we got for the original three games, and the journey felt really rewarding every step of the way, regardless of the difficulty. This revels in the influences of the previous titles and encourages newcomers with making the “life count” system of the originals optional. It’s About Time encourages the desire for a challenge and the casualty of trial and error. 

Any caveats I have feel few and far inbetween, mostly in the story where a couple threads felt undeveloped. I’d say it’s frustrating to not get all the gems in spite of doing everything perfectly thanks to hidden ones, but that’s really where the replay value shines in that it demands exploration on top of perfecting the level run to earn the rewards. It’s thrilling to say there are zero microtransactions so when I finally get the character skin I wanted or the extra challenges it truly feels like I’m playing a complete game as opposed to one I continuously have to pay in order to make it complete. I haven’t 100% this game yet but it’s done enough for me to want to.

This feels like Crash’s answer to Super Mario Odyssey; a big hug for the original trilogy that says they cared more than enough to not only do them justice (in more ways than one) but feel right at home in this modern era as a wholly new game after 12 years. It just feels momentous to say Crash truly came back. This is by no means thanks to rose-colored glasses, Crash 4 just has that spirit I wanted in a video game this whole year and they just delivered in spades. Again this all feels like a dream. We got a whole Crash Bandicoot game, no underhanded tricks, no contrived gimmicks, all after a four month wait (I see what they did there) from its initial teaser. It not only brings plenty new ideas to the table, but executes it all with an energetic personality. It’s not only proud of what it’s able to make itself but works spectacularly in being there for this franchise.

Fuck it, it’s my Game of the Year

[obxfics]

Saltwater Petals on Our Skin

summary: someone moves into shop next door to the Pogues’ surf shack

pairing(s): sarah cameron x OC, john b x sarah cameron, jj maybank x OC, kie carrera x OC

taglist: @summerintheobx​ @kiarascarreras​

a/n: okay i know the summary sucks but this is the flower shop surf shack AU i mentioned a few weeks ago, and its something new im trying! (i know i already have so many things to finish lol but im really excited about this). this will be a multi-chapter fic, and features an OC! the pairings for this fic may seem a bit confusing right now (since those are the pairings for the whole fic not just this chapter), but i hope it has a bit of everything so you all will be happy with it! also shout out to @thatjohnd​ who is practically my co-writer (most everything written in this fic is something we’ve both come up with and screamed about lmao) so without further ado, here is the first chapter!

The first thing John B noticed on his way into work was that the place next door, which had been abandoned for years and then under extreme renovation the past few months, had no workers loitering around but did have an absolutely ancient truck parked outside. For as long as he had been working at the surf shack on the beach, he couldn’t remember a time when that building had ever been occupied, but it looked like now its luck was changing. The truck was loaded, practically overflowing, with plants and pots and soil, and John B could see only one person struggling to move everything from the vehicle into the building. If a new sort of shop was moving in, why was only one employee doing all the work? He rushed over to help the stranger with a particularly large potted plant when he saw they were about to drop it.

“Oh!” the stranger yelped when John B helped them set the pot on the sidewalk. “Thanks for that. Would’ve been a disaster if I’d dropped Petunia here.”

John B smiled as he got a good look at the new neighbor. She was a small woman around his age, with warm brown skin and even deeper brown eyes that lit up as she smiled at John B. Her thick black hair was pulled up and tied back with a bandana, revealing a sheen of sweat at the nape of her neck from all the movement she’d been doing under the hot sun. What really caught his attention, however, were the delicate tendrils of ink flowering over her skin, climbing up her arms and disappearing over her ribs until they were hidden by her tank top.

“You, uh,” he forced himself to speak instead of standing there staring at her slack jawed, “you moving in?”

“Yeah! Opening up a new flower shop,” she replied as her smile grew even wider. “Do you work nearby?”

“Oh, yeah, I work right next door at the surf shack. I’m John B, by the way.”

“Marisol, but most people call me Mari. Nice to meet you, John B. Thanks again for saving Petunia.”

“You name your plants?”

“Not all of them. Sometimes the missus names them. She named Petunia, and I would never hear the end of it if I got her all over the sidewalk.”

John B blinked. He had never heard anyone besides Kie talk so openly about having girlfriends, but it was nice. Mari obviously didn’t have a problem with people knowing, and John B had no problem with hearing it at all. In fact, he thought Kie would be happy to have some sapphic friends. He would need to remember to tell her about them later.

“Glad I could help you stay out of the doghouse,” he joked. “I could help you with the rest of this if you want.”

“You don’t need to be getting to work?”

“Nah, those slackers can manage without me while I help out our new neighbor. After all, what kind of welcome would it be if I left you to handle this by yourself when it’s hot as balls out?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Not a very warm one. Well, then, come on, I’ll show you around the shop. Oh, uh, you’re not afraid of dogs, are you?”

“You kidding? I love dogs!”

Mari grinned at him as she hefted a bag of soil over her shoulder and nodded for him to pick up Petunia. “Then you’ll love Grace!”

As soon as the door was opened, a great beast of a dog zoomed through the entryway, heading straight for John B. Fearing for his life, and for Petunia the plant, John B attempted to side step the creature, only for the dog to fall at his feet and roll onto its back as if asking for belly rubs. John B stared at it, completely expecting it to forgo the docile act and lunge for his throat.

“This is Grace. There’s no need to be afraid,” Mari teased, “she’s an absolute sweetheart. She usually just lays underneath the table while I work.”

He slowly put the plant on the ground and reached out to pet the dog’s belly. Grace was huge, and seemed to e some sort of pitbull mix, but she seemed to be grinning as he got more comfortable and scratched behind her ears. Mari smiled as she passed the two of them to drop the bag she was carrying onto a nearby table. John B finally let Grace hop up and got his first good look at the place. The walls were lined with tables, probably where countless flowers would be displayed, a sliding glass door to a currently empty room, and there was a backdoor that led to a small garden bordering the beach. He was impressed with how gorgeous and grown it already was, beautiful tropical flowers blooming around what looked like a saltwater pond.

“How...” he trailed off, still staring at the piece of paradise right next to his surf shack. “How did you manage to do all this?”

Mari laughed and shrugged, coming up next to him to admire her garden. “I majored in horticulture, and the missus really likes flowers, so... I just put in the work. Took a long time to get this how it is, though. Trial and error with the one at our place.”

“You have this where you live?” he couldn’t keep the awe out of his voice.

“Like I said, we love plants. Hoping to get some fish in that pond there, make a sort of aquaponic system maybe.”

“Shit, you’re like, smart huh?”

“Science was sort of my thing.”

“And your wife?”

Mari threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, she was a fine arts major. But she’s probably more into the science of the flowers than I am. She like validates some of the shit I do with the flowers, but she’s actually read the studies that validate me.”

John B snorted and shook his head. “So the fine arts major knows more about horticulture than you do?”

“What can I say? She’s a genius.”

The two fell into easy banter as John B spent the rest of the morning helping Mari unload the plants and soil from her pickup truck. It reminded him a bit of his van; ancient but in beautiful shape. The truck, though, was probably prettier than the Twinkie with it’s shiny paint job and delicate lettering on the side advertising the flower shop. Around lunchtime, after they had just managed to finish all the unloading, John B leaned against the side of the truck, his forearms resting on the edge of the bed, as Mari sat cross-legged in the bed telling him a joke with Grace’s head in her lap. He found himself surprisingly relaxed with her, as if they were already close friends.

“So what made you choose here to set up shop?” John B asked after he took a sip from the bottled water she’d offered.

He immediately regretted asking the question, because he noticed how Mari’s shoulders tensed up, how her eyebrows pulled in, and how her jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure why, but this was not some simple question for her.

“Oh, well, Sarah is from the area, and I always loved the beach so... it was a no brainer,” she replied, a smile forcing its way onto her face, but John B could tell it wasn’t real. The dimple in her right cheek wasn’t visible, and through the whole morning he’d noticed how it would appear whenever she smiled or laughed. “You from around here?”

“Born and raised,” he said proudly, hoping to move the conversation from what made her so uncomfortable. “Even went to the local college before the old man who used to own the shack gave it to us. Said he was getting too old to be wiping out so much.”

Mari laughed, a genuine one this time, and he relaxed. There was a lot to learn about the shack’s new neighbors, but he had a good feeling. He just couldn’t help but feel like this was the beginning of something great.

[un-beel-ievable]

The colour of heartbreak - (Ace Trappola | Twisted Friends EBG FINALE)

Author’s note: Please do not repost!! If you like my writing, please leave a like and a comment (and follow me to see similar content in the future :D)!

EBG is over! Achievement get! :D Congratulations to everyone who earned bragging rights! (I’m one of them :D)

This is my final self insert piece written for EBG!  You can view my original EBG (extreme bias game) starter post here!

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Navigating the hedge maze that surrounded the Heartslabyul dormitories had once been an impossible task; she recalls a time when she had gotten so hopelessly lost amongst the —seemingly— never ending flora that she began to seriously consider living out the rest of her miserable existence amongst the rose bushes. Roaming its walls was as easy as breathing now, as easy as knowing the words to her favourite song. It took several months of trial and error and several similar mishaps, but she had finally committed the layout of the maze to memory. 

She tiptoes to swipe at the low hanging branch of a cherry tree, and concedes that having someone to guide her probably helped. Even though her guide was as irritating as an itch she couldn’t scratch, and was currently snatching the cherries that she had just plucked for himself. Cries of protest ring in the air, disrupting the serenity that had been prevalent just a moment prior. But her companion doesn’t seem to care. He merely laughs, and sticks his tongue out at her before popping a cherry in his mouth.

Ace Trappola had and always would be a menace. (But a cute one. Annoyingly so; the shit-eating grin that he’s shooting her may have designed to taunt her, but she can’t help but melt a little under that smile.)

Biting back a huff of annoyance, she resists the urge to stamp her foot as he dangles the rest of the fruit over her head. “Were you raised in a barn, Trappola? You know that food is supposed to go in your mouth and not on it, right?”

She tugs at the sleeve of her blazer. Pulling it over the palm of her hand, she uses it to dab at the juice that stains the corners of his lips. She half expects to become the instant target of Ace’s ridicule, and braces herself for him to make fun of her for behaving as though she were his mother. But the jeers that she’s come to expect from him never reach her ears. Ace seems to freeze under her touch, staring down at her with a deer in the headlights expression that she isn’t used to seeing on Heartslabyul’s resident troublemaker. It’s amusing and somewhat adorable to see him in such a state, and a part of her is tempted to tease him for that slack-jawed look that he’s directing her. But when she opens her mouth, the words stick in her throat. 

Her heart skips a beat. Ace Trappola has the most amazing eyes. Who knew? They’re the same reddish hue as the fruit that still dangles from his fingertips but...better, somehow. Brighter. She’d always associated the colour red with anger, with pain —with bloodshed and the callous flames that burn endlessly in depths of hell. Red was hatred; red was the stinging of skin that followed a raised hand. Red was the self loathing that echoed in her mind whenever she met her own gaze in the mirror, the disgust and disappointment directed at herself that seeped through the pores of her skin and hung in the air in dark, heavy clouds. Red was the hot tears that came with knowledge that the fleeting happiness that she had gotten a taste of was no longer hers. Red was the colour of heartbreak.

Had she been mistaken? 

She feels compared to lean in, to close the gap that separates them —even if it’s only by the slightest, most miniscule amount. Ace must have had the same idea, however, for a second later his lips are crashing against her own.

Ace’s lips are warm and taste of cherries. Those are the only things that she manages to register before she snaps to attention. The fog that’s clouded her mind over the last couple of days lifts, and she reels backwards from the kiss so quickly and with such force that she nearly sends herself sprawling. The only thing keeping her from cracking her skull open is the arm that Ace has wound around her waist. Her brow furrows. “Uh, Trappola? What the fuck are you doing?”

Hurt and confusion flicker across Ace’s facial features, but as he scans her expression for a clue on what had just happened, he seems to come to the realisation that she wasn’t just toying with his heart or playing him for a fool; the girl seemed to have genuinely no recollection whatsoever of the kiss that they had just shared, let alone the affection that she had been displaying for him over the last couple of days. To his credit, he recovers quickly —dredging up his usual mischievous smirk from goodness knows where and pinning it carefully into place to hide his disappointment from his companion. “Oh, I just wanted to see if I could steal you away from Leona-senpai.” 

“Trappola!”

She swats irritably at his chest, and he laughs at the scowl that she shoots his way. It’s a hollow sound, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “You wish, Trappola —I’m not leaving him for you. Not in a million years. Look, I’m gonna go look for him now. I’ll see you around.”

A beat passes before Ace realises that she’s waiting impatiently for him to release her from his embrace. His arm falls limply to his side, and his gaze follows her as she heads towards the exit of the maze. Every step she takes leads her further and further away from him, and he pleads silently for her to turn around and return to his side. He can feel his heart splintering into a billion tiny fragments; all he wants is for her to hold him in her arms one final time.

By the time that it finally hits him that she isn’t coming back, her silhouette has long since faded into the distance, and the horizon is streaked with red.

[youarejesting]

Music is the spark that sets my soul on fire - MYG

[MASTERLIST]

Summary:  Yoongi x reader story. Y/n is a 97 liner from Europe, she came to Korea to study Literature but to maintain herself in Seoul she works as a producer and songwriter. BigHit hires her and while working with BTS they become friends and yoongi falls in love. I only got the music making part of this request, because, I am thinking I might make a second part. Where they can practice dancing together once the songs are recorded and progress the relationship a little more.

Request: 

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: None that I know of unless you fear job interviews and bad lamb skewers...

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Drama 

Words: 2.5k (SO MANY WORDS)

You walked through the busy streets on your way to an interview, you were going to a little almost unknown company. BigHit entertainment, you really hoped this wasn't a scam, you had been warned by friends that some shady companies liked to lure in foreigners. You were dressed rather nicely, if you do say so yourself. Fitted business pants and a button up, you felt confident, stopping out the front of the company. Adding a little perfume, trying to freshen up from your walk.

Heading inside you sat in the waiting area, with about ten other applicants, you were called in. The room was what you would expect to see for a board meeting of CEO’s a big oval table and lots of chairs. However besides you there were only two other people in the room. Above the table you appeared calm and collected, but below you were gripping the arms of the chair firmly.

You gave your skills and explained your work. They played your audition track and wrote some things down, "your work was one of the best we heard for the audition. Why do you think you are a perfect candidate for this job?"

"As BigHit entertainment aims to be a company that provides a challenging workplace, whilst promoting the joy of doing the work the employees love. I can assure you I have a passion for expression through words, music and dance, I have the advantage of knowing Korean Italian and English, I can open a wider market for international listeners. I am autonomous working well not only independently but also creating synergy within group projects. Finally I am someone you can trust, I take my responsibilities and I hold them firmly"

Bang Si-hyuk rubbed his chin and leaned forward, he pondered your words for a minute writing some things down and then dismissed you. You headed home that day concerned that you didn't get the job.

~~~~~~~

Sitting in front of your studio desk you started by uploading your demo's and listening to the very few songs the bangtan boys had already debuted. Getting straight into work the door opened and a thin man slinked in, he moved sluggish but each step was surprisingly agile. And the more you noticed him move across the room you could liken him to a big cat. He was obviously another producer, sitting behind you at the other desk. With your backs to one another, you two worked quietly head phones on.

After doing everything you could electronically you had to play somethings on actual instruments to really start bringing this cursed song to life. Heading into the booth, catching a sideways glance from the other producer. Ignoring the pressure of his watching eyes you took a seat at the keyboard changing the tone and playing a melody. You went around the room piecing the song together, playing each instrument with care. Grinning at the result you decided to head back to the computer to tamper with your recordings.

You had this song in your head, since you heard their first couple of songs and you couldn't shake it. So you were determined to make it come alive. It was a slow process and tiredly you stood back up happy with the back track and headed into the recording booth once more. This time you weren’t going towards any particular instruments but stood before the microphone. Putting headphones on you began singing a few of the lyrics you had scribbled down.

Once it was recorded you, resumed your position at your computer and began messing with the words. A figure appeared over your shoulder. "Let me hear" His voice was low and he spoke in a slow, lazy way with prolonged vowel sounds. Nodding you unplugged the head phones and played it. He did a small freestyle kind of rap over your shoulder and changed a few of your beats layering them, making the track sound more complicated you blinked, "I like it, we could use that"

You turned about to ask if this producer was going to steal your song, the paranoid feeling growing in your chest at the possibilities, when he said "tell me what I am missing?"

He played you his song and you were surprised it sounded way better than yours, his was crisp and experimental and all round made you feel like it was a genuine pop song already. But it was unfinished you could tell, it fit the formula of a pop song but you grew tired quickly it didn’t real you in it didn’t play with your emotions. The chorus came around and every time it was just there it didn’t make you anticipate anything. "There is something missing, it doesn't build like it should everything should build back to the chorus but it just isn't."

"That's your homework little producer go home and find out what it's missing" he grinned saving his work and shutting everything down. You went home and for the life of you couldn't sleep. That song played in your head over and over. You did what you had to, setting up your home computer you recreated the song as best as you could. Once it started to sound exactly how you remembered you started making alterations.

Staying up all night and heading into work tired, you sat at your desk continuing to work on his song. You couldn't get over the missing piece and after trial and error you figured it out you had recorded something with the synthesizer and then layered the track, it wasn’t to space but gave the build up to the chorus well. There were words on your mind and you took to the recording booth to make a vocal track putting it onto your replica of producer Min’s song. Leaving a USB for him on the desk and sitting back in your chair.

You were finishing your song when the exhaustion took over and you fell asleep. Min PD stepped into the room and saw you sleeping. He frowned thinking you were slacking on the job, perhaps he would have to have a word with Bang Si-hyuk. Sitting down his gaze landed on a little lady bug USB on his desk, there was a post it note attached. "I couldn't sleep until I figured out the issue, problem is I had to try to replicate your song, so it doesn’t sound as good” he turned his computer on excited to see what you had made.

He placed it into his computer and pulled on his headphones, listening you were singing but he tried to drown that out as he listened to every piece you added to his song. He was impressed the back track sounded perfect, lost in the beat, the build-up was perfect. Right after the second verse you flipped it and started another verse rapping. He took a sharp breath, you had some lungs and you were rapping in a mix of English and Korean that gave August D a run for his money. He felt his heart racing as you didn't slow down. He laughed silently as he heard you take audible gasps to the beat it was funny, cute and he was all for it. Before rapping the last two lines in a nonchalant way bringing in the bridge which hyped back into the chorus.

When the song had ended he was in awe, he wanted you to fix his back track but this was amazing. He wanted to keep the format you rapped, but he wanted to change a few lines, you were a good rapper. Just a bit too humble in some of your lines. Yoongi turned in his chair looking at your sleeping form, the times stamps on the files said three am. Meaning you had stayed up all night for this song. Excitedly taking it to the dance studio meeting the others.

"We thought you are trying to ditch dance practice again?" Hoseok laughed

"Don't be mistaken I was, but um our new producer, I asked them to fix my song and they made this" he plugged it in and the song filled the room.

They listened to the beat and Hoseok and Jimin were trying to make moves to the song. They prepared for the chorus only to be hit with the rap verse, making them freeze listening to you spit fire couldn’t help the smiles. When you got to the small out of breath gasps Namjoon looked impressed and Hoseok was shouting running around the room jumping on Jin. The bridge came in slow and the chorus hit they danced around and Namjoon grinned "that has got to be the best thing I have heard in weeks"

"My heart is racing" Jhope said looking at the maknaes line who grinned back at him. Yoongi smiled at their reactions and took their feedback and requests before heading back to the studio. You were in the recording room playing the piano and writing down notes when you heard Yoongi Knocking on the door. Blushing heading over, had he liked your song. You stepped out and sat at your desk turning, your chair to face him and he did the same.

"The guys really like your song" he said and your jaw fell open in shock he did not just show a proper group of performers your song.

"Sul serio, you showed it to BTS, I was rapping and everything"

"Oh they loved that they are currently arguing who gets the big rap verse" he smiled as you buried your head in your hands.

~~~~~~~

It had been months of lunches and late nights you exchanged phone numbers and worked on songs together. You jokingly bought him a pair of old man slippers for the office. He seemed to be wearing them every time you turned up. Sometimes you would see him on his chair with knees pulled up to his chest and his little toes wiggling in his slippers. There was also an awkward night when you both ran down thirteen flights of stairs to the only working bathrooms. He ended up grabbing your hand trying to pull you along, after you shared some bad lamb skewers.

The song and many others you had both worked on were approved for the next album. Turning to Yoongi, you felt rather nervous to meet the members of the band, "so what are the BTS guys like?"

"Uh they are all nice" he replied not turning to face you as he worked on some lyrics and timing, finding your question a little odd.

"I am just nervous, how many times have you worked with them?"

"From the beginning" he mumbled restarting the section he was working on and muttering lyrics under his breath to the beat.

"So you have been their producer this whole time?" You said shocked and it clicked you didn't know who he was, turning to face you he threw his head back laughing. You blushed confused why he was laughing at you. Grabbing their latest magazine he slide across the floor on his chair until he landed beside you. He opened the magazine and smiled showing you the picture.

"This is Rap Monster the leader really smart don't let him near your computer he is clumsy, Jin handsome face brings all the fans to the group, don't indulge him for his shitty puns. This is Suga, handsome rapper extraordinaire, he is probably the cooled of the group" he went to turn the page and you slammed your hand down on the page and held it up and looked at him.

"Are you brothers? You look the same, and if you say that you’re a member of BTS I am going to die of embarrassment?" He gave you a sheepish gummy grin and a shrug of his shoulders, you slapped his arm in shock "You are seriously a member of BTS and you never told me"

He laughed as you continued to playfully slap his arm and he grabbed your wrist, to stop you from doing any damage to either your hand or his arm. He smiled unable to control himself. He saw you pouting adorably, but what made him the happiest is that you didn't shy away you still hit him and treated him like your friend. "Come on my best friend can't be mad can she?"

"She can, you never thought in the months we have been working together to say "hey I'm Suga the rapper from BTS, never thought while texting to say ‘Hey Jhope from BTS told me during the BTS dance practice that I am the best looking BTS member of BTS’" You wiggled your hands free to playfully smack his arm a few more times, he was cackling.

"I thought you knew, I really thought you knew, forgive me I will buy dinner" pulling you into a hug so you couldn't try to hit him anymore. Huffing you gave up watching him order your favorite food to the studio, with ease. Sitting on the floor together, picking up from your last deep and meaningful conversation about work, home, money and the incident earlier that week involving the broken elevator and dodgy plumbing.

“I swear if it doesn't get fixed I am moving my office into the lobby, my legs can't take thirteen floors every day and then the fact that half the building is getting plumbing maintenance so we have to use the first floor toilets the first floor Yoongi, I run on tea and coffee and I took the stairs six times yesterday and not both ways six times down and six times back up. That’s nine steps a flight by thirteen flights, that’s just one way, one hundred and seventeen steps to get to our office” You were punching numbers on the calculator on your phone. “I climbed one thousand four hundred and four stairs Yoongi”

Yoongi stopped mid chew you had his face between your hands squishing his cheeks together as you stressed this, he was looking at your face and he swallowed his mouth full of rice looking at you. When had he fallen for you? This was a question that struck him, in this very moment. He looked at your soft features contrasting with your fierce eyes.

Was it your smile? The way you said such strange things that were foreign to him? The way you spoke to your family and how your mother would ask if you were eating enough and if you had found a nice boy yet? The times you would say ‘si’, ‘per favore’ and ‘grazie’ cutely? Maybe it was the way you would, get angry and start arguing with him only to slip into Italian and he would just stare at you amused watching those melodic words and foreign tones move your mouth in was he never usually got to see. Perhaps it was the way you would apologize for having long conversations in the office and for your family being so involved.

He would never know but he felt his throat go dry as he licked his parted lips watching you in slow motion speaking so fast, he didn’t know what you were saying and in what language. But he smiled grabbing the back of your neck and your waist he pulled you forward. With his lips on yours he seemed to devour your words, your arms went slack and he pulled back to see your eyes were wide open you were in shock.

[mischief-over-matter]

Binary | Part I

Gravity is an inescapable force, even within the darkest corners of the universe. It's only a matter of time before something collides.

EMERGENCY STARTUP INITIALIZING

BOOTING...

BOOTING...

BOOTING...[SUCCESS]

BIOS Configuration: [SUCCESS]

Loading OS...

CPU Check: [SUCCESS]

API Check: [SUCCESS]

Memory Banks: [OK]

AI Application: [OK]

Internal Software: [OK]

Anatomical Components: [OK]

Finalizing...

EMERGENCY STARTUP COMPLETE

INITIALIZING USER INTERFACE

       ◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

For someone in a quite literal life-or-death situation, you were taking the news of your possible demise rather well. Perhaps that doesn't say much for someone in your line of work. Space exploration was a risky business, and coming home was not always guaranteed. Most, if not all who worked for the Federal Alliance of Astronomic Exploration knew that possibility before they signed on the dotted line.

You didn't expect it would be on your first solo mission, though.

In hindsight, your day seemed a little bit too perfect leading up to this mess, and maybe your cynical subconscious was expecting this pivotal point where everything goes south. Regardless, you weren't one to sit by while cursing your misfortune. And overall, it could be even worse. At least the life support was still functioning.

Oh, how you wished there was wood somewhere on the ship.

Standard protocol demands that regardless of the severity of the crisis, the ship's captain - in your case, yourself - was to immediately activate the emergency beacon and contact mission control. Step one was already a fail. According to the diagnostic scans, communications, navigation, and the engines were severely damaged and would take hours or even days for the self-repair bots to make any sort of significant progress. So, channeling in your former academy student self, you skipped right on to Plan B.

"Greetings, Lieutenant."

Or rather, Plan B skipped right on to you.

You nearly jumped out of your chair but managed to only give a startled gasp. Wheeling around, you came face to face with Plan B. For a glorified chunk of metal, it sure did move quietly.

"Are you alright?" said chunk of metal asked with a surprising amount of realism to his...its tone. "I detected a sudden increase in your heart rate. Are you in need of medical attention?"

You stared, temporarily taken aback by its sudden appearance. Sure, you were briefed on the purpose of the Auxiliary Crisis Sensory Emulating Learner, or ACSEL for short, but seeing one activated was an entirely new experience. The almost lifelike expression was truly something to behold, and you really ought to give a shout-out to the techs back home who made this happen. If you made it home...

Which led back to the matter at hand.

"No, I'm okay. You just surprised me, that's all," you sighed. "I didn't receive a notification that you were activated."

The ACSEL unit tilted its head and narrowed its eyes as if contemplating. It really was going to take some time getting used to those mannerisms on an android. "Perhaps there is an error in the ship's software?" It lightly smiled while extending its right hand towards you. "The CS Zenith is equipped with self-diagnostics and repair, yes? If I may, I would like to run an additional test. Permission to proceed, Lieutenant?"

You blinked, finally breaking yourself away from your thoughts to fall back into professionalism. Standing up and squaring your shoulders, you firmly shook his - its hand. To your ever-growing surprise, it was warm and smooth, yet undeniably solid. Almost like silicone.

"Granted," you replied before stepping to the side. It easily slid into the pilot's chair and instantly brought up the ship's readings. Nothing had changed. You watched in silent fascination while the android worked the dashboard as if it had years of experience under its belt. But your curiosity returned, and you found yourself wondering just how long it took to make something as complex as the ACSEL unit. Its designer obviously modeled it off of human anatomy, not too dissimilar to a store mannequin. The white exterior was a stark contrast to the muted colors of the cockpit. Gray lines decorated its body, allowing seamless, free-range movement that added to the realism. Give it a wig, slap some clothes on it, hide the port at the base of its head and you could definitely see someone mistaking the machine for a human. It even imitated a non-robotic masculine timbre almost perfectly.

The most intriguing thing about it though was the eyes. Glowing, electric blue eyes.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"While my system processes the damages, would you like to begin personalization?"

You raised a brow. "What for? I had thought you would be outfitted with knowledge about my basic information once you were activated?"

The android flicked a switch on the dashboard, allowing a port to be exposed before inserting its index finger. In any other situation, it would have been comical, but you surmised that this was a part of the machine's processing. "And you would be correct. However, I am referring to myself. One of my functions is personalization to assist with lessening the emotional and psychological impact that an emergency could have. Once I have established that the current environment is stable enough for such, of course," it explained before pausing. "In short, it is to make you feel more comfortable."

"Right..." you trailed off, idly scratching your cheek.

"The process is completely optional if you are satisfied with my default settings," it added gently. " I do not wish to provide you with unnecessary stress."

Chuckling, you waved him - it off dismissively. "It's not that. I just...never mind. How about starting with what I should address you as?"

It gave you a side glance, lips turned upwards once more. "I respond to my model and serial number, A.C.S.E.L. 749710145-121111117-110-103, but due to its length I can be assigned a temporary moniker of your choosing until I undergo a factory reset."

You were sorely tempted to name it something utterly ridiculous. You could almost feel the disapproval from your superior officer at the mere thought of it.

"If it aids you at all, the engineers had named me Blue during my trial period," it offered.

How innovative.

"Blue works," you said at last, much to the android's delight. Could it even feel such a thing? It certainly seemed so as you watch its smile turn into a wide grin and the blue irises rotated in recognition. Nevertheless, you returned the smile albeit hesitantly. "Status update."

"Ah...my systems have confirmed the Zenith has experienced internal engine failure, significant damage to the transmitter and faulty wiring to the navigation. Causes are inconclusive. Hull integrity and life support are operating at 100% efficiency. The estimated time of repair is between 96 and 125 hours."

You relaxed ever-so-slightly. A week wouldn't make much of an impact on your scheduled three-month journey to Alpha Centauri's space outpost. And with the beacon activated, your chances of getting out of here unscathed are highly in your favor. "Noted. Then proceed as needed. I'm going to check on the cargo," you stated.

"No need, Lieutenant," Blue assured while standing. It approached you before clasping its hands behind its back. "I will take that responsibility while you rest. You have been showing signs of minor sleep deprivation in addition to a decrease in your epinephrine levels."

Perplexed, you crossed your arms, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness. "You can gauge my adrenaline? How?"

Maybe you said that a bit too forcefully because Blue actually flinched, as if surprised at your tone. Never in your life did you think you would feel regret for snapping at a machine. You must really be more exhausted than you thought.

"Not through nefarious means, I promise," he - it faltered. "My optic sensors can detect even the subtlest of movements. I...I noticed your body language gradually became more relaxed and your heart rate slowed. My intention was not to cause you distress, Lieutenant. I apologize."

Jesus Christ, you genuinely felt bad now.

"Uh, don't be. I should be apologizing. Getting snippy with you was highly unprofessional," you murmured wearily. Rubbing your left temple, you glanced up to see him observing you with an open stare. Looking closely, you could see his irises whirling. Processing information, perhaps? "Blue?"

It blinked and smiled as if amused. "Apologizing to a machine is unnecessary. I do not feel offended. Though I suppose the gesture is an indication of your good nature, so I thank you."

"You're...welcome?" That's enough weirdness for one day, you thought to yourself. "I will go take my leave then if you don't need me for anything else."

"Not at all, Lieutenant. Please sleep well."

"You too." Biting your tongue, you inwardly cringed at your automatic response. "I mean-"

Blue laughed, apparently unfazed by your slip up. "I shall, thank you."

As you departed from the cockpit, you rubbed the heel of your palm against your right eye. It was the strangest thing; talking to a machine that seemed so human. The FAAE had an abundance of the latest technology, including interactive AI programs. But Blue was the most advanced piece of work you had ever interacted with. It was almost jarring.

The walk back to your quarters was a short one, as the Zenith was one of the smaller cargo ships. Your room lacked any personal items and only housed the bare necessities such as a bed, closet, a small desk, and bathroom. The lights flickered on and the door hissed shut, leaving you to bask in privacy. Eyelids heavy, you decided to shower in the morning. A casual glance at your holopad showed the time back home: 8:47 A.M.

Make that in the evening.

Zipping down your flight suit, you tossed it on the chair before rummaging your closet for a shirt and sweatpants. "Computer. Set an alarm for 4:00 P.M."

      ◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The cockpit was relatively silent, save for the gentle hum of the reactor core only Blue could hear. Most of the overhead lights had been dimmed, indicating that the Lieutenant had gone to sleep. The android remained in the chair, perfectly still for 72.8 seconds before closing its eyes.

"ACSEL Unit reporting to Professor Thorne. Do you copy?"

Static feedback permeated its receptors. It felt its nonexistent brow crease in concentration. A few moments passed until it could faintly hear a reply.

"Proceed," was the garbled response.

"Preparing to upload visual and audio recordings as well as acquired data to the server...now." The surge of data left its system almost instantaneously, even from such a distance.

Thorne gave a pleased hum. "Continue your directive and ensure the subject remains incognizant until your arrival. Understood?" they emphasized.

"Yes, Professor."

The connection abruptly ended and Blue rapidly blinked back into focus.

Only the sight of stars and the vastness of space greeted the android. Tilting its head to the side, Blue zoomed in as much as his optics would allow on a particular star. The celestial body remained as but a speck of light to its viewpoints. These rare moments of free agency were captivating, and although it could merely emulate emotion, Blue's receptors always reacted positively. It struggled to understand why the professor always voiced against it. No matter. Such a variable was not programmed within its systems to be of concern. Even so, it remained enamored by the dangerous amalgamations of hydrogen and helium that roamed the universe.

"아름다운..." Blue whispered, unaware that it had spoken at all.

[pomeqraniqht]

Would you like to share one random fact per muse? =D

Sofia: She has an obsession with face masks and skin care and she will influence others to join her in it. 

Madeline: Someday somehow Maddie wants to go to France and pursue her ancestry there.

Diana: She hates french manicure because they remind her of pornstar nails, so she always chooses something creative

Katherine: She once entered a pie eating contest and won first place by devouring 4 cherry pies in ten minutes.

Calliope: She has created an all organic sexual lubricant that tastes like sugared yams and it took a lot of trial and error but she’s so proud of it!

Everly: She wants four or five children, the more the merrier! She wants a big family!

Aubrey: She has a small tattoo of a butterfly on her ribcage just beneath her right breast.

Annabelle: Cried for about three hours when the rose-gold kitchen aide went out of stock before she could order it... she’s not proud of it but our little baker really had her heart set on it.

Elaina: Can speak in both an English and American accent; depending on if she’s attracted to someone she’ll amp up the English accent because she knows people love it.

Lillian: Has the biggest heart for animals, she spends nearly $100 a month donating to charities for endangered species.

Abigail: Makes horrible and crude jokes about her line of work and plays a guessing game with people outside of work about their bodies since she’s seen it all.

Ivy: Her go-to when she is upset is cheese fries; literally a mountain of them with a chocolate shake and she’s comforted.

Rhiannon: She genuinely enjoys being a cam girl, its easy money and she loves masturbating.. it’s kind of a win-win situation.

Sheridan: In some verses she isn’t a natural blonde.

Feyre: From the abuse of her ex-fiancé she’s terrified to have children...even though before him she wanted a large family.

Juliet: Before getting sober she worked as a stripper to get money for drugs but when a guy asked her if she’d fuck him she sprayed him with pepper spray and ran away.

Leah: Is a brunette and wants to go platinum blonde but is afraid she won’t look good; so she settles with a nice ombre.

Amara: She considered breast implants but decided against it because she loves herself too much to butcher her body to please others.

Nessa: She had a girlfriend throughout college but because of politics and her girlfriend never wanting children, they broke up. 

Naomi: She wanted to get her belly button pierced but she fainted before they stuck the needle in her.

Annalee: Her insanely religious mother told her she could never have children, but it was a lie so she wouldn’t have pre-martial sex.

Emilia: Got insanely drunk once at a party with some friends and performed her own rendition of ‘Mamma Mia’

[satoshi-mochida]

The Final Fantasy Portal Site has published the first in a three-volume series of Final Fantasy IX interviews in celebration of the game’s 20th anniversary. Final Fantasy IX first launched for PlayStation on July 7, 2000.

The first interview is with Final Fantasy IX event design and scenario writer Kazuhiko Aoki. Volumes two and three will feature artist Toshiyuki Itahana and director Hiroyuki Ito.

Get the full interview with Aoki below.

―Final Fantasy IX is sometimes introduced with the phrase “returning to roots.” Where did Final Fantasy IX sit in the minds of the development team?

Aoki: “The slogans ‘returning to roots’ and ‘return of the crystal’ were there from the start. That’s why the setting of the game also has a medieval fantasy theme.”

―It is true that compared to the science fiction elements of FFVII and FFVIII, Final Fantasy IX made a sudden return to classic fantasy. There were even references to past FF titles, like character and vehicle names. Were those concepts also planned to be included from the beginning of development under the theme of “returning to roots”?

Aoki: “There were some things that were planned from the beginning, and then there were other elements that came about from those in charge of each part of the game during the creation process.

“The newborn chocobo, named Bobby Corwen…smash those names together and you get Boco.

“The foundation is 10 percent, and the remaining 90 percent comes from individual creators putting their own ideas and heart into a project. I think that’s the creation process of not only FF, but all games from Square Enix.”

―Each main character of Final Fantasy IX carries their own background story into the battles they face. Do you have a favorite character? Please tell us your reasons as well, if you have any.

Aoki: “I did my best not to have any favorites, so as not to be biased toward any specific character.

“There were backstories we wanted to elaborate on more, but sadly had to give up on due to time and data constraints.

“At the time I wished I could have developed how Zidane is afflicted by the difference in social status between him and Garnet a little more. Illustrating the breakdown of relations with the nobles in Treno due to their disapproval of Zidane and Garnet’s relationship, Zidane butting up against the social confines he faces and the incredible power Garnet holds as royalty, and how Zidane gets back up on his feet despite all of that—I felt that would have done a lot to help further portray him as a character.”

―The NPCs are also very well developed. What about them?

Aoki: “I don’t have any biases when it comes to NPC characters either. There actually wasn’t any differentiation in my mind between main characters and sub characters. Once the game’s story started to come to life on screen, my drive to develop each character even further – the steadfast reliability of Marcus or Garnet’s internal struggles, for example—only got stronger.”

―The Tantalus members Genero, Zenero, Benero and all their siblings are an unusual bunch. How did they come to be?

Aoki: “There wasn’t a trace of them until right before the game went gold. Not only limited to Final Fantasy IX, each FF series title has a period of about three to four months of quality improvements and brushing up after all elements that will be included in a game are implemented. How can we make it more interesting, what would make it easier to understand, what new discoveries can we find to add to the experience…as a creator you approach the process with a feeling similar to recreating something entirely. Those siblings came about suddenly right in the middle of that final tweaking for Final Fantasy IX.”

―The characters in Final Fantasy IX are built shorter than in previous FF games. Was there a reason for that?

Aoki: “I don’t know the reason for making the characters shorter in stature, but I did often hear that the cutscene team had a hard time making use of the know-how they gained working on Final Fantasy VIII. It was apparently a lot of trial and error.

“The characters in Final Fantasy IX excel at showing a certain sweetness or silliness, but even when they take on a totally different serious tone their expressions are so genuine. I feel that Final Fantasy IX had quite a good balance going in that sense.”

―Final Fantasy IX is known for its many popular and memorable lines. Whose idea was it to put together the loading screen of CG screenshots overlaid with words from the game and art?

Aoki: “The cutscene leader and event staff made that by picking out lines from the game. It was also the manifestation of a strong desire to show what kind of characters these were.”

―There were also many monsters with unique gimmicks, such as Ragtime Mouse’s quiz-style battle. Do you have a favorite monster or gimmick used by one?

Aoki: “I’m not sure if you could call it a unique monster, but my favorite are the black mages who appear in Cleyra. Your party characters don’t do a victory pose even if you win against them. That came from the battle system team’s consideration of the scene those battles take place in. You grow used to the characters celebrating when they win a battle, so I was really surprised the first time I saw that.

“I don’t know if this is still true, but development happened with next to no meetings between the event and battle design teams. Although that’s not to say that those teams didn’t get along.”

―Final Fantasy IX has a lot of mini games, many of which are quite difficult. Are there any you find particularly memorable?

Aoki: “Chocobo Hot and Cold. It came from the director wanting some contents that would allow traveling all over the game world. The concept came together in less than 30 minutes, but the actual creators who worked on the mini-game put a lot of time into it. Every last detail was done with such care.”

―Final Fantasy IX’s soundtrack was handled by Mr. Nobuo Uematsu. We feel that music is another important factor in expressing characters or story. If there are any songs from Final Fantasy IX that really stand out in your memory, please tell us about them.

Aoki: “That would be the song that Mr. Uematsu played for me the first time he worked at the Hawaii office.

“It was in response to me asking if he had any recommended songs from the new game—I got an idea for part of the story the second it came on. That song would eventually be titled ‘You’re Not Alone.’

“I asked, ‘Are there going to be any more changes to it?’ and he responded, ‘Yes, sorry… I’d like to tweak it a little more.’ It wasn’t finalized until the last minute, so I’m sure he really struggled with the composition of that piece.”

―Was there anything during development that was especially challenging or that sticks out in your mind?

Aoki: “The last few weeks were a battle with data restrictions. We had data increasing every day, having to think about where to divide the story so we’d end up with an amount that fit on each of the four discs. That fine-tuning took some real mental gymnastics.”

―If there’s anything else from your experiences during the development of Final Fantasy IX or messages for the many people who still love Final Fantasy IX you’d be willing to share, we would love to hear it.

Aoki: “There were about 300 people at the party celebrating Final Fantasy IX’s completion. It was developed by a team divided between Japan and Hawaii, so about one-third of the faces there I had never seen before…I was surprised all over again at how many people were involved in the project.

“I’m incredibly happy that Final Fantasy IX is loved by so many people; that’s been a huge motivator and confidence booster when facing jobs I’ve had since. I think that’s true not only for me, but also the many creators who worked on Final Fantasy IX as well. It would be nice to celebrate the game’s 20th anniversary with everyone who was at the post-launch party.

“Near the end of that party, there was a moment when the sound effect team went up on the venue’s stage. ‘In Final Fantasy X, there’s going to be this thing called Blitzball, and there will be a scene with the spectators cheering. We’d love if you would all be willing to help with that!’ they said. And I thought ‘…Oh, they’ve already started working on X.’ Just when I thought things were finished, they had already begun a new Final Fantasy. It really hit me being there, this is how the Final Fantasy series continues on forever.”

―Thank you for your time today!

Final Fantasy IX is available for PlayStation, PlayStation 3, PSP, and PS Vita via PSone Classics, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Switch, PC via Steam, iOS, and Android.

[gradschoolstyle]

How I prepped for the academic job market

I am by no means an expert on academic jobs just because I now (miraculously?) have one. But I have been told that I am organized, and, yes, that is because being an anxious person sometimes means having a system for everything. So before I totally bury all memories of the academic job market, I thought I would put together a timeline of some of the things I did to get ready to search for academic jobs…

My to-do list started very informally in the first year of my PhD program. I know that sounds over-the-top-early but the job market takes a lot of work. Checking things off one at a time helped me to feel in control. Here’s how I prepared for the academic job market as a PhD student:

Year 1

Do research that excites you: Enthusiasm for my research ended up being my momentum through a lot of the hard stuff that came later. Try to set yourself up to do the research that you want to do right away. This might include some trial-and-error and trying out different topics until you find the one.

Read The Professor is In: My MA advisor insisted I read this the summer before I started the PhD and, as always, she was totally right. When I told other grad students I had read a book about how tough the job market is they either said “I don’t need to read that yet” or “I don’t want to know how bad it is.” Ummmm…denial is not a good strategy. Knowing what you’re getting into is a good strategy. Even though the information about prepping job market materials was not yet relevant, having a framework for what would be evaluated helped me to define my grad school goals.

Year 2

Write papers that help you figure out your research area: I was pretty bad at this in my MA (I wrote papers about everythingggg). It’s ok to spend some time exploring topics, but once I had a topic area, I tried to use grad seminar papers to narrow in on that topic. This involved writing some papers that ended up being duds, and some that ended up being important parts of my dissertation. This leads to…

Ask about publishing: In seminars, I tried to have meetings with professors where I told them I wanted an academic job and needed experience publishing. They were usually willing to help develop seminar papers that had (somewhat?) original arguments in them, which is necessary for publishing. I was also not afraid to ask for lots of publishing help–how does it work? where should I submit this? can I use a cover letter you have written as a template? Publishing is confusing and took me a while to get used to.

Network smarter, not harder: This was the year I realized that going to giant conferences and hoping to meet people who did similar things was just not working. I reassessed and submitted to several smaller conferences that had the explicit goal of having senior faculty mentor grad students. It was amazing! First, these conferences were genuinely helpful, second, they were genuinely…genuine. I didn’t feel that I had to do any super fake networking anymore because I was really there to have conversations that developed my research.

Year 3

Read job postings: If your discipline has a listserv, subscribe, if not, check out the InsideHigherEd job postings. Note any trends in hiring. I don’t think you can totally pivot toward every job (duh) but you can think about how to make your application more friendly to what everyone seems to want. In my case, people who teach organizational communication were often also being asked to teach several other classes, so I made sure to ask to teach one of those so it would be on my record before the job market.

Submit, submit, submit: This is the year I got the most journal submissions under review. Some got accepted, some got (mega) rejected. Most needed several rounds of hardcore revisions that took 12-14 months. Submitting in year 3 gave me time to do those revisions so that I could use the articles as writing samples on applications.

Year 4

Prep materials: I drew on as many resources as possible to prep my job market materials–career services helped with my CV, our graduate teaching program on campus helped me writing my teaching and diversity statements, I asked recent graduates for example cover letters, my advisor read and edited cover letters, my DAD read and edited cover letters (what can I say he loves helping with grammar). It takes a village. Use the village. Oh, now is also a good time to reread TPII book for tips on writing decent materials.

Get organized: I had a spreadsheet where I put all of the relevant job information, especially deadlines, keywords, and information about each department.

Ask your letter writers: I did this in August. I also made them all a “job application digest”–just a word document with all of the jobs I submitted to and some notes about what I had said in my cover letter, so they could tailor rec letters.

Throw yourself at your dissertation: Every interview asked how I was planning to finish the dissertation. Making real progress made this question much easier. I definitely lost myself to the job market for a solid month in November. Then, I realized that my dissertation was the only thing I had control over. So I got back to work.

And here are some other resources that I also enjoyed reading:

Thoughts on diversity statements: What the heck even are they?, plus thoughts on the hidden curriculum of college and designing inclusive teaching on campus (Ps don’t just use these to write a diversity statement use them to actually do work in your classroom and campus environment so that what you write on your diversity statement is genuine).

A breakdown on cover letters

Another great post on the job hunt

Campus visit small talk

This post originally appeared on my WordPress