#this is what happen when your brain is running on too much caffein at the worst time possible

[gotstabbedbyapen]

I drank too much coffe in the evening and now I'm struggling to get some sleep. So have my 1 AM Hyapollo Half-Dead AU (or Zombie AU, which ever you prefer)

Basically Hyacinthus was ressurected from the dead through dark magic or a one-in-a-lifetime glitch in the life-death cycle. He is a bit off and doozy from the sudden shift but still obtains most of his personality. However, due to being a disrespectful defiant to the natural order (I imagine Persephone often call him as such), Hyacinthus cannot eat human food like before or feast on ambrosia like the gods.

So to keep his lover alive and not hungry while not endangering others, Apollo lets Hyacinthus drink his ichor and eat some of his flesh. Yeah, allowing your lover to sustain on your own godly blood if their love language, don't judge.

Apollo is a full god so ichor loss isn't a problem to him. It might hurt when he got bitten, but Apollo is willing to do anything for his defiant-to-the-natural-order Hyacinthus. Anything to keep him well fed and happy.

Edit: I'm gonna re-name this to Theophagy AU. The new one sounds fancier :>

[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up!

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | pt. ii

You take a sip of your morning coffee and almost spit it out on your dashboard.

This could not be your order. It was so… unusually sugary. Too sugary. Like someone liquified a whole candy store and shoved it into a venti cup.

Still reeling a little from the overly sweet aftertaste that lingers on your tongue, your eyes trail down to read:

Vt Crml Crnch Frap

5 Banana

Ex Caramel Drizzle

Extra Whip

Extra Ice

Ex Cinnamon

7 pumps Add Dk Crml Sauce

Ex Caramel Crunch

1 pump Honey Blend

Heavy Cream

Double Blended

What kind of pretentious asshole orders this garbage? Were their taste buds dead?

You mentally sent your condolences to the poor person that had to make this disgusting monstrosity of a drink. Please, you would’ve taken one look at the order and thrown it in the trash.

Your eyes searched the paper cup for who your local coffee shop transgressor was– catching sight of a scribble in blue marker reading “H-A.” You moved your hand a bit to reveal a “W-K-S.” A sense of dread creeps in as you numbly stare at the squiggly heart next to it.

It was like someone slipped an ice cube down the back of your shirt.

You had mistakenly picked up the wildly famous winged pro hero’s order and to make things even worse, put your mouth on where his was supposed to be.

Okay that sounded kind of dirty. But it’s not like you could drive back and return it now, what with your lip gloss already staining the lid.

Hey, um, I think I accidentally took a sip of the Hawks’s coffee? Oopsies? You guess you could pay for his order to be remade, but who’s to say he’ll even come back for it, much less accept it from some random stranger?

You were already running late to your desk job as is, and your coworkers were probably scratching their heads, wondering where you were since you always arrived at least half an hour before them. Should you just throw it away and pretend it never happened?

Oh god, would some person dig through the trash the moment you turned your back and extract your DNA from your lip gloss on the lid, thinking you were a deranged fan who stole his drink on purpose?

Or worse—that you were his secret girlfriend picking up his drink who had just wanted a little taste first before delivering it to him?

Your brain starts to wring itself dry of all the possibilities that could happen, shuddering despite each one being as unlikely as the next. An impressive mental workout for an un-caffeinated person at barely eight in the morning.

You wish you never even went to get your usual little treat today. That barista definitely looked right at you when you went to pick up your order, you swear they did.

But now that you’re thinking about it, maybe they were looking at the person standing behind you that you didn’t see as you rushed out of the shop? How do you even miss a man with wings that big?

Something gently knocks on the driver side window and you almost jump out of your seat.

As you roll it down with caution, your brain momentarily stops functioning as you’re met with a pair of striking golden eyes. Another inch of tinted glass down, a strong Grecian nose.

Forget work, the hell. You didn’t even know noses could be that pretty, and as your last bit of window disappears into the car so does your self-respect as you realize he’s abandoned his usual tan-colored jacket, standing before you in his black compression shirt with gold embossment.

Forget everything, actually.

You don't realize you’re holding your breath until he laughs at you, and you sheepishly close your slightly parted lips.

“Didn’t know coffee thieves came this cute.” Drinking in your appearance his keen eyes stray from yours, slowly trailing down to your trembling lips, a stark contrast to the growing smirk on his. “Or this nervous.”

His fingers drum absentmindedly on the side of your car door, clear amusement written across his handsome face as he waits for you to say something. You collect yourself and snap out of your thoughts, taking a deep breath.

“I’msososorryIdrankyourcoffee!” You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment as your words come out in a jumble. “I totally grabbed the wrong order and I can’t believe I didn’t see you waiting behind me, I swear I’m not a creep–”

“Hey, hey,” Hawks gently interrupts you, reassurance laced in his voice. “It’s all good, no harm done.” He taps the paper cup that somehow miraculously hasn’t slipped out of your fingers yet.

“Sooo was it good?”

You choke on air, not expecting that. “Your drink?”

“Yeah, my drink.” He shoots you a cheeky grin. That bastard. “Good or nah?” You pause, contemplating if you should lie–no. No, today you chose honesty.

“...Genuinely, I have no idea how you drink this shit.”

Hawks laughs at your bold answer. “Thanks for being my little taste tester anyways. Too sweet, huh?” The tip of his finger traces around the remnants of your lip gloss on the lid, the cup still in your now slightly shaky hand as you nod.

His touch seared against your skin, as his pretty fingers closed around yours to raise the drink up to his lips to take a slow sip, eyes never leaving your own.

With a gaze that was infuriatingly sultry as it was sweet, like a bird of prey beckoning a field mouse to be their next meal, he murmurs, “Just how I like it.”

You’re not really sure he was talking about the coffee anymore.

He hums, and your thighs involuntarily clench a bit as his soft-looking mouth closes around the opening of the lid to take another sip.

“I’d say you’re a villain that deserves their own special category.” He grins, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “One that involves letting me take her out to dinner.”

If you weren’t sitting down you know your legs would have given out. “Like… like on a date?” You gape at him incredulously. Because there was no way. Hawks. Just asked you out.

“Now sweetheart, what else would it be?” Hawks smirks at your dazed expression, like you’re sure you misheard him. So cute. “I mean, unless you don’t want to–”

“No!” He blinks, and your hand flies to cover your mouth at your sudden outburst.

“I-I mean, I want to…” You shyly say at a much quieter volume, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. He leans closer to you with a grin, languidly resting his folded arms over the open frame of your car door.

“It’s a date then. I know this really good sushi and ramen place down the block near my agency, my treat of course.”

“If I’m a villain is this your idea of rehabilitation?” You joke dryly. “Because it’s working.”

He tips your chin up. “Oh don’t worry pretty, I’m just getting started with turning you into a good girl.” A hot flush creeps up your neck to your cheeks, and you almost melt into a puddle right then and there at your steering wheel.

“I’d love to stay but I’m actually so late for work right now.” You utter weakly, chin still resting against his finger. Hawks tilts his head at that, unfolding his vibrant crimson wings as he wordlessly opens the front door of your car.

With little effort and an impressive flex of his biceps, plus a sharp intake of breath from you, one of his arms slips under your thighs and another firmly hugs you just under your shoulder blades as he lifts you up to his firm chest.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he feels your flustered arms hastily reach up to wrap around his neck. Honeyed eyes like molten gold meet yours as he gives a gentle squeeze to your thigh through your pencil skirt, and once again you find yourself needing a reminder to breathe.

“So, where to?”

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“IS THAT FUCKING HAWKS OUTSIDE OUR COMPANY’S BUILDING?!”

say you can’t sleep, baby i know, that’s that me expresso~ ♪

[toomuchracket]

promises to keep (flatmate!matty x reader fluff)

matty made a promise to do something for you before you dated, and this is what happens when an opportunity to fulfil it arises once you're together - kinda sorta a sequel to this, but can be read standalone. day 4 of valentine's week. enjoy <3

“matthew? have you got a minute?”

shit. the full name. 

gritting his teeth in a grimace, matty puts down his guitar and follows your voice. “coming now, sweetheart.”

“much appreciated,” comes your tetchy reply. matty winces, wracking his brain in an attempt to figure out why you're not best pleased with him right now, but he comes up short.

he gets it as soon as he enters the kitchen, though; the french press in your hand - and the grumpiness on your pretty, sleepy face - reminds him of everything he needs to know. it also almost manages to stop matty from missing the fact you’re wearing his glassjaw hoodie, a pair of fluffy socks, and very little else. almost. “ah, fuck.”

“indeed,” you say, putting the cafetiere on the counter and frowning (quite adorably, to be honest) at your boyfriend. “actually, that was my exact phrasing when i came in here for a coffee, only to find that the grounds from the last cup hadn't been emptied.”

“m'sorry, baby,” matty moves to hug you.

you, however, have other ideas, and put your arm out to keep him back. “nope! no chance! absolutely not! you can't boyfriend your way out of this one, healy, this is a flatmate issue.”

matty sighs, but he can't exactly argue - the rules on emptying the coffee grounds have been finite since you moved in, the only way to ensure two caffeine-dependent people could cohabit in relative peace. “you're right. i really am sorry, darlin - let me clean it out now, and i'll make you a coffee, yeah?”

“thank you,” your face softens, into the cheeky smirk that never fails to make matty's heart feel funny. “would you make me a bit of toast, too, while you're at it?”

“it'll cost you a kiss, that one.”

“s'pose i could fork out for that,” you wrap your arms around matty's neck, hands sliding home into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. he dips you as you make out, like the two of you are lovers in an old hollywood romance film, and you giggle against his lips as he gently pulls you back to stand. “that was fun!”

“i was kinda scared i'd drop you, i won't lie.”

you laugh, ruffling matty's hair before taking a seat at the breakfast bar. “i would've dragged you with me if you had.”

“i'd expect nothing less,” he smiles, rinsing the coffee grounds from the press and holding it up to the light to check its cleanliness, before popping two slices of bread in the toaster. “what d'you want on your toast, by the way, babe?”

“hmm,” you tilt your head. “do we still have nutella?”

matty squints as he wracks his brain, then rummages around in one of the cupboards. “aha!” he emerges triumphant, almost-empty jar in hand. “enough for toast. but i'll need to get more before the weekend.”

“why? you don't even like it that much.”

“well, what else am i going to put on your valentine’s breakfast pancakes?”

you beam. “am i getting breakfast in bed?”

“course you are,” matty runs over to kiss your nose. “you're getting spoiled, sweetheart.”

“so are you. i was gonna keep it a surprise, but…” you pause dramatically. “i bought new lingerie.”

he drops the butter knife in shock. it hits the countertop with a clatter, and his head almost follows suit. “fuck,” he croaks out. “what colour?”

“dark red. your favourite,” you smile. “i look really sexy in it.”

“i bet you do, baby,” matty sighs happily, pouring coffee into your favourite mug. “can't wait to get into that hotel room and take it off you.”

“me either. and thank you for organising all that, my love. m’excited,” you smile, leaning up to kiss matty as he brings your breakfast over. “thank you for this, too. love you.”

“love you,” he kisses you again. “bring it to the living room? wanna cuddle.”

you nod, picking up your mug and plate and following matty through. he settles on the sofa first, arranging the blankets draped over it and taking your plate from you as you snuggle into his arms. with a kiss to your head, he flicks the tv on, and the two of you sit in contented silence for a little while - with the exception of you crunching your toast - watching animal park. 

matty nudges you when the camera zooms in on a pair of lions curled up together on a rock. “us.”

“really?” you snort, putting your plate on the coffee table. “you think we're lions?”

“yeah. you're the brains behind everything, and i just chill out and have really cool hair.”

you laugh, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing it. “you're an idiot, healy.”

“but i'm your idiot. and i'm right,” matty looks down at you, grinning. “and you've got a little bit of nutella on your lip. here, let me,” he leans down and kisses it away. “there.”

“thanks, lover,” you stretch, snuggling back into your boyfriend with a sigh. “the lions are boring me a bit now, though. what else is on?”

“hmm, let's see,” matty clicks through channels, watching each for a couple of seconds before continuing to search - only when a familiar shot of a girl curled up in a chair reading the bell jar appears does he stop. “oh! babe, look! 10 things!”

“aww, i love this film,” you curl up even further into him, playing with the neck of his t-shirt. “remember when we watched this together in my room?”

matty's voice is quiet when he answers, but you can hear him smile. “thought about it every day since we did, darlin.”

he grins bashfully when you turn to look at him, open-mouthed. you smile, too, so sweetly that it hurts his heart. “same. it was all i ever wanted, to be so intimate like that with you,” you reach up to stroke his face. “best feeling in the world, knowing i get to do it for real now.”

all matty can do is softly hold your face and kiss you, until he runs out of breath and has to pull away from your chocolate-flavoured lips; even then, though, he keeps his hands on your jaw, and murmurs against your lips. “my dream girl. m'so in love with you.”

“i love you so much,” you whisper. “d'you wanna keep watching this, then?”

“course. rite of passage, innit?” your boyfriend grins, tugging you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you. you turn to kiss him softly once more, then rest your head against his chest and look at the screen. 

the time passes a lot like it did the last time you and matty did this, but instead of mutual pining and an undercurrent of sadness knowing you weren't really together, it's just completely… lovely. you press kisses to each other's heads and hands and lips, and just bask uninterrupted in the love evident between the two of you in the room. aside from the kisses, you don't even move.

that is, until the scene matty knows is your favourite begins. he grins, shifting you slightly further up on his lap so he can look at you properly, and begins to sing into your ear along with heath ledger onscreen. “you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you…”

your cheeks lift into a smile, and matty can practically feel the heat radiating off them. but still, you keep your eyes on the tv, the only proper acknowledgement of matty's singing being the way you softly squeeze his thigh.

“... you'd be like heaven to touch, i wanna hold you so much,” he continues, resting his head against yours and smiling when you giggle, then taking your hand. “at long last love has arrived, and i thank god i'm alive,” he moves his hand up to gently turn your head, singing the last bit to your adorably flustered smiling face. “you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you.”

you laugh joyously when he stops singing - the best sound matty thinks he's ever heard - and pull him into a kiss. “you're serenading me?!”

“you asked me to, first time we watched this,” matty smiles warmly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “and i promised you i would.”

“i did?” your brow furrows so cutely. “you did?”

“just as you fell asleep. therefore,” he grins, taking a deep breath before literally belting. “i love you, baby, and if it's quite alright i need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights. i love you, baby - trust in me when i say…”

you beam, wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying as you join in the song. “oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, i pray,” the two of you giggle as you sing, and matty's never been so in love in his life. “oh, pretty baby, now that i've found you, stay, and let me love you, baby, let me love you.”

as your voices fade out, matty leans forward and kisses you chastely; he beams and caresses your cheek when he pulls back. “thank you for letting me keep my promise. and for singing with me - that was lovely. should get you on the next album.”

“no, i think i'm content with just singing to you at home,” you smile, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you for doing that for me. always found it really romantic, that scene and that song. but you know how i am about pda, so what you just did was really perfect,” you kiss him again. “i honestly can't remember you making that promise, though.”

“i think you had already fallen asleep on me, darlin,” matty giggles. “but i wanted to keep it, anyway. and speaking of promises to keep,” his face goes a bit more serious, but still tender, as he picks up your left hand and kisses your ring finger - your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening and welling up. “gonna marry you someday. i mean it.”

you nod, a teary smile on your beautiful face, and pull him into a hug. “i can't wait.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Scarlet Ribbons accidental kisses with the gang? (I love your writing so much! You're one of the best fanfic writers <3 <3 I reread your works so often, they make my day : D)

wahhh thank you so much, i'm happy to know my writing can bring you some joy!!! 💖

i'm going to assume that this request takes place before SR reader is in a relationship with anyone, hopefully that's what you had in mind hkjetgrmw maybe something like she started to trip and x guy went to catch her? some traditional shoujo exploits ...

[Scarlet Ribbons index]

Giorno

There's a 99% chance Giorno's sentient Stand, GER, had a hand in this. The Stand shares Giorno's affection for you and wishes his user would hurry up in courting you already. Giorno catches onto the shenanigans at play but it's too late — while catching you, your lips make contact. His face has never felt so warm. He tries portraying himself in this suave, calm manner, but when you're in his general vicinity, it's a challenge to maintain this balanced state. His voice is a few pitches higher when he rushes through an apology. The Don of Passione would feel less nervous starting down the barrel of a gun. Later, he chastises his conniving Stand, but deep down… he's secretly grateful.

Bruno

Bruno doesn't immediately pull away and thinks less of himself because of it. He's straining himself to the degree that veins start protruding from his forehead. Your comfort matters far more to him than satisfying any carnal needs. After he ensures you're steady, he puts an appropriate amount of distance between you, then starts apologizing for the mishap. If you're feeling particularly mischievous, now would be the most opportune time to tease him. He's usually immune to being flustered, even from you, but the emotions running rampant through his system momentarily lower his defenses. There'll be a slight blush on his sunkissed skin. He's quick to excuse himself so he can get his heart under control.

Fugo

Fugo struggles to make eye contact with you for a solid week. Once he gets past the initial slew of positive hormones that make him feel like he's on cloud nine, reality settles in, and he's mortified. What if you think he's a creep who did it on purpose? The thought alone leads to sleepless nights where he gnaws on his nails. He berates himself and is extra prone to explode with anger at the slightest provocation. You need to reassure him before there's collateral damage. He's still stiff around you for a while, but that's because his eyes start wandering to your lips if he isn't careful. His own start tingling, as if remembering the soft sensation and longing to experience it again.

Mista

Mista knew the lord was on his side. The last time he attended mass, he prayed for something like this to happen. The main objective henceforth is to maintain his cool. Ride out the waves of coincidence and try not to come off too strong, lest he scare you away. Once he's certain you aren't going to unleash your wrath upon him, the cogs in his brain begin turning. What can he say to sweeten the moment? Win you over with his charisma and charm? There's got to be a perfect combination of words that'll have you weak to your knees. Eventually, he settles on complimenting your chapstick flavor. He later bemoans himself for not saying something cooler.

Narancia

It's like raw caffeine was injected into his veins. He's absolutely ecstatic, ready to bounce from wall to wall, even though he recognizes it was an accident. Who cares? This has got to be fate, or whatever it's called, he thinks he heard the term in a movie once. Narancia is bragging about it to absolutely everyone, much to their chagrin (especially Fugo's). Abbacchio pours salt into Narancia's drink when he isn't looking as a silent form of vengeance. You come into the room and everyone aside from Narancia is grumpy. You're absolutely his first kiss, a fact he takes great pride in. That is, until he wonders if he's your first kiss… then his mood is slightly pampered… for all of ten minutes. Then he's back to beaming, uncaring of anything besides the fact your lips made contact.

Abbacchio

Abbacchio cannot remember the last time his heart pounded this hard — if ever. Still, he doesn't linger in the moment. He may be harsh around the edges, but he still cares for you greatly, the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable. When he parts and sees his purple lipstick smudged onto your pretty, parted lips… it is a divine test of his self-control. That mental image has never left him. He's stuck between not feeling worthy of your affection and wanting to kiss you until the pigment stains your lips a deeper color. It's a dilemma. If he isn't constantly distracting himself, his mind runs off to fantasize.

[justalittlelilac]

My brother and his wife just welcomed another bundle of joy into the world, throwing me into the esteemed ranks of aunthood for the third time (cue the confetti and party horns! 🎉🎊)

Anyway, this got my brain running wild about how each of the love interests in OLBA might react to you having baby nieces or nephews (or 'niblings' for a more gender-neutral term) if you don't already have children:

Cove:

Ugh, Cove. Our adorable beach bum. Much like all of my headcannons for this man, his reactions shift depending on his age. The younger the Cove, the more nervous he'd be around the tiny one. However, regardless of age, I can picture him approaching the situation with all the caution of a skittish cat.

When asked if he wanted to hold the baby, he'd likely stammer a quick "No, thanks!" before immediately backpedaling with guilt. Eventually, he'd cave and accept the precious cargo, muttering something like, "They're so small... Are they supposed to be this small? Were you this small?"

Bless his heart, Cove would treat the baby like a Fabergé egg—utterly convinced that one wrong move could shatter the little one into a million pieces. He hasn't been around babies, and because it's an unfamiliar situation, he's unsure of himself. But fear not! As time passes, our surfer boy gradually realizes that babies are surprisingly resilient little creatures, capable of surviving the occasional awkward hold or accidental bump.

Once comfortable, Cove would transform into the ultimate cool uncle. I can just picture him and Elizabeth locked in a heated debate about the appropriate age to introduce the baby to surfing. "What do you mean two is too young? They'll be walking by then... right?" He'd whisper to you, panic in his eyes, "That is when babies start walking, right?"

Later that night, you'd find Cove hunched over his laptop, furiously Googling "baby milestones" and "safe surfing for two year olds."

His favorite pastime would become riling up Elizabeth with outrageous statements like, "Someone's gotta teach this kid the finer points of life. We can't have them growing up preferring some stuffy mansion over the sweet, sweet sound of crashing waves like someone we know." Elizabeth would roll her eyes so hard you'd worry they might get stuck, insisting there's not a snowball's chance in Hawaii of that happening.

And when he sees you with baby? Well, we can just say that the warmth that spreads through his chest is undeniable when he looks at you with so much love. Whether or not you are planning for children, it just makes him happy to see you happy with the new member of your family.

(My Cove route MC would be handing the baby back to Elizabeth, making some excuse that she and Cove had to leave early if she caught him staring like that 😏)

Derek:

Fine gentlepeople of the audience, I present to you: Derek in Uncle Mode. He has run the gauntlet and can't help going into helper mode as soon as you both walk into the door. Swooping in like a superhero, except instead of a cape, he's holding a casserole dish and wearing a "World's Best Uncle" shirt he was jokingly gifted but wears like a badge of honor.

Derek's already firing off questions like an interviewer on caffeine. "How's the baby sleeping? Do you need help with laundry? I brought a casserole! Oh, and I've memorized some lullabies and learned some baby sign language if needed!"

It's only when you, Elizabeth, or one of his family members (if the baby belongs to one of his siblings) tells him to slow down that he finally stops to meet the baby. He is immediately taken with them.

He offers to hold the baby so parent can rest or get anything done. He's cooing and making faces that would be embarrassing if they weren't so darn endearing. "Look at those cheeks! And that hair! Man, it's crazy how small they are! Y'know, they look a lot like me//you. So cool."

His enthusiasm is infectious. Of course, he involves you, asking if you want to hold the baby, saying how guilty he feels for hogging them. Total natural. Are we even surprised? This man loves his family, both his and yours, and having this time with you and his family will never get old. It fills him with a contended happiness he can't find anywhere else.

Prepare yourself for Derek to become a fixture at every family gathering, armed with a camera and a determination to document every sneeze, giggle, and adorable baby fart. He's already wanting to help plan the kid's first birthday party, complete with a petting zoo, bouncy castle, and a cake bigger than the baby.

When the little one gets older, don't be surprised to find Derek passed out on the couch after an epic play session, covered in glitter glue and sporting a tiara. It's a look that screams "Best Uncle Ever," and he wears it with pride. (I'm going to pass out from how cute that looks in my head help)

Baxter:

Now, Baxter's reactions are much trickier for me to pin down. At first glance, you might mistake him for a casual observer, watching from the sidelines, uninvolved, with that trademark soft smile of his. Very similar to the way he is in groups. It's not that I think Baxter wouldn't like babies; I'm just not convinced if he would have a tremendous outward affection for babies that are not his own, y'know?

But don't let it fool you — where Baxter would shine is in any outing. The man is on top of it. A Swiss Army Knife of baby preparedness. By nature of his profession, he would be keyed into many different things event-oriented.

Need to know the best time to visit the zoo to avoid crowds? Baxter's got a color-coded chart for that. Looking for a family-friendly restaurant that won't turn up their noses at a screaming infant? Baxter's already made reservations at three different places, just in case.

When it comes time for a family day out, Baxter shows up with a backpack that would put Mary Poppins to shame. Diapers? Check. Snacks? Check. First aid kit, portable fan, and a small library of children's books? Triple check.

I'm talking itinerary, scheduled bathroom breaks, and located family area so baby can be fed. He probably scoped out the location during his workday to know where everything was. He can't help working off the clock, it seems.

Now, he'd try to be subtle and respectful with all of this, not wanting to step on toes or upset your sister. He'd make sure to offer his services and back off if he was told no, but it's useless to try and get him to relax if it's just the two of you.

As the baby grows into a toddler, Baxter's true colors start to shine through. Leave him alone with the kid for an hour, still having that slightly interested, amused smile on his face, and you'll come back to find him covered in stickers, wearing a makeshift cape, and fully committed to his role as "Sir Baxter, Knight of the Pillow Fort."

It turns out that your niece or nephew has unlocked a side of Baxter that even he didn't know existed – his inner child. In these moments, you catch glimpses of the carefree childhood Baxter never had. A kid at heart who didn't really get to be a kid, and your niece or nephew gives him that space to be one with abandon.

And there you have it! Now, I'm gonna go brush my teeth, because I now have cavities from how sweet these three are in my head. (I need someone more skilled than me to draw these scenarios omggg)

[azucar-skull]

Get Used To It

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @13runningsomething)

Fandom: 2012 TMNT

Prompt: 2012 leo dealing with a heart condition after he almost died in space (doesn't have to be angsty; mostly interested in seeing how he deals with it or how it's affected his training/abilities and daily routine)

Word Count: 1122

Posted on AO3 too!

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Leo always knew something was off about him growing up.

He ran out of breath quicker, couldn’t stand up in the same spot for too long, and absolutely hated the heat. He quickly disregarded those things as weaknesses, signs that he just simply wasn’t training hard enough. He became obsessed with the dojo, fighting and training and pushing himself to his limits. Enough that he passes out. But surely, that only meant he was getting stronger. That he was pushing his limits higher.

Right?

Well, that space incident sure proved him wrong. He guessed that his body was barely holding it together, that all it took was one good shove for everything to topple over. Now he was even more out of breath, couldn’t stand for as long, and the fucking heat. He tried to hide it from the others, he couldn’t let his team family see him as weak. Emphasis on tried. But his brothers had been more wary about how Leo was holding up after his heart fucking stopped for a bit.

Who knew there was a name for it? What did Donnie say again? Vase…bagel…something? He couldn’t quite hear anything after waking up from the makeshift tilt table test that Donnie forced him to do. That wasn’t fun at all.

“It’s like POTS but in the opposite direction.”, Donnie had explained to him. “Instead of your heart racing, it actually drops lower and lower until it stops completely. But you’re not dead, your brain just takes a minute to start the heart back up again and you’ll be fine.”

“So my heart likes to stop at random moments?”

“...Not exactly but sure.”

And things haven’t been the same since after that. New things were added to his everyday routine. New diet, new training plan, new precautionary measures. Just new, new, new. Trying to find a balance to it all. Not to mention the threat that if nothing works, he’ll need a pacemaker. Not sure how that would work or how he would even get one. But he was not about to fuck around and find out.

Each day started the same. Wake up, and immediately begin chugging water. It took a while to get used to. Not to mention the nausea that followed. Leo basically lost the appetite for any breakfast at this point. And after he’s finished chugging a bottle, he had to take a salt shot. The how took a few options. Liquid IVs were nice, you could just mix them in the water. But they are very hard to come by, always out of stock in most stores and incredibly expensive. Salt tablets were simple, just needed to chug water bottles before and after taking one. If you could stand chugging, Leo couldn’t. Especially in the mornings. Then, when all else fails, a teaspoon of salt down the hatch. Yuck. It basically all boiled down to this: Stock up on as many LIVs as possible and if he just so happened to have run out, then suck it up and chug it down.

And that was just the morning.

Then there was diet. Donnie stated that people with dysautonomias needed to have high sodium diets. But just think about all the foods that are high in sodium. And it’s basically a diet consisted of fatty junk foods. Leo was not a big fan of that. A warrior should have a proper meal regime with all the food groups and even then, it was nothing but gross to add extra salt to everything. It made him sick most of the time. He hadn’t been doing a good job keeping up with that but…no one needs to know.

But the training. Apparently his heart condition would go off due to certain triggers. The main one being overexertion. (The other 2 mains being caffeine and alcohol but it wasn’t like Leo was much of a coffee guy or alcoholic). If Leo overworked himself, he’d pass out. And if he passed out, his brothers would lecture him, and if that happens, then it turns into a fight about Leo’s pride and how he shouldn’t be told what to do because he’s the leader and…

Well, it’s best to avoid it.

Most days…Leo can’t help but want to give up on trying. He gets what people mean now when they say it’s a battle to fight against illnesses. It literally is a battle. Wake up. Fight. Eat. Fight. Train. Fight. Sleep. And repeat. It’s exhausting. And he can’t help but feel so…weak. Like he can’t support his own weight without assistance. This is not how a warrior should be. A warrior should be fully capable to handle any task. A warrior shouldn’t need help or aid to keep going. A warrior shouldn’t be so high maintenance—

THWAK! A comic book hits him on the forehead.

“Ow! Hey! What the shell, Mikey?!”, Leo gripes from his spot on the couch to his orange-clad brother on his beanbag.

“I could sense your internalized ableism from all the way over here, bro!”, Mikey taunts. “It was making me crazy! I couldn’t read my comic, it was so distracting.”

Leo sighs and crosses his arms. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business when it’s disrupting my comic time. …What are you even thinking about?”

Leo ponders, taking a deep breath through his nostrils. “...Did Donnie say anything about there being a cure to this heart condition thing?”

“You’d be asking the wrong turtle dude.”, Mikey mutters. “If there was one, I think Donnie would’ve already cured you by now.” The turtle sits up in his beanbag, reaching over to get his comic book back. “Why does that even matter to you?”

“Because I’m the leader! I’m supposed to be strong and capable and—”

“You don’t have to be all those things, bro.”, Mikey cuts in. “And you are strong and capable in your own way! Even then, we’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re our brother before you’re ever our leader.”

“Yeah yeah I know…”, Leo mumbles. “Don’t help with…this. I’m used to people depending on me, not the other way around.”

“Well get used to it.”, Mikey scoffs, snapping his comic book back open and ending the conversation there.

What a funny thought. Get used to it. It couldn’t be that simple. Leo just wants things to be normal again. He wishes things were different. If he hadn’t gotten hurt, maybe he could be stronger than ever. Maybe he could’ve gotten everyone out of all these messes much easier. And maybe he wouldn’t have to sprinkle salt on every single fucking thing he eats.

But maybe…

Maybe he could get used to it.

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

My very first attack!!! Yippee!!! I just closed my eyes and randomly selected a prompt at random and ending up getting this one! So ironic, given the fact I also have a heart condition. So I decided to give it to Leo! Enjoy the vasovagal syndrome, buddy! (There is no escape--)

[rocketnottheraccon]

A ShinBaku one shot I wrote bc this random ass crack ship happens to give me life

Art by: Horikoshi

Let’s get one thing straight.

Hitoshi Shinsou was not.

But he also adored Mitsuki.

So, you can probably imagine his favorite song to listen to when his life went to shit.

“Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart~” He mindlessly sang, spinning around in Aizawa’s office chair at… say… 4:30 in the morning?

He was currently running on 16 cans of Monster energy, 17 now, 3 bowls of cereal, and this week's dose of testosterone. He could take on the world- better yet: end the world!

“YES!” He shouted to himself, still spinning aimlessly. He would take over the world! Reinstate quirk management laws, maybe just get rid of heroes all together! That way he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit-show known as the hero course.

On second thought, that seems like way too much work.

Yeah, way too much work.

“Queen!” He exclaimed as the next song came on. He jumped from his seat, sliding into the common room to sing. No one was watching him, and with the amount of caffeine in his veins right now, he wouldn’t care if there was.

Actually, he didn’t want to sing.

Yeah, no thank you.

He collapsed onto the couch, still holding a can of Monster. I’m definitely addicted. He thought.

Fuck it, he didn’t care.

He was healthy enough to be a hero. Degrading that ever so slightly wouldn’t hurt anything but his mental health, but come now.

Were any of them really ever good in that department?

No, he didn’t think so.

“I’d like you and I to romancing~” He mumbled, taking a sip. His brain was currently going 150 miles per hour, as well as three miles per hour.

Is this what it’s like to be high? He questioned, thinking about how Aizawa would act when he came back from the After-PTA-Parties. Now, his dad was no light weight. He’s seen the man chug an entire bottle of beer and merely walk out and go to school like it was his morning coffee, which was also usually spiked. Now, imagine how much Aizawa had to drink to end up slurring, throwing up, and almost blackout drunk.

Yeah, that's how Hitoshi felt right now.

Thank god today's Saturday.

“Harry!” He exclaimed, as Harry Styles was the next artist to start playing. “You're a wizard, Harry!”

Was he high? If he wasn’t, he had to be pretty goddamn close to it.

“Oi?” He hears very distantly.

Hitoshi looks up and around for the source, until he’s met with his blond Pomeranian. “My love!” He says, slinging himself over the others shoulders.

Katsuki raised a brow. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Who cares? Kiss me!” Hitoshi showered the others neck in kisses, and Katsuki shoved him off promptly after.

“Your fucking high,” He deadpanned.

“No I’m not!” Hitoshi said, “I’m underage, that’d be illegal!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, somehow managing to lift the other taller boy's body weight like he was a baby. “I’m taking you to bed, you fucking dumbass.”

“You’ll go with me?” Hitoshi asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Never do that again,” Commanded Katsuki, and Hitoshi's mouth was promptly shut.

“You need to stop doing this Toshi.” He started, making their way to the elevator, “I didn’t sign up for fucking baby sitting.”

“Love you too!” Hitoshi said, kissing the others neck.

“You're six foot!” Katsuki exclaimed, “I hate to admit it, but I should not be the one carrying you!”

“You admit I’m taller than you?”

“Fucking- How could I not?!? You’re like a fucking skyscraper, Hitoshi!”

“Aww.”

Katsuki scowls as they make it to their hallway. “You interrupted my morning workout routine.”

“Eww, you work out?” Hitoshi drawled, pursuing his lips.

“I’m in the hero course- and so are you for that matter! You cannot keep pulling caffeine induced all-nighters and expect to be a famous hero-“

“Who said I wanted to be famous?” Hitoshi interrupted.

“Right, right. Daddy’s boy,” Katsuki sighed, opening Hitoshis door with his foot.

“Goddamn!” Hitoshi exclaimed, “Hella flexibly!”

“Mhm,” Katsuki replied tiredly. He nudged open the door. “Stand up.”

“You were doing such a good job though!” Hitoshi whined.

“Hitoshi Shinsou, I will count to five-“

“Fine, fine,” Hitoshi rolled his eyes stepping down from around Katsuki, yet still being miles above him. “Hehe.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki said, “Good night. And I swear to God, Hitoshi, if I see you downstairs before 1:30-“

“I know!” Hitoshi said, rolling into bed. “I love you, Kat.”

“Fuck off!” He yelled, walking out, and slamming the door behind him.

Seconds later, Hitoshi received a text.

BoomBastic: Love you too dumbass

[noona-clock]

Are You Sure? - Part 4

Genre: Exes to Lovers, Fluff, AU

Pairing: Jungshin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Epilogue | Words: 2,183

It was honestly nothing short of a miracle that you were awake and functioning right now (even if you were functioning at the lowest possible level) let alone standing in front of a mirror in your hotel room putting on lipstick.

Red lipstick.

Red lipstick was tricky to put on even on the best days, but when you felt like this? When you were running on so little sleep and hadn't consumed a single drop of liquid caffeine yet? When you couldn't quiet your mind because every single word Jungshin had said at dinner last night was racing through your brain?

You truly couldn't believe you'd even been able to open the tube.

And, of course, you had no idea how to tell Emily about all of this. The wedding party was having brunch this morning, and everything was cherry-themed -- cherry mimosas, cherry french toast, cherry blossoms adorning the table. Red lipstick was a must, obviously, and your instinct was to teasingly complain about it to Emily. Asking someone to put on red lipstick after having such a distressing conversation with your ex-boyfriend the previous evening was basically a crime!

But how could you? Bringing this up would undoubtedly ruin the entire gathering, and there was nothing you wanted to do less than even think of ruining anything related to Emily's wedding.

Still, though.

You had no idea how you could act with a semblance of normality. Jungshin's words were still stuck in your head, and you couldn't see them getting unstuck any time soon.

You leaving... everything you said... it was a huge wake-up call. I'd had no idea you were so exhausted, and I was so embarrassed that I hadn't noticed. I'm still embarrassed. And I'm sorry.

You hadn't known you'd needed an apology until he'd given you one, but no matter how much you'd wanted to say 'thank you,' you hadn't been able to. Jungshin had kind of just blurted this out after the two of you had been sitting in silence for a good five minutes, so you'd been kind of in shock hearing his words.

(And, side note, you hadn't been surprised in the least that Jungshin hadn't been able to last long without talking.)

You were so right. A relationship should be a partnership above all else, and you took on way more than I realized. You did all of the heavy lifting. I was a terrible partner, and I will regret that for the rest of my life. I'll regret... losing you. For the rest of my life.

Your heart jumped into your throat now just thinking about it.

How were you supposed to be normal knowing that your ex-boyfriend would regret losing you for the rest of his life?!

And Emily knew you too well enough. She would immediately catch on that something had happened, and it's not like you could lie to her.

You let out a soft sigh before inhaling quickly, holding your breath, and finishing up with your lipstick.

There was no way you were getting out of this, so you might as well just get it over with.

Okay, no, that sounds bad. You didn't want to get brunch over with. You were looking forward to eating delicious food with your best friend!

You just... weren't looking forward to talking about last night. For your sanity, you would simply tell yourself you wouldn't have to.

If your internal clock was correct, it only took about five minutes after sitting down at the pink and red, cherry-covered table at the hotel's restaurant before Emily announced she had to go to the powder room. And then turned to look right at you.

"Y/N, can you come with me?" she asked innocently.

But you knew better.

She knew something was up, and you were so tempted to say, 'Oh, no thank you.'

Instead, you smiled and nodded and murmured a 'Sure.'

As soon as the door to the restroom closed behind you, Emily whirled around on her heel, her eyebrows raised halfway up her forehead.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her tone quite serious. "Is it Jungshin?"

You'd already opened your mouth to reply with 'What do you mean?' but then she'd mentioned him. Your mouth snapped shut.

"Did something happen? Did you see him already?" she continued, obviously concerned when you'd quickly stopped yourself from replying.

So, you let out a soft sigh. You shut your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek.

And then you answered, "Yes and yes."

You heard Emily gasp, and then you felt her take your hands. "What? What?! Tell me everything," she hissed.

"We don't have time for everything right now, but I'll give you the long story short," you relented.

Emily simply nodded fervently, and you let out another sigh, this one deeper and longer than the last.

"You know that I moved my plane ticket so we wouldn't be on the same flight, but he ended up doing the same thing, so we still ended up on the same flight after all, and then we ran into each other in the airport and he asked if he could hop in my rideshare and he took my luggage and put it in the trunk without me even asking him to do it and he asked if we could get dinner so we went to get pizza and he said that me breaking up with him was a huge wake-up call and he regrets losing me and will regret it for the rest of his life and he has been doing a lot of self-reflection the past few months and is actively working on being more thoughtful because he never wants what happened to us to happen again."

Emily's eyes had widened after your first sentence, and her expression only became more and more shocked the more you told her.

Before she could say anything, though, you whispered, "I barely slept last night because everything he said kept running through my mind. I don't know what to do or if I should even do anything!"

"What did you say to him after he told you all of that?" she asked.

"Not much," you admitted. "I was too overwhelmed, and he didn't push me to say anything. In fact, I think his exact words were, 'You don't have to say anything or ever even talk to me again. I just wanted you to know that I don't and have never blamed you, and you were one-hundred percent right.' I did tell him it was nice to hear that, but that's about it. What do I do?!"

You had opened your eyes by this point, and Emily was now searching them with the most empathetic gaze.

"...Do you want to do anything?" she finally asked.

That... was actually a great question.

"I have no idea," you answered truthfully. "Am I constantly thinking about him? Yes. But I don't know if that's just because he's my ex and I'm seeing him for the first time, or if it's because... I miss him, and I still want to be with him. Y'know?"

Emily's forehead wrinkled as she knit her brows together, obviously concerned and worried about you.

"I'm so sorry --" she began in a quiet voice.

"No," you cut her off before she could finish that sentence. "Don't you dare apologize. It's your wedding, and I am absolutely thrilled to be here, and I knew I was going to see him. I was prepared for that. I just wasn't prepare for... this. But that's not your fault, and if you even think of apologizing again, I will cross my eyes in every single wedding party picture. You got that?"

Your best friend's expression changed from 'concerned and worried about you' to 'you're something else.' She rolled her eyes good-naturedly as a smirk tugged at her lips.

"Okay, fine," she relented. "I won't apologize, but I am sorry you're confused. And I am here for you, you got that? I'm almost a married woman now. I have so much relationship advice -- good relationship advice -- it's not even funny."

You chuckled despite what she'd just said then assured her with a quick nod. "Don't worry. I will ask you for every single piece of advice."

"Until I go on my honeymoon."

"Right, of course."

"Because I will be totally unreachable on my honeymoon unless it's a complete and utter emergency. Which it might be! If you guys get back together while I'm gone, that classifies as an emergency, and you'd better tell me!"

Just hearing the words 'if you guys get back together' made your heart skip a beat. You weren't sure if it was a good skip or a bad skip, though.

"Absolutely," you murmured. "I'll only reach out if... that happens. I think it's a big 'If,' but. Still."

Emily simply nodded before pulling you in for a tight hug. "No matter what happens, I'll always be on your side."

You hummed in reply as you hugged her back, a wave of comfort washing over you as you smelled the perfume you'd gotten her as a birthday present a few years ago.

No matter what happens, I'll always be on your side.

Honestly, that lifted a weight off your shoulders. You had no idea what would happen with Jungshin -- if anything happened at all! If you even wanted anything to happen. But no matter what did or didn't happen, you still had your best friend. You still had your family, your job, your apartment.

With or without Jungshin, you had a lot to be thankful for, and you couldn't forget that.

"I think that was the best french toast I've ever had," you declared, your arm looped through Emily's as the pair of you and the rest of the bridesmaids dispersed from the hotel's restaurant.

"Right?!" Emily gasped. "I'm going to be dreaming about it for --"

Her ringtone interrupted her, and when you glanced at her screen like the nosy friend you were, you saw Yonghwa was calling her.

"Oop, hold on," she murmured before accepting his call and bringing her phone to her ear. "Hey you."

Despite the fact your love life was nothing short of, to quote Winston Churchill, "riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma," you couldn't help but smile at the look on Emily's face, the tone of her voice as she spoke to her husband-to-be.

(And, yes, Winston Churchill had been describing World War II when he said that, but was your love life also kind of a war zone? Figuratively speaking, yes. It was.)

"Oh, really? We just got out of brunch, so I can swing by, for sure," your friend continued.

You tried to lean in a bit so you could hear what Yonghwa was saying, but Emily said, "Okay, see you in a sec," and hung up before you got the chance.

"I need to go to the reception hall to go over the place settings," she told you, tightening her hold on your arm just slightly. "Would you like to come with?"

While place setting approval didn't quite sound like the most fun you could have with wedding prep (that award went to cake tasting, obviously), you would never pass up an opportunity to both spend time with Emily and help her make decisions. So, you followed her as she changed course, heading toward the hotel's rather large ballroom where the reception would be in just a couple of days.

Your eyes widened as soon as you walked into the grand, beautifully decorated room, and your arm slipped out of Emily's as you stood in place while she headed to her fiancé.

"Wow," you whispered to yourself as you gazed all around. There were flowers everywhere, a team of people was hanging up strings of lights from each wall to the middle of the ceiling, and yet more people were carrying out tables and chairs and covering them with elegant sky blue cloths.

In short, it looked absolutely magical in here.

Just as you were finished soaking everything in and were beginning to make your way over to where Emily and Yonghwa were standing, you heard the very familiar click of an amp turning on.

Your eyes immediately shifted to a stage set up on the opposite end of the room, and what you saw on that stage made you freeze right where you stood.

Had Yonghwa not known or not mentioned that Jungshin's band would be in here rehearsing and doing a souncheck? Or had he told Emily, and Emily hadn't mentioned it?

Either way, your heart jumped up into your throat when you saw Jungshin slip his bass guitar strap over his head and plug in the amp cord.

God, why were musicians so... so... just so? Y'know?

Watching him pluck at the strings, gently tuning it, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration... your mouth went dry. More than a million butterflies invaded your stomach.

And you feared you were very much in jeopardy of falling for him all over again.

Shit.

Part 5

[thetomorrowshow]

fighting back

Empires Superpowers au masterlist

this takes place about 4 months after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: food, flashbacks/panic attacks in a public place

~

“Here’s your menus, can I get you both something to drink?”

“Diet Pepsi, please,” Scott says, raising an eyebrow at Jimmy, who manages a stuttered, “Water, thank you.”

Scott nudges him after the waiter leaves. “Boring.” “Caffeine used to really screw with my powers,” Jimmy admits. “I haven’t had any in a long while, but I used to drink a bunch of Mountain Dew, and coffee every morning. Stopped when I was around twenty-three, I think.”

Scott leaves it at that, instead asking, “So you’ve never been to a restaurant before?”

“When I was a kid my parents would take Lizzie and me to, like, buffet places,” Jimmy shrugs. “But then my mom got really sick at one, and going out as a family to someplace nice was too expensive. So we got fast food drive-throughs on road trips or for celebrations, but not much else.”

“Criminal. What do you want to order?”

Jimmy thumbs through the plastic menu, biting his lip. “Um. Not sure. Do I have to get from—”

“Here are your drinks,” the waiter interrupts, placing a tall glass of soda in front of Scott and a matching one in front of Jimmy. “I’ll be back in a few minutes for your order!”

“Thanks so much,” Scott says, Jimmy echoing him. He takes a sip of the water, ice clacking against his teeth.

It’s not a fancy restaurant, by any means. It’s a diner in a cheap part of town, a place that Scott had said has the best fries and milkshakes and had gotten very excited when Jimmy had said he’d never really been out to eat before. Jimmy’s fairly sure that Scott’s made a list of places to eat, to go along with all the sights Jimmy’s never seen and the foods Jimmy’s never tried.

There’s a decent crowd of people here, too, which is why Jimmy’s more put-out than anything else when he feels a hand run through his hair.

He jumps a little, glances around to make sure nobody is near him. Scott glances up at him, then back to the menu.

“I’m gonna get the roast beef sliders. Anything sound good to you?”

No flashbacks sounds good to him, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen, phantom fingers curling around his hair. He turns his eyes back to the menu, stares at it uncomprehendingly for a few moments. “Um, you pick,” he says, pushing the menu to Scott. “What’s good here?”

“Ooh, definitely the reuben if you like rye, but the turkey and swiss is always a safe choice. Good?”

“Mhm, sounds fine,” Jimmy mumbles. He tries to grab hold onto anything Scott had told him about the food here through the brain fog of flashbacks. “Uh, you said the fries are good?”

“Ooh yes, I’ll get us both fries and milkshakes. What flavor of milkshake?”

Jimmy can’t remember any ice cream flavor ever, suddenly. He checks the menu, picks the first thing he sees. “Vanilla?”

“Sure! I’ll match.”

As casually as he can manage, Jimmy slips an ice cube out of his glass, cradles it in the palm of his hand. It’s supposed to ground him, remind his body that he’s in the present. The hand in his hair stubbornly remains.

He holds onto the ice cube until it melts, dribbling water in a small pool on the table. It doesn’t do anything but make his hand burn with the cold.

He blinks rapidly, twitches his head several times to try and shake the hand away. His trained instincts are starting to settle in, his body going still. If he moves his head, he might get slapped.

“Everything okay?”

Jimmy smiles easily, brightly, in Scott’s direction. His boyfriend is giving him a concerned look, hand out for Jimmy to take. Jimmy takes it.

“I’m fine, babe. Just got a little lost in thought!”

The acting skills from that one role as Cod Number 3 in Empires South Middle School’s production of The Little Mermaid Jr are really paying off.

Scott’s face eases, just as he looks up to see the waiter approaching them. Jimmy orders with no issue, watches the very pretty way Scott’s eyes scrunch up as he pretends to examine the menu one last time before ordering.

That doesn’t get the hand out of his hair, though. Maybe he should buzz it. Shave his head. Nothing for phantom hands to touch.

The hand trails down to rub his shoulders and Jimmy knows that wouldn’t solve the problem.

The food arrives and Jimmy releases Scott’s hand to watch him for cues, not trusting his unstable mind to do things in the right order. Scott unwraps his silverware so Jimmy does so as well; Scott places his napkin on his lap and Jimmy follows suit.

Scott seems to enjoy his food, and Jimmy understands that his tastes good as well but it’s hard to process. Everything is hard to process. It’s too bright in here, too loud. A family with three shouting kids passes by and Jimmy can’t help but flinch away, a movement that he tries to suavely change into wrapping his arm around Scott’s shoulders.

Scott scoffs at him, wriggles out from under and gives him a quick peck on the lips. “How’s your food?”

“Good,” Jimmy responds automatically, taking another bite. The hand pulls hard enough on his hair that his head jerks back and he freezes, biting his lip. He’s not going to cry here. He just wants to enjoy a nice meal with his boyfriend. Why can’t he just have a good time?

“Scott, love?” Jimmy manages, the slightest tremble making its way into his voice. He gathers his courage before he’s too anxious to ask. “Could—could you touch my hair?”

Scott goes still. After a moment, he slowly turns to give him a concerned look. “Jimmy, your hair is off-limits. We set that boundary in place ages ago.”

Great, now Scott probably thinks something ridiculous, like he misses the feeling of horrible hands touching his hair. He doesn’t, he doesn’t at all—in fact, he’s so nervous about Scott touching him that he can feel himself begin to shake. He just needs a little push.

“I just—I—” he takes a calming breath, places his clenched hands on the table, “there’s—there’s a hand. In my hair. And I—I want a real one. So I can tell the difference.”

Scott’s eyes flick up, and Jimmy watches as his face morphs from confusion to understanding, then sorrow. “Oh, Jimmy. I’m sorry that’s happening.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jimmy grits out as the ghost hand yanks again. “The ice trick didn’t work, eating didn’t help, it started almost as soon as we got here and it just won’t go—”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Scott says, glancing around as Jimmy pulls at his face. He’s fine, he’s not freaking out. It’s just a flashback, just a stupid flashback, and he’s fine. He’s not—he’s not—

“We can get to-go boxes, eat later,” Scott offers, already looking to wave down a waiter. “Really, it’s fine—”

“No, I want—” he wants to have a good time with Scott, he wants to eat, he wants Xornoth to stop touching him— “I want to be here, can you—can we at least try?” he begs, peeking at Scott through his fingers. “Can you try touching my hair?”

Scott glances around again, frowning. “Jimmy, I—” he sighs, bites his lip— “Jimmy, we set up months ago that if you’re clearly distressed and want me to touch your hair, I’m supposed to say no. And baby, you’re crying.”

And now he’s crying. Great. He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, takes in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want—I wanted it to be good—”

He can hear the panic in Scott’s voice when he speaks. “Jimmy, do you know where you are right now?”

“The diner, with you, and so many people watching—” he cuts himself off, buries his face in his arms. There’s so many people here, all staring at him as he has a breakdown over a stupid flashback that he knows isn’t actually happening but just can’t shake.

“I’ll get some to-go boxes, okay? We’ll go home—”

“But I want to stay,” Jimmy insists, and he just knows he sounds like a petulant child. “I want to eat out with you, I want you to not have to worry about me freaking out over nothing! I love you so much, I just wanted today to be normal. . . .”

Scott’s silent for a while as Jimmy sniffles into his sleeves. At some point a waiter approaches, asks Scott lowly if everything’s all right.

“We’re fine . . . no, he’s got PTSD . . . thank you for your service too. . . .”

Scott waits until the waiter leaves, lays his head down on the table beside Jimmy. “Hey,” he says quietly. Jimmy blinks at him through the tears.

“I won’t be upset if we have to leave. I just want you to be safe and happy. You’re not a burden to me—I want to spend time with you, and it doesn’t matter where.”

Jimmy closes his eyes briefly as the phantom hand falls again to his back, rubbing lightly. “Can—can you rub my back?” he asks, voice small.

Scott immediately complies, and the feeling of something real—someone real—touching him where the hand was makes the phantom sensation drift away, off into the air like it had never happened. He relaxes into Scott’s arm as his breathing begins to even out, tension seeping out of him.

“Told you,” he grumbles, pressing his head into Scott’s chest. Scott being there, his head up against Scott’s firm and real body, makes all the difference. “‘S gone now. Just needed you.”

Scott’s hand, still rubbing his back, pauses. “I—oh,” he says softly, resuming the backrub. “I’m really . . . I’m really happy you trust me in that way. I’m really happy I can help you.”

“Sorry for making a scene.”

“You don’t need to apologize for a thing, love. Flashbacks are nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Jimmy’s embarrassed anyway, certain that there are still eyes on him. He sighs, rubs his eyes before reaching for his plate. “Can we still stay? I want to.”

Scott gives him a once over, frowns. “Okay, but on one condition: if another flashback starts at any time, we’re leaving. All right?”

It’s the right choice to make, and Jimmy nods his agreement.

He’s still not used to luck being in his favor, but he doesn’t have another flashback, and he finds he can push through the exhaustion and enjoy dinner with his boyfriend.

There may be flashbacks, and panic attacks, but really? Everything . . . everything’s okay. For the moment, he’s happy, and he knows that a flashback is a minor setback.

He leans against Scott’s shoulder, sucking on his milkshake, and lets out a contented sigh. Everything’s okay.

[uncloseted]

Do you have any advice for keeping to your goals throughout the day? I want to eat clean, stretch and exercise throughout the day and not scroll on my phone so much. I'm good at keeping up my goals until the late afternoon when I get tired and everything falls a part and I go fall into bad habits. Maybe it's adhd brain but once I'm tired I have progressively worse impulse control

What you're describing is actually a documented phenomenon! It's not just you. Willpower acts kind of like a muscle. So when you're just starting out, it makes sense that you can't force yourself to eat clean, stretch, exercise, and stop scrolling on your phone all at once, just like when you're just starting out exercising, you can't lift a 30 pound weight right away or run a mile. And it also makes sense that it's harder to use your willpower later in the day - just like it's hard to run another mile after you've already run 25 miles, your "willpower muscle" can get tired, too.

So the first thing I would suggest is that, like with exercise, you need to start small. I know it's tempting to want to change everything at once, but if you take that approach, the changes are unlikely to be sustainable. If you start with just one small goal, it will be easier to achieve, and then you can add additional goals later.

The next thing I would suggest is to make sure your goals are really concrete. Too often, we have goals such as "exercise more" that are kind of vague. Without a well-defined goal and an action plan, it's really hard to follow through on those aspirations. I have a whole post about goal setting here, but the basic idea is that all of your goals should be specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time bound. So for example, a kind of vague goal like "exercise more" might turn into something like, "I'm going to improve my health by going to the gym on 3rd street with my best friend on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for the next month."

Alongside setting concrete goals, I think it's also important to come up with contingency plans for when you hit a roadblock. So I would think about what obstacles you might encounter while trying to achieve this new goal - what might get in the way? Thoughts, feelings, beliefs, old behavior patterns, bad habits, social pressure? Identify as many obstacles as you can, then prioritize their likely they are to happen and how significant they would be if they did happen. Once you have your list of obstacles, you can start thinking about how to get around them. Maybe a big obstacle for working out is that you feel tired and hungry at the end of the day, and so you make sure to have a snack, some caffeine, and put on your workout clothes before it's time to go to the gym, or maybe you have a home workout plan that's less intense for days where going to the gym feels like too much, but you still want to do some kind of exercise.

Another thing that's helpful for getting into new habits is exploiting our brains' inherent laziness. Our brains like things that are easy, and they don't like things that are hard. So if you want to break a habit, making it hard to engage in that behavior will make it easier to break, and if you want to build a habit, making it as easy as possible to engage in that behavior will mean that you do it more often. For example, this might look like time-blocking social media apps on your phone so that you can't scroll during the day, or not buying junk food so you can't default to eating it when you're bored. Or this might look like having fruit out on your kitchen table so it's really easy to graze on healthy food as opposed to food that's less nutritiously dense, or having a meal delivery service that brings nutritious food to your house so you don't have to think about cooking.

Kind of alongside this, our brains like things that are fun. So attaching something we need to do (like exercising) with something we want to do (like watching our favorite TV show) can make the thing we need to do feel more exciting or enjoyable, and can make time feel like it's moving faster. This is a concept called "bundling" and you can use it for all sorts of things. Maybe you listen to your favorite podcast while you clean, or you only watch your favorite trashy reality TV while you run on the treadmill, or you get yourself a little treat after going for a long walk. Anything you can do to make a habit more enjoyable will make it easier to keep up.

The last thing I'll say is that it's much easier to replace a bad habit than it is to quit a bad habit. What I mean by this is that goals like, "I want to stop scrolling on my phone," feel like something is being taken away from us, and our brains don't like that. Things like scrolling are serving a purpose in our lives, even if we don't recognize what that purpose is. Scrolling might help to alleviate boredom, to make us feel more connected, to make us feel informed or like we're doing something good for the world... so when we ban ourselves from scrolling, we lose something that was serving us in some way. Without finding a way to satiate that need some other way, it's really tempting to go back to the habit that we know can serve that need. So I would try to identify what your bad habits like scrolling are doing for you, and to think about what you might replace them with. Maybe instead of "I want to stop scrolling on my phone", the goal becomes, "whenever I feel bored, I'm going to read a chapter of a book/watch a video essay on YouTube/read the news/work on a knitting project/whatever". That way, instead of feeling like something is being taken away, it gets reframed as something being added to your life.

[questifer]

It's Been A While

Some of you have been following me on Twitter for quite a while now, but for everyone else I'd like to summarize just where I've been and what I have been up to since I left Tumblr. I was going to write this out all in one post, but as it turns out recapping 3 years' worth of dramatic life and career events is a lot. So today, I'll be posting only the first part: Why I left Blizzard and what happened next.

Chapter One: The End of an Era

Last time I was active on here, it was around the 2019 Blizzcon in which I helped create the Bastion Blizzcon Demo. It was a hard Blizzcon and many who were staying with me at the con may have noticed that I was struggling to enjoy myself. As it turned out, the journey up to shipping that demo had been extremely difficult for me. I didn't know it at the time, but I was also in the throes of a 6 month long manic episode. To summarize without going into too much detail, I became extremely paranoid about my coworkers talking behind my back, making choices without consulting me that impacted my work, and dismissing me when I raised concerns. That paranoia manifested in anger that I struggled to contain and so I damaged several important work relationships along the way. I also was barely sleeping, had developed extreme caffeine sensitivity, and ended up at urgent care for gastritis and heart palpitations on more than one occasion. At its peak, I would come home from work and scream-cry on my floor and contemplate either quitting or committing suicide. It became very clear to me that this wasn't your run-of-the-mill creative psychosis that comes over me on occasion when the work itself gets hard. I'll get into the diagnosis, how my psychiatrist and I recognized the manic episode, and how I got to where I am now in a later post. By the time COVID hit and we were all sent home in March 2020, I could not have been happier to get out of the office with people I no longer trusted or thought liked me at all. All at once the social pressure to put on a happy face, respond to people walking up to my desk randomly, and moderate my chaotic emotional state evaporated. With the context of only being perceived while on video calls, I gained the ability to control how I interacted with others. I thought this change in attitude would improve my relationship with my peers, but sadly it didn't. They had already decided I was a horrible collaborator and no longer advocated for me behind closed doors. In truth, I don't really blame them, but I do wish they had given me the benefit of the doubt. It was not business as usual up in my brain-meats. After 4 months of more of the same, I updated my resume and browsed LinkedIn for roles that raised my interest. In truth I had been daydreaming about something new, something with less baggage, but my love for WoW, my team, and Blizzard was still extremely strong. I was very conflicted about leaving. When an opportunity arose to work with a studio in Sweden on an IP that I really liked, it presented a rather romantic idea of what my life could be. I could break clean with all that had been going on at Blizzard. I could live somewhere new and different. I could finally prove that I was not just a WoW quest designer, but a game designer of considerable skill. My friends and family were encouraging but I did not hear them when they brought up very reasonable concerns. Was it too far? How would I do without a support system? Was there another way to accomplish my goals? It was extreme, and I knew it, but a part of me felt that the world would just prevent me from going if I wasn't meant to. And that's how I learned just how easy it was to sell almost everything I owned, pack my life into 3 suitcases, get on a plane, and suddenly live in Sweden.

And with that, I'll pick up with the Sweden Saga in my next post.

[a-mysterious-man]

Saturday.

More specifically, Saturday, 3:46 PM.

Things were quiet. Just the way I liked the end of my days.

I needed something to relax with. Something to sip and someone to ramble to.

I knew just the place.

I throw my hoodie's hood on and speedwalk to my personal favorite coffee shop.

'Fairy Fortress,' the sign said, with a little slogan under it. 'Drinks so good they're magical.' It was cheesy but fitting. Especially knowing who ran the place.

I peak inside through the glass doors, and, yep, that's her.

Immediately, I start racking my brain for persona ideas. Every time I come here, I'm a new person. Sometimes I'm a wandering trader looking to unload some stock (trading cards) for a quick buck. Other times I'm a scientist who needs a sample of pure caffeine (black coffee) for an experiment. Today, I decide to fold to the magical nature of this 'Fort' and take on the role of a great knight. Clearing my throat and preparing for the damage to my vocal cords, I don a deep voice and charge through the door extravagantly, much to my target's dismay.

"Potion seller!" I yell, bringing attention to me, "I require a concoction to give me strength!"

I can practically see the groan she's holding back.

"I'm busy with another customer, sir. Give me a second."

"Ah, but of course! Patience is a key skill of any trained warrior. Simply call me when you are ready."

I find a spot to sit next to some rando I've never met and begin to tell "War stories," which are really just things I make up on the spot. I do this until I hear my target's voice again.

"Hey. Mister trained warrior. I'm ready to take your order."

"Ah! Wonderful!" I say before standing standing up and adressing the person I just rambled on to, "Well met, civilian, but I have matters to attned to."

That rando just stares at me, a confused look on their face as I walk up to the counter.

"...What do you want." She asks, shrinking from the amount of attention she's getting just from being near me.

"I would like your finest potion to give me strength on the battlefield!" I yell valiantly, repeating what I said earlier when I barged in here.

"...Okay. But what do you actually want." She repeats, rather obvious holding back the urdge to toss a mug at me.

"...Your finest potion." I repeat again, a soft frown cursing my lips, "I don't understand where the confusion lies."

She sighs and then begins brewing... gods know what. There's a thirty percent chance she's about to try and poison me.

With the mood sort of shot and my energy lost, I decide to take a seat on a nearby stool while I wait.

It isn't long until I hear my target pipe up again, though.

"So... you said you were going to battle, right?"

"...Indeed I did." I answer, confused. She's never shown interest in my personas' stories.

"Mind telling me why?"

My eyes probably lit up like a Christmas tree. Or whatever the fae equivalent is. I make up a story on the spot, putting my improv skills to the test as I explain how my kingdom's riches were stolen from by a tricky gang of mystical forest-dwellers.

"Sounds familiar." She quips, absolutely getting my hints.

"And the weirdest part is, our people are disappearing too. It's not just our gold. And we have no idea where they've gone."

I could see it in her eyes. She was entertained, or at the very least, amused. She sets the 'potion' down on the counter before folding her fingers and pursing her lips.

"Hmm... well, I can't say that's been happening here. Everything seems to be running alright, save for a few of my regulars seeming far less energiezd than normal."

"Hmm. Well, thank you for the potion and for the chance to unload, shopkeep. I shall be going now."

She shrugs as I pick up the to-go-cup of coffee, rubbing a rag over a porcelain mug.

"Hey, wait!" I hear her call, to which I turn around, "I never got your name, warrior."

"...Heh. No, I suppose you didn't." I return, genuinely considering handing it over, although deciding against it, instead yelling out a fake persona name, "I am Grognath the Stone Skinned!"

"Well, Grognath," She continues, a hint of disappointment visible in her eyes, "I do hope we meet again."

"Perhaps we will, potion seller..." I give a smirk as if to say 'better luck next time,' before giving a small salute, "Perhaps we will. Good day to you!"

...

I tilt the coffee in my hand as I walk down an alleyway. It's fae food that makes you as owned, not fae drink, right?

I decide to take a chance, popping the little opening and sipping at the drink.

"By the gods." I mutter. Man, this is good.

I take a few more steps before suddenly being overcome by a feeling of... freedom.

I think I was wrong about the drink vs food thing.

But if I was, then I guess she really does care.

Maybe it's because I knocked her out of boredom.

Or maybe, just maybe...

...it's because I made her day that much better.

I hope she knows she made my day better, too.

You know that the cute clerk at your local coffee shop is actually a fae, a fae that is very mad that you constantly give them a fake name, made worse by the fact that you embarrass them with those jokes on a daily basis.

[suzukiblu]

"You came out fine," Tim says, wishing terrible things on Lex Luthor. "You're just inexperienced. Luthor's an asshole for acting like you should've been able to keep up with him, he's a grown goddamn man with a level of brainpower that I'm still not convinced isn't metahuman in origin. He's probably smarter than Batman, for fuck's sake."

"But I'm cloned from him," Kon says uncomfortably. "I should be able to keep up with him."

"Your brain isn't even fully developed," Tim says. "Even if Cadmus jammed the full education Luthor got into your head, you can't possibly be expected to actually apply it with–how old are you, exactly? Literally, I mean, not physiologically."

"I dunno," Kon says, shifting awkwardly in place. "Like . . . two months or so, I think? They said I was, um . . . they took me out of my tube early so I'd be more . . ."

He trails off, looking guilty. Tim grits his teeth.

"More what?" he asks.

"The scientists said so I'd be more . . . malleable," Kon says, staring at his feet. "So I'd . . . bond."

Tim wants to throw up after all.

"'Bond'," he repeats very, very carefully.

"Emotionally," Kon clarifies, twisting the metal cuff around his wrist and still staring at his feet. "With . . . you know."

It's not exactly hard to guess, no.

Tim supposes that if he were an egocentric megalomaniacal supervillain with no concept of what real and genuine love might be, he might also assume he could weaponize Superman's overwhelming capacity for compassion by trying to control just who his cloned version felt that kind of attachment to.

Or maybe Luthor had just been trying to make a Superman who was as unhealthily obsessed with him as he himself was with the original version.

Tim remembers, again, the way that Luthor had touched Kon so easily. So possessively.

The way that no one else had touched him at all.

He remembers grabbing onto Kon's arm when he'd first shoved himself between the two of them, and the way the other's breath had audibly caught. He hadn't had time to think too much about it at the time, but now . . . now he's wondering just how many times anyone besides Luthor has ever actually touched this kid.

And he's wondering if Kon even remembers any of those times.

Tim is way too concussed for this line of thought.

He's pretty sure he's concussed, anyway. Definitely he's caffeine-deprived. Also he's furious and heartbroken and bitterly triumphant and might have a couple of broken ribs, and it's just . . . it's a lot, really. He's a lot, right now.

Everything feels like a lot right now.

Tim exhales, slowly, and runs down his inventory. His utility belt is half-empty and his cape is tattered and his faith in humanity has been seriously tested over the course of this accidental interdimensional long weekend, but he's still got his domino on and he's got cash in his belt and no version of his best friend is ever, ever going to be in the same reality as the Lex Luthor who looked at him and called him "my precious little abomination" or anything similar ever again.

There's the existence of this reality's Luthor to worry about, admittedly, but at least this reality's Luthor didn't deliberately make a half-grown Superman and try to make the kid love him in the most fucked-up way possible. Like, this reality's Luthor originally intended to do all his immoral mind control shit and manipulation to a physiological adult, if nothing else, and mostly doesn't seem to care about Kon's existence at all these days. Well–okay, admittedly the last time the world had thought Luthor was dead, Mercy Graves had popped up outside Titans Tower to inform Kon that he was expected at the reading of the will, but fortunately the bastard had turned up alive before said reading had actually happened. Kon hadn't been intending to go, for obvious reasons, but Tim's still leery of what the results actually would've been.

It's an appallingly low bar to clear, but at this point Tim will fucking take it.

. . . although it definitely means they can't let this kid anywhere near Metropolis until he's gotten so much therapy, because fuck forbid this Kon meet a version of Luthor who's familiarly manipulative and abusive without being quite as specifically and disgustingly horrible as the one he's used to. There is no possible way that would ever end well.

God, what a fucking awful thought.

"I fucking hate Lex Luthor," Tim mutters under his breath, then heads out of the alley without really caring about the fact he probably looks like a trash heap of a vigilante right now. Kon follows him, keeping a hesitant hand on his arm and his TTK wrapped around him in support. The kid is so unbearably good, Tim thinks, and hates Luthor just that little bit more.

He grabs Kon's hand outright and leads the way to a diner he knows Jason occasionally wanders through in Red Hood's gear, because that means they aren't going to take one look at a beat-up vigilante with a kid in lab scrubs and call the cops. Although given it's Crime Alley, probably not many places would call the cops anyway.

They might call Red Hood, admittedly, but it's not like that'd be an actual problem. Jason's good with traumatized kids. Better than any of them except Dick, really, and in that case it's kind of a toss-up depending on the kid.

Admittedly, their Kon doesn't really like Jason all that much. But that's because of Jason nearly murdering Tim a couple times, not because they're, like, fundamentally incapable of getting along. And this Kon has no reason to either know or care about a couple of water-under-the-bridge murder attempts between brothers, now does he?

Tim?

Tim did not actually mean to kidnap an alternate reality's version of Kon.

In his defense, he'd had very limited time in that reality and everything in it had been going to shit and . . . well, everything in it had been going to shit.

Also, Lex Luthor had been a lot more heavily involved in that particular reality's Cadmus, and fuck it if Tim was ever going to leave any version of Kon with that bastard.

With any bastard who could ever look at Kon and call him "it".

"Ow," Tim grunts into the dirty pavement of what he hopes is his own Gotham as blood drips out of his mouth, and feels Kon's fingertips brush very, very tentatively against his back. He's a little too dizzy to lift his head, but he figures it doesn't matter. Like it's just . . . it's fine. They're not in Cadmus and Kon is safe and Tim is . . . conscious, at least, which means he can work with the situation.

Whatever the situation actually is, anyway.

Kon's hands flatten against his back, which is a very familiar tell, and Tim immediately feels the even more familiar embrace of TTK wrapping him up.

Less familiar is the impulse to find said embrace adorable, but in Tim's defense, this Kon is physiologically about ten years old and so far every single thing he's done has been either adorable or heartbreaking or some terrible combination of the two.

"Robin?" Kon asks anxiously. "You're okay, right?"

"M'okay," Tim mumbles blurrily, because it's more or less true. More blood drips out of his mouth and splatters on the pavement. "All okay. S'fine. You hurt?"

"No," Kon says, still sounding nervous. "Dunno where we are, though."

"Should be Gotham," Tim says, forcing himself to lift his head enough to check and nearly laughing as he recognizes their surroundings as the exact part of Crime Alley that he got interdimensionally yanked out of seventy-six hours ago. "Yeah. Gotham."

He pushes himself up enough to look over at Kon. Kon looks very small crouched down next to him with buzzed-down hair, barefoot in pristine white lab scrubs with a shiny metal cuff stamped with an identification number locked around his wrist. "13" features prominently on it.

Tim wants to melt it into slag.

"Is it your Gotham?" Kon asks.

"No clue, but I'm hoping," Tim says. He thinks about getting to his feet but he's pretty sure he'd throw up if he tried. Or fall over. Or both?

Probably both, at this point.

Oh well, he figures, and pushes himself up. He doesn't vomit, surprisingly, although he is very definitely sure that Kon's TTK is the only thing keeping him from falling over.

No reason to look that particular gift horse in the mouth, Tim decides.

"I need coffee," he says as he gives Kon's shoulder an appreciative pat, because the caffeine withdrawal is real. Also he needs medical attention, probably, but also-also he needs to come up with either a cover story for the ER or an explanation for Bruce and therefore caffeine can't hurt.

"Uh, okay," Kon says skeptically. "I don't think Starbucks or anything is gonna be open right now, though, it's pretty late."

"God, what did Cadmus teach you, kid," Tim says despairingly, making a face at the thought. "Starbucks is a punishment from God. We're going to the nearest twenty-four diner and I'm ordering roofing tar. And we're getting you a hot chocolate. Do you want a hot chocolate?"

". . . yeah," Kon says, biting his lip. "Um. I mean, I dunno if I'd like it, though."

"If you don't like it, we'll get you something else," Tim says. "But I haven't slept or eaten properly since I left my reality and I need coffee before it becomes a legitimate medical emergency."

"Shouldn't you get, like, real food, then?" Kon asks skeptically. "Not just coffee?"

"Coffee is food," Tim lies reflexively.

". . . I don't think it is," Kon says, squinting up at him suspiciously. "Are you taking advantage of me being too stupid to know if coffee's food or not?"

". . . we can get something to go," Tim says, wishing he'd blown up a bit more of Cadmus on his way out of that fucking cesspool of a reality. "You're not stupid. Luthor can choke on a fucking cactus for all the shit he kept saying to you."

"I mean, I didn't come out right," Kon says uncomfortably. "I'm not as smart as Dadd–as Lex is. Or as Superman was."

Tim pretends that Kon wasn't about to say "Daddy" for both their sakes. Just . . . yeah. At least for the moment, anyway.

Luthor was a lot more heavily involved in that Cadmus.

And horrifyingly.

Tim tries not to think about the way that Luthor had kept touching Kon. All the little too-deliberate points of contact he'd made time and again and too often.

Much too often.

Tim hadn't seen anyone else even so much as enter Kon's personal space the entire time he'd been in that godforsaken lab, and every single time that Luthor had made a gesture like he might touch him, Kon had tensed in something that couldn't decide between being fear or anticipation.

It'd made Tim want to burn the whole fucking lab and every single LexCorp-owned building he could find to the ground.

He'd settled for interdimensionally kidnapping Kon and destroying all of Cadmus's systems and DNA samples as thoroughly as possible. C-4 had been involved.

A lot of C-4 had been involved.

Possibly that had been a slight overreaction, but fuck if Tim cares. Just–Clark had still been dead, and Cassie hadn't had powers and Bart hadn't been in the time period and Tim himself hadn't even existed, for whatever reason, and apparently neither had Cissie or Greta or Anita or Slobo, and Bruce had already had his hands full with Damian and Dick had been off-planet and Jason had also still been dead and just–

Options had been limited, alright?

Options had been limited, and by that point Tim hadn't had time to go check and see what the Kents were up to or track down Lois Lane or Jimmy Olsen or even just tip off the Justice League or the Titans, because by that point he'd been in an examination room with a Lex Luthor who was stroking a frightened Kon's face with one hand while holding a syringe that was glowing kryptonite-green with the other and Tim had just . . . he'd just made some choices at that point, okay?

He'd made some very decisive choices.

And some very decisive commitments.

Or at least one very decisive commitment, anyway.

[tinybriewrites]

Parfum - 1

"A triple quad black eye but make it ristretto," Marinette mumbled with her eyes half closed, thrusting a ginormous tumbler into the hands of the aghast cashier.

She stumbled her way to a counter seat and promptly collapsed onto the marble surface. The chill of it was sharp enough to keep her on the knife-edge of lucidity while waiting for her dose of sweet, unforgivable addiction.

A chuckle rang through the vacant shop amidst the whirring of the espresso machine.

"Didn't think there'd be a free range one of you nutcases out there," a baritone voice said with undisguised mirth.

Normal Marinette would've ignored the weird voice. Normal Marinette was smart, usually. Even Sleepy Marinette knew better than to jeopardize everything. Unfortunately, the only Marinette left running the show was One-Foot-Into-A-Grave-Slash-Coma Marinette.

And this Marinette was a downright idiot.

She opened a striking blue eye for a moment before turning the other way and mumbling, "...Ngh bad stranger."

"Name's Julian. Not a stranger now, am I?"

Marinette's current slower-than-a-turtle brain took a hot second to process the words and string them together before slurring out, "Mah-ree-nettie," squinting at Julian afterward like a satisfied housecat.

"Well, Nettie, what brings you to Gotham? Secret Wayne? You have the looks for it, that's for sure." The barista couldn't help but let out a snort at that. If there was anything Gotham was known for, it must be the gaggle of black-haired blue-eyed children with wildly tragic backstories.

Marinette slow-blinked like a lagging computer at Julian before sluggishly reaching to the top of his head.

"Flatcap."

"It's Paper Boy Day, y'see."

"...Weird."

"Kid, this dude's one of the resident crazies. This," the barista gestured to all of Julian, "is what happens when you live here too long. God knows, the air here reeks of insanity."

"Don't forget the water too," Julian snickered.

He eyed her up and down before adding, "And you, kid, scream visitor. Your outfit is drab enough to pass for a gargoyle here, but your scent— It's a dead giveaway. You smell too nice to be here. All lavender and cinnamon and puppies."

Before Marinette could begin to muster up a response, the barista came back and placed her filled-to-the-brim tumbler down with practiced caution.

Marinette cared not for anything but her preferred dose of insanity, immediately gulping down the still steaming drink to the resigned and amused eyes of the duo.

"Even after all that, not even a hint of hesitation, huh? Just like that Tim kid, I swear."

"Uncannily so, indeed."

Three straight minutes of inhaling the more-caffeinated-than-should-be-legal drink later, Tired-As-All-Nine-Hells-But-Still-Pulling-Through Marinette took the stage.

With scrunched brows, she turned to look at Julian then the barista then back to Julian.

"...Wayne?"

Guffawing, Julian replied, "The growing brood of Bruce, Playboy Prince of Gotham. You one of his? Last name Wayne?"

With the caffeine charge belatedly rebooting her critical thinking skills, Semi-Dead-But-Not-Quite Marinette realized how much shit pre-coffee Marinette could have already landed herself in. Idle chatter with strangers was a privilege not granted to a newbie runaway.

"...No. And I- I think I have to go now."

Marinette rushed out of the coffee shop, tumbler clutched like it was her life, under the indecipherable gaze of the odd stranger.

"Hey, Nettie," the barista greeted, moving to make her drink the moment she walked in.

Over the course of a week, Marinette had kept running into the strange man on her coffee runs. After the second meeting, she indulged in the newfound paranoia her journey had encouraged. Under Tikki's disapproving gaze, she casted no less than thirty-seven different spells to be absolutely, beyond any doubt certain that he was in no way a threat to her. Her actions were morally ambiguous, sure, but that coffee shop was the only place in Gotham that didn't stink of corrupted energy.

Marinette could only either take the plunge or go coffee-free, and she's seen how well that would go.

"Hello again, little bean. Need another death drink already?"

Silently acquiescing to that, Marinette admired Julian's newest garb. "...National Bride Day?" she guessed.

He wore an ivory wedding gown, the skirt billowing out around his seat in heaps of tulle and lace. A white camellia rested on his right ear, pinning back part of his flowing blonde wig, pearls hanging from it like a star-lit waterfall.

"Tsk, tsk, Nettie, close but not quite." He bopped her on the head with a bouquet of fake carnations, eyes gleaming with an odd affection. "World Marriage Day, actually."

"What do you think, I'm rocking this one, aren't I?" he wiggled his eyebrows.

Marinette rolled her eyes at his antics. "Felix put it all together, didn't he? You and Mitch together can't measure up to a pinky of his fashion sense."

"How dare you speak to your father like that, young lady!" he gasped in mock offense.

"Thought you called me a Wayne, Jules," Marinette teased back, brow raised.

"You could be both," he joked. "I don't mind being called father-in-law."

"Ju-"

Her righteous indignation was interrupted by the clink of porcelain on marble and the chuckles the barista didn't bother holding back, much to her dismay.

"You- I- Just- No! You guys, no! Felix and I aren't anything even close to that," she exclaimed. But unfortunately for her, her reddening face hid nothing.

"...Sure, kid, sure. But hurry it up, will you? I've got a hundred bucks on the line."

"You bet on me?!"

"I want in. Twenty bucks Felix makes the first move." The barista held out a crisp fifty, adding, "Thirty Marinette avoids him after."

Julian grabbed the bill, pulling up a purse from his fake cleavage.

Before Marinette could protest more, a loud siren blasted from her phone speakers. Her eyes hardened instantly as if a switch was flicked, and without another word, she left like Cerberus himself was on her heels.

By the time Ladybug had arrived on the scene, half of Collège Françoise Dupont was up in flames. Chat Noir was nowhere to be found, but from a cursory glance, the students stayed a distance away from the burning building, seeming neither harmed nor controlled or otherwise affected aside from the bone-deep fright.

"Marinette! Where is Marinette!" the akuma—Manon—screeched.

"We don't know a Marinette," a student cried out in fear of the looming figure.

"Stop. Lying. To. Me!" She flung around her wand-holding arm in her rage of a tantrum.

Staunchly ignoring the rabbit hole of implications of Manon's demands, the heroine came up with her gamble of a plan. Trying to take the most efficient route, she cautiously approached a pastel pink Puppeteer, hand at the ready on her yoyo. From behind the akuma, she nabbed her wand and broke it in half on her knee.

But, nothing changed. Instead, her move only served to incense Manon, not unlike pouring water on sizzling oil.

"LADYBUG!" Manon yelled. "You remember Marinette, right?"

"N-" Ladybug moved to shake her head, but the akuma was quick to cut her off. "You wouldn't lie to me, right? Not you, the perfect sweetheart of Paris, right? Our darling heroine would never lie to a little kid? Right?"

Marinette weighed her options. It was an innocent child versus the entire world. Faith against fate.

Manon stared at her with the same hope-filled gaze she had once had when she wanted her plush dolls. It plunged her into memories she once resolved to forget. It made her weak.

She bit her lip.

"No. I've never heard of a Marinette."

But not weak enough.

"LIAR," she screamed, flinging tiny pink sparks from her fingertips in all directions.

Spinning her yoyo into a shield, Ladybug managed to repel all but one, the littlest of the bunch. But that was enough to damn her.

With its landing point as the origin, it spread from the soles of her feet to the tip of her waist at an alarming speed. The heroine was protected by the magic of the suit, but even through that, she could feel the burn of the pink flame. It was beyond what words could describe. She felt like she was bathing in a hearth straight from Tartarus. She could feel the conflicting magics tearing her apart and putting her back together, tendon by tendon.

In her haze, she could hear Manon roaring out, "If you won't reveal the truth, then just go reveal everything else. Hmph!"

Manon shot out a pink beam from her index finger, but before it could hit her, someone jumped in the way.

Adrien.

Gritting her teeth, Ladybug aggressively blinked her way into focus. Her former friend was in a similar blazing state. His face was deathly pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. His brows were scrunched tight, but still, he held on.

"S-Storyteller! I- I-" he stuttered out, jaw clenched and eyes shut tight.

Looking closer at the school, the brightest flame within came not from the objects set ablaze but from a group of teenagers—her old classmates—writhing in pain on the ground yet unable to escape from the fires of akuma-delivered retribution. They were beneath a fallen column in the innermost part of the building, crawling like worms to hide from the akuma's line of sight.

"I never wanted to be a model." The confession was pulled from Adrien's throat, word by word. "But it's the only I can do to remember maman."

The heroine had seen plenty of gruesome scenes in her time. From a city drowned and silenced to the screams of young children being beheaded, there was no shortage of such scenes in Paris.

But Manon—Storyteller—was a first. She didn't kill, no. She kept everyone alive in a perpetual cycle of torture.

It was cruel.

And it was her fault that this happened at all.

"I have hundreds of pictures of Ladybug on my phone. My... friend says I'm obsessed. I imagine meeting her, dating her, kissing her." Words spilled from Adrien's mouth like air escaping a punctured balloon, and at that, the flames licking at his torso eased an inch.

A sliver of repulsion shot through her at the admission, but she put that aside at her newest theory.

"Manon!" she yelled, shielding Adrien behind her. "I have something to say."

Her eyes darted around, looking for the akumatized object, but her mouth never stopped.

"You want to hear secrets right? I'm adopted," she said, but there was no change to the pink flames.

"No, no!" Manon stomped her feet. "I don't want your secrets, I want Marinette! I'm not the liar, it's everyone else!"

"Manon..." Ladybug slowly approached, hands held out in appeasement.

"It's a consh-pirah-see," the child screamed, and the flames burned brighter at her rage.

As the child spun in her agitation, a flash of unblemished white caught the heroine's eye. It wasn't visible from the front, but a ribbon gleaming like arctic ice trailed from Manon's hair.

Ladybug's eyes flashed.

"Marinette..." she enunciated slowly, catching Manon's attention. She approached the child at a snail's pace, careful not to startle her. "Did she go to school here?"

Manon's eyes flashed brighter, "Yes, yes! Marinette is real. You believe me, right?"

The heroine inched her right hand to her side, but the motion attracted the akuma's attention.

"Liar! I hate you! Give me your miraculous!"

Faster than the beam could reach her, she moved to seize Manon's ribbon.

Ladybug felt words bubbling in her throat, but she resisted. Who knew what sorts of world-ending secrets could escape her lips? The list was far too long, and the risk, magnitudes too great.

With veins throbbing on her skin while her heart and lungs burned with the desire to reveal, she ripped the ribbon straight through the middle, releasing the akuma and leaving behind a child with stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

Gasping for breath, the heroine caught the akuma before collapsing onto the pavement. Her city burned around her, but for once, she wanted to take a small, selfish break. Even if only for a moment.

Sprawled out on the ground, her chest rising rapidly, she heard the whimpers of a child who couldn't know better. She tasted the flames of desperation in the air, smelled the burnt ashes of hope. She saw Manon's heart break, and she felt her lose her faith in the world.

Marinette closed her eyes.

Another failure.

Preventable, necessary, agonizing failure.

Later, she would get up and be the hero Paris needed her to be. Later, she would be Ladybug. Now, she just wanted to be what she was— a child.

---

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AO3

@maribat-bdbwm

[artistfingers]

There’s one ~silver lining~ of my iPad being broken: I’ve had loads of time to think about my many half-formed undercover phantom au ideas! Since I have no idea when or what will make it to comic form, here’s the lowdown…. AKA, everything that’s been rattling around my brain recently :P

For context: Danny, Sam and Tucker have never met, and nobody knows Danny is Phantom. When Vlad’s newest bit of tech gets Danny stuck in ghost mode (with the rest of his powers on the fritz to boot), he meets Tucker and Sam—who instantly see through his disguise and lend a helping hand. (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4!!)

So. After that, Danny—no, Phantom—becomes friends with them. It’s exciting! He was invisible at school even before the ghost powers; he was pretty isolated and lonely and being Phantom for the last year hasn’t exactly been a social boon. Kid’s lonely, ok?

But now… two human friends? Who’re his age & share his interests? It’s like a dream come true! If only they weren’t exclusively friends with his ghost self… and if only they didn’t wanna be so involved in his dangerous ghost hunting things…Uhhh. Hm. Could be a problem.

Danny angsts about the danger he’s putting his new friends in, and about not being able to befriend them as a human. He plays with the idea of telling them Everything but that’s… risky to say the least. He’s only known them a few weeks! ugh….!! it’s too much. maybe he should just throw the towel in.

Buuut Sam & Tucker don’t take no for an answer. Especially after they rescue him a third time.

Thus… Phantom friendship shenanigans!!

Sam filched some parts from the Fentonworks Lab when Phantom took them there, and later convinced Tucker to help her build a custom mini ectogun in case of emergency. They didn’t tell Phantom.

Danny is really sentimental about that DP hat he wore when he first met Sam & Tucker. He wore it as Phantom for a while but it got singed in a fight. He still wears it when he hangs out with Tucker & Sam but otherwise keeps it squirreled away for Sentimental Reasons.

“So Phantom, how old are you?” “I’m 15.” “15 now? Or 15 when you died?” “Yes.”

Tucker has a bunch of awful 90s button up shirts, and gives one to Phantom

They aren’t able to convince Sam to wear one too, but they sure do try.

Phantom won’t tell them when he died, so once he starts wearing 90s shirts they start using terrible 90s slang with him

“I am NOT from the 90s!!! They didn’t even SAY that then!!!” “methinks the lady doth protest too much…..home slice” “NOOO!!!”

“Phantom I have an extremely important question. Like, life or death. SHIT is on the LINE here. Are you listening?? I really need to know…. Do ghosts play video games”

The answer may surprise you (no it won’t)

Sam is completely convinced they can ACTUALLY get a good working guess of when Phantom lived and died based on the fact he liked Nasty Burger when he was alive, since NB’s a regional chain with a not-so-distant past. Tucker meanwhile thinks Phantom probably has a good reason for keeping them at arm’s length—but regardless of method, they can agree: they want to break down Phantom’s walls.

The next arc is less “Undercover Phantom” and more “Undercover Fenton” because the juxtaposition of him having to do hidden identities squared (squared again) is too good for me to pass up. It boils down to this: during a ghost attack at school, Danny finds himself stuck being “protected” by Sam and Tucker.

Sam and Tucker take their new jobs as Phantom’s ghost hunting companions too seriously to let this skinny stranger they just met run TOWARDS the danger. WHY does he keep trying to run TOWARDS the danger

NO YOU CANNOT GO TO THE BATHROOM THE SCHOOL IS ON G H O S T L O C K D O W N

Sam pulls out her ectogun.

Danny: WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!

Sam does not tell him.

“Wait, your last name’s Fenton? Like Fentonworks Fenton?” “No, the other Fenton.” “Oh… well, that’s too bad…” “YES LIKE FENTONWORKS FENTON”

Sam is initially wary of Danny because of his parents’ super strong anti-ecto views. Danny is clueless as to why she isn’t very friendly to him-as-a-human when she’s great with him-as-a-ghost. but she warms up after he helps resolve the ghost issue in a way that shows he doesn’t subscribe to his parents’ views.

afterwards you get this excellent situation where Danny is now friends with Sam and Tucker as Phantom and as Fenton, and they’re not connecting the dots as quickly as they did when it was just “that’s Phantom wearing a hoodie and a cap with his own logo on it”.

the potential here? *chefs kiss* here’s a few things but honestly? the possibilities are limitless

Danny pretending to not have a cell phone because he already gave them his number as Phantom

Tucker: *dials Phantom*

Danny, standing directly next to him: *frantically attempting to silence his phone*

Sam & Tucker try to introduce Danny and Phantom. Danny has to make excuses to avoid this happening in both forms.

Danny takes Sam & Tucker down to the Fentonworks Lab to get them some real equipment. Sam & Tucker pretend (very badly) that they’ve never been there before

Rooftop chill sessions as Phantom, late night teenage hijinks as Fenton, plus school AND fighting ghosts does not do any favors for Danny’s sleep deprivation. Tucker introduces him to caffeine pills with… mixed results.

Tucker and Sam teach Phantom some sign language. Later Danny slips up and uses it casually with them as Fenton

…. And many other silly mixups that I’ve yet to think of because I live for that shit

Sam & Tucker have theories about the Fenton-Phantom connection and they’re all wrong but somehow also plausible and that freaks Danny out just a little bit if he ever overhears them

Ultimately, I see this AU having a final arc where a New Situation occurs in which Danny-as-Phantom has to—once again—pretend to be human. This time, he’s with Sam & Tucker as Phantom from the get go, and can’t disappear or transform, even if being Phantom is extremely dangerous at that moment. Somehow this scenario would lead to the Fenton-is-Phantom (or, in this case, Phantom-is-Fenton) reveal…. But the details still escape me :P

so in short………… I really like hidden identities

[tyrantofthefirmament]

Yeah, that was not a good time (well, the movie making was fun but not the heart palpitations). The students in charge of "craft services" only brought a few cases of Monster. That's it. No water, and no snacks, for an all night shoot in a very dusty and hot basement. We were thirsty af so we drank what they brought. DO NOT under any circumstances drink 3 Monsters in one night.

Caffeine is a diuretic, so it's not as efficient at hydrating as water, but it still gives you more water than it makes you lose. But it can't be in everything you drink.

Regarding drinking only water, that can actually be dangerous too, especially in really hot weather if you are sweating. You need to replace electrolytes. The second time I hiked the Grand Canyon (meaning rim to rim, 23 miles), they had a Ranger stationed at the trailhead basically trying to make sure hikers didn't kill themselves by being unprepared (this happens all the time in the Canyon, sadly). This was during the days when common health advice was to make sure your pee was clear. This is bad advice, and in extreme heat can be deadly advice. This ranger was not only telling hikers to bring enough water, but also enough salt. Water intoxication is an electrolyte imbalance that can kill you. We knew that and had powdered gatorade as well as salty trail mix and jerky, and of course a couple gallons of water per person. So the "primarily" in the original tweet really does need to emphasized for this reason as well.

If you lose water through sweat and only drink pure water to replace it, the inside of your cells have more salt than your blood. Osmosis causes water to flow towards the higher concentration of salt, swelling your tissues. It's part of why too much salt can make you puffy. Well, your brain can only swell so much before it runs out of room, which can cause seizures and death. Depending on the rate you eat/drink it, the same thing can happen with too much salt, so just.... be normal about food, I guess.

Tl;dr, drink water but if you can't drink water drink something, and if you're sweating a lot get some salt back into you as well