#we invented new hot pockets

[darkmatilda]

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

*

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

 JJ couldn't help but snort.

 “Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition. 

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

*

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice.  “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?” 

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

[alltimecharlo]

We always talk about Mack seeming possessive but I want a jealous and possessive Smitty. Maybe a friend of Mack gets traded to the team or a rookie is called up who he is old friends with. I think at the steels Mack had a bff he also matched suits with so someone like that. Poor new guy can’t understand why Smitty seems to hate him while Mack is oblivious

amazing - i'm always on board for jealous!will !! he's my guilty pleasure <3 fic below the cut!

Will knows he’s being unreasonable.

He knows it in the same way he knows that if he touches a stove, it’s going to burn him. But he can’t help it. The feeling is sharp and vicious, crawling under his skin every time he sees the new guy laughing with Mack.

Mack, who’s supposed to laugh like that only with him.

They’re on the ice for morning skate, the arena bright and echoey with the clatter of pucks and the scrape of blades. Will watches, jaw tight behind his mouthguard, as Mack throws an arm around Chase’s shoulders, pulling him in like they’ve been best friends forever.

Which, apparently, they have. Some guy from Mack’s Steel days. Suit-matching, handshake-inventing, inside-joke-having best friends.

Will hates him.

"You're gonna snap your stick in half," Eky says, gliding up beside him, nudging him with his elbow.

"M'fine," Will grits out, tapping his stick against the boards with a little more force than necessary.

Eky just laughs under his breath and peels off.

Mack doesn’t notice, of course. He’s too busy showing Chase the ropes, laughing, catching him up on everything. He’s got that easy grin on his face that Will always thought — knew — was just for him.

Later, in the locker room, Will pointedly keeps his distance. He strips off his gear in silence, hyper-aware of Mack a few stalls down, chirping Chase about something stupid.

"Yo, Smitty," Chase says at one point, grinning across the room. "You guys doing team dinner tonight?"

"Busy," Will says without looking up.

Mack frowns. "Since when?"

Will shrugs, slamming his helmet into his bag a little harder than necessary.

Chase blinks, a little thrown. "Uh, cool. No problem."

Mack glances between them, confused, but Will refuses to meet his eye.

He's being a dick. He knows it. But he can't stop.

When they’re finally leaving the rink, Will trudges behind the others, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, hood yanked up over his head. Mack jogs a few steps to fall in beside him.

"What's up with you?" Mack asks, bumping his shoulder.

"Nothing," Will mutters.

Mack huffs a laugh. "You’ve been weird all day."

"Just tired."

Mack slows down, studying him. "You sure?"

Will shrugs again, staring at the sidewalk.

Mack lets out a frustrated sound. "If this is about Chase, you can just say it, you know."

Will scowls. "Why would it be about him?"

Mack stares at him like he’s an idiot. "'Cause you've been looking at him like you wanna murder him since he got here."

"I don't," Will says, too fast, too defensive.

Mack raises an eyebrow.

Will kicks at a loose rock on the ground, cheeks burning. "Just… didn't know you had… best friends I didn't know about."

Mack’s face softens instantly. "Dude."

Will glares stubbornly at the ground.

Mack laughs under his breath and catches his wrist, pulling him to a stop. "Will. Look at me."

Will drags his gaze up reluctantly.

Mack’s smiling at him, that stupid, fond, world-ending smile. "You’re my best friend."

Will’s heart stutters painfully.

"Chase is cool, yeah," Mack says, squeezing his wrist, "but he’s… he’s not you."

Will opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. "You sure?"

Mack’s grin turns teasing. "Pretty sure I'd notice if Chase kissed me behind the gym last month."

Will flushes hot to his ears. "Shut up."

Mack just laughs and slings an arm around his shoulders, steering him down the sidewalk. "You're such a dumbass."

"Yeah, well," Will mutters, but he’s smiling helplessly now, warmth flooding his chest.

Mack squeezes him closer. "My dumbass."

And just like that, Will decides maybe he doesn't hate Chase that much after all.

(Not enough to stop him from glaring at him every now and then, though. Just in case.)

♡

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi, i hope you're having a good day/night. i came across a post centered around that one scene in dumbledore's office in ootp with marietta. marietta is jinxed to have 'sneak' spelled across her face because of hermione's spell. now, we never actually find out what hermione's spell is. it's probably something she invented, since nothing similar (except the boils spell?) is mentioned throughout the series. but my main thought here was that it also did something to her mind. because her eyes are mentioned to be 'blank'. but that could have been kingsley's imperius that he casts. maybe i'm just misinterpreting what i read, but what's your input on this?

Hello, hope you have a good day too!

Now, I don't think Hermione invented it. Hermione loves to research but I don't think she is the type to invent new spells and try them out. We see it in HBP:

“So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?” “Why does it matter if it’s handwritten?” said Harry, preferring not to answer the rest of the question. “Because it’s probably not Ministry of Magic–approved,” said Hermione.

(HBP, Ch12)

I mentioned it here, but Hermione’s magic is very based in studying and books. She is incredibly talented at learning new spells and using them creatively, but she isn't going to try out new, untested spells on her own. That's something she sees as wrong, dangerous, and foolish. Luna is right, Hermione is pretty rigid, by-the-book, and closed-minded when it comes to magic. The characters we see inventing new spells are ones who are more open-minded and creative (like Pandora, Luna's mom whom I'd like to think Luna takes after. Plus, she married Xenophilius which says something about her) or tend to generally see magic as something living, ever-changing that needs to be explored anew (like Snape and Voldemort):

“The Dark Arts,” said Snape, “are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.”

(HBP, Ch9)

And Hermione isn't either of these. She sees magic as something that is fixed and logical, not fluid like Snape describes it. So, I was always under the impression she just used multiple existing spells together to create the jinx, like she did with the DA coins:

“On real Galleons that’s just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you’re carrying them in a pocket you’ll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he’ll change the numbers on his coin, and because I’ve put a Protean Charm on them, they’ll all change to mimic his.”

(OotP, Ch19)

The spell on the DA partchment is refered to as a jinx:

“Haven’t we got a counterjinx for this?” Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta’s face. “So she can speak freely?” “I have not yet managed to find one,” Umbridge admitted grudgingly, and Harry felt a surge of pride in Hermione’s jinxing ability. [....] “Just nod or shake your head, dear,” Umbridge said coaxingly to Marietta. “Come on, now, that won’t activate the jinx further. . . .”

(OotP, Ch27)

The 'blank' eyes are described when Kinglsey obliviates her, her inability to speak is because the more she speaks about the DA, the worse the boils will become, hence Umbridge saying it won't activate it further. She is familiar with the jinx and knows it is activated by speech & intent — another mark against Hermione inventing it. The lack of ability to remove it suggests Hermione mixed more than one jinx together.

The description of Marriatta's face:

but not before the whole room had seen that her face was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word “SNEAK.”

(OotP, Ch27)

The Pimple Jinx/Furnunculus is described very similarly:

“Furnunculus!” Harry yelled. “Densaugeo!” screamed Malfoy. Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles — Harry’s hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy’s hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up — Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth. [...] Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.

(GoF, Ch18)

If I had to guess what other spells Hermione mixed in there, I'll add the spell Umbridge used to write words on the blackboard:

Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once

(OotP, Ch12)

And a transfiguration spell to make the boils really stick (in a way a counterjinx won't make them disappear) like Epoximise from extra canonical material or the Permanent Sticking Charm mentioned in the books:

“I thought it might be that,” said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. “She’ll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don’t doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will.

(OotP, Ch6)

(In my headcanon, "Epoximise" is the incantation for a Sticking charm and "Epoximise Sempra" for Permanent Sticking Charm. Sempra = always/forever).

So, by mixing the pimple jinx with two other spells, you can get the results we see on Mariatta, and I think Hermione coming up with a combo like this is more likely than her inventing a potentially dangerous spell and using it.

[hikarry]

Consider: Aziraphale finding out about the Montero video clip

"Angel!" Oh dear. Whenever he sounded this excited it was never good news. "Do yourself a favor and sit down, yes?"

"Yes. Good morning to you too, my dear."

"Uhum." Aziraphale was not exactly used to being manhandled, but whatever was on Crowley’s mind and was causing whatever frenetic energy this was, made him very inclined to indeed force the angel to sit down on the big chair, holding him by the shoulders and pushing him down very unceremoniously. "I found something hilarious."

"Is that so?" Crowley sat on the arm of the chair, crossing his legs in a probably not very comfortable position, but after 6000 years Aziraphale was of the opinion the demon had not a single bone in his corporation.

With a swift motion he grabbed his phone from his back pocket and typed something quickly. Aziraphale was looking at the phone, more out of politeness than anything else. He had no idea what was going on on that tiny screen.

"Yes." Crowley couldn't help but snort, even though the supposedly funny thing was not on display yet. "It's a song. An oldish one at that, I don't know how I didn't find it earlier."

"Oh, bebop?" The angel let his body relax against the back rest of the chair. "You know you and I have very different tastes when it comes to music."

The demon clicked his tongue in response, quite clearly not paying enough attention to form proper words. He snorted again when he finally found whatever it was he was looking for.

"The song isn't the point. It's catchy, but not my thing." He leaned over Aziraphale, arm against arm, putting the phone in front of both of them. "I will give you 5 seconds to guess what is it we are looking at."

"5 seconds? That's sound a little unfair, don't you th-" Too late, the video had began. Aziraphale actually made an effort to try and amuse Crowley, just this once. There were a lot of clouds and very vibrant colors. Some type of garden with Greek like ruins. "A garden? In Greece?"

"A garden, yes. In Greece, no. Keep watching. Last chance."

The video kept rolling and Aziraphale could physically feel how constricted like a spring ready to jump Crowley was becoming beside him.

"Oh, a snake! It has your colors, doesn't it? Are black and red snakes natural in nature?"

"Focus, angel."

Right, focus.

"It's a big snake."

"Yes. A snake. In a garden. Hm?"

"Yes, I can see it, Crowley. I'm not-" Okay, yes. Snakes didn't usually turns into humanoid creatures. In a garden...gasp. "Is this supposed to be the Garden of Eden?! And you?!"

"No, not me. Inspired by me, more like. But yes! Exactly!"

"The Garden didn't look anything like that. Greek architecture had not been invented back then yet."

"And pink grass had?"

"...Do I show up?"

"Nah. There's enough songs about angels."

"I beg to-." Right, stuff was going down hill. "They...turned you quite sexual, didn't they?"

"Not me. Inspired by me." Yes, details. "And I am the demon of Temptation. What's more tempting than sex?"

"A good Oscar Wilde first edition, for starters." Aziraphale mumbled, but Crowley clearly heard.

"Right. Oscar Wilde. I thought we were talking about me."

"I thought you said it wasn't you?"

"Ngk. Technically not me. Anyway, that's what I wanted to show you. But-" He pulled the video forward slightly. "Let me show you what humans are doing with the imagery of Lucifer nowadays."

"Is he...going to Hell down a pole?"

"You've heard of pole dancing?"

"Yes. Mrs. Sandwich enlightened me." The angel adjusted the glasses on his nose, leaning slightly forward so he could look closer at the video. "Didn't you have some boots like those back in the 80s?"

"Myeah. Similar."

"I never saw you wearing them again. Whatever happened to them?"

"Probably in the flat somewhere. I haven't been female for a hot second."

"Your point?"

Crowley looked down at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What?"

"Are you saying you can't wear them anymore because you've been male for 4 decades?"

"Well-"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but," he pointed at the video. "That looks like a young man to me."

"Hm. Touché."

"What is he doing now?"

"That's called a lap dance."

"He is dancing in the lap of Satan?"

"Maybe he would have been a better boss if he had been given a couple of lap dances between the millennia."

"...is this allowed?"

"I don't see why not. I like the sense of humor." As the video ended, he put it back again on his back pocket.

"I was right. It was bebop."

"As I said: not my thing either." Aziraphale folded his hands on his lap, the movement being closely watched by the demon besides him.

"I see you are still inspiring generations. Humans always did make interesting artwork with your resemblance." Crowley didn't answer. Aziraphale stayed quiet a couple more moments, waiting for him to say something. "Crowley?"

"Yeah. So. Hm." He seemed to have been snapped out of his own thoughts, laying his hands on his knee and slightly leaning towards the angel. "About those boots-"

[deadgirlwalking91]

new update - 'thank you for the venom', chapter 10: 'i like to push it and push it until my luck is over'

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten Summary

Adam loses his patience with Lute when she won't let him take care of her without a fight.

Who is here for some close proximityyyyyyy?! 🙋🏼‍♀️

All I'm going to say is that the next few chapters are going to be fun. SO much fun. Buckle up, buttercups!

Thanks @branded-rose for beta-ing as always, you wonderful human <3

Neither Adam or Lute said anything on the way to his apartment.

Lute had decided, for fucking once, that she didn’t feel up to talking or backchatting him and instead spent the trek back sulking in his arms, refusing to look at him.

If he was being honest, the silence was more than welcomed. It gave Adam time to think, to form a game plan for the week ahead. His objective? To not fuck his lieutenant while she recovered from her injury. As tempting as it was, he couldn’t risk her reinjuring herself and taking more time off training. 

Considering he had a meeting with Sera coming up, he needed Lute to heal up fast, lest he be subjected to a lecture on how he wasn’t taking this seriously enough, why was his lieutenant always getting injured under his watch, blah, blah-fucking-blah.

Though, now that he came to think of it, he was the guy who literally invented sex. Surely he could come up with some creative positions so as to not do further damage to her ankle. 

He found himself lost in his thoughts as they approached his front door, trying to think of the most stationary way to bury himself inside her when a familiar, irritating voice quickly brought him back to reality.

“Sir? Sir. Are you even listening to me?”

Adam glanced down at Lute, who was waving a hand in front of his face, looking wildly unimpressed.

“Course I was,” he said defensively, lying through his teeth. He had absolutely no idea what she’d said - and frankly, couldn’t care, considering he’d been thoroughly enjoying the visuals that accompanied his dirty thoughts.

“Then what was I talking about?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to roll his own in response.

“Uhh… you were complaining about something or other? Hold up - could you reach into my pocket and grab my key for me?” 

What a save.

Lute scowled at him, unimpressed. “A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt, you know.”

Adam resisted the urge to drop her on the floor for being a colossal pain in his ass. Injury be damned, she was already getting on his nerves and they hadn’t even walked through the front door yet.

It was going to be a long ass week together, and he wasn’t sure which one of them would kill the other first.

“Fucking hell - fine. Grab the key from my pocket and unlock the front door, so we can hurry the fuck up and get inside, please?”

Smiling smugly, she reached her hand into his pocket, digging around for his key, her fingers roughly hitting the front of his hip and thigh through the fabric of his robe. “Was that so hard, sir?”

“If you keep digging around like that babe, you’ll find something else in there that’s hard.”

“Ugh. You disgust me.” She threw him the flattest look, producing the key from his pocket and unceremoniously shoving it into the keyhole.

When they stepped through the front door, Adam felt the slightest pang of shame at not cleaning up after himself from the night before. Empty wine bottles and takeout containers littered his counter, while there was no way Lute’s keen eye would miss the hot pink bra draped lazily over the back of his armchair.

Layla had forgotten to pick up after herself again.

“Really?” she asked dryly, raising a brow at him as he carried her over to his couch. “I’m surprised you don’t have a lost and found box permanently stationed outside your front door.”

“You know Lute, that’s the most intelligent thing that I think has ever come out of your mouth,” he mused, setting her down carefully so as not to bump her injured leg. “I’ll be right back.”

He grabbed the bra off the back of his chair and wandered into his bedroom, quickly grabbing his phone to text Layla.

Adam: You forgot your bra. Again.

As expected, considering Layla never got off her phone, it vibrated in his hand almost instantly.

Layla: Did your pretty little patient notice?

Adam: Yes. 

Layla: She’d look good in it, too. Don’t you think?

Adam: Not helping.

Layla: I know. Good luck. 

Snorting, he pocketed his phone again. Layla had picked up on the tension between him and Lute at the bar a couple of months go, before he’d followed her outside. She’d nagged him about it for fucking weeks, until a moment where she quite literally had him by the balls and he relented, admitting that there had been something between them, but nothing more had happened.

He didn’t need the truth spreading around the barracks like wildfire, considering how fucking chatty the girls were. Still, he was thankful that Layla seemed to have kept her mouth shut, even though she nagged him almost daily about Lute.

As he reminded himself to change his sheets later, he drew on the uncomfortable conversation he’d had with Layla the night before in his bed.

~

“Why do you even fucking care?” Adam asked, rolling over to look at her. “I wouldn’t have picked you to be the jealous type.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Layla said simply as she sat up, letting the duvet fall, exposing her ample chest as she inspected a strand of her hair. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our hookups because they scratch an itch, so to speak, but emotionally you’re kind of a giant walking red flag.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said bitterly. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself.”

“Oh, please, Adam,” she snorted. “That’s not what I’m here for. You want someone to stroke your ego? Get a girlfriend. Or, man up and do something about your little crush on Lute.”

“I’ll give you something you can stroke,” he said in a low voice, reaching over to cup one of her breasts, massaging it softly, choosing to ignore her dig at him as he kneaded it softly.

She glanced at his hand, her expression bored, then shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.” Stretching, she slid out of his bed and began getting dressed.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I told you - I had an itch, you scratched it. Now I’m done.”She leaned both arms on the bed, staring Adam down with her large golden eyes, her expression unusually firm.

“Stop being such a pussy Adam, and just shoot your shot,” she said sternly. “I have a feeling that you’ll be a happier man for it.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re on about.”

“That’s your problem then, not mine.”

With that, she sashayed out of his room, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

~

Shoving the memory to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about it any further, Adam threw the bra into his closet before grabbing two pillows off his bed and trudging back out into his living room. 

Lute’s thumbs were moving swiftly across her phone screen as she typed furiously, her eyes unmoving. If she noticed Adam come back into the room, she didn’t acknowledge him.

“Who are you texting?”

She startled slightly, glaring at him as he took a seat next to her on the couch. “Vaggie. I’m telling her what I’ll need for the next week.”

“Anything special I should know about?”

Her cheeks flushed and she narrowed her eyes further at him. “No.”

“That’s a lie if I ever fucking heard one. Here - hold this,” he shoved a pillow at her, knocking her phone out of her hands, causing it to bounce away from her and land close to her feet. Grabbing it to pass back to her, he snuck a quick look at her screen.

Vaggie: You sure you’re okay? You could have stayed with me.

Lute: You’d get sick of me.

Vaggie: That’s a lie.

Lute: Plus, he had a point. His place is bigger than our apartments. 

Vaggie: I guess. If you need to tap out at any time though, call me. What do you need?

Lute: I’ll be alright. Just the usual stuff. Clothes and toiletries. Also my protein powder and shaker. And a book or two. Third drawer in the kitchen. You know the type.

Vaggie: Unusual hiding spot for a book, but okay.

“Why do you keep your books in the kitchen drawer?” Adam asked, extending his arm so Lute could take her phone. “That’s a fucking weird spot. Most normal people keep theirs on a bookshelf.”

“None of your fucking business,” she snapped, snatching her phone back and locking it. “Next time, don’t read my messages, creep.”

“Oh, calm your tits, it wasn’t like you had anything interesting to say,” he huffed, laying the remaining pillow across the top of his thighs. “Alright, I’m about to take a look at your leg and see how bad the damage is. I’d suggest biting into that pillow while I do it.”

“Why on earth would I need to bite into a pillow?”

Adam sighed and scratched behind his neck, not caring for her attitude. “Because, and I hate to break this to you, babe, but it’s not going to tickle when I take your shoe off. In fact, it’s going to hurt like hell. So, instead of you yelling at the top of your lungs and my neighbours get pissed off that they can hear someone screaming in here again, just bite into the fucking pillow, would you?” 

“Do you make screaming loud enough to piss your neighbours off a regular habit?” she asked, cocking a brow at him. He snorted and gently lifted her legs, scooting closer to her so that he could place them on top of the pillow on his lap.

“It’s not me they’re complaining about, babe.”

She shot him a withering look and he snickered, shaking his head. “You are so easy to rile up, Dangertits.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Not gonna happen. Anyway, get ready because I’m about to take your shoe off and it’s gonna hurt.” He started undoing the laces on her trainer, taking care not to knock her foot.

“Somehow, I think I’ll manage,” she muttered, “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this. It’s a fucking ankle sprain, but you’re making out like I’ve lost a goddamn limb or something”

He closed his eyes, trying to find the inner strength to deal with her shitty attitude. He wasn’t the most patient man at the best of times, but she was really testing him now.

“Lute,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “shut the fuck up and stop being such a brat.”

She puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms looking away from him. “I am not being a brat.”

“You fucking are. You’re pouting at me again.”

“I am not,” she argued, aiming a swift kick at him with her good leg. He caught it mid-air before it connected with his shoulder, glowering at her.

“If you don’t shut your mouth,” he growled, “I’m going to shut it for you.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared,” she said sardonically, her face twisting into a mock fearful expression. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Don’t push your fucking luck with me.” He leaned over, their chests just touching as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, her blazing golden eyes meeting the yellow of his mask. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to help you here, not make things worse. Stop running your fucking mouth and start listening to me. That’s an order. Do you fucking understand me, Lieutenant?”

Her lip curled into a snarl. “I didn’t ask you to take care of me, sir.”

“I couldn’t really give a shit what you asked for,” he said coolly, letting go of her face roughly and resuming his original position on the couch. “Shoe’s coming off now, by the way. Get ready - or not, I’m not bothered either way.”

He gripped the heel of her trainer and tugged downwars, trying not to move her actual foot as much as possible. Lute hissed, then let out a cry of pain as he gently wiggled the shoe in order to ease it off her swollen foot.

“That hurts!” she yelled, throwing her head back against the armrest of the couch.

“Bite the goddamn pillow, Lute, or my neighbours will think I’m murdering someone.”

“It’s Heaven, nobody gets murdered here,” she growled.

“Well, it’s either that or they’ll think you’re an animal and into some kinky shit, so if you want them to keep thinking that, go ahead and be my guest. I don’t care.”

He was relieved to see her finally press the pillow into her face, her scream muffled as he finally managed to get her shoe and sock off.

Adam had seen his fair share of soft tissue injuries during his time as Commander of the Exorcist army - severe bruising, strains and sprains were commonplace, especially during training sessions. In fact, they probably made up at least half of the incident reports he had to fill out. But, in classic Lute fashion, she had managed to spectacularly outdo everybody else, sporting the most brilliant ankle sprain he had ever seen.

Her skin was no longer pale, instead now heavily bruised with patches of vibrant oranges and yellows that spread from the tips of her toes right up to past the hem of her leggings, concentrated mostly around her ankle - which had turned a particularly nasty shade of vermillion. The afflicted area had also swelled to twice its normal size, looking unnatural next to her muscular right leg.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, gently running his fingers over her swollen skin. “Not sure if I should congratulate you on doing such a great job, or be pissed that you’re going to be out of action for a while.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced up at her and was surprised to find that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” he backtracked, feeling uncomfortable at her sudden shift in demeanour. Shit, he was hopeless when it came to women crying in front of him, he never had any idea what to do, and no matter what he said, he tended to just make it worse. “A week off work, at the most.”

She looked away, and he pretended not to notice as she quickly wiped her eyes. Not that she deserved it for being such a pain in the ass earlier. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for her. Her misery almost made her seem normal.

“I don’t want to take a week off work,” she said thickly. “We’ve got too much to do. And - and you have a meeting with Sera and -”

Adam cut her off, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about my meeting with Sare-bear, she doesn’t have to know everything that goes on at training. But, Lute, just listen,” he let one of his hands come to rest on her knee in a comforting gesture.

“You need to swallow your fucking pride and do as I say, alright? I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m trying to help you get back to normal as soon as possible. Believe it or not, you’re not invincible, but if you just rest, you’ll heal quicker. Okay? So, just…fucking chill.”

He gave her knee a reassuring pat, and as she looked up at him through her damp lashes, he felt oddly compelled to comfort her further. He wasn’t entirely sure where the feeling came from, or what it meant exactly, but all he knew was that he needed to show her that he cared. So he lifted the hand that was resting on her leg and grabbed one of her hands, squeezing it gently, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

He found himself studying how small her hands were, how if he held their hands up together, the tips of her fingers would barely reach past his palms. How could such tiny hands be responsible for spilling so much Sinner blood, year after year?

Lute cast her eyes downwards into her lap and nodded, resigned. “Okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

Adam breathed a sigh of relief and let his head fall backwards. “Finally, she listens to me,” he muttered to his ceiling. “It’s only taken God knows how fucking long.”

He managed to catch the pillow just before it hit him in the face.

***

Lute was on the verge of falling asleep when Vaggie turned up at Adam’s apartment, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a scowl plastered on her face as he greeted her with an obnoxiously loud, “‘Sup, Vagasaurous!”

She couldn’t hear most of their conversation from her position on the couch due to the fact that they were speaking in hushed voices, but she was positive she heard Vaggie stage-whisper, “What do you mean she hasn’t had any fucking painkillers?” at one point.

If they spoke much after that, she had no recollection of it as she let her eyes rest, drifting off to sleep.

When she woke, she was surprised to feel something soft covering her bare shoulders. Opening her eyes, she found a blanket over her, considerately tucked neatly under her body. Vaggie must have come in and made sure she was warm, knowing Adam wouldn’t have the care factor to do so.

Sitting up, Lute hissed, grimacing as pain seared through her ankle, which was resting gently atop one of the pillows Adam had brought out from his bedroom. Another considerate gesture from Vaggie.

She really was such a good friend.

“Bout time you woke up.”

Her eyes darted around, finding Adam sitting at his counter flicking through something on his phone. 

“How long was I asleep for?” she asked, drawing the blanket up under her chin. She didn’t love the idea of him being around her, awake, while she slept. What if she did something embarrassing, like snored, or drooled… or worse, talked in her sleep?

Given some of the… intense dreams she’d had over the past few months that may or may not have involved her boss, she reall, really hoped she didn’t sleeptalk.

Adam looked up from his phone as he set it on his counter, which was now rid of the rubbish that had been strewn across it when they first arrived at the apartment. At least he’d taken the liberty of cleaning up while she slept. “A couple hours? You were pretty out of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Also, you have the funniest little snore. It’d almost be cute if it wasn’t coming from you.”

“I do not snore!” Lute cried indignantly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Babe. You snored. Besides, how would you know if you do or don’t? Anybody ever told you that you have?”

“No,” she admitted, deliberately choosing not to elaborate further - he didn’t need to know it was because she’d never slept next to anybody before. She’d never hear the end of it and besides, it was absolutely none of his business.

“Well, either this was something special you saved just for me, or all the men you’ve ever shared a bed with sleep like the dead.”

“Again, sir, it’s Heaven. Most people here sleep like the dead because they are dead.”

“Fuck, it was nice and peaceful while you were comatose,” Adam muttered under his breath, sliding off his stool, “even if you were snoring.” 

Lute watched with mild interest as he opened kitchen cupboards, continuing to mutter to himself. It was odd seeing him in such a domesticated environment - given his status in Heaven as the First Man and how obnoxious he was, she’d expected him to live in a more luxurious, gaudy home. In reality, apart from an overly-large TV, and the fact that the footprint of his apartment was slightly larger than hers, his home wasn’t very impressive at all.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he made his way over to her and sat on the coffee table in front of her, holding a glass of water.

“Your little scissor-sister bestie chewed me out for not giving you these sooner, so hurry up and take them before she turns up at my door again.” He extended his hand, uncurling his fist to reveal two small blue pills. “They should stop the pain while you’re sitting still.”

“I’m not in pain,” Lute said quickly, eyeing the pills, “I’m fine.” She didn’t want him thinking she was weak enough to need medication. That would just be pathetic, especially for something as minor as a sprained ankle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, did we or did we not just have a conversation about this?” Adam snapped, “take the fucking pills Lute, before I force them down your throat.”

Glaring at him, she snatched the pills from his outstretched hand, but before she could pull away his hand closed tightly over hers. He moved off the coffee table, kneeling in front of her, once again closing space between their bodies.

She glanced down at their hands, and noticed that he must have taken his gloves off while she was asleep, because they were bare. She’d seen him without them before, but he was close enough now that she couldn’t help but notice the sprinkling of fine ash-brown hair that crept up the back of his hand.

It was also warm, and strong. If it were anybody else holding her hand, she’d admit to liking how that felt. She kept that thought to herself.

“You,” he started, his voice now low and dangerous, “are really pissing me off now. Cut the bullshit, stop being a stubborn little bitch and let me take fucking care of you, alright?”

“I’m not weak,” she hissed, “I’m not some helpless little girl who needs saving.”

“Nobody said you were. Shut up and take the painkillers, Lute.” He let go of her hand and shook his head in frustration.

Scowling, she shoved the pills in her mouth and swallowed, grimacing at the taste as she struggled to get them down her throat. She held out her hand for the glass of water and Adam handed it to her unceremoniously.

Once she’d managed to chase the pills with the water, she thrust the glass back in his direction. 

“Was that so hard?” 

She sighed. “Yes actually, it was.”

“It would have been a fuckton easier if you’d just listened to me.”

“Where did you even get painkillers, anyway? It’s not like anybody here needs them.”

He snorted. “You think I’m going to smuggle hard liquor from Hell every year for our post-Extermination Day rager, and not be smart enough to also steal something to help with the hangover the next day?”

“Oh, I feel so honoured you gave me your special hangover pills.”

“So you fucking should be, I only get a few a year.” 

She turned her head to gaze at him, still seated on the floor in front of her. He looked as tired as she felt. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This. Making sure I’m alright. You don’t care about me.”

“Bullshit. I care about all my girls, Lute, and that includes you.” He scooted closer, so his side leaned against the couch, his body facing hers. “You just make my job more difficult because you’ve got more of a tendency to bite back than the others.”

Lute didn’t say anything, instead choosing to adjust the waistband of her leggings, which were starting to dig into her and get uncomfortable. She desperately needed a shower.

“You know what’s going to be difficult?” she groaned, realising another roadblock they’d have to tackle. 

“What?”

She grimaced, not wanting to admit it out loud - but what choice did she have?

“Showering.”

Adam blinked at her, confused. “Oh, yeah we can do that. No biggie, I’ll just carry you in, you can do your thing and when you’re ready just call me and I’ll come get you. Easy as fuck.”

“Sir. That’s not going to work. How am I even supposed to stand in the shower, or get in and out?

He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Shit, I didn’t think of that. Unless…”

“I’m not showering with you,” Lute said quickly.

Adam snorted. “Babe, that is not where my mind was going, but now that you mention it, if you can put your big girl panties on and be an adult about this, it would be the easiest solution.”

She glared at him. “No, sir. What was your other plan?”

“I have a bath. It’s probably easier to get you in there.”

She swallowed, unconvinced. “I haven’t had a bath since -”

Adam held a hand up, silencing her. “Since I busted into your apartment. Yeah, yeah, I know, spare me the lecture. As far as I see this playing out Dangertits, you’ve got three options. One, take a bath. I help you in, get you settled, then come and get you when the time’s up. Easy. Two, we shower together. Not gonna lie, the thought of it excites me, but you’d have to keep your eyes closed the whole time, because this,” he tugged at the bottom of his hood, “would be coming off.”

“I can keep my eyes closed, I’ve done it before,” she retorted, the words escaping her lips before she had the chance to hold them in. Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth, utterly mortified at her inadvertent admission of wanting to shower with him. Her stomach twisted into a thousand knots as she frantically wondered how the fuck she was going to talk her way out of this. 

She wanted to die.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning. “Believe me, I know you can. Let’s just say the last time I asked you to, I was very impressed with how well you can follow instructions when you don’t fucking backchat me.”

Lute sank lower into the couch, pulling the blanket over her head so Adam wouldn’t see how her face and chest were basically glowing fluorescent. So she didn’t have to look at his stupid smug fake face as it smirked at her.

“What’s my third option?” she muttered, her voice strained.

“You don’t bathe at all for the next week. Which is fucking gross.”

She felt him rip the blanket away from her, and she yelped at the sensation of the cool air on her bare skin, goosebumps creeping up her arms. She glared up at Adam, who was now standing over her, blanket tossed to the side.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, folding her arms over her stomach.

He shrugged. “Not really, no, but I need an answer, and I didn’t feel like you were going to give me one, so I had to do something.. What’s it gonna be, babe?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she groaned, “I’ll take a bath.”

“Slightly disappointed you didn’t suggest the shower, to be honest.” He bent down and slid one arm under her knees, and the other around her waist, lifting her up off the couch effortlessly. “Come on. Let’s get you clean. Want me to give you a sponge bath while we’re at it?”

Lute turned her head and let it rest against Adam’s chest as he carried her to his bathroom, taking in his scent - woody, aromatic. Slightly peppery, even. Masculine. 

Intoxicating. 

For all the times he’d been in her personal space, she’d never really paid attention to how he smelt. She was usually too busy being annoyed by his presence.

Or, he had her preoccupied in other ways.

As for his comment about the sponge bath?

Lute felt that sometimes, some questions were best left unanswered.

[charaznablescanontoyota]

prompt bingo fill -- "notebook" takes place between eps 8 and 9

the casino discotheque is brilliant and startling, so loud that al can still feel the music reverberating in his ribs when he and audrey stumble out onto the third floor landing. his eyes water as they readjust to the light; audrey makes a low, annoyed noise next to him as hers presumably do the same.

“food,” al suggests. his brain is still buzzing a little from the tequila shots, but years of sneaking into the fields or up onto granny’s roof to drink with ed and winry have taught him enough about how to avoid a hangover the next morning. 

“food,” audrey agrees.

like with shadow earlier in the evening, al trusts her to steer him towards whatever is good to eat–they end up with hot pretzels wrapped in paper and frozen drinks that audrey calls slushies. the syrup in them tastes more chemical than fruit-flavored, but al can still feel his body welcoming the sudden onslaught of sugar.

“you’ve had pretzels before,” audrey quizzes him, as they find a table to sit at. it’s closer to the quieter lounge, the one with the small stage and the jazz band, and a safe distance from the throbbing bass of the discotheque.

“of course i’ve had pretzels,” al says, a little amused. “we have bakeries.”

“listen, i almost flunked world history, i don’t know shit about what was invented in the 1910s. you have soda, right?”

“we have pop. ed drinks it, i don’t like it very much.”

“is it, like, the kind with cocaine still in it?” audrey leans forwards, eyebrows arched.

“i don’t think so,” al says. he frowns. “your soda pop had cocaine in it?”

audrey hums, and doesn’t answer the question. “can you alchemy food instead of cooking it? if you have the ingredients?”

“uh–yes and no,” al says. he takes a bite of his pretzel and swallows it, considering how to explain in terms audrey won’t write off as scientific gibberish. “there are alchemical circles for food. but you have to understand all the exact measurements of ingredients in whatever you’re making, and there’s no room to improvise or taste it in the middle. so you’re better off just cooking, unless you’re trying to show off.”

the explanation reminds him of the small notebook in his breast pocket; al takes it out and flips it to the last entry, the oversized snacks from the arts and crafts car. underneath, he prints everything new he’s eaten since. small shorthand annotations and symbols go next to each one, nearly incomprehensible unless you know what you’re looking at.

“what’s that?” audrey asks.

“food diary,” al says, mid-stroke on the word slushie.

“you write down everything you eat?” there’s a tiny flicker of judgment in her eyes. “why?”

“when i didn’t have a body, i couldn’t eat,” he says succinctly. audrey knows about the soul-bond and the suit of armor, so there’s no point in dancing around it. “i couldn’t remember what a lot of foods tasted like, and nobody was good at describing them to me. so i made a list of things i wanted to eat when i got my body back, and then i wrote down what they all tasted like. and then i…kept going.”

“oh,” audrey says. she’s quiet for a moment, then, “but you’re not gonna lose your body a second time, right?”

“it’d be pretty hard to,” al says, smiling wryly. he draws a little circle next to slushie–he wants to figure out what it’s made of. what that chemical, imitation-fruit component breaks down to. “but i do it just in case. is that strange?”

“i think strange is fine.”

“me too.” al flips the notebook shut. he slides his small nub of a pencil back into its place in the wire binding, and tucks the whole thing back into his pocket. “you know–my number, the number it started at was 250. exactly the grams of salt in the human body.”

he doesn’t want to explain how he knows that; it feels like it would ruin the moment. audrey doesn’t ask. instead, she takes a long sip of her slushie, her lips twitching into a small smile.

“how’s your salt content now?” she asks. the inside of her mouth is bright blue from the faux-fruit syrup.

al turns his hand over to check his palm. “better.”

[trashy-0possum]

Servamp beach day!

Pov: its a hot summer day (without the vampire war ofc and they can go out in the sun- and not transform into their animal forms)

Kuro will literally burry himself in the sand so he doesnt die of sunburn- (he gets a sunburn in seconds)

Mahiru and the wrath pair will probably be in charge of the food while izuna starts to use her new inventions

The greed pair and team melancholy prob play volleyball but how we know licht will literally smack that ball into someone's face

Tsurugi would sit at the side and build little sandcastles with takuto and junichiro 🥺

Niccolo will probably try to go into the water but its to cold for him 😩

Ildio will throw him into the water and jump in too.

...tsurugi and lawless with water guns? Bad combination.

They will be the worst duo and splash everyone like little kids water guns waterbombs everything

Misono wont set a foot into the water he will just stay on his towel

Lily and freya will prob just do each others hair braid it put flowers in it all that stuff

Tetsu would just swim around while hugh lays on his back and brags about stuff his subclasses told him

Lawless and ildio will just do dumb brother stuff like watching girls and stuff-

Mahiru is the mother like always and has to calm them down...he prob has just a little block of cheese in his pocket just to give lawless as a treat if he did good 😭

Lawless will gladly take the cheese- (ildio wants some to he gets jealous if he doesn't get cheese)

Kuro just casually play on his Nintendo while sitting in a swimming ring- (he probably fell asleep the first 10 minutes and gets a sunburn after-

Mikuni will just start to piss of everyone especially misono while jeje just sits around and tries not to heat up-

Jeje and niccolo will probably just faint at one point because of the heat-

Niccolo will read a book or start to draw the others while sitting under the beach umbrella and he just takes care that none of the stuff gets stollen

Tsurugi and takuto brought little duckies to play with at the beach😭

Tsurugi would prob start to play a hohle story and give the one ducky a tragic death-

Izuna and freya would go and buy ice for everyone!

After a long day at the beach they just sit at the sand and talk while eating ice cream and ofc melon for licht

Servamp really needs a beach episode. We do have a episode on the drama cd but not with all charakters so i made some hcs how it would be 😼👏

[u-are-my-sun-shine]

Swing Rhythm and Beauty Brought by Tourbillion Watch

Keeping rotating, rotating and rotating. This is used to describe the state of most click here outstanding achievement even gained of watch making – tourbillion.

People who have a sight of tourbillion would be attracted by its framework, for structures such as balance, regulating mechanism and escapement device and wheel are frequently contained in the small space. All these small, smart and complicated parts would keep rotating constantly. The waist watch lovers will definitely lost in their appreciation on tourbillion.

Abraham-Louis Breguet, the Swiss watch making master invented tourbillion in 1795 and gained the patent in 1801 in Pairs. The original attention was not out of aesthetic reasons, but to deal with the deviating issues of accuracy and precision caused by the location of the pocket watch – regularly a pocket watch was always fixed in someplace (table, nightstand or pocket) for long time at that time.

The invention of Breguet settled down influence of fixation by designing the rotating frame of a tourbillion. To the watch itself, the location issue isn't that several due to the co-movement of the watch and the wearer. However, it has been proved that watch of the kind is the most precious mechanical watch - persuasive evidence is that Jaeger-LeCoultre was the winner in the first international Astronomical timekeeping event with the sponsorship by Chateau des Monts, and another tourbillion watch also gained the second success.

The ultimate complicated function

The tourbillion watch which is named as ultimate complicated enjoys a high evaluation due to the fact that it is very difficult to design and make an excellent watch of the kind. Only those best manufactures have the condition to produce such complex device in some degree.

The point that make it a big different from other kinds of watches is the point that the structure keep constant rotation. Beauty of the dynamic movement and its powerful function make become king in among watches rapidly and help the manufacture gains a lot of reputation in the watch making industry. However, the watch is not the hot when compared with several years ago due to the declined freshness to the public and its rapid development. There were only few makers have the ability to make tourbillion watch in the past, but new which would inspire the watch lover is that more and more maker begin to supply watch of the kind and the price is more affordable. Even though the number of the watch increases in a large scale, but we should keep it in mind that the manipulation of tourbillion making techniques are still a remarkable achievement.

As the core of the producing tourbillion watch, the framework is definitely a skill of art. The device itself contains more than 50 small parts and each is of a very light weight (for example, the whole framework of the Vintage 1945 Tourbillion of GP has three gold support and is combined by 70 different parts weighing only 0.3 grams.)

Artistic sublimation: application of enamel to draw stunning watch Not any watch maker is able to assemble a tourbillion, but those who are with skilled crafts can deal with such complicated structure. An ordinary watch is frequently assembled by a group of craftsmen together, everyone just take charge of only a determined small part in the whole process.

However, it is a whole difference for a tourbillion watch maker. In the whole process, the professional mater would assemble the watch from even a small detail; every part should be assured to be put in the right place, and polishing, grinding, decoration, check and control of the watch should be manipulated in hand. The whole process would costs a lot of time to make sure that every watch is unique enough cause polishing and check would lead to the slight difference. Therefore, it can be said that every piece of tourbillion is a unique artwork in some degree.

[poisonedlovedarling]

How Disney almost had a hit with; Rise of Red, and how they can fix it going forward. (in my opinion)

So as the title suggests. We shall discuss today the Disney Movie Descendance - Rise Of Red, not only where they went wrong with the movie but what I think they could have done better as well as how they can fix the story going forward based off of what they've left themselves with. (Grab some food this is going to be a long one and a 3 part post)

Take this as your one and only SPOILER warning!

Now it might have been a hot second since you have seen the movie so let me start with a recap. Skip past the { } if you don't need it.

{The story is about the daughters of both Cinderella and the Red Queen. This is Chole the younger sister of the so not so charming Chad, and Red the brilliantly written only child of the Red Queen. Wonderland in accordance with this worlds lore has been closed off from the rest of Auradon and even the Isle of the Lost. Due to the fact that the section of Wonderland refused to give up magic and still held a Villain as their ruler. A ruler with an army willing to fight for her and their land/Magic. Wonderland like Neverland have Magic embedded in there land and rightfully refuses to give up using it just because some people don't like it. (Yes Auradon has and uses magic but according to the books which are in cannon with the movies, Auradon thinks magic will lead to evil and laziness so it's highly restricted.)

At this point in the Auradon time line Mal is married and off living happily ever after, Isle of the Lost is free from Prison, Carlos has met his untimely death (sniffle), and Uma is the new principle of the Prep school. (Ironic for someone who always skipped school and technically never graduated).

With this new found power Uma wants to extend a hand to all villain kids, mend bridges and make Carlos proud. Thus she invited Red to join the school which her mom lets happen much to everyone's surprise. During the opening party Reds mom stages a cue and Red is forced to go along. Chole and Red fight ending up going back in time to stop what ever made Red's mom evil from ever happening.

Long story long they go back find out her mom was sweet but a simple prank made her go bad and to stop it from happening before returning to the present and finding they had fixed everything and now her mom is loving and kind-the end?} (Too be honest good premise, very disappointing follow through)

Now we all know time travel is messy enough, but going back through very well known stories and changing them, and not for the better... You'll rarely get a good story out of it.

Now lets start with the easy bit, the parts where I think the story were well done, and properly can defend so. First the premise of the story, time travel when done properly is fun and inventive. They almost had it here, the idea that the Mad Hatter who had yet to appear even in the books held the key as a pocket watch, was wonderful. Red wanting a loving family and her mom being skillfully manipulative, only for us to learn she use to be a sweet pink baker girl whos' only friend was Cinderella. Then having our main characters have to learn that what made her go evil was bulling, I liked the premise i really did.

Second bringing back our loved Cinderella and Prince Charming, played by their beautiful actors. Brilliant piece of movie history, brought back to life. Not to mention Cindy and Red, they worked so well together the actresses could sing, dance, and act all while playing off each other. (I would ship them if I didn't love the idea of a sisterly bond better) Not to mention Cindy getting to know her mom as someone who believes risking it all for people you love is worth it.

Third, the music was catchy the characters fun and costumes to die for. However those things do not a movie sequel make.

***

HERE is where we talk about where they went wrong because with all these good parts mixed in the movie was so close to being a gooood continuation of the descendance story with fresh characters and stories. But they tripped over the finish line.

The elephant in the room is as big as the Red Queens dress here, and yes it's the ending...They messed up in the most important place in any story. THE ENDING! It was too nice, too pretty, too easy. One little fix and her mom is a loving person? Don't get me wrong i love a good story with a happy ending and no loose ends, but this left so many loose ends I can't even tell how many ribbons they used.

Here's what wrong with this particular pretty ending, it doesn't leave room for more and worse it changes history. Very loved and well known history. Descendance was very well known for keep the stories of the parents fairly consistent, before the kingdoms merged they were all separate Auradon was never meant to be small. It was a world, sure mostly all on one continent but it take weeks to travel from one place to another even with magic. (At least in the books.) There are deserts mountain ranges, islands, and oceans. Most of the kingdom is shown to be below the mountain rang but Notre Dame, Arendelle, Olympus in the story lore are all located far north of the mountains past Neverland.

Loose thread number 1- Auradons history includes Alice and her daughter Ally, if the Red Queens history has changed then so is Alice's if the Queen was nice what is Alice's story now?

Even at it's best Alices adventure in wonderland was a psychedelic nightmare. Without the Queen Alice could potentially have never learned to not be a pain. All of wonderland especially the queen were meant to be a reflection of Alices wishes and what would go wrong if she had it her own way. But with just Alices story changed isn't enough.

Loose thread number 2 - Wonderland was outcasted and Red marked a villain kid because her mom wasn't nice. Without that Wonderland wouldn't have been blocked off from the rest of the world and Red would have been going to school with hero kids from the start. All hero kids went to school together even before going to attend Auradon Prep. That means Reds own history would have been changed. The Red we know would have been basically erased from history people change based off their family life Red is either replacing a happier version of her self and at worse taking away a loving daughter from an equally loving mother.

This means loose thread number 3- Uma's invite to Red, Worse if the Wonderland is a villain haven and Red isn't a VK then Uma's moving and kind gesture to invite Red to school as a Reembrace to Carlos is mute point. It was a sweet and loving tribute to the character and actor. making Red Not a VK makes that tribute meaningless.

Which brings me to loose end 4- Red's mothers change make not a lick of sense. Basically they're saying that her one big bulling moment made her evil. Sure i can believe that, kinda. I mean anyone who's been bullied can attest to the fact it can change you. However! Queeny had several things going for her that would more often than not most negate the on point of bulling. A- she was nice and tired to stay nice, B- she had a close and personal friend who understood and would have happily led her right. C- Queen is shown to be one undeterred by one simple if not childish prank...because that's what the octopus villain basically did...a prank. Queen was use to their teasing one little potion wasn't going to make her evil towards anyone but the villains and most certainly not towards her only friend.

Loose thread 5- (like i said long rant) The book Squid girl was going to steal to make the cupcake that made Queen go all ugly. In the story the villains are caught because the book freezes them. if this is really a safe guard. than our two little main characters didn't need to do what they did with the book. the book would have magicked the villains frozen and they'd be send to detention just like what we saw happen.... (honestly that annoys me most)

Kinda Loose thread 6- Now this is a thread I know why it's not really loose but some people have pointed it out so I'll explain why its not actually loose. In the story Red and Chloe break a vase and get Cinderella grounded and unable from going to the party to be with Queen and meet her prince charming. Thus making the princesses night of dancing with charming never happen. This is isn't really a problem for two reasons. A- if we go off the real and good version of their story they don't dance together until later in life when they aren't children. So this ball isn't her Pumpkin ride happily ever after. B- If we really are changing history which Reds entire movie really did... Then it wont matter that Cinderella got the no fly from evil step wench, if her story holds true the step mom would have found any way to ground her from going in the first place. then her friends will help her sneak out and get her to the ball. story not much changed just how she got grounded being slightly diff.

Loose thread 7- speaking of dances...Fairy godmother....need i say more... I heard Yes... Okay so in this version of the story Fairy godmother is not only super young like Cinderella but also not very good at magic. If she is to help Cinderella in just a few days go to the ball by doing what Auradon as a whole deemed super powerful magic. Then why is she so, you know. Terrible? And basically not part of the story.

Just full out terrible ideas 1 through all the kid versions of the villians You know what I'm not even going to bother with Jaladin or the villains, I'm not touching that... at least not unless you want me to rant about how terrible they were. Or how much they just ruined the story. (not even their songs were foot tap worthy) They could have played with it brought in villains we often don't see or where known for starting out as royals which is what Auradon prep was originally before becoming open to all. But I digress.

Now this has been a long post so I'll stop here for now- part 2 will be put up soon and will talk about how the Rise of Red should have gone as well as how I think they can write themselves out of the hole they wrote the characters into

Please if you think I've missed anything or if you wish to debate me in the comments I welcome it.

[wafflebloggies]

the long con - part 1/7

a Don't Feed The Muse crossover story. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

*

The con was coming to an end.

DIGIVID, the largest annual convention for digital content creators in the Southern United States. Three days of booths, networking, merch, watchathons, speeches, special previews, presentations, weird food, crowded spaces, fun.

Fun in theory, anyway. For Mark Mayhew, it had been three days of a brand new kind of purgatory. Unavoidable, self-inflicted, endless.

“...honestly, we couldn’t choose, so like for our first video we just put all our favourite movies into a picker thing and it turns out Watchmen came out the exact same year as Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, and I know, they’re totally different movies, but then we were like, wait, there’s some parallels here...”

Mark was certain by now that the con had been a terrible idea. True, if he’d had the time all over again, there were several big, pressing reasons why he would still have made the same choice, but only a couple of them were fit to explain to anybody else. Even if he’d known how frankly- miserable- it was going to turn out to be, he probably still would have chosen to go, but knowing this didn’t make it feel like any less of a mistake, or change the fact that he would have given almost anything, right now, to not be stuck in the middle of it.

“...and the whole ship metaphor they cut from the movie, and like, Flint’s invention basically has the same thematic purpose as Veidt’s EDBE? We kept saying ‘eeby-deeby,’ it took us like, twenty takes…”

It was almost incredible to him, as he stood in silence, how alone it was possible to feel in such a big crowd. The main convention hall was hot, airless, busy. Even though some people were already packing up, here at the end of the third day, plenty of bodies still shuttled back and forth in clogged little streams whenever they found the space to move, elbow to elbow between the double rows of human backs shutting out the tables, the crowded booths. It was easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer press of people, the talk and the noise. If Mark had only walked in alone, twenty minutes ago, and spent the time silently trying to make his way from one side of the massive space to the other, he would already have been more than a little agitated, ready to leave.

“...and he has all these shell companies, like all these theatres that play alien invasion movies all the time, to subconsciously prepare people? And when you look at Meatballs, you’re actually getting lowkey bombarded with fast-food imagery the whole time right up to when he turns on the machine...”

Mark had been in the hall for hours, and he was done. Currently, he was standing in a small pocket of space in a very nicely put-together booth belonging to a fairly well-known ASMR channel, watching a conversation happen right in front of him that he had about as much share in as an exiled Martian had in a conversation backstage at NASA. Yes, he’d started this conversation, he’d introduced himself, he’d started to steer the topic in a useful direction… and then Anthony had happened. Anthony Williams had turned up with his big, friendly grin and his busted paper carrier bag full of leaflets and merch which had been shedding everywhere since Friday and his completely distracting, distracted self, and now…

“...actually the biggest audio problem we have is my cat, Blaze, when we film at my house she’s got a real thing for the fluffy boom whatever on the mic, she wants to kill that thing on sight, right Mark?”

“Yeah,” said Mark, in the same way a corpse will twitch if you electrocute it. Anthony, who was too into the conversation to notice his friend’s thousand-yard-stare, carried right on going.

“Yeah, so we have to shut her in my parents’ room, but then I feel so bad, and she yells so loud in there it picks up on the video! So we usually record at Mark’s, but with our Parasite video...”

And so on. And on.

Not that the ASMR guys seemed to mind. People always seemed to open up and respond to Anthony quicker and with far more warmth than they did with Mark alone, which added another layer of frustration to the silent, invisible war he was fighting against himself. If Anthony could only have understood, and been focused, if Anthony could have been trying like he had been, these last three days, they might have found a sponsor already.

A sponsor, a partner, a collab, anything, anything to make the whole weekend feel worthwhile, instead of a painful waste of time.

Mark could tell that these guys had lost focus completely. One of them was still chatting quite happily with Anthony about God alone knew what, relaxed and disengaged, and the other was already moving away, eyes on a new bunch of visitors. There was no way Mark could steer this back the right way again now. Even though, at the bottom of his heart, he’d known it was a lost cause before Anthony had joined them, the tide of bitterness ebbed higher as he listened to the conversation wander so far wide of the point.

He must have looked distant enough for a party of people trying to use the booth as a short-cut to mistake him for an unconnected bystander, because as he stood there they pushed gently between him and Anthony, widening the gap as they passed through. On impulse, he went with it, let them nudge him and his whole parcel of garbage feelings to the side, let the general stream of the crowd push him out of the booth.

Without waiting to see if Anthony had noticed, he started shoving his way towards the main exit at a quicker pace. It was a relief to just move, without Anthony winding along just behind him, getting distracted at an average rate of once every four booths. Through the whole weekend, every time Mark was just trying to get from A to B, every time Anthony spotted something which made him want to stop and take a closer look, he would reach forwards and pat Mark on the back of his right shoulder. By this point, three days in, the feeling was starting to evoke a kind of Pavlovian response in Mark, knowing that every time he felt that light touch he would have to stop and stand and wait, getting hotter and more squashed and more impatient by the second, until Anthony was done, and by now just the feeling of Anthony’s hand on his shoulder had become a button that hiked his blood pressure, his heart, his temper.

By all appearances, Anthony had enjoyed the weekend a great deal. He got on with everyone he met, he was absolutely down for talking with new people on a vast range of subjects (with absolutely no practical application towards growing the channel whatsoever) and with his usual unbounded enthusiasm he seemed happy to keep going for as long as the con lasted.

Which wouldn’t be for that much longer. The hall was crowded now, sure, but already not as bad as it had been on the previous two days. Mark could see stalls and tables beginning to clear as their owners began to pack away. Pressing towards the main door, he had a sharp and ghastly vision of the convention hall as a vast interconnected series of nodes, bright and promising, each shutting down and turning black and dead as he touched them, came into contact, even approached them at all. Each booth, each prospect, each point of hope-

(nobody is going to want to work with you.)

He couldn’t feel normal, he couldn’t relax for a second, when on the one side the enormous thundercloud of dread loomed and on the other… something nobody here could understand, something he barely understood, something that lurked at the bottom of his stomach like a squishy leaden bowling-ball, the part of him that whispered that he really was just torturing himself for no reason, because what he had been granted out of the blue was, could be, his miracle. That it had been pointless coming here at all, that he was wasting time, wasting precious time not just ditching any other blighted and unreliable possibility and reaching for it with grateful hands-

“Mark!”

Unaware up until that moment that he’d stopped dead in the heaving crowd, Mark started and looked back as Anthony shouldered through the general stream of people, a small, willowy splotch of red flannel and concern. He felt Anthony’s hand on his shoulder again, guiding, steering him forwards and sharply left into a faster-moving stream of people that quickly swallowed them both and spat them out on the other side of the main doors. He wasn’t even aware of how much he’d just wanted the fresher air outside the hall until they were out in the gigantic hub of a lobby, the atmosphere so much lighter and cooler just from the fewer bodies and the bigger space, the vaulted metal-and-glass ceiling lined with great sheets of striped tarpaulins like a vast circus tent, shaded against the fading July sun.

He gulped several big breaths, realised his eyes were watering from the heat in them, the blur of colours and the crazy nimbus around each far-distant light, and angrily dragged his glasses from his face, looking down to clean them on his T-shirt as Anthony arrived by his side.

“Hey, you just dis- are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Mark, putting on his usual wry, flat, deadpan tone with difficulty, like a familiar sweater that suddenly felt too small. “You sure you’re done? You didn’t have any more hilarious cat stories to tell them? ‘Cause you all seemed to be getting on great.”

“Uh… yeah? They seemed like cool guys.” Anthony never usually minded Mark’s sarcasm, but finding the sharp end of it directed so pointedly towards himself clearly threw him. He shrugged, uncomfortably.

Good, thought Mark. Be uncomfortable. The thought wormed sharp and slimy through the back of his head, and it left him feeling ashamed. He didn’t want Anthony to be miserable just because he was, as if making Anthony feel awkward or hurt could make him feel any better about himself. He wasn’t that shitty a friend.

At least, he didn’t want to be.

Anthony looked down, shuffling through his bulging paper bag full of garbage, the thing he’d been stuffing every sheet, pamphlet, sticker and card he’d collected the whole weekend into as if it was as big as a lending library. He pulled out a couple of stickers from the top. “Here, they gave us a couple of these.”

Mark took the stickers. They were the window-clinger kind, for cars. He didn’t want to put any stickers on his car. They would be a pain in the ass to peel off, if-

(when)

-he had to sell it.

“Thanks, Anthony. Using my car to advertise someone else’s YouTube channel instead of our own, that’s a really proactive move there. Real four-D chess strats.”

“I, um… I just thought they’d look neat.”

“Yeah,” sighed Mark. “I know. Come on, let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

*

Even though it was getting towards evening, there weren’t too many people in the food court seating area, and half of the kiosks still had their metal hatches pulled down. At a long, near-empty table, sticky and spotted from a day of crumbs and wipe-downs, Mark dropped into a chair across from Anthony, always easy to spot in his bright red-check flannel, who was already halfway down a container of loaded chilli wedges.

He shrugged his backpack into the darkness under his feet and back-kicked it under his chair, and set his styrofoam carton on the table. Following the trend of the whole weekend, he hadn’t had as much luck with the food options as Anthony, whose potato wedges looked pretty good, apart from the whole ‘drenched in meat’ thing. His vegetarian lasagna looked like a slab of undercooked doormat in half an inch of thin red soup.

There were no real quiet places anywhere in the hall, but the food court was at least a little quieter, only a couple of other people at this table, eating alone. Mark tried to let himself relax, as much as he could, forcing himself to untense joint by joint as if his skeleton was an IKEA diagram strictly controlled by his mind, but only got about as far as his elbows before giving up.

Anthony grinned at him. Mark attempted to smile back, didn’t point out that he had a speck of chilli cheese on the tip of his nose, and ate a couple of bites of lasagna. The best that could be said about it was that it held no surprises- it tasted exactly how it looked. His phone buzzed, and he checked it hurriedly, trying to look preoccupied enough to dodge any conversation, to at least catch ten minutes worth of peace and silence while they ate.

He got maybe two minutes, because by then Anthony had wolfed down enough chilli to have taken the edge off his appetite, and wanted to talk.

“What happened back there, anyway? I just looked round and you were gone.”

Mark shrugged. “They weren’t going to give us anything,” he said. “Before you came over, I managed to give them our card, but really, I could just kind of tell they weren’t going to bite, so, like…”

With some trouble, he could make himself see that what had just happened wasn’t Anthony’s fault. He had known those guys weren’t interested, just like all the others. He’d known it in his gut before Anthony had even shown up, and with just a little distance he could see that clearly and admit it, and know that it wasn’t fair for him to put the blame on Anthony at all-

“Wait, that’s why you were talking to them?”

-for almost five seconds.

“Yes,” said Mark, trying to keep his voice, down, for all that it mattered. “Yes, Anthony, that is why I was trying to talk to them, before you-”

“But they’re nothing to do with our channel!” Anthony looked genuinely confused. “They do 3D print projects, they do that ASMR printing thing-”

“I know, what they do, Anthony,” said Mark, barbing every comma as if it was a physical thing, something pointy he could flick against Anthony’s forehead. “It doesn’t matter, they get two hundred K views per video, we could do something-”

“Come on, Mark,” Anthony drooped back in his chair, rubbing his face, obliterating the chilli cheese with his palm and pushing his curly mop of hair out of the way. His legs slid forwards on the tiles and his heels bumped into Mark’s toes. Mark pulled back and tucked his legs under his chair like a curling bug, hooking both feet tightly around its front legs. “You’ve been doing this the whole weekend, the mobile game people, the wallet people, the deodorant people, the freaking- weird pillow things people-”

“You think we can just wait for someone to come to us? That’s not how it works-”

“This isn’t how it works, Mark,” said Anthony. Now he leaned forwards, pushing his chilli to the side, all earnestness, his freckly face an open book urging Mark to hear him. “I’m just being realistic. We’re a really small channel, we don’t need sponsorships, it’s okay if none of these guys want to work with us yet. Maybe if we get bigger it’ll happen, fine, but you can’t force it, you’re just making-”

“When are we going to get bigger, Anthony? When? How long? When is our first sponsor going to come along and ask us? Another six months?”

“Maybe-”

“A year? Two years? I don’t have-”

“Maybe not at all!”

“-I don’t have that kind of time!”

Mark had almost yelled over his friend, but he’d heard him perfectly well. Although he knew exactly what Anthony meant, although it was only echoing his own thoughts, the words still stopped him dead.

“Maybe never,” said Anthony, quieter. “Look, you know I love our stuff, I love the channel, I’d love it if it got as big as those ASMR guys one day, are you kidding? But I’d be fine if we never got any more subscribers than we already have, I’d do it if we got like three views a video. It’s just supposed to be for fun, Mark! Remember the first time we uploaded and we got like, twenty views? We got pizza to celebrate!”

“That’s… that was different.” Mark did remember, and the memory made his throat tighten and his eyes prickle. It didn’t feel like a long time ago. The summer they started the channel, leapt into making videos as soon as term ended. That summer, back when his dad was only normal-crazy, back when Theo’s acceptance letter was stuck right on the front of the fridge all month, back when the thing that sucked the most in the world was the prospect of having to miss the second half of summer for some stupid family cruise.

That summer. Before everything went to shit.

Anthony pushed a finger against the smeary tabletop, drawing a big invisible circle, tapping a small dot next to it. “We have to think of it like, there’s hundreds and thousands of people here who have a channel, and you know it’s only a tiny, tiny percent of a percent that ever get big enough to get sponsorships and stuff. You know that. We were never doing this for sponsorships. I mean, I’m not, and- we’re on the same page, right? This is like when you wanted to do that video reading negative comments-”

“Okay, that? That stuff works. People love hate-comment videos. We’d easily get twice as many views as our last video, and we wouldn’t even have to write a script-”

“We don’t even get hate-comments- we’ve had like, one! Even if we did get a bunch for some reason, why would we even want to focus on that shit?” That’s just going to make it seem like we don’t care about the people leaving us good comments, and then we’d just look like assholes!”

“We don’t have to wait for real ones.I could make some fake accounts, or- or something. Who cares what we look like-”

“I do,” said Anthony. “And so do you, Mark.”

He sat back, as if he’d made a really good point, and gave Mark his best knowing look, which made him look about as sly and full of deep psychological understanding as a first-grader’s spelling primer.

“I know you, and I know the channel means way too much to you, for you to really want to screw it up like that just for a bunch of views.”

(It’s not about what I WANT!!)

In the real world, where screaming at the top of one’s lungs is unacceptable mealtime behaviour, Mark swallowed and looked down at his lasagna.

“It’s not like that’s why we’re here,” said Anthony. “This was just supposed to be fun. I mean… it was supposed to be.”

His tone of voice made Mark look up, quickly. Anthony was still watching him, and he looked worried. Not just worried, but uncertain, sympathetic. Mark felt his stomach lurch. He knew that look, because he’d found himself on the receiving end of it a lot lately, from a lot of different people, all for mostly the same reason. He hated it. He hated the pity, the pointlessness of it, the unwanted obligation of knowing someone felt bad for him when he never asked them to, wouldn’t ask them to, because they couldn’t do a single thing to help. Seeing it in Anthony’s guileless hazel eyes was worse than seeing it in the face of a stranger, because-

(he could help he just doesn’t want to)

-it cut deeper, somehow. Mark shut his eyes hard for a second. Hard white light, clean surfaces, the pervasive smell of disinfectants and sickness and waiting, and the voice, thin and drowsy and blurry with sleep and painkillers, but the same, the same well-loved voice-

(It sounds great, honey. You two go have a good time. You’ll have fun.)

“Sure,” said Mark, to his lasagna. “Fun.”

There was a short silence. Anthony clearly wanted to say more, probably to the same purpose, but he knew Mark well enough to recognize when he was being shut down. He shifted uncertainly in his seat, picking at a bit of cracked decal on the front of his t-shirt. Mark picked up his spork again.

“You know,” he said, casually, drawing small deliberate lines across the top layer of his gross lasagna, just like someone might do when they were absolutely unbothered and totally not trying to force the issue, absolutely not so wound up to the point that their usual sharp, smooth-running voice was fracturing into bits and pieces of sentences like grammatical shrapnel, “if you ever felt like- you were kind of done with this whole thing, with the- the channel, I’d completely understand. It’s been a... stressful weekend, right? It hasn’t really worked out like we wanted it to, and I can tell you’re not really into it, I... I wouldn’t be mad.”

He coughed, poking holes in the lasagna like he was trying to seed a miniature lawn. He hadn’t even eaten three bites, but it felt like it was stuck in a big ball in his throat.

“If- if you were feeling like, ‘You know what, I’m over this stupid YouTube thing, but I don’t want to disappoint Mark!’ I’d get it. Really, you wouldn’t be disappointing me, or- letting anybody down, I’d be- I’d be fine with just- running it on my own.”

He looked up, barely daring to hope. “If that’s how you were feeling... you could hundred-percent just tell me.”

Anthony leaned across the table, putting a hand on Mark’s arm, stopping the nervous movement of the spork mid-jab. His face was encouraging, wholly sincere.

“Mark,” he said, with serious emphasis, “I love our channel. I’m never going to be ‘done.’ I’ve got you, buddy. You don’t have to worry about me- I am never gonna just leave you to do it on your own. Okay?”

Mark looked at him, helplessly. Anthony smiled, his beautiful Anthony smile, nothing but sunshine and freckles, a smudge of chilli cheese and a total absence of doubt. He squeezed Mark’s arm, gently.

“We’ve had a long day,” he said. “I’m gonna go back to the room, get some packing done. Take your time, okay?”

And with that, and another quick, reassuring grin, he grabbed his raggedy paper bag and the rest of his chilli, and was gone.

Mark sat there for a little while as if he’d been hit with something heavy around the back of the head, looking at the place where Anthony had been. After a moment or two, he screwed his eyes very tightly shut, jabbed his spork into his lasagna so it stuck there like an upright little sail, put his face down in his hands and made a noise like a high, muffled nearly-silent scream.

[twsted-princess]

💁 Any Of the Melships

💏 CarolMetaron

🍶 NanoyaLucille

Take a pick what piques your fancy

Fuck that I'm doing all three!!

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit FUCK. Leroy couldn't believe this. This is not happening. Nope, not at all. This all just an elaborate dream, he's not stuck in a box with his fucking crush no sir. He's gonna wake up and it'll be a normal ordinary day and nothing bad is- "L- Leroy?" Her voice reached his ears as his face grew increasingly hot. Oh.....right. He was in her chest this entire time. "I- I'm ok Melanie.....s- sorry." This was all his fault, he just wanted to show her the new invention he was working on only to trip over some stupid wires, causing the both of them to fall into a chest that then locked them in. "N- No it's ok....." she couldn't see him at all but she wanted to comfort him, maybe rub his head a little..... The silence was so suffering as they didn't even know how to fix this predicament but then it clicked on the chameleon. "My phone! I have it on me! We can call Henry!" He mentally patted himself on the back until she murmured "Oh! Uh ok, where....is it?" Then the dread sunk fully in............his phone is in his back pants pocket.

Carol sighed, why couldn't today be easy? This was supposed to be a plain old studying day with her group, helping Kira figure out math equations and but someone had to show up. Barry. Mr. Blondie. Sir "I have the most punchable face in all of Twisted Wonderland" was here too. Granted he was being tutored by Eikon but still why was he in the HSA library? It's bad enough that Peko was the one to notice him but now she has a new fear. That the second he's done he'll spot her, and try to talk to her. "I'm just sayin' Miss Apple I can send his dick into the sun." Greg said, kicking his legs up on the table and his chair leaned dangerously back as she scowled. "It's fine...." No, no it was not fine but she tried to ignore the feeling as she continued her lesson, occasionally listening to Eikon trying to get the material through Barry's thick skull. Eventually she was done, everything was finished and the two singers left for whatever activities they had planned leaving her with Kira. They had wandered off to the manga section as she studied the trial tests until she felt someone tap her shoulder. "Barry what do you wa-" Her eyes then saw the green gingham wrapped bento followed by another voice. "Really? You thought I was that idiot, I'm hurt." She sighed, taking the box she looked up at Metaron with a small smile. "Thanks, sorry for snapping I was ju-" Suddenly his lips were on hers, the world came to a halt for her as she didn't seen to notice that Barry was indeed looking towards her. Only to be forever cockblocked.

"For the last time I'm not taking part in these games." Nanoya sighed as he was dragged along by his friend. He knew this was a bad idea. A horrible one even. But Flynn smiled at him with his signature smirk. "There's nothing to worry about my dear friend, it's only a small gathering of like minded companions." Nanoya narrowed his eyes. "You can drop the thematics Flynn, what are you planning?" The raven grasped his hand to his chest. In pain over his closest ally suspecting him of foul play. "Like I said it's just a little get-together. Some beverages, snacks, maybe a game or two. Come on you need to socialize more anyways." The third year sighed, rubbing his temple. "Ok fine but try anything dumb and I'm leaving." Red eyes glimmered as the two finally got the gathering room. He was right about a few things. It was small, only twenty people showed and mostly of whom he was friendly were. There were drinks and snacks, one of which was frog themed dango clearly brought by Kaeru but what he didn't mention was- "Nano!!!" Shit. He couldn't even hide fast enough when he saw her rush over to him. Lucille, the girl from Death's Academy of Combat and a pseudo fangirl of his although he actually tolerated her. "I didn't think you'd show up! What's up! How's things going! You're looking pretty buff right now~!!" Just a barrage of questions coming from the blonde as he felt the sweat drip while Flynn was nowhere in sight. He noticed that she had left Melanie chatting with Kumo and Gabrielle as she yaps before he quickly coughed "H- How about we sit down, you can go back to that couch I'm gonna get a drink first." She agreed thankfully and with water in tow he joined the small group with Lucille sitting right in between him and her best friend. Everything seemed normal, nothing suspicious was happening and Nanoya even felt comfortable joining in to crack some jokes just to see Lucl laugh. While he'll never truly admit it he did find her rather......cute. She was perky, confident, a little irritating but knew when to back off and really.....just nice to be around. But he just liked her as a friend, nothing more and nothing less. However he then noticed Flynn with a devilish grin as he coughed. Oh no. "Ladies, gentlemen and everyone in between! I'm overjoyed that you're all enjoying yourselves but I just had a wonderful idea!" Ooooooooh no. "Has anyone ever heard.......of spin the bottle?" Hell to the no. That's it. Fuck this shit he's out, until he heard Lucille smile. "Sounds fun!!" Oh god not her....but Flynn was already breaking out a fake wine bottle, he couldn't leave. Letting out a sigh he gave in, hoping it'll at least end quickly. The festivities were......interesting at while some did kiss on the lips, others on the cheek, it landed on Kumo and Fennec once and they both glared at Flynn enough for them to pass. Soon it did the worst possible option, Lucille......and Nanoya. As the crowd ooh-ed he watched her bat her eyes and snickered. She'd already kissed Melanie but now he was her target however before she could lean in, he placed two fingers on her lips. Looking away with a blush. "Y- You can kiss me there.....ok?"

[burlveneer-music]

La Sécurité - Stay Safe! - RIYL Bush Tetras

On this long-player, the collective’s uncanny knack for non-stop melodious influx and inventive disco-tinged new wave arrangements is almost tangible. Percussive flare-ups inducing novel feet patterns, harmonically challenging pockets of mind-boggling prowess, nonchalant melodic particles from a different space-time continuum, as well as elusively deep-delving lyrical probes are but a few tropes made-up in a playful attempt to describe their quirky sound. And though their new imprint achieves sonic extravagance through rather typical instrumentation, the five-piece uses mainstay rock & roll equipment in flatout volatile ways. Production-wise, we are treated with a full-length of subtle postmodern ingeniosity, where music is carefully encapsulated. First, not so gently tickling scarce ribbon microphones, then saturating vintage compressors built from actual tank-scavenged pieces, while finding its way down a dizzying electrical patchwork also known as a broadcast board, before it invades new tech to wreck beautiful havoc. The resulting 38 minutes of subversive pop is quite pleasing, even to unsuspecting eardrums, co-producers Félix Bélisle (also a member of the band) and Samuel Gemme (Corridor, Population II, etc.) striking a balance between brut sounds and wispy tweaks. Sometimes tackling knotty themes such as mental health, lost or the autonomization of women, other times affectionately musing about friendship, video games or even tardiness, La Sécurité’s songs are all about benevolence, caring for eachother in the face of omnipresent danger, and dancing as a means to revolution.  All songs written & performed by La Sécurité Éliane Viens-Synnott: Vocals, synthesizers, percussion, drums on tracks 4 & 6 Félix Bélisle: Bass, synthesizers, percussion, vocals Melissa Di Menna: Guitar, vocals, synthesizers, percussion Kenneth David Smith: Drums, synthesizers, percussion Laurence Anne Charest-Gagné: Guitar, vocals, synthesizers, percussion

[soraavalon]

DM: I was telling Nyessa during break I'm like, 'Honestly, you might end up fast-forwarding and clipping through a wall and speedrunning through some shit and that's fine. I'm here for it at this point.' Tark (OOC): Honestly yeah. DM: Depends on what ya'll look into. Hunt (OOC): Yeah. Moriarty (OOC): We're just gonna fucking no-clip into the endgame here by asking the right or wrong question. Then we have to backtrack to finding Nathaniel's dad. DM: I'm also kinda worried about that. Tark (OOC): Nathaniel's dad's gonna show up, he's gonna be like 'Heyyo'. whomst: "What ya'll doing here? Son, did you pick up a football yet? No?" -Crow disconnects from call- Hunt (OOC): No! We lost the Crow! DM: Fleeing. Tark (OOC): Crow's like, "I'm done." -Crow returns- Marigold (OOC): [something] is like 'I have to go find a football.' Nathaniel (OOC): I can't do this again. whomst: "What do you need?!"  DM: Oh god. Nathaniel (OOC): There's this bit, there's the pottery bit, there's weed bit. Suddenly last night Fruits realized he might be hot, I'm just... DM: I don't understand the 'might be', it's Nicholas Price. Hello? Tark (OOC): He's Daddy. DM: He is hot. Nathaniel (OOC): STOP SAYING THAT!!! whomst: "Listen, son..." DM: He is hot. whomst: "Son, you had to come from somewhere, I got game. Your dad fucked. It is what it is, what do you want me to say?" Moriarty (OOC): He didn't have game until after he met Amelia though. Nathaniel (OOC): I am going to [something] DM: He didn't have game until after he met Charlotte. Hunt (OOC): Yeah. DM: Even then it was HER game. whomst: Nah, man's always got game. "See son, the problem with you is that you're not a Sigma male." -various 'OH's- Tark (OOC): Oh my god. Nathaniel (OOC): I think I just felt my brain blue-screen. whomst: "You don't play football. You ain't gettin' the girl. What do you want from me man? I just want to make a new son, we can't be doing this." Nathaniel (OOC): I was really not expecting the meme version of Nicholas Price to be Andrew Tate. DM: Oh my god. Nathaniel (OOC): Nothing could have prepared me for [something] DM: He's not actually doing pottery, he's just really getting into crypto right now. Nathaniel (OOC): Oh god. whomst: "You know, I'm on this podcast with my boy, Joe Rogan.' -various 'No's- whomst: "We're trying to help you, son." Moriarty (OOC): "Nathaniel listen, your friend Moriarty and I have come up with this thing called MageCoin and what you do is..." Nathaniel (OOC): I'm gonna fucking kill you. Moriarty (OOC): "You stick it in these arcane pockets. DM: No no no no no no Nathaniel (OOC): I am going to actually kill you for inventing [something] whomst: "Son, what are you thoughts on females? Asking for..." -various 'Oh's- Nathaniel (OOC): "Don't call them 'females'" Is the first and foremost immediate thought. Marigold (OOC): To be fair, if anyone was going to create crypto. DM: It would be Moriarty. whomst: "Yeah, you were not, you weren't raised, yeah that's a mistake on my part." DM: Yeah, you abandoned him at age 13. whomst: "Yeah, I saw him come out the womb and said, 'that's a beta male'" Nathaniel (OOC): WHAT?! whomst: "I don't need to see anything else. I was there for your birth, I didn't need to see anything else." DM: That's actually canon. Yes he was there. Tark (OOC): *laughing* 'that's actually canon'

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, July 12

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Blown Away by badly_knitted (Buffy, Angelus, the Judge, PG)

pomegranate by The_Eclectic_Bookworm (Giles/Jenny, Spike, T)

Willow's Revelation Part 2 by AJ Fields (Willow, T)

Willow's Revelation Part 3 by AJ Fields (Willow, G)

Debriefing Gone Awry by calikocat (MCU crossover, Xander, T)

seven girls going to the graveyard (only six of them are coming back) by gadaeth (Buffy & Willow, T)

Burning Matches by Holly (Buffy/Spike, worksafe in a collection rated NC-17)

Cracked by Holly (Buffy/Pike, past Buffy/Spike, worksafe in a collection rated NC-17)

Umbrella by Amina (Buffy/Spike, PG)

Pocket Size by cawthraven (Buffy/Spike, worksafe in a collection rated NC-17)

Photobooth by cawthraven (Buffy/Spike, worksafe in a collection rated NC-17)

The (bad) Poems of William S. Pratt: Spuffy undercover by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, collection rated G, mild sexual references and nudity)

Deep by Behind Blue Eyes (Buffy/Spike, R)

The Real Curse of a Vampire in Love by benesmg (Buffy/Spike, G)

Kitten Poker Night by FoolForSpuffy (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Love Me Now by grundy (LotR crossover, Buffy, FR13)

Boop Oop a Doop by ClowniestLivEver (Spike/Betty, NC-17)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Faith Lehane created a chat. - Chapter 1 by sinomin (Scoobies, Tara/Willow, T)

Dusk Rising, Ch. 18 by HappyWhenItRains (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Dawn the Vampire Slayer, Ch. 12 by LJ94 (Buffy/Spike, R)

More Found Family Ties, Ch. 3 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

Jigsaw, Ch. 15 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, R)

Becoming Us, Ch. 45 by BewitchedXx (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Dream, Ch. 30 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, R)

The Text Message Memories of Buffy & Spike, Ch. 11 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

To Still Be Wanting You, Ch. 17 by simmony (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Ephemera, Ch. 19-20 by HappyWhenItRains (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Scenes from the FAA-Verse, Ch. 23 by Willow25 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

A Vampire's Guide to Dating the Slayer, Ch. 9 by the_big_bad (Buffy/Spike, PG)

The many different ways that you can kill the one you love, Ch. 10 by mcgnagallsarmy (Buffy/Spike, R)

The stories we could tell, Ch. 9 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

Part of the Family, Ch. 13 by Harlow Turner (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

A Second Chance- Their Story, Ch. 1 by Loup Noir (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Don’t, Ch. 1-5 (COMPLETE!) by karebear (Buffy/Spike, PG)

Girls Invented Punk Rock, Not England, Ch. 1 by Dynamite (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Fate of The Peredhil, Ch. 7 by grundy (LotR crossover, Buffy, FR13)

More Found Family Ties, Ch. 3 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

Keepsakes, Ch. 13-14 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, G)

Don't Fall for Rock Stars, Ch. 4 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Time We Had, Ch. 45 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Gifset: Buffy's weapons chest by 5bi5 (Buffy, labeled mature for canon-typical violence)

BtVS pride icons by camsaroyan a.k.a. islayfaust (Willow, Tara, Buffy, Faith, Jenny Calendar, probably worksafe)

A Buffy/Angelus vid set to Olivia Rodrigo's song Vampire by sweeetbean-blog ()

A Wesley/Lilah gifset ft. a F. Scott Fitzgerald quote by gothamstreetcat (probably worksafe with mild nudity)

Drawing: Spike in a Speedo by HappyWhenItRains (with writing by TheSunnySlayer) (some nudity)

[Reviews & Recaps]

What's an episode you always forget about? by askingforafriend3000

Angel on Top - 5.18 Origin

[Fandom Discussions]

The Vampire and the Watcher (2004) crossposted by JaneDavitt

Let's talk Buffy Summers and her depression by allshowsanyshows

can we talk about angel being the BEST omega of all times? by fblckt

Do you think Harmony's parents are still alive? by HonestlyFalse

I love Cordelia! by shiann_

Should they have sacrificed Willow in "Choices"? by Tuxedo_Mark

Thinking about what Spike says in After Life by strawberriesandcake

Hot Take: Adam would've been the perfect Big Bad for Season One by SadMiserableDuck

If you were a writer, what major change would you make to the show? by RangerLongjumping404

How did you guys interpret this? [Buffy kissing Faith on the forehead] by TWDFAN35

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