#we invented new hot pockets

[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 😼👏

[justmochi]

IN THE SOOP EP 3 BEHIND

pairing :: rosie x dino

word count :: 0.8k

synopsis :: rosie isn’t feeling good.

a/n :: italics are cut out of the episode and not in the final cut. hopefully this makes up for me not having anything to write for ep 3.

taglist :: @cafemilk-tea @cixrosie @moonlight-additions @cosmicwintr @astraw-astro @ateezjuliet @fromfreesia @succulentmom @kimhyejin3108 @enhacolor @multiplums​

Seungkwan and Rosie arrived back at the site after their jog. She felt a bit gross from sweating and also being in the rain for the majority of their run, so she showered as soon as she reached the lower house.

She had no idea why that during her shower, her stomach started to cramp. It may have been from her lack of exercise in the past or that her period was on its way. Even though she wanted to get out and socialize after, she couldn’t exert herself. She clothed herself, going straight from the bathroom to the bedroom. She tried her best to get comfy, propping up several pillows and setting her phone against one as she watched videos.

She was able to doze off and sleep the pain away but was awoken by Dino sitting at the edge of the bed and poking her forehead. She furrowed her eyebrows, groaning and covering her head with the blankets.

“Hey, we haven’t seen much of you today.” He smiled, patting her hip. Now she couldn’t even open her eyes, even the light peeking in from outside the blanket was making her head throb.

“My head and stomach hurt so bad.” She whispered, trying not to speak too loud to make it worse. He quickly adjusted his tone as he began to worry for her.

“Are you okay? Is it your period?” He ran his fingers over her wrist as she shook her head.

“It could be.”

He frowned, watching as she took the covers off her head. “Can I get you anything? Hyungs made food earlier and we kept some leftovers.”

“I don’t think I can eat anything. I’m sorry.” She apologized, feeling terrible for not wanting to eat the food that her members made. “I didn’t bring much. I don’t even have pain relievers.”

“I can go and check with Jeonghan or Seungkwan if they have anything. They usually have that stuff loaded.”

“Please.” She let out a big exhale, burying her face in the pillow as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Of course. I can see if I can find a hot water bottle. Maybe that would help?” He offered some suggestions as he stood up, tucking the blankets in under her feet and making sure she was comfortable. “I could bring you some tea?”

She could only nod her head, trying to force a smile as he was on his way, turning the light off before leaving.

After a while, Dino came back to the room with his hands full. She tried her best to sit up, her head only pounding more.

He set the hot teacup on the nightstand, along with some pills. Before sitting down, he grabbed a water bottle out of his pocket and a sock.

She widened her eyes, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“No, just wait.” He slid the hot water bottle into the sock and started swinging it gently. He snorted at himself as she covered her face with her hands, trying not to laugh. He pulled the top of the covers lower, pressing the new invention onto her stomach. He looked up at her for any indication that it may have worked. “Is it warm?”

She nodded, smiling at him endearingly. He grabbed her hand, placing it over the water bottle before reaching for the teacup and pills. “Jeonghan had some. The tea’s not too hot, just be careful.” He turned the cup so she would be able to grab it with the handle. He held open his hands as she grabbed each of the tiny pills.

She blew on the tea before sipping on it. She nodded her head at how good it tasted. He knew exactly how much honey she liked in her tea. She quickly downed the pills, washing it down with the warm liquid.

“Hopefully this will make you feel better.” He brushed his fingers through her hair, sympathy peeking through his smile as he looked at her. She nodded, taking big sips after another and finishing half of her tea.

“Come lay down.” She patted the free space next to her on the mattress. He couldn’t say no.

Turning off the lights, he went to the foot of the bed before climbing in next to her, sticking his legs under the covers and adjusting pillows for himself. He propped himself up with his elbow, watching her finish her tea and putting it on the nightstand. She scooted her body down on the bed, laying on her side and keeping the water bottle close to her stomach. Dino slipped his arm under her pillow, his other hand resting over her stomach and rubbing slow circles over it. The DIY heating pad and his gestures were enough to help her fall asleep again.

[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?"

[siremasterlawrence]

Re-inventing Las Vegas Part 1

Las Vegas has been bought right under all of us and everybody expects things to stay the same.

That is until Zach Efron permanently makes it a home for himself under false pretenses of course.

A limo arrives at a hotel driving into the total parking lot in the back of the hotel settling in the dust.

The door opens up revealing the young man exits the limo removing his sun shades for all the world to see.

Something feels off with nobody to greet him except for a figure in the back matching his footsteps.

They are pacing back to back someone is in mood grabbing him by his neck and yanking him back.

A needle prick hits his necks sinking into his skin with a smirk injecting the serum into his system.

The needle pulls out I can see the instant odd wave of emotion taking over his entire body.

He breaks in a smile, eyes rolling back into his head and his body falls back into the strangers arms.

The man drags the body over to the elevator shaft, presses the button as the door swung open and they walk onto it.

The door slides closed with the cart racing to the basement as it comes to a holt and the door opens.

Zach is slung onto his back dropping him on to the couch leaving him to stir in his own juices.

“Excellent! I could not be more thrilled.”

“Oh! What a pretty boi”

“You will be a bitch too”

“Strip him of his clothes”

“Yes Sir”

“Place him in the pod”

“Now leave us be”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“How I have waited for this”

“So long”

“Mmmmmmm”

“Sweet and succulent lips”

I lean down kissing him slowly as our lips hit a new high reaching to cloud nine like never before.

Rising back to my feet quickly I smack his ass so hard he can flinch while close the pod.

The door seals as the wall opens behind him wit the pod slipping out, the pod starts to glow.

The wall enclose of him his vitals appear on my television screen showcasing everything for me.

Inside his pod he begins to shift a bit turning inside out as his mind is being analyzed with a probe.

Your mind is open a brainwave consumes him overtaking his mind, body shackles him down.

“Ten more minutes and we will be done.”

“Five more minutes.”

“One”

“Zach Efron bot activated”

“Perfection”

“Hell Yeah!”

The end

Re-inventing Las Vegas Part 2

Tonight Zac Efron’s one man showcase for all men and select women opens up to the shock of the world.

People exit the buses that park into the city madness of it all, offloading onto the road blocks.

They roll into the city with the sign flashing so bright it’s a runway surrounded by a sea of people.

If huh stop they are all men people cannot believe what they see lights flickering on and off.

Men stop cold unable to move instantly they fall into trance frozen and unable to move elsewhere.

The billboard shows Zac walks down the run way so hot, so sexy and so loss with hot zombie mindless blinding eyes.

My plan is unfurling to me through the entire world with slightest glimmer of and tirelessly working all hours.

I walk behind him placing my arm over his shoulder he melts at my every touch it feels so good.

My fingers form a heart shape on his chest as he squirms with excitement and lots of love.

“Welcome to my show hotties” he says.

“Check out my body, you know you want it”

“Watch me strip”

“Dance”

“Sing”

“A private show is also available”

“Anytime and day”

“All for you “

“Here at pretty boy factory”

The show opens up that night to a wild and large crowd overflowing the stadium and money filling up my pockets.

“Are you guys ready?”

“Wwwwwwooooooaaaaaaahhhhh!”

“What I want to hear”

“Good bois”

“Meet the Master or ceremony”

“Master Lawrence “

“All of you bow”

“Let’s party”

The end

[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

[brain-bumbler]

Shaking you upside down in the hopes of funky silly Gisu headcanons slipping out of your pockets /lh

Oh no I- they all fall out- No those aren't- there are hundreds scattered across the floor- Please they aren't funky or silly at all I don't- the headcanons are reaching knee-height

Gisu's such a funny character, I love all the interns even though we don't see as much of them as we did the campers. I like how in the beginning we see her call her lev board her poor baby and ask if its hurt. That board is a labor of love, kickflipping is stimming, comfort item.

I think all the Interns are kind of nerds. They're the coolest nerds at the nerd table, but still, they're in the advanced program, they're nerds.

I love to headcanon her as very, very ambitious. She's working with Otto, and I think a lot of the fandom headcanons her as an inventor of sorts, too. She wants to be Great, and as she gets older it'll only get stronger. Given that she sends Raz to do her homework and spends most of the game messing about in the treehouse right now she seems to be down to just Vibe, at least when it comes to repetitive busy work like fighting Psychoseismometers.

She apparently likes them greasy and grumpy but we won't judge her too much for that. If she ever heard Dion playing the Oboe she'd probably find it cool too, the oboe is a weird and obscure instrument.

Dion is a very cute boy and a very good guinea pig for some of her experiments, babe put this glowing metal dome on your head and don't ask questions, I'll give you a kiss if you can see new colors when we're done.

I see her has incredibly smart and also incredibly Down To Clown, I think she'd be fine to make out with Dion to distract him from his siblings pulling a prank.

He lets her try out all sorts of work-in-progress inventions, and she also starts to make some herself. These are the start of much Shenanigans among the jr agents.

Other Random Headcanons:

She likes Pokemon

It has been 0 days since she last sassed Agent Mentalis.

She gets super involved with her work and then wakes up with finished blueprints and a fever 5 days later and needs to be dragged to bed. She calls Dion her "hot nurse" when he brings her a bucket to throw up in.

She is good at math, but only when she's moving, she can't do it sitting down.

She thinks best with the back-and-forth, up-and-down motion of her skateboard, if it's not there she ends up pacing and rocking her head to get sort of the same feeling.

Dion once totally called in to KLOB not knowing who runs it to get advice on dating this cute psychic girl he just met. She was in the treehouse at the time, and she and Morris had fun with that.

[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

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

[queen-of-confusion13]

Instant coffee

My husband didn't have the dregs of yesterday's coffee to warm up this morning, so he made a cup of instant. My parents used to drink it. Mom had a whistling teapot on the stove many times a day to get a cup of java. I saw how my dad got coffee at work. He went into the lab area, turned on the hot water in the sink and let it run until it was warm. Then he made a cup of instant coffee with the tap water, drank it down at once, and went on with his day. Super yuck.

They had instant coffee when I was a kid, but before that they had coffee percolators. Kind of like a Mr. Coffee, but instead of just running the water through once after it is heated up it circulates in the pot with a bubbling, gurgling sound recycling the water through the grounds until every last bit of flavor was extracted. It was a long process, so instant coffee must have been like a miracle drink.

My grandparents used to go to the mall that was very close to our house. My grandpa would always be sitting there with all the other old men on the benches in the middle while their wives were off shopping. The husbands sat there so they could watch all the bags and their wives could easily find them. The mall was within easy walking distance across a wild field that looked like a nature preserve. A neighbor used to regularly go pheasant hunting in it. We would go to the mall with our allowance. Every week I would get my quarter and pay my sister back the quarter I owed her from last week, and then inevitably borrow it again. She missed out on a lot of interest, but it made me hate being in debt, so it worked out in the end.

One day my grandparents were Christmas shopping in the mall, and they asked me if there was anything my mom wanted or could use. That instant coffee came to mind and Mr. Coffee was invented when I was 10 years old, so I thought maybe she would like regular coffee without having to drag out the company percolulator. I thought it was a great idea, but my mom just about clobbered me for suggesting it because of the expense. The new stuff is always highly priced until all the competition drives the price down. But, she got it, and the new fangled cross between time-saving and full flavor brew cycles was created.

It is interesting how the old-fashioned stuff is replaced with new modern stuff. Then the next generation comes along and discovers "new" vintage stuff that rocks their world and wonder if the old people know about it. Ever had a kid tell you about a new band they discovered whose album wore out the needle on your record player 40 years ago?

It all depends on your perspective and that has a lot to do with age. Growing old is interesting. New inventions and technologies are coming at an exponential rate, and AI (artificial intelligence) is just increasing that speed. It is impossible to stay up to date on everything as this world is constantly getting more complicated. "The good old days" when you knew the "game" and could play comfortably are gone. Now everything is stressed filled and manic, and the fakes and clones are rampant. It is almost impossible to know what the truth is. There are pros and cons to these inventions. Many miraculous healings have been afforded by the advance in the medical field. Yet, the detriment to society can be clearly seen in the evil that has been afforded with the instant information available on the internet.

My dad knew I love math, so he got me a tiny calculator when they were new. It had the basic 4 functions and an equals button. Plus, minus, multiply, divide, total, and a memory button. That's all you needed to advance from that big honking calculating machine that sat on my grandpa's desk in his basement to a miracle in instant computing. And now we walk around with an entire computer in our pocket, or more likely in the hand. If my mom could see my phone today she wouldn't even know what it is.

Along with the advances has come real safety issues. I recently was communicating with some hackers who run NewsMax. It came to my attention that I was being observed. They could see what I was doing and hear what I was saying. I saw stuff like that on tv before, but never figured it would happen to me. My discomfort of a horrible picture being out there on the internet was alleviated somewhat by the comments I had already heard about my appearance by some really rude people. My best advice to you is physically cover any lens that is on any device in your home. And disable the microphones. These are hackers, so even that is not enough, but it will help somewhat. The only way to stop them is to disconnect your internet when you aren't using it. Like that ever happens.

I don't like cameras that can have a photo sent worldwide in a nanosecond. All those old first photos that were taken by a guy on a ladder under a blanket saying to stay still the entire time while taking the photograph are gone. No longer do you have to turn in negatives to get copies of a picture to share. I am kind of glad that the worst picture of my life is out there. People can share and talk about it all they want. Without even having to pick up a pen and paper to contact those far away. I can't say that this is an improvement in my life, but that's the scene today.

However, there is a positive note. Acceptance of reality isn't easy. My reality is that in order to preserve relationships in the past few years, the ability to discuss dangers to our nation were prohibited. Not being able to discuss politics and then watching J6 caused a discord in my mind. Giving up freedom of speech voluntarily just to be accepted is why that horrible picture is good. Politics is a divisive topic. There needs to be a mutual yearning to seek truth. Even if people stand on seperate sides of an issue, it can still be discussed in a civil manner with mutual respect. First you have to seek and acknowledge the truth of the situation, then you can discuss positions and solutions. Refusing to see the truth will shut down communication and destroy relationships.

I wonder if this is how people were when Hitler was rising to power. More worried about a happy, carefree life in a post WWI era where only the positive thoughts could be discussed. What happened to the people who were aware of the impending Holocaust and whose hearts were screaming for others to open their eyes to Hitler's evil ways? I bet they were told not to talk about politics. How many times did they get silenced just to hear people say later that they never had a clue what was coming? Because they chose to close their eyes. Six million Jews killed. I bet people were silenced all the while Hitler rose in power. They probably looked like my horrible picture in their own way. This is a good reminder for me to be true to myself and not allow myself to be silenced. I will never force political talk as it is fruitless and will cause harm. However watching evil grow hurts. And those who are strong enough see it in real time and to seek the truth should not be concerned by those who stifle them. They just need to find like minded people so they don't feel so isolated, abandoned, and hopeless. That is a recipe for misery. It is just like instant coffee with a shot of guilt thrown in. Yuck!

I made mocha mint coffee this morning in the knock off Mr. Coffee. our daughter gave us. Things have come full circle. It is a good balance between flavor, technology, time, and expense while providing a cup of coffee I like. No sugar or cream. Just black. A little reality with some flavor diversion. The only other flavor I like is double mocha. Full on plain coffee is bitter and horrible. I guess that's what people feel about politics. This may be the dawn of a new understanding.

Lord, thank you for opening my eyes to the good lessons that come from difficulties. Romans 8:28 is one of my favorite verses. "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Just don't give up.

Hmmmm, I wonder if they were told not to discuss politics or religion before Jesus was crucified....I need a pause button for my mind. Time for that coffee ;)

[angelichd]

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