#you can wiggle different meanings out of it but it’s important that both these people that the fandom likes to pit against each other

[bucksboobs]

Btw I think it’s incredibly important to the long term of BuckTommy that both Tommy and Eddie encouraged Buck to mend things with the other. Tommy doesn’t want his presence to interfere with BuckAndEddie as a unit and Eddie wants Buck to be happy with Tommy, and both those things are spelled out in back to back episodes.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Visit

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Fridolina Rolfö x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You visit your moster

Heat training for Chelsea happens in Spain this year.

You don't really like it when you have to get on a plane for heat training. It sucks but this year you're going to Spain.

That means you get to see moster Frido.

"Her schedule is tucked into her bag," Morsa says to moster Frido as Momma hangs up your coat and puts away your shoes," And no sweets or sugary drinks. She can't come near kiwi, bananas or avocados. No latex either. Her epipen is in her little bag and you need to keep it with you-"

"Magda," Frido laughs," I know how to look after her. Go, you've got to make it back to Madrid tonight."

"Be good for Frido," Momma says to you, kissing the top of your head," Use your manners and be nice. I love you."

"Love you," You chirp back, giving her a big kiss on the cheek before doing the same to Morsa.

"We'll call you tonight," Morsa says," Love you."

Momma and Morsa are practicing in Madrid but you wanted to see moster Frido in Barcelona so they brought you over to stay with her for a few days.

"They're gone," Frido reports as Momma and Morsa get in the rental car," Do you want cake?"

"Cake!"

Three slice of cake and a tummy ache later, there's a knock at the door.

"Ingrid!" You cheer.

You don't know Ingrid as well as you know moster Frido but you still like her a lot. She used to play at Wolfsburg with Momma and she's very fun.

"Hey, y/n!"

You run into her arms and she hoists you up in the air. You peek over her shoulder to see a smaller girl behind her. You cock your head to the side.

"This is Mapi," Ingrid says," She's my girlfriend."

"You've got words on your neck," You tell Ingrid's girlfriend," And pictures on your arms."

"They're tattoos."

"My Momma and Morsa have tattoos," You say," But you have lots."

You wiggle out of Ingrid's arms to stand by Mapi. She crouches down next to you and points out all of her different ones.

"Ingrid," You say," Your girlfriend is so cool!"

You pull Mapi all the way over to the sofa, pushing her to sit on it before scampering off to bring the rest of the cake. It's on a big plate and you have to walk carefully so you don't drop it.

"Careful," Frido says, taking it from you to put on the table.

You nod and wedge yourself between Mapi and Ingrid. You point at a few of Mapi's tattoos, tracing them over with your finger with a tilted head.

Ingrid's girlfriend Mapi is very cool and you like that she's explaining all of her tattoos to you, even taking off her socks so you can see the ones on her feet.

"Ingrid," You say when Mapi takes a break to get a drink," She's so cool."

Ingrid and Frido both laugh at your wide eyes.

"Thanks," Ingrid says," She is very cool."

"Who's cool?" Mapi asks as she returns.

"You, apparently," Frido says as she lifts you up and ushers you out the back door," Come on, monster. Zećira says you need to keep practising while you're here."

You follow after her as she retrieves a ball. "You're not a keeper," You tell her," Zećira says a keeper is the best to train a keeper."

"Well, we'll just kick the ball around for a bit, won't we?"

"Okay!"

Mapi and Ingrid come back frequently during your visit and you sit at Frido's table with Mapi drawing. Your days are fairly structured with moster Frido.

You wake up.

You get up and eat breakfast.

You play football out in the garden.

You eat lunch.

Then, Mapi and Ingrid come to visit.

You pant as Frido nudges another ball towards you. She kicks different than Zećira kicks but that's because she scores more goals than Zećira ever will.

You think that's important. You can't be a good keeper if you don't train against people who actually score goals.

It's tiring though and you sit on the floor as you guzzle down your water.

Moster Frido sits down next to you, fixing your ponytail.

She's a lot more competitive than Zećira is and she scores more goals against you.

"You did very well." Moster Frido says though," Those were some pretty good dives."

That makes you happy. Zećira always said that it doesn't matter if it goes in, so long as you've tried and you've definitely tried today. It's nice that Frido notices that too and you climb into her lap so you can get a hug.

"Alright," She says, standing up with you in her arms," Lunchtime for the little monster and then Mapi and Ingrid are coming to visit."

You stare in confusion as the pair come in a few hours later. Moster Frido hasn't been going to training because she tweaked her ankle and is meant to be resting.

Ingrid's in her Barcelona training top looking like a pretty princess like she always does. And Mapi...Mapi is wearing a Barcelona shirt too.

You frown.

"Is something wrong?" Ingrid asks.

"Mapi," You say," Are you pretending to be Ingrid?"

Mapi frowns now too. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"You shouldn't steal Ingrid's clothes," You say," My Momma says it's very mean."

"I haven't stolen Ingrid's clothes. What are you talking about?"

You point to the top she's wearing. "That's Ingrid's," You say," Because she plays with moster Frido at Barcelona and that's a Barcelona shirt."

Mapi laughs. "I play for Barca too."

You shake your head. "No," You say like she's slow," Ingrid and moster Frido's jobs are to play for Barca. Your job is to cheer on Ingrid and get tattoos."

Ingrid bursts out laughing at how red Mapi goes and Frido starts giggling too.

"I can have a job outside of Ingrid!"

"Why? Ingrid's great."

"I play football too!" Mapi says," I do! Frido, tell her that I play football!"

You ignore her. "I think it's cool that your girlfriend wants to be you, Ingrid!"

[jennamoran]

The Far Roofs: Systems

Hi!

Today I’m going to talk a little bit more about my forthcoming RPG, the Far Roofs. More specifically, I want to give a general overview of its game mechanics!

So the idea that first started the Far Roofs on the road to being its own game came out of me thinking a lot about what large projects feel like.

I was in one of those moods where I felt like the important thing in an RPG system was the parallel between that system and real-world experience. Where I felt like the key to art was always thinking about the end goal, or at least a local goal, as one did the work; and, the key to design was symmetry between the goals and methods, the means and ends.

I don't always feel that way, but it's how I work when I'm feeling both ambitious and technical.

So what I wanted to do was come up with an RPG mechanic that was really like the thing it was simulating:

Finding answers. Solving problems. Doing big things.

And it struck me that what that felt like, really, was a bit like ...

You get pieces over time. You wiggle them around. You try to fit them together. Sometimes, they fit together into larger pieces and then eventually a whole. Sometimes you just collect them and wiggle them around until suddenly there's an insight, an oh!, and you now know everything works.

The ideal thing to do here would probably be having a bag of widgets that can fit together in different ways---not as universally as Legos or whatever, but, like, gears and connectors and springs and motors and whatever. If I were going to be building a computer game I would probably think along those lines, anyway. You'd go to your screen of bits and bobs and move them around with your mouse until it hooked together into something that you liked.

... that's not really feasible for a tabletop RPG, though, at least, not with my typical financial resources. I could probably swing making that kind of thing, finding a 3d printing or woodworking partner or something to make the pieces, for the final kickstarter, but I don't have the resources to make a bunch of different physical object sets over time while I'm playtesting.

So the way I decided that I could implement this was by drawing letter tiles.

That I could do a system where you'd draw letter tiles ... not constantly, not specifically when you were working, but over time; in the moments, most of all, that could give you insight or progress.

Then, at some point, you'd have enough of them.

You'd see a word.

That word'd be your answer.

... not necessarily the word itself, but, like, what the word means to you and what the answer means to you, those would be the same.

The word would be a symbol for the answer that you've found, as a player and a character.

(The leftover letters would then stick around in your hand, bits of thought and experience that didn't directly lead to a solution there, but might help with something else later on.)

Anyway, I figured that this basic idea was feasible because, like, lots of people own Scrabble sets. Even if you don't, they're easier to find than sets of dice!

For a short indie game focused on just that this would probably have been enough of a mechanic all on its own. For a large release, though, the game needed more.

After thinking about it I decided that what it wanted was two more core resolution systems:

One, for stuff like, say ... kickstarter results ... where you're more interested in "how well did this do?" or "how good of an answer is this?" than in whether those results better fit AXLOTL or TEXTUAL. For this, I added cards, which you draw like letter tiles and combine into poker hands. A face card is probably enough for a baseline success, a pair of Kings would make the results rather exciting, and a royal flush result would smash records.

The other core system was for like ... everyday stuff. For starting a campfire or jumping a gap. That, by established RPG tradition, would use dice.

...

I guess technically it didn't have to; I mean, like, most of my games have been diceless, and in fact we've gotten to a point in the hobby where that's just "sort of unusual" instead of actually rare.

But, like, I like dice. I do. If I don't use them often, it's because I don't like the empty page of where to start in the first place building a bespoke diced system when I have so many good diceless systems right there.

... this time, though, I decided to just go for it.

--

The Dice System

So a long, long time ago I was working on a game called the Weapons of the Gods RPG. Eos Press had brought me in to do the setting, and somewhere in the middle of that endeavor, the game lost its system.

I only ever heard Eos' side of this, and these days I tend to take Eos' claims with a grain of salt ... but, my best guess is that all this stuff did happen, just, with a little more context that I don't and might not ever know?

Anyway, as best as I remember, the first writer they had doing their system quit midway through development. So they brought in a newer team to do the system, and halfway through that the team decided they'd have more fun using the system for their own game, and instead wrote up a quick alternate system for Weapons of the Gods to use.

This would have been fine if the alternate system were any good, but it was ... pretty obviously a quick kludge. It was ...

I think the best word for it would be "bad."

I don't even like the system they took away to be their own game, but at least I could believe that it was constructed with love. It was janky but like in a heartfelt way.

The replacement system was more the kind of thing where if you stepped in it you'd need a new pair of shoes.

It upset me.

It upset me, and so, full wroth, I decided to write a system to use for the game.

Now, I'd never done a diced system before at that point. My only solo game had been Nobilis. So I took a bunch of dice and started rolling them, to see ... like ... what the most fun way of reading them was.

Where I landed, ultimately, was looking for matches.

The core system for Weapons of the Gods was basically, roll some number of d10s, and if you got 3 4s, that was a 34. If you got 2 9s, that was a 29. If your best die was a 7 and you had no pairs at all, you got 1 7. 17.

It didn't have any really amazing statistical properties, but the act of rolling was fun. It was rhythmic, you know, you'd see 3 4s and putting them together into 34 was a tiny tiny dopamine shot at the cost of basically zero brain effort. It was pattern recognition, which the brain tends to enjoy.

I mean, obviously, it would pall in a few minutes if you just sat there rolling the dice for no reason ... but, as far as dice rolling goes, it was fun.

So when I went to do an optional diced system for the Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG, years later, to post here on tumblr ... I already knew what would make that roll fun. That is, rolling a handful of dice and looking for matches.

What about making it even more fun?

... well, critical results are fun, so what about adding them and aiming to have a lot of them, though still like rare enough to surprise?

It made sense to me to call no matches at all a critical failure, and a triple a critical success. So I started fiddling with dice pool size to get the numbers where I wanted them.

I'm reconstructing a bit at this point, but I imagine that I hit 6d10 and was like: "these are roughly the right odds, but this is one too many dice to look at quickly on the table, and I don't like that critical failure would be a bit more common than crit success."

So after some wrestling with things I wound up with a dice pool of 5d6, which is the dice pool I'm still using today.

If you roll 5d6, you'll probably get a pair. But now and then, you'll get a triple (or more!) My combinatorics is rusty, so I might have missed a case, but, like ... 17% of the time, triples, quadruples, or quintuples? And around 9% chance, for no matches at all?

I think I was probably looking for 15% and 10%, that those were likely my optimum, but ... well, 5d6 comes pretty close. Roughly 25% total was about as far as I thought I could push critical results while still having them feel kind or rare. Like ...

If I'm rolling a d20 in a D&D-like system, and if I'm going to succeed on an 18+, that's around when success is exciting, right? Maybe 17+, though that's pushing it? So we want to fall in the 15-20% range for a "special good roll." And people have been playing for a very long time now with the 5% chance of a "1" as a "special bad roll," and that seemed fine, so, like, 20-25% chance total is good.

And like ...

People talk a lot about Rolemaster crit fail tables in my vicinity, and complain about the whiff fests you see in some games where you keep rolling and rolling and nothing good or bad actually happens, and so I was naturally drawn to pushing crit failure odds a bit higher than you see in a d20-type game.

Now, one way people in indie circles tend to address "whiff fests" is by rethinking the whole dice-rolling ... paradigm ... so you never whiff; setting things up, in short, so that every roll means something, and every success and failure mean something too.

It's a leaner, richer way of doing things than you see in, say, D&D.

... I just didn't feel like it, here, because the whole point of things was to make dice rolling fun. I wanted people coming out of traditional games to be able to just pick up the dice and say "I'm rolling for this!" because the roll would be fun. Because consulting the dice oracle here, would be fun.

So in the end, that was the heart of it:

A 5d6 roll, focusing on the ease of counting matches and the high but not exorbitant frequency of special results.

But at the same time ...

I'm indie enough that I do really like rolls where, you know, every outcome is meaningful. Where you roll, and there's never a "whiff," just a set of possible meaningful outcomes.

A lot of the time, where I'm leaning into "rolls are fun, go ahead and roll," what it means to succeed, to fail, to crit, all that's up to the group, and sometimes it'll be unsatisfying. Other times, you'll crit succeed or crit fail and the GM will give you basically the exact same result as you'd have gotten on a regular success or failure, just, you know, jazzing up the description a bit with more narrative weight.

But I did manage to pull out about a third of the rolls you'll wind up actually making and assign strong mechanical and narrative weight to each outcome. Where what you were doing was well enough defined in the system that I could add some real meat to those crits, and even regular success and regular failure.

... though that's a story, I think, to be told some other time. ^_^

[anonymous-dentist]

The world ended 16 years ago on what Cellbit vaguely remembers was a Tuesday morning. It was quiet, just for a moment. And then it was loud.

Cellbit was ten when the apocalypse happened. He doesn’t remember anything from before the Earth split open. All he remembers is the silence exploding into screams as Those From BELOW crawled out of the crack in the ground and took flight.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon.)

But, really, the end of the world has been pretty chill, all things considered. Avoiding the Gates is easy enough once you know what to look out for- smoke, and fire, and bones. Killing daemons is even easier- the only real difference between them and humans is that (most) daemons are uglier.

The real problem with the apocalypse isn’t the collapsed power grid or the lack of infrastructure, and it definitely isn’t Those From BELOW. It’s the people, Cellbit included, who are somehow still alive even after the introduction of Hell to Earth.

Case in point: the man squirming on the ground in front of Cellbit’s feet. His hand has been… divorced from his body, but it’s somehow still holding the key Cellbit needs. His hair is white, just like every other bastard Cellbit has killed over the past five years, and he needs to die.

His name doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s wearing a necklace of human ears around his neck, and that that’s fucking gross. But, well, he is a Fed. Ear necklaces are pretty normal by their standards.

“You bastard,” the Fed spits, blood dripping down his chin. His eyes are red from the BELOW’s influence, and his teeth are sharpened to an unnatural degree. (That much, at least, is normal to see these days.)

Cellbit kicks the fucker in response. He scoops up the Fed’s detached hand and gets to work uncurling its fingers, tucking his machete under his arm as he does so.

“Uuuugh,” Roier groans, sat on the ground by the Fed’s head with his legs crossed and his mouth twisted into a bored frown.

He throws his head back and closes his eyes.

Cellbit hums apologetically: “Desculpe, guapito. We’ll be done soon.”

He pulls at one of the Fed’s fingers so hard it comes off. It falls to the ground right in front of the Fed’s nose, making him scream, but making Cellbit let out a triumphant little laugh.

“Got it!” he announces.

He manages to wiggle the key free, and then he holds it up for Roier to see.

Roier cracks two eyes open and smiles.

“Vamos!” he cheers. “This guy sucks!”

“You can kill him,” Cellbit says. He absently tosses the Fed’s hand onto his body and turns his full attention to the key. “He isn’t important enough to be a hostage or anything.”

“Excuse me?” the Fed demands.

Cellbit ignores him. What happens next is none of his business.

“Shhhhh,” Roier says. “Close your mouth, holy shit, your breath stinks! What have you been eating, man?”

“I think you know what. Daemon.”

Cellbit kicks the fucker again.

But he’s right, and both Cellbit and Roier know it. Consuming daemon blood makes a human stronger, and nobody has been abusing that fact like the Federation. That’s why their workers all have white hair: the stress.

That’s why the Earth split open: the stress.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon. There were two cages, and there was blood.)

“What happened to just taking drugs, man?” Roier complains. “Or those little, uhhh… gummy things…?”

“Vitamins,” Cellbit supplies.

Roier snaps his fingers. “Vitamins!”

The key is more old-fashioned than Cellbit had expected: it’s a literal key, not a keycard like Cellbit is used to seeing the Feds carry around. It’s small and bronze and engraved with the letters ‘P’ and ‘R’ and a coupon of numbers that Cellbit doesn’t know the meanings of. (Yet.)

“You wouldn’t understand,” the Fed sneers.

“Eh, maybe, maybe not,” Roier responds.

And then, to Cellbit, he asks, “Do you want to keep any of him?”

Cellbit shakes his head. “Nah, he’s toxic as Hell.”

“Hey! Be nice to Hell!” Roier protests.

“I’m just saying that he’s got, like, shit inside of him. I don’t want any of that in me.”

He vaguely gestures towards the Fed’s entire self.

The Fed wiggles indignantly. He’s about to protest when Roier leans in and snaps his neck in one quick, smooth motion.

He accidentally snaps the Fed’s head clean off his body, which drops the ear necklace onto Roier’s lap, which makes Roier make a weird grossed out noise and drop the head and skitter backwards in the grass like a spider.

“Auough!” he screams. (Or something like that, anyway.) “What the fuck?”

Cellbit finally looks up from the key, fixing Roier with a cheeky grin.

“What’s wrong, guapito?” he innocently asks. “I can’t hear you.”

He bends down and picks up the ear necklace and holds it next to his own ear.

Roier does not look impressed.

“Fucking gross, Cellbo,” he flatly says.

Cellbit shrugs and drops the necklace onto the Fed’s chest. It is fucking gross, but it’s not something that Cellbit isn’t used to. He’s seen some gross shit. He’s done some gross shit. An ear necklace sucks, like, a lot, but it could be worse. It could be eyes- eye jewelry is fucking disgusting.

“Come on,” Cellbit says, going around the corpse and offering a hand down to Roier. “We’re losing daylight.”

Roier takes his hand, stands, and doesn’t let go. His claws dig in slightly, juuuust slightly, and it hurts, and it’s grounding.

He squeezes Cellbit’s hand. Cellbit squeezes back.

When the sun sets, the daemons rise from the BELOW. Roier will be fine, but Cellbit doesn’t want to risk it. He’s too close to.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon. There were two cages, and there was blood. And there was Cucurucho, and there was Elena.)

Cellbit slips the key into his pocket and slides his machete back into its sheath. He raises Roier’s hand and kisses his knuckles and smiles as Roier leans in to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t worry, baby boy,” Roier teases, “I’ll keep you safe.”

He cackles as Cellbit roughly pushes his away and starts walking towards the sunset.

“Não, gatinho!” Roier cries. “Come back!”

He runs after Cellbit and retakes his hand, swings it between them.

“You’re so clingy,” Cellbit sighs. He’s still smiling, anyway.

“Wow, it’s almost like we’re soulmates or something,” Roier says. “Craaaazy.”

Daemons, much like humans, have souls. Cellbit is probably the only human being that believes that. Everyone else is either dead or xenophobic. Just because daemons come from the BELOW doesn’t mean that they’re soulless, hellish abominations hellbent on destroying mankind.

No, they’re just assholes.

Case in point: Roier. And Cellbit wouldn’t have him any other way.

(And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon.

When the smoke cleared and the screams stopped, it was just the two of them surrounded by corpses.

The daemon was free. Cellbit was not.

The daemon flipped him off. Cellbit started crying.

The daemon opened the cage. The daemon hugged him: four arms, strong hug, the first hug that Cellbit can remember ever getting.

The end of the world was quiet in that room. It was just the two of them, as it would forever be.)

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 08: That Tickles!

Canon-compliant (queerplatonic/romantic)

CWs: Tickling?

Alastor and his shadow are one and the same, or so the Radio Demon claims. Angel Dust wants to see how true that is.

Word count: 1005

•••

Alastor’s shadow was widely known, throughout the Pride Ring, to be something of a creepy fuck. Frequently seen alongside its master, the shadow most always wore a grin even more sinister than Alastor’s own and had a level of independence that meant it could wander on its own. It was both a means of surveillance and a threat that the Radio Demon might be anywhere at any given moment, and while it wasn’t exactly typical to see it around Pentagram City, the people who lived there knew its shape and, more immediately, knew to be wary of it.

When Angel Dust and Alastor had first begun growing closer as friends than as simple casual acquaintances who saw each other around the hotel sometimes, Angel had asked about his shadow. Alastor hadn’t been shy at all, telling him that they were technically one entity, if capable of occupying two completely different spaces at a time. “I may not always be directing its actions, but it obeys me. I can see through its eyes; I can hear through its ears; I can summon it to my side at any moment, and if I choose, I can move through it like any other shadow.”

For the first several months, Angel thought of the shadow as a threatening omen that warned the Radio Demon might be watching him. Soon after that conversation, however, Angel started noticing certain oddities where the shadow was concerned. It, like Alastor, was infinitely curious about the world and seemed to get inordinately excited if it was addressed in a positive manner. Once Angel started greeting it in passing like he would any other member of the hotel, it went from confused to intrigued to simply following him around if it didn’t have anything more important to be doing.

Alastor was the one who made the mistake of mentioning this new development to Angel one evening. It got Angel thinking: if Alastor and his shadow were connected through sight and hearing, what other senses might they share?

Pretty early on in his befriending of Alastor’s shadow, Angel had discovered that he could touch it, kind of; it seemed to exist in a space where all shadows were tangible things, and if Angel’s own shadow made contact with it, it was as though it could feel his touch through that.

In Angel’s defense, he hadn’t thought it would actually be that bad when he finally decided to conduct his experiment. (He later stated, when pressed, that it was Alastor’s fault for never giving him an opportunity earlier.) he had a very specific plan in mind, and that plan required Alastor’s shadow to be somewhere it rarely was: namely, attached to Alastor himself. His first opportunity just happened to come in the hotel lobby, while Alastor was going over business matters with Charlie. Angel didn’t have any interest in their conversation—the details of the day-to-day business of a struggling redemption hotel was far from engaging to him—but that wasn’t why he stayed in the lobby. No, he stayed because Alastor’s shadow was cast up on the wall, looking bored, the blackness at its base running across the floor and attaching to Alastor’s feet.

“Could we reschedule for Monday?” Charlie was asking as Angel waved to the shadow. It perked up, smile spreading and curling at the corner, and raised its own hand to wiggle long, spindly fingers at him.

“No, my dear, you already have quite the full schedule for Monday,” Alastor answered. Angel moved closer and raised his hand, crooking his finger a couple of times to beckon the shadow closer.

“I do?” Charlie asked, put out. “Okay, what about— oh, no, it has to be before Tuesday…” The shadow looked towards Alastor, seemed to determine it wasn’t needed, and swooped along the wall to hover near where Angel stood.

“Friday will be your best opportunity,” Alastor said. Angel raised his hand and watched as his own shadow did the same, fingers extending to trail over the shadow’s pointed ear, making its grin widen and its entire body shiver. “But if you’re that reluctant, I could BE—!!!!” Alastor’s voice pitched up into a squeal, and Angel snapped his head around just in time to see the Radio Demon suddenly slam both of his hands down over his ears, his eyes wide and his grin strained as he looked around sharply.

Charlie’s own eyes were wide, her hair poofed out a bit like a startled cat. “What the fuck, Alastor?!”

Alastor didn’t answer. His eyes briefly landed on Angel, but they were twenty feet apart, so he appeared to decide the spider was innocent and kept looking around. “Did you see something… touch me?” he asked, his voice deeply layered with radio static and suspicion.

“…no…?” Charlie’s expression morphed to one of concern as Angel reached out again, fingers extending for the shadow’s side this time. “Alastor, are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, of course, I’m FINE FUCK!!” It was hard to tell if the words were a giggle or a shriek, or perhaps both, as Alastor bent to protect his side from an unseen enemy. He spun around, his microphone staff appearing in his hand as he did so.

Angel bit down on his lip so he didn’t start laughing himself. It was only a matter of time before he was caught out, so… he reached out once more, this time going for a full-on, four-handed tickle of Alastor’s shadow. It looked like it was laughing, flailing and distorting but not making any effort to get away.

Almost immediately, Alastor started cackling, the sound definitely unhinged; Angel knew he had been caught out when Alastor’s shadow was suddenly gone, like it had been sucked away. Angel looked at Alastor as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes wide and his sclera black. “Angel…” he hissed warningly.

“Uh-oh.” Angel turned and started running, shrieking as he heard the sounds of Alastor chasing him down.

“Don’t get blood on the carpet, please!” was all Charlie yelled after them.

•••

[pll-reimagined]

Pretty Little Liars: reimAgined

Hello Liars of tumblr!

I am a huge nerd for the Pretty Little Liars franchise – I adore the books (I’ve been reading them as far back as the original release of ‘Killer’), and while I love the show, I've always been more than a little disappointed that it wasn’t closer to the source material. During spooky season, I began both rereading the books and rewatching the show, and it gave me the creative inspiration to blend together the best bits of each canon into one cohesive narrative, start to finish. With that said, I present to you all my passion project, 'Pretty Little Liars: reimAgined', as what a retooled, more faithful adaptation could look like.

My primary goal is to tackle the books’ canon and adapt it to span across a number of 'seasons' in an episodic fashion - currently my plan is a 7-season format with around 13 episodes apiece, leaving wiggle room for more as I progress. I intend to weave in some aspects from the original show that were either invented FOR the show, or ones that it particularly excelled in translating… but not necessarily the ones people might expect. This will range from minor storylines and interactions to entire episodes from the OG - albeit through a different lens - if I believe it will help to flesh out characters and the tapestry of Rosewood at large, however this is not the priority. I may periodically condense, expand, omit, and/or change the order of storylines and arcs to make them stronger, and so as to cut down on unnecessary filler. I want for there to be nods that both book and show fans alike can appreciate while also keeping them in suspense over how events unfold; it'll feel familiar, but won't be a twin copy.

My overall creative concept is a period piece set in 2006 (so I'm keeping as much of the niche style and dated references from the books as possible), with a sense heightened reality and a focus on themes such as symbolism, luxury, and indulgence. Think less ABC Family/CW vibes and more HBO/FX, American Horror Story vibes: big on suspense, a dark and gothic aesthetic contrasting expensive and chic high society, somewhat realistic yet simultaneously a bit larger-than-life or fantastical, can range from slightly eerie to downright unsettling, and doesn’t shy away from vulgarity or adult themes and imagery, but does so tastefully and in moderation. Rosewood should absolutely DRIP with exorbitant wealth, lust, disdain, competition, and secrets, but in the flavor of Old Money. My vision is of a nice suburb in New England, where every yard has a white picket fence to hide the imperfections from your neighbors, and petty, political cold wars matter to your social standing at the country club.

The rewrite will have a more serious and mature tone: less teen romance (though, as it IS present in the books, there will still be some) and more focus on psychological torture, thriller/horror tones, the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Alison, the identity and motive(s) of ‘A’, and what ‘A’ puts the Liars through.

As of now, I have a very rough draft of the major story beats that I plan on covering, as I think the story starts to fall apart when you don't have your long-term mystery road mapped well in advance. My goal is for each story arc/season to feel well-balanced and important to the over-arching narrative, and the 'A' reveals are a large part of this. The 'A' thread is the most meticulous and delicate, as any misstep leads to inadvertent plot holes, which is exactly what happened to the show. Most importantly, the 'A' motivations need to make sense in relation to the Liars - that means no Shower Harvey's running amok in this fic!

I’m also going to fix some aspects of certain storylines, and the timeline in general, that were either rushed, dragged out, unnecessary, unrealistic, or flat-out didn’t make sense, adjusting the pacing where I deem it necessary (RIP Never Ending November). This is less so with the books, although they do have some instances - Sara Shepard wtf do you MEAN THAT ARIA STOLE THE STARRY NIGHT - and more so what I use from the original show. I want to give the story the proper room to breathe and the space to gradually build suspense, ensuring a structured flow for every episode within each season’s narrative arc.

I’m aging everyone up slightly, so the start of the series will take place on the last day of 9th grade (making the Liars around 15), and the time jump will be about 2 years, to the end of the summer before the girls’ senior year (making the Liars around 17). Hopefully this will make some of the plotlines a little less icky and statutory grapey when it comes to age.

I’ll also be combining book and show characters as I see fit, giving preference to the books. In particular, I'll be utilizing the ensemble of Rosewood Day students in a much larger capacity than the show did, so to increase the number of suspects while cutting down on extraneous random characters, effectively creating a small community of socialites not dissimilar to Gossip Girl. These people have largely known one another since childhood, and that should be reflected in their interactions.

I'm retelling the story through the mind and voice of none other than Alison DiLaurentis, and she will operate in a way similar to Mary Alice Young from Desperate Housewives: secretive, slightly omniscient, gone yet still very much a part of the Liars' world despite her absence, and playfully watching over her friends as they navigate past her disappearance. She serves as a narrator for the Liars’ inner thoughts and monologues, but will frequently provide her own insight on situations, occasionally injecting some dry humor into the series.

Lastly, the Liars will actually... y'know... lie lol. While the show captured their positive traits, it suffered from the fact that the girls either didn't do bad/selfish things at ALL, or they were coerced to by outside factors. The girls in the books are much more self-serving, petty, and willing to do bad things to achieve what they want. There will still be 'A' manipulation, however I want the general sense that the Liars are victims of their own actions. They should be much more uncomfortable in maintaining and balancing their social lives with the threat of ‘A’ always looming, poised to knock them off the top of the totem pole should their secrets be exposed. The outward appearance of perfection should be, at least initially, the driving force for the Liars. They’ll be more rational and cautious, making less immediate boneheaded and/or out-of-character decisions like the show portrayed, and a bit more reluctant to trust one another until after things have unraveled and bound them together.

I’m currently outlining the details for the first 'season', and I'm about halfway done with the prologue, which I plan to post by the end of the week to gauge interest. I'm open to feedback, so please let me know what you all think of my little passion project!

[cyberneticlagomorph]

You don't know when you fell asleep or how but that's largely unimportant, what is important is the contents of your dream. For as long as you can remember, you've been having basically the same nightmare every night with the occasional slight variation.

A city in ruin, streets empty and weed-choked. There you were in the center of it all, surrounded by destruction that you could do nothing to stop. Not the end of the world, but the End-of-Everything, the Mother of all Cataclysms.

The sky turned into a green-gold mirror, broken, reflecting everything that ever was and everything that would ever be within shards of Dreams that fell like verdant rain and distorted the landscape around you as they crashed haphazardly to the ground like glass meteors, shattering on impact. 

Before you normally stood a Nameless Thing, many headed and serpentine. 

But not tonight.

Tonight you're somewhere different, somewhere neat and clean with smooth tables covered in half completed board games and mindless crayon scribbles barely confined to their papers.

Black walls and bowling alley carpet full of triangles and zigzags, no ceiling though, just void. A stranger sits perched on a nearby armchair, sipping tea and humming a familiar song under his breath.

His skin is a darker brown than yours, the top half of his face obscured by large circular purple shades, kinky-curly-bedhead-spikey yellow hair sticks out from underneath the brim of his top hat. Instead of a tie, a well behaved atlas moth sits at the hollow of his throat, the human eyes on its wings blinking wetly.

"Y'got a name kid?" Says the stranger without moving his mouth, he drops a handful of dream pearls into his cup and watches the spoon stir itself.

"... Jack." You glance around like a cornered animal looking for a way out before it has to resort to violence.

"Jack? You look more like a [nickname], can I call you [nickname]?" The stranger asks, taking a sip of his tea, a singular yellow eye glows at you from behind the lenses of his shades.

The sound [nickname] makes isn't a word, or really a sound? It's the absence of both, but hollowed out from... something both tangible and intangible so you're left hearing the shape of where something Was.

"No, and how the fuck are you doing that with your mouth?" Your skin itches like there's something underneath it.

He's suddenly in front of you now; floating a few feet off the ground, cane in his hands, cup hovering where he left it. The moth at his throat looks at you with something like pity, something like sorrow, and something like jealousy in its horrible eyes.

The stranger just smiles at your question, golden fangs and yellow stained teeth glistening with wetness that might be spit but probably isn't. "[Nickname] you of all people should know how I think."

"Who are you?" Your skin crawls, inside and out of the dream. Hackles raised as you edge away from the stranger without meaning to, he offers a hand to shake in a way that SHOULD have be friendly but most certainly was not.

"Most folks call me Bill, but you can call me Zilch, your friendly neighborhood oneriophage."

You look at his hand like it might jump off his wrist and bite you, Zilch waggles his fingers bonelessly and changes the colors of his claws as if that will tempt you into touching him.

"You're a Cipher."

"That I am! In fact I'm the resident Cipher of this misbegotten corner of the multiverse, nice to meetcha kid." He wiggles his fingers again.

"What do you want?"

"Bold of you to assume I want anything other than to stop by and say hi." Another smile

"You're a bad liar Zilch."

"Well... at least I CAN lie!"

"What do you want?" Your eyes narrow.

"I'm bored and you look fun to play with, so how's about I help you with your boy trouble?" Zilch waves his hand and a pixelated version of your husbeast idles on his palm before vanishing.

"I don't make deals with demons."

"I mean, you MARRIED a demon and marriage is very much a legally binding deal between two consenting individuals." Zilch gives you a Look over the rims of his shades. "You're cute and all, but I'm not planning on taking an arrow to the knee any time soon so let's just shake on it and get this over with."

"Let me clarify," your ears flick with annoyance. "I don't and WON'T make deals with YOU, any alts of you, or you adjacent entities."

Zilch pretends to swoon, growing another set of arms just to clutch them to his chest as if he'd been shot there. "Oh [nickname] you WOUND me! I'm not like those other Bills and deep down you know that..."

"Do I?" You say, deadpan.

"You do! I know you do! Believe me, I just wanna help." Zilch bats his luscious yellow lashes for emphasis. "Sometimes I wish someone could have shown up and miraculously saved my relationship like this, then maybe Sixer would still be with me." A single pitch black tear rolls down his cheek as he sniffles.

"I'll pass."

"C'mooooon, it doesn't have to be a full deal, how about just a little widdle pinkie promise?" Zilch holds out his hand again, pinkie extended and other fingers curled.

"I said no."

"D'aww, someone thinks they've got a choice." He tilts his head, the corners of his smile stretching so far they disappear into the corners of where his eyes should be. "I'm gonna give the people what they want, whether you like it or not." Zilch taps his cane once on the ground and the floor beneath you vanishes.

You reach up without meaning to, and Zilch grabs your hand as if trying to save you; your joined hands wreathed in blue flame, your skin melting away like wax, the metal beneath it starting to glow with the heat. Zilch takes off his shades with an extra hand and grins down at you, the entire right side of his face is made of teeth and eyes and abyss that chatters and whispers and cries.

"It's showtime!"

[pokemoncaretips]

The seviper

A classic poison type and a sharp jump in challenge for those looking to take their poison type keeping to the next level.

General notes: The seviper is fairly common in grassland areas and savannahs. In Hoenn it is commonly located in the foothills of meteor falls. Before we move on to the rest of the care guide, let me be clear on one thing:

No, your seviper is not stretching out to measure you before it eats you.

This comes up ridiculously often. Though the seviper is both a poison hunter and a constrictor, it is also an ambush predator. Stretching out to measure its prey in the wild would wind up with it either starving to death or being attacked when it's noticed. If you wake up to find your seviper stretched out in bed next to you it's because you're a steady source of warmth. Too many friendly sevipers get rehomed because of this belief.

General care: Seviper need whole prey and can't eat kibble. They lack grinding molars to break it down. As live prey can defend themselves and potentially cause injury, frozen thaw is the best way to feed them.

A meal should be no more than 10% of your sevipers body weight, and no larger than the widest point of its body. Seviper have slow metabolisms, and can go months between meals in the wild. However, there is a difference between surviving and thriving. Here is a rough table for how often you should be feeding it:

Newborn-6 months: every 10-12 days

6-12 months: every 10-12 days

12-18 months: every 12-14 days

18-24 months: every 2-3 weeks

2-2.5 years: every 2-3 weeks

2.5-3 years: every 3-4 weeks

3-4 years: every 4-6 weeks

4+ years: every 4-8 weeks

If you're worried about it starving, don't be. Remember, it has a slow metabolism and doesn't process food as fast as us. It's actually healthier for a seviper not to eat too often. And as a fun bonus, this chart also applies to a fully evolved arbok as well!

There is significant wiggle room in these times, allowing for individual differences, seviper who battle frequently and need a bit more food, gravid seviper, etc. Keep an eye on its condition and don't be afraid to ask for advice. If the spine is easily visible, it isn't eating enough. If the spine is rounded and gently triangular, that's generally a good indicator of health. If you cannot see the spine at all and the seviper is round, it's overweight.

Seviper need warmth, as they can't thermoregulate. Seviper are most active around 32 degrees C, but what is equally as important is shade. A warm basking spot is great, but they also need somewhere dark to cool off. As they grow, a terrarium becomes impractical. Remember, these pokemon can be over 8 feet long and are SOLIDLY built. You may need to consider adapting part of the house to suit its needs.

A sevipers fangs are on a hinge. When hunting or fighting, those sabres are present. When at rest, they tuck into the jaw for safety.

Seviper need a whetstone for their tail. Keeping it sharp is important for their enrichment. Provide a large stone for it to use.

Around two or three times a year, seviper shed their skin. The indicator for this is a dull look, a lack of appetite and their eyes taking on a blue cast. It's tempting to help, but the new skin under the old one is still delicate. Only offer assistance once the skin is actually being removed, and avoid handling until then. If your seviper is approaching you and rubbing its snout against you it's asking for help. Hold the ends of the old skin steady and allow the pokemon to slide out at its own pace. It will likely need a big feed after, and will be perky and cheerful.

Serpent pokemon have a lot of care requirements to consider, but large communities means there's always people to ask for help. Care rating: Orange

Training: Seviper take to training well, and are generally good battlers. A note of warning, though.

This pokemon cannot be allowed in the same room as a zangoose. It doesn't matter how well it's trained. It doesn't matter how well the zangoose is trained. Once they spot each other, instinct kicks in. All of their training and restraint will be gone. They will just try to kill each other. Any good gym will step in if they see you have these pokemon on your team and will stop the battle from happening in the first place. If they do see each other in other locations, pokeball it immediately and leave. It may try and force it's way out of the pokeball. Just keep recalling it. DO NOT PHYSICALLY INTERVENE.

Other than that, the most important part of its training is "the dry bite", where you teach it when to release its venom or not. Having a seviper that knows this makes it safer to battle or even just to have roaming about. The process is pretty long, involving training dummies and food rewards. You're better off looking up guides on line or contacting your nearest poison gym. They can advise you the best and safest ways to teach this. Honestly, if it weren't for their venom, I think you'd see more sevipers around. They learn pretty well. Training rating: Green

Safety: It's a poison type. And a pretty nasty one at that. Though an adult seviper with years of good training under its belt can in theory be safe around small children and even small pokemon, you won't find any responsible trainers who will allow that to happen. Even if it doesn't feel inclined to bite, the blade on its tail is razor sharp and often carries traces of venom. It's strongly advised to cap it when out in public.

They are most dangerous when they're hatchlings, as they lack ANY training about dry bites. Though many pokemon have vastly different personalities, you have no way of telling the difference between an anxious newborn who will nip if you move wrong, and a chill calm little guy who will curl up and nap in your palm. Consider any and all newly hatched seviper "hot" and pick them up only with serpent handler tongs if you ABSOLUTELY must. Once you start getting a feel for their personalities, you can graduate to a thick glove. Any that are too nervous or aggressive should be rehomed. Many cities have facilities that "milk" seviper, ekans and other venomous pokemon to make antivemon, and they have a pretty good life there. Any hatchling too nippy to safely handle should ideally be sent to these farms.

Seviper venom affects the bloods ability to clot. If nipped or scratched, IMMEDIATELY seek medical aid. Safety rating: Red

Overall ranking. Though seviper have cool personalities and are often quite friendly, they need a LOT of safety precautions. Ideally, they should be kept by poison type keepers with the needed experience, and are considered to be of medium difficulty, and a step up from beginner level poison types.

[gatheredfates]

SYSTEMS, ENGINES & RECONNAISSANCE SERVICE | Evelyn Rivers

Do you want to read all of my FFXIVWrite prompts? You can do that here!

CLEAR. free of cloud, mist, or rain.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Evelyn Rivers was waking up from a stupor.

Or, if you were to ask her, a bender — to which she would sigh and say not a lot of people bothered, meaning they missed out on her pearls of wisdom such as a myriad of ways to people to fuck off and weird techniques on how to brew moonshine out the back of a boat. Nevertheless, when the announcement rang clear through Ul’dah’s airship hangar that they were expecting a record sandstorm, thus all the air travel was promptly grounded, she seriously considered just how long she might be banned for if she decided to bugger it and break the rules. One quick assessment of both her liquor cabinet and the weather both, a strange kind of common sense broke through that risked her liver rather than her life.

Yes, she knew her liver was connected to her life. Not the point. Something, something, lesser of two evils.

“SERS —” She croaked from beneath a small pile of glass bottles, sea-glass green and tinkling as she moved. When she received no answer, she wet her lips with her tongue and spoke louder.

“SERS! Oh for fuck sake, why do I have this stupid —”

“Hello, Designation Evelyn. How may I assist you?” A small screen to the right of her head illuminated, displaying the pixelated image of a fire. As the AI spoke, the flame wiggled back and forth in time with its tempo.

She tried to smash the first one, not realizing Firelight had installed at least six throughout her ship. Sometimes she liked to moon it, just in case someone was watching. 

“Took you fuckin’ long enough. What time is it?”

“It is exactly fourteen thirty seven.”

“Rhalgar’s fuckin’ nutsack — speak STUPID, SERS.”

“Ah! My apologies, Designation Evelyn. It is two thirty seven in the afternoon, if you’re going off local time.”

It was the afternoon? Huh. Last time she was awake she was singing along to her orchestrion and swinging around on her bed like she was a pole dancer. It was the little things. 

Eve pushed herself into a sitting position, smoothing jet-black hair out of her face as she squinted bleary-eyed at her surroundings. The interior of the Junker stared back, a hodgepodge of titanium, steel and carbon fibre; a physical and literal nest of blankets and shiny objects — most worth absolutely shit all. But they were her things, that was the most important, and she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and let out a loud yawn.

“Fuck me, m’beat.” Though it felt weirdly still, all things considered. Her brow narrowed.

“SERS?”

“Yes, Designation Evelyn?”

“What’s th’ weather?”

“Today’s weather is warm with clear skies but, the evening should cool —”

“The weather is WHAT?” Her head snapped to attention to the pixelated hearth, not that it had the capacity to feel the knives in her stare. Oh no, SERS continued to speak amicably, as if though she had merely misheard or was unfortunately going insane.

“The weather is warm with clear skies —” “FOR FUCK SAKE, SERS!” Bottles went flying around her like dangerous confetti, clattering harmlessly across the floor as the woman staggered and bolted (as much as one could when they were hungover, though she still did have a bottle in her hand) towards the top deck. “Systems, Engines and Reconnaissance Service my fuckin’ ass cheek—”

“I am very sorry you are displeased with my service, Designation Evelyn. I sounded off the alarm every hour to try and inform you —”

Evelyn didn’t give a rats. Her hand slammed against the railing as she looked out towards the desert, where glittering sand stretched endlessly to a pale blue sky. Below, the multi-faceted jewel of Ul’dah reflected a thousand different colours like light caught in a diamond, and the highlander let out a loud scream of delight and threw her bottle clean off the side of her ship…

…And into a nearby window. Well, shit.

“Oops. SERS! SERS! IT’S TIME TO GO!”

[roamwithahungryheart]

Ted Lasso 3x12 - An Honest Review

I completely understand the amount of dissatisfaction with the finale. I had my own reservations and admittedly didn't like a few little things about it, but it didn't ruin the episode as a whole for me.

Thinking back to when the season three trailer dropped, they warned us about what to expect with the song choice - you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you find you get what you need.

We might not have all got what we wanted, but the characters we've loved for three years got what they needed. Not necessarily forever, but for now.

Nate came back to Richmond and patched things up with Ted. Roy finally started therapy. Keeley chose herself. Sam got to play for the Nigerian team. Jamie worked through his issues with self-confidence. Rebecca got her little moment of gezellig. Ted got to make up for lost time with his son.

The key thing to keep in mind here is that this is what the characters needed in that moment. And at this point in time, we don't know whether this is truly the end for Ted Lasso. There's enough wiggle room for us to potentially pick up where the finale left off sometime in the future. There are things left unsaid, moments left unseen, that have the potential to be explored further down the line. If we don't get that, then at least we got to witness a bittersweet ending for a beloved show.

Now, it wouldn't truly be a trademark Lauren Review™ without me finding at least one parallel between Ted Lasso and the work of David Lynch - so here it is.

The mixed reactions to the pacing of the show and the direction of certain storylines reminded me of the reaction to Twin Peaks season two, when David Lynch left to pursue other projects and Mark Frost handled the show all by himself. In the case of Ted Lasso, Bill Lawrence wasn't present for all of it, which is where some of the perceived problems come in. On top of that, the longer episodes made it more of a struggle for some people to engage with the show (which is true in both cases).

In the second season of Twin Peaks, in what was perhaps the first big 'shipping war' of modern television, Audrey & Cooper didn't get the happy ending the fans wanted (although their relationship would have been problematic if it had become a romantic pairing) - they remained friends. Both Coop & Audrey were given last-minute love interests that arrived in Twin Peaks to sweep them off their feet and completely detach any sort of meaning from their connection. Annie Blackburn was a cardboard cut-out of a woman who fit everything Coop needed at the time. John Justice Wheeler was Audrey's rich, preppy Mills & Boone hero with a private jet to whisk her away on any adventure she desired. One could argue that in the third and final season of Ted Lasso, Michelle was Ted's Annie, and Matthjis was Rebecca's John Justice Wheeler. The difference is, Audrey didn't get on the plane. She knew that whatever was waiting for her with JJW was too good to be true. That leaves us to wonder, what if Ted hadn't stayed on the plane? What if Rebecca's relationship with the flying Dutchman didn't develop? Where would it leave them?

The cast have waxed poetic about the beauty of platonic love and the concept of soulmates and cosmic connections, but for a show that lived by the rules of rom-com royalty Nora Ephron, there was no romantic payoff for any of its main pairings. That's not to say platonic soulmates can't be as meaningful and important as romantic soulmates - they absolutely can - but for all the expectations they subverted, choosing to duck out of putting the show's leads together by opening the episode with a fake-out, after all the groundwork they built for them, felt like kind of a cheap shot. I will admit, though, it was kind of funny. And let's be honest, they gave the TedBecca gang a few crumbs to work with in future fanfics. We have to at least be thankful for that.

As a qualified screenwriter, do I feel this episode - and the season as a whole - hit all the right marks? No. But it wasn't a complete disaster either. Sometimes jokes didn't land. Sometimes a scene really was too long. But it was long enough for them to tell the story they wanted to tell.

I think one of the main reasons there was trouble in terms of giving the story enough space to be told was that we're living in the generation of binge-watching and streaming. The Ted Lasso writers are old school. They've been playing the long game within a short format, and only managed to break out of that restrictive mold in the third and final season.

Do I wish Apple had pulled a Showtime and extended Ted Lasso season three for eighteen episodes instead of twelve? Yes. I think it would have given them just enough space to tie up a few loose ends. But at the moment, we don't know if this is truly the end - there's a chance we might get to see how things turn out. I know, it's the hope that kills you, but I'm still going to hold on to that hope. Because that's what rom-communism teaches you - there's always hope in despair.

[magdaclaire]

the one that wins

tangybug fic

anxiety and anxiety attack cw.

find it on ao3

He’s chasing Ladybug around the flat before he can stop himself, following the other man as he picks up his belongings. He’s still yelling for fuck’s sake, like he’s unable to control himself for how the words keep spilling out. He’s not even sure what set him off this time- maybe his shitty attempts at making eggs, or perhaps the way that Ladybug had gotten him a glass of water before setting his medication in his hand, both the antibiotics and the mood stabilizer he’s been on since- well. Lemon had said he should see somebody for his nickin’ problem. Tangerine hadn’t expected to be given a mood stabilizer for his troubles. He hardly takes it half the time anyway, flipping back and forth between convinced he doesn’t need it and angry that he does.

“Sweetheart, I’ll come back when you’re feeling more like yourself, okay? Take your meds. I gotta go before you say something we both regret, alright?” Ladybug says, not even turning back to look at Tangerine as he gathers his coat to his chest. Something in Tangerine heaves, unable to stomach the fact that Ladybug is leaving. As if he doesn’t deserve it.

“Of course, you’re going to bloody fucking leave, aren’t you? Everyone does, don’t they, everybody just fucks off as soon as my mouth gets too hard to deal with- you seemed to fucking appreciate my mouth last night,” he spits, everything just coming out so fast and angry he can’t fucking stop it. Ladybug spins around, grabbing him by the shoulders, jacket dropped into a chair unceremoniously. His next words catch in his throat. It’s the first time Ladybug’s touched him since they got out of bed. Tangerine rocks with it.

“Tan, you’re being mean,” Ladybug says slowly, as if he’s trying to communicate this to a very small child. Tangerine shakes him off.

“Oh, am I?” he asks, his voice cracking into the hard tone once again, his rage coming back up to a boiling point. Mean. As if that’s a descriptor anyone older than ten uses. Mean. He ignores the cold ball in his stomach that tells him that Ladybug is right, that Lemon has said this before, that he’s off on a tantrum and perhaps he should come down before he burns the entire flat down. He clenches his jaw around an apology that wants to wiggle its way out.

“I don’t know why you’re mad, and if you don’t tell me, I still won’t. I can only make things better if I know what’s wrong,” Ladybug says, his tone still that calm smooth-over bullshit that makes Tangerine want to start swinging when anybody else uses it. And ain’t that the fucking problem? It’s only when other people try to talk him down that Tangerine gets angrier. With Ladybug, it’s- everything is different with Ladybug.

“Who says you can make it better?” he chokes out anyway, humiliated by the prospect of tears pricking at his eyes.

“I don’t know, baby, but maybe telling me will help anyway,” Ladybug says. Rage sizzles even higher than before at the pet name, and yet still Tangerine feels his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of it, which pisses him off even more. Baby. Tangerine wants to rip his fucking hair out.

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” he stutters out. Ladybug’s expression shifts from confusion to concern, just that quickly. As if he said something important.

“Baby? I’ve called you that before- how long has it bothered you? I don’t have to ever use that one again,” Ladybug says, and a brick drops itself on top of that cold feeling in his stomach at the idea of never being Ladybug’s baby again. Fucking hell. He doesn’t want Ladybug to stop, but. Jesus fuck, he can’t deal with it right now.

“No, it- I’ve liked it. Before,” Tangerine grinds out, the need to clarify stronger than his anger for this one second. He wants to be- he likes to be called baby, sure enough, but not right now, not when every little thing feels like a transgression against him. Everything feels like nails across a chalkboard right now, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why.

“Before what?” Ladybug asks patiently. The rage spikes again.

“Before I was angry!”

“You’re always angry, Tan. I’m gonna need something a bit more specific-” Tangerine can’t help himself but to interrupt.

“Why do you stay then? If I’m always like this, what’s worth staying for, huh?” Tangerine says, his voice coming out so much hoarser than he intends, with so much more to lose. Ladybug places careful hands on either side of his face and Tangerine tries his damnedest not to relax into his grip. Despite all of it, or maybe because of it, hell, Tangerine needs this. Needs Ladybug to touch him, to hold him, to… to forgive him. Even when he’s not sure he’s earned it. Maybe especially then.

“B- Sweetheart. No matter how angry you get, no matter how much you yell, and even when you skip your meds, I still love you. That’s not up for debate,” Ladybug says, switching so quickly from that word- from baby- that Tangerine almost doesn’t notice it. The whole sentiment makes him feel as if he’s chewing glass, like he’s bashing his head through the back of that bullet train again.

“But- you- why?” he asks, his voice coming out smaller than he means it to. Ladybug’s thumb strokes along his cheekbone.

“Because… because you yell at me when I get fucked up on a job. Because you’re bad at making breakfast. Because no matter how many morning afters we have, I’ll still be happy to see you in my arms when I wake up. Because you’re sweet to me when you want to be, and even sometimes when you don’t. I love you. Do you get that?” Ladybug leads, but Tangerine does not follow. He doesn’t know how.

“No!” he exclaims instead, “I don’t fucking get that!” He’s unable to stop himself. He doesn’t fucking get it. That’s the problem, right? Ladybug loves him without expectation, without want of Tangerine doing anything more than he does without trying, without want or need or view of results. He doesn’t want anything that Tangerine isn’t willing to give. And it terrifies him, how much he’s willing to give away. How much he loves Ladybug back, even if. Well, he’s never said it, has he? He doesn’t know that he ever will.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Ladybug says, pulling Tangerine in. Tangerine lets himself be pulled, lets himself be maneuvered until his face is against Ladybug’s throat, vulnerable, and finds himself relaxing into the hold. Fucking Ladybug. Ladybug wraps himself around Tangerine like a blanket, making soothing sounds every once and a while, and it’s only when he notices the sounds that Tangerine notices that he’s crying. He’s fucking crying. That’s goddamn embarrassing.

“Don’t-” he starts, but he cuts himself off with a gasping breath.

“Don’t what, angel?” Ladybug coaxes, stroking up and down Tangerine’s back with a steady hand. Tangerine presses his face against Ladybug’s collar more fervently, wanting to wipe his face but not wanting to pull far enough away for Ladybug to see him, to see him crying. It wouldn’t be the first time, but other circumstances, well, they were most definitely more favorable than these. He’s never flipped shit like this, not in front of Bug. He told himself that he never would.

Only Lemon has seen him break down like this. Only Lemon has stayed.

Ladybug’s fingers are still making their way through his hair. For some reason, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave. The very idea terrifies Tangerine to his bones.

“Don’t leave,” he whispers anyway, words dropping from his lips unbidden, untethered, hopefully unheard. Ladybug’s arms wrap tighter around him, so that’s out the window as soon as he thinks it. His hand is fisted in Ladybug’s shirt hard enough it’s hurting his hand, but he can’t make himself release. Ladybug tucks Tangerine’s head even closer against his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet thing. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere,” Ladybug repeats, his lips pressed into Tangerine’s hair in such a way that Tangerine can feel him speak. Tangerine sinks even further into Ladybug, letting himself be held and holding in return. He feels sort of… fuzzy when he finally pushes back from Ladybug’s chest, smoothing out the creases of his button up shirt. He’s dressed down still, only in his trousers and undershirt, his button up still unbuttoned and his suspenders unclipped, no plan of a vest today. It’s morningtime still, he thinks, but he’s not entirely too sure. He’s only quite sure of one thing.

“Well, that was fuckin’ embarrassing, wasn’t it?” he asks, his hand scrubbing down his face. Ladybug holds him still by the hips, his grip loose but definitely there.

“Sweetie, I think you just might have had an anxiety attack,” Ladybug says. An incredulous noise rips itself out of Tangerine’s throat before he can help it.

“No, no, see, I don’t have those,” Tangerine says quickly, almost retracting himself from Ladybug’s hold completely, but unable to convince himself it’s worth the dramatics.

“Anybody can get one, you know. It’s what your body does to keep you from having an aneurysm or from your heart exploding. How do you feel most of the time?” Ladybug asks. As if that isn’t the hardest fucking question in the world.

“What the fuck do you mean how do I feel most the time? That’s vaguer than shit, love,” Tangerine says, his frustration moving to exasperation moving to exhaustion. It’s still morningtime. Why does he feel as if he’s ran a marathon?

“I mean, do you typically feel worried during the day? On edge all day? Irritable? Trouble relaxing?” Ladybug leads him, and this time Tangerine finds himself able to follow.

“You know all of that is true, what the fuck are you on about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Ladybug squeezes his hip.

“Tan, that’s anxiety. Those are anxiety symptoms, dude. You totally need to bring that up to your therapist,” Ladybug says, his tone showing no sign of joking and his expression serious. Tangerine can’t help his immediate snort.

“What am I supposed to say? Hello doctor, my boyfriend armchair diagnosed me with anxiety, do you reckon we need to change my head pills for that?” Tangerine asks, half sputtering in his incredulity. He still blushes when he says the word boyfriend aloud. That’s not really the point though, is it?

“I mean if that’s how you wanna put it-” Ladybug starts. Tangerine doesn’t bother to let him finish.

“No, that’s not how I’d fucking like to put it!” he says, his fist still tangled up in the bottom of Ladybug’s shirt tightening back up for just a moment.

“Listen, Barry explained it to me like this- if all anxiety is on a scale from 1 to 10, there are no people who live in the 1-3 range anymore. Everyone is anxious all the time, whether their anxiety is useful or not. How I see it is, you having a lot of anxiety in this line of work, that could be a good thing. Could keep you alive. I’m thinking you might be so aggressive all the time because you’re constantly stuck at a nine,” Ladybug expounds, squeezing Tangerine’s hips in intervals where he would typically be gesticulating. Tangerine sighs.

“And what the hell does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, Barry says that 4 to 5 is the new normal, right, so my anxiety has me at a constant 6 or 7, just regularly up in anxiety. An eight is something that a lot of people skip right over, it’s tearfulness, so if somebody gets irritated because he doesn’t wanna cry, he might skip right into 9, which displays as irritability and aggression. And that’s where I think you might live. Irritable because you’re worried all the damn time.”

It's fucking irritating when Ladybug sounds like he might be making sense. Especially when it’s about something Tangerine doesn’t want to look in the mirror and see quite yet. He doesn’t know that it’d ever be easier to see this. He dips his head down against Ladybug’s collarbone, leaning against his boyfriend heavily.

“If- If I think any of that sounds- well- like me, how do I make it better?” he asks, his voice hoarser than a second ago, but still clear enough to be understood. Ladybug moves a hand to scrub through Tangerine’s hair.

“Well, I’m glad you asked, sweetheart, that shows real growth. There are breathing exercises that might help, and grounding exercises for when things get as bad as they were a few minutes ago. I think the best thing, though, would be to tell your therapist about it so that you two can develop some coping mechanisms that work for you. I can tell you what works for me all day but learning what works for you would probably help a lot more.” It’s a lot to process all at once, and suddenly, all Tangerine wants is to take Ladybug back to bed. He wants to lay down and he wants to be held, and he wants to be loved, and for once in his goddamn life, he just wants to relax.

“Fuck it, teach me a- what did you say? A breathing exercise? Teach me one of those later,” he acquiesces, willing that to be the last of it.

“It might help you calm down if you wanna do it now,” Ladybug suggests. Tangerine shakes his head.

“I just want-” he cuts himself off, embarrassed. Ladybug’s thumb strokes along his temple encouragingly.

“You want what, Tan, you can tell me,” Ladybug says, affirming and sweet. Tangerine still doesn’t want to answer. He does anyway.

“I want you to call me baby and hold me for a little while,” Tangerine says, groaning into Ladybug’s shoulder. It’s embarrassing. Saying it aloud is the freest he’s ever felt.

“You’re my baby again?” Ladybug asks, just the slightest edge of teasing in his tone, and Tangerine turns red all over again.

“Always your- fucking hell,” Tangerine interrupts himself, turning away from Ladybug to lead him back to the bedroom. Ladybug follows easily. They get into bed more carefully than usual, Tangerine tucked close to the wall in the way that he’s grown accustomed to and Ladybug on the outside, guarding him from the door. He’s never really understood why Ladybug makes him feel so safe, laying between him in the world. They lay facing one another, Tangerine’s mouth level with Ladybug’s jawline. Ladybug turns to press his nose into Tangerine’s hair, nuzzling into him.

“Always my baby?” he asks quietly, near to a whisper. Tangerine nuzzles into Ladybug’s throat instead of answering, placing soft kisses and gentle bites along the skin there. He chooses not to answer because he’s afraid of what the answer might be, what might come out of his mouth in this safe space of their bedroom, in this moment where he feels like he and Ladybug are the only people in the world.

“Hold me,” he reminds his partner, tangling their legs together roughly.

“Yes dear,” Ladybug says in return, pulling Tangerine into his arms.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Before I Go

Chapter One

AO3 Link

Chapter Five:

Remus makes sure Roman is in his room when Virgil gets there for a multitude of reasons.  Yes, Virgil’s not the biggest fan of him, but more than just that, he also wants a little time with just Virgil and him and Janus, which Roman seems to understand.

So when the knock comes on the door, the two of them are alone in the living room.  Remus hops up instantly, keeping a hand on Janus’ shoulder so he knows Remus is going to get it.  Janus has been fragile all day, and Remus is going to take off his plate what he can.

He pulls the door open and is met with Virgil standing with his hand poised to knock again.  He blinks a couple times when he sees Remus, looking lost.

“Uh,” he says.  “Hi.”

Remus rolls his eyes, reaches out and pulls Virgil into a hug.  “Moron.  Get in here,” he says.

Virgil wraps his arms around Remus and squeezes him tightly.  “I missed you,” he mumbles into Remus’ shoulder.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Shush,” Remus says, pulling Virgil inside the apartment and shutting the door after them.  “Come sit.”

Virgil pulls back from Remus with a small smile, only to stop a second later when he sees Janus.

Janus doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Remus groans, grabs Virgil by the arm, and drags him over to the couch after him, then plops him down in between himself and Janus.  “So.  Hi.  How’ve ya been?”

“Uh,” Virgil says.  “Better?  I think?  I… I’m not so scared anymore.”

Remus smiles at him.  “Good,” he says, nudging Virgil in the side.

Janus scoffs and leans back into the couch, and Remus shoots him a look.

“You found a new place to live, right?” Remus asks, and Virgil turns back to him.  “You can stay here if you have to.”

Janus turns to stare at him, and Remus pointedly ignores it.  Like he’s going to let Virgil stay on the streets.

“No, I did, I’m fine,” Virgil says.  “I’m staying with my roommate Logan.”

“Ah, but are you roommates, or are you… roommates?” Remus says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Virgil rolls his eyes.  “We’re roommates,” he says.  “And good friends.”

“Nice,” Remus says with a grin, meaning it.  He’d been worried about Virgil when he left.  He hadn’t been in a good place.

“Oh for pete’s sake, are you two finished?” Janus says, glaring over at both of them.  “You said you came to apologize, didn’t you?  We’re waiting.”

“Janus,” Remus snaps, crossing his arms.

“What?  Why do I have to sit here and listen to this?  I have other things I could be doing!” Janus snaps back, pushing himself up off the couch.  “If you two just want to catch up you can do that without me!”

“Janus,” Remus says, standing, but Janus storms off before Remus can stop him, down the hall and slams their bedroom door after him.

Remus groans and plops down on the couch again.  “Sorry about him,” he says, still glaring off after him.

“It’s okay,” Virgil says.  “I kind of expected him to be angry.  He’s Janus.”

“He’s just… on edge,” Remus mutters.

“I can’t exactly blame him,” Virgil says quietly.

Remus shakes his head.  “It’s new,” he says, turning back to Virgil.  “He was different before I brought Roman here.  I think it’s freaking him out.  We were supposed to ignore it until we couldn’t.”

Virgil snorts.  “Sounds right up his alley.”  He pauses, and looks at Remus for another second.

“I really am sorry,” he says finally.  “I should have just been happy for you guys when you said you were dating.”

Remus shakes his head.  “You were scared,” he says.  “It’s okay.  Besides, people have done much worse to me because they were scared.”

Virgil narrows his eyes, seeming annoyed at the reminder.  “Yeah, where is that prick anyway?”

“In his room.  I’m giving you both a day of reprieve to get used to the idea of each other before I introduce you.”

Virgil tips his head curiously.  “That’s not like you.”

“Yeah, I’ve got more important things to think about than my entertainment,” Remus says, giving an overdramatic sigh as he leans back on the couch.

Virgil’s gaze turns suspicious.  “Like what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus says, waving it off like it doesn’t matter.  “Tell me how you met Logan.”

“We met at a bar,” Virgil says.  “He’s crazy smart, Re.  He’s a chemist.”

“A chemist, you say?” Remus says, leaning in towards Virgil and starting to grin.

“No, he cannot show you how to make a bomb.”

“Boo!”

Virgil shakes his head, smiling at him.  It fades a second later into concern though, giving Remus only a second to brace himself before the inevitable questions start.

Sure enough, Virgil pulls his legs up on the couch to turn and face Remus.  “So, how are you?  Janus said you’re about a year along, right?”

Remus nods.  “Honestly, so far the most annoying part is that I can’t laugh without breaking out into coughing,” he says, shrugging like it’s not a big deal.

“Re,” Virgil says.

“Virgil, I have bigger things to worry about,” Remus says.  “Like the fact that you won’t let your badass chemist friend show me how to make a bomb.”

“Remus.”

Remus groans.  “Come on Virgil, I don’t want to talk about it.  The deciding to ignore it until we can’t thing isn’t just for Janus.  I’m not done living yet.  I’ve got more stuff to make and more things to do.  Let me make and do stuff.”

Virgil is quiet for a minute.  “Have you thought about what happens after?” he asks, looking hesitantly at Remus.  “Who gets what, who you want to do the service, how you want to be remembered?”

“Virgil.”

“Do you want me to handle it?”

Remus blinks.  “What?”

“I don’t know what’s been going on with you,” Virgil says.  “And I may not know exactly what you want.  But… I know this priest, Patton.  Who wouldn’t refuse to do a ceremony for you.  It would have to be a secret one, obviously, but he’d do it.  And I can make some choices based on what I know, that you can change if you want as it gets closer to… well.  It… can be an apology.  You know.  For not being here.”

“Hey, no,” Remus says, reaching out and taking Virgil by the shoulders.  “I don’t want you to do that to yourself.  I told you, I forgive you.”

“I’m good with death,” Virgil counters, pulling his hands down.  “I like death.  I can do it.”

“You like horror movies.  That’s very different.”

“Remus,” Virgil says quietly, looking up at him.  “Let me do it.  I want to do something for you.”

“No.  You’ve got something else you can do for me.”

Virgil blinks, seeming caught off guard.  “What?”

…

Virgil left late in the afternoon, and Roman finally came out of his room, only to find Remus alone in the living room, writing something in a notebook.

“Where’s Janus?” he asked.

“He gave up like a little baby,” Remus called.  He didn’t bother to keep his voice down at all, so Roman wasn’t surprised when Janus yelled “Hey!” from the back room.

“You know it’s true!” Remus yelled back, before turning back to his notebook.

Roman glanced down at it to find Remus was writing a poem, which wasn’t something he remembered Remus doing a lot when they were younger.

“What are you making?” he asked hesitantly.

Remus stuck his tongue out for a second, clearly concentrating.  “It’s for Janus,” he said, which was a little hard to parse out since he didn’t stick his tongue back in his mouth.  He stopped suddenly and turned to Roman, and this time he actually did stick his tongue back in his mouth.  “Don’t tell him,” he said, lowering his voice, his face suddenly serious.

Roman nodded.  “Can I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the seat on the other side of Remus.

Remus shrugged and nodded at the seat, so Roman walked around and sat down.

“Hey Re— mus?” Roman added on quickly.

Remus stopped writing for a second.  “You can still call me Re,” he said quietly.

Roman swallowed past the lump in his throat.  “Re,” he said, squeezing his hands together on his lap.  “How did you meet Virgil?”

Remus smiled a little bit.  “He and Janus were the first people I met when I got here.  I snuck into gay bars I was too young for, and met them in one of them.  They were also too young, so we kind of stuck together that night and just… clicked.  Janus’ parents were accepting of him, so he let me crash with him a lot once he learned I didn’t have anywhere to stay.”

“Were accepting of him?” Roman asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Remus said, smile falling.  “They died in a wreck just after Janus turned eighteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman murmured.

Remus shook his head, but squeezed his eyes shut, and for a moment Roman saw something pass over his face.  He looked terrified.

“Re?” Roman said quietly, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm.  Remus shook him off and shook his head again, though it seemed to be more of him shaking himself.  He opened his eyes and turned back towards the poem he was writing.

Okay, so.  He clearly didn’t want to talk about it.  But Roman didn’t just want to leave him there.

“Remus?” Roman asked hesitantly.  “Can I hug you?”

Remus dropped the pencil and launched himself into Roman’s arms.

Roman wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tightly, and the two of them stayed there for a while.

...

Chapter Six

[jackawful]

So we all know that Grocery Stores Bad, right? Like second maybe to housing, food is one of the basic things people need to live that currently costs money, and sometimes a lot of money, and that's pretty ethically fucked up. But there are plenty of ways around this, both through the state and outside of it, and I think it's worth talking about. I've especially noticed that folks raised middle-class & folks who have leftist sympathies but currently lucrative jobs have trouble with this, so I put together a handy guide.

Ways to Fight The Commodification Of Food And Also Eat For Free:

Research, utilize, and support your local food banks! Plenty of food banks get funding based on how many people use them, so by getting what you can from a food bank, you're usually helping them stay afloat. Some food banks are means-tested, especially the ones that get federal funding, but often the coolest volunteers will help you wiggle around a way to present your household finances that'll let you qualify (not fraud, mind - just different ways to present the same situation) or not require paystubs/proof of (no) income. Plenty of food banks are not means-tested. Try to find secular food banks, and failing that, low-pressure religious food banks can be great too. Often the "shopping" experience feels a little bit like a food scavenger hunt & they often get fun weird stuff that grocery stores couldn't sell enough of. Consider donating the money you would've budgeted for groceries if you have spare cash, or volunteering if you have spare time.

Check to see if you qualify for food stamps, and apply. Each state administers EBT differently, and will have different rules, but actually taking the step of signing up and de-stigmatizing the use of EBT when you talk to others is important. I've seen too many people assume they made too much money to qualify, miss out on benefits for months, and then get a fair amount when they do. If you wind up consistently having extra SNAP dollars, consider using them on shelf-stable emergency food or (and you're technically not supposed to do this) giving away staples to projects under number 4 based on community need. If you're in a state where benefits don't roll over month-to-month, do a big shopping trip or go to a take-and-bake restaurant like Papa Murphy's on the last day of the month so your excess dollars don't disappear.

Dumpster dive! Every city and state has different laws and regulations on this, and you'll have to decide how to engage with those. Sometimes just asking employees is good - oftentimes especially places that have ready-made food, like pizza and donut shops, differ on both corporate policy on end-of-day disposal and individual employee convictions. Be mindful of padlocks and "no trespassing" signs. For grocery stores, be mindful of expiration dates and packaging conditions. Dumpster diving for food is a thing that takes a lot of personal risk assessment, and especially if you intend to distribute the food to other people, it's important to know what condition that food is in and what risks may come with eating it, BUT generally you're pretty likely to find good quality stuff. Which, speaking of distributing to others, brings me to:

Other free food projects! Food Not Bombs is the big notorious one, but plenty of cities have similar projects that work on similar models (PDX, for example, has a group that broke off so they could serve non-vegan dumpster'd food). Freeboxes and Little Free Libraries often have food pantries for shelf-stable food, and part of the pandemic mutual aid boom was the Free Fridge project. As with food banks, if no secular projects exist in your area, finding the lowest-pressure religious option in your area is a solid route (Sikh Gurdwaras are usually best, Salvation Army worst, imo). Stuff like this is often lowest barrier to entry of the things on this list, and also easiest to be both a contributor and a recipent of the free food. Google is your friend here, but also, these are things that are comparatively easy to start if you don't have resources in your area - don't be afraid to reach out to more established projects nearby to ask about how they got started!

Grow or forage your own food! As opposed to the last thing, this one is pretty high barrier IMO, involving either having land to tend (owned by you, used with permission, or guerilla gardened) or becoming good at plant identification. Honestly, though, you'd be surprised at how many of thr plants around us are edible and tasty - I just had my first acorn muffins this year and they're great! Checking into native plants and low-effort gardening and compost systems and foraging laws and processing what you get can be labor-intensive, so usually I reccomend people pick one familiar thing to start: blackberries, walnuts, acorns, dandelion, even urban fruit trees. This is another thing where knowing your local laws and assessing risk becomes important, but on top of that, connect with local indigenous groups and learn how to respect the land you're engaging with

I'm not mentioning buying local or CSAs or farmers markets here because while a lot of that stuff can be good, it still costs money, and I firmly believe food should be free. That said, you don't have to become a full freegan overnight, or ever, to take these steps. Each thing I've listed is its whole own rabbit hole of research for you to do, especially because all of them will look different in different places.

Ultimately, though, every bit of free food you get or help others get is a load off your wallet and helps build an alternative food system. No one person is going to be able to abolish grocery stores and institute universal free food, but if everyone does what they can to get less money involved in their own food consumption, that makes our non-monetary food systems more robust and resilient. Everything I've mentioned here is also what people turn to during natural disasters or supply chain collapse, and it's worth building these systems up ahead of time so that they're more able to handle the shock of increased demand.

Eat free food. Help other people eat free food. Fight the idea that this should be tied to your income, give back where and when you can, and encourage the people in your life to reduce their dependance on the grocery system.

[sofiiel]

Ch.1 | THE LANDING " WELCOME TO HAWKINS "

It's a little after Halloween, you're laying on your bed with the phone cord wrapped around your finger. Aimlessly looking at the sitcom on the TV and listening to the ranting on the other end of the line.

"And they looked clear through me, both of them. In one day. I know I'm nobody but Jesus, I was actually trying to be nice this time." Eddie said.

"Calm down and breathe. From what I remember, Chrissy was on her way to cheer practice. Maybe she's the type who gets in a zone." You try your best to calm him.

"And you're hardly nobody dufus." You added playfully.

Eddie exhaled and let a small smile wiggle it's way onto his face. He sat at his vanity, doodling tiny nonsense of the DnD character he created with you in mind. His phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, "That would have been sweet without the dufus part, dweeb." Eddie shot back.

He then sighed, "You're right, cheer means the world to her, and they did lose two team members in the fire last summer." Eddie said.

You find yourself frowning, You could remember that phone call, about the mall fire. Eddie made it sound awful, and to this day nobody knows why all of those people were in there after hours. Children lost lives, some sort of protest, is what the news said. It made the national news, briefly.

"Yeah, that's enough for anyone to be distracted." You hummed. Eddie could talk about Chrissy and who you only know as Harrington for hours. You learned how to listen for the important bits and drown out the rest. That hour or so of Eddie gushing about their smile or the clothing they wore and then raging about how they annoyed him.

"Now that I've yakked your ear off for an hour-"

"Three hours actually...." you hummed.

Eddie fell silent as he could feel his cheeks heat up, "damn, sorry..." he murmured bashfully. You giggle, and the smile finds it's way back to his face. "I'm kind of used to this, a pro, even." you teased.

"Yeah well..." Eddie sang, his hand shifting the pencil around his notebook. "You said you had something you wanted to tell me?" Eddie asked.

You lulled pensively, "ah...yeah." Weeks have passed since you received an odd phone call from Your great-great-great-grandmother's estate.

Eddie's face twisted at the odd tone in your voice, "you don't sound thrilled." he said. "I am, kind of," You said, eyes wandering away from the TV.

"It's just..." your gaze fell onto the mirror across the room. Tucked in its frame were several Polaroids of Eddie, from 4th grade to present. You bit your lip, he hadn't received a picture of you since the 5th grade. Your body changed a lot as your medical situation escalated. Your hormones were in a whirl, you'd lost a lot of strength, you were wheelchair bound more often, and it left you insecure.

You used to be an equestrian, you still were, but episodes and doctors visits made eventing hard these days. You were certain Eddie saw you in a certain way in his head. That thought was nice, he knew you from your personality, unlike many from the school you were pulled out from.

Eddie set down his pencil and held the phone to his ear, "hey," he called, drawing you out of your thoughts. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. If it's a secret, we've an oath, remember? I told you mine." He said.

"It's hardly that serious. I'm moving next month." You said, anytime Eddie fell into his stern voice that quickly, it generally meant in was panicking for you. "He doesn't handle stress well." you reminded yourself.

"Oh, like how far? Local or different coast?" Eddie asked.

You gave your throat a nervous clearing, "um.... Indiana, actually."

You could hear several objects tumble and clang about through the phone. "Don't screw around with me Y/n, I swear to god!" Eddie's voice shouted into the phone in a strange pitch. You can't help but laugh, "Where?" Eddie asked.

Your stomach dropped, and the lie formed faster than the truth could break through, "Muncie."

Eddie deflated a bit, "Oh," he said, lowering himself back into his chair to sit properly. "Hey, you know what? That's actually really close. I can come to visit you on weekends." He said. You can hear his smile through the line.

Your smile is forced, "Y-yeah, that's great." You fumble. "You nervous about the move? I thought you said you hated where you live?" He asked. "It's the devil I know, you know?" You asked back.

"Oh, I know, so well." He sang, cradling the phone with his shoulder as he returned to his doodling.

"And it's kind of because some relative I never met kicked the bucket, and I'm the only eligible living relative left to take the house. Getting stuff because 'surprise dead person' is kinda..."

"Weird?" Eddie finished for you.

You roll onto your stomach, "yeah, considering I've never met my great-great-great-grandmother. Or anyone from that side of the family at all. Once mom died, Dad lost contact with them." You said.

"Your dad still out in...where was it?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know, I haven't gotten a postcard in two weeks. Last one came from Nepal." You sighed.

"Well, I'm sure Lenard will be happy for a change of pace too, Muncie is small it'll be just like home for him." Eddie said. You smiled to yourself, Lenard your live-in nurse and former friend of your mother's was like your second parent. Grew up in the south and had that Nola accent.

"Yeah, Len will be thrilled." You said.

"And me, for the record. I'm like so hyped. I'll steal you every weekend and haul you to Hawkins. You can meet the boys and Uncle Wayne." Eddie fell into a ramble. A smile managed to stay on your face, though the worry buzzed in the back of your mind, "What if he notices me before I'm ready to tell him? We'll be going to the same school, how is this even going to work?"

Pushing that worry aside, you listen to Eddie and his grand planning of what you'll do together when you arrive. "Do you need me at the airport? I can pick you and Lenard up in my van." Eddie offered.

"ah no, the estate arranged us a driver..." It still sounded crazy.

Eddie whistle, "fancy" he said.

"Maybe You and the boys will play a show in Muncie. I'll buy a floor ticket." You teased.

Eddie began to choke, "shit!" his mind scream, breaking the lead away from his pencil as he jammed it down. "Are you ok over there?" You question.

"Shit, shit, shit, fffffff-uck!" His mind continued to shout.

"Ah," Eddie cleared his throat, "Yeah just…you know breathed and swallowed." He said. "Um listen, Y/n, a-about the um…shows..." He stammered.

"Tell her the truth now." Eddie's mind shouted.

"Ugh, we're on hiatus lately, I forgot to tell you. Gareth's got, laryngitis." Eddie said. "Ah yes...gotta tend to that long term laryngitis." you said, thankful for the reason to avoid a possible early meet up. You were playing along with the daydreaming, but still very much wanted to avoid a meeting so soon.

Eddie exhaled in relief as you bought it. "Asshole." his mind cursed him.

"You're so wrong for this." You thought, scolding yourself. "He was so excited."

"I'm going to let you sleep, it's late here so, I know it’s late for you." You told him. Eddie groaned, "come on, I don't need sleep." He said. "Maybe you don't, but I do. You know, that weird green pill makes me sleepy." You said with a wide yawn.

"I forgot about that new one, alright, fine. Off to bed, sleepyhead." Eddie said. "Goodnight, Dufus." You lulled. "Night Dweeb."

The line ended, and you set the phone in the cradle. With a heavy sigh you look towards your wheelchair, you'd been bound in it for the past three days. This evening the paralysis waned. It wasn't the chair itself, it was simply the fact that you never knew when it was going to hit you.

"I should go check on Hasufel" You murmured, sliding your legs off the bed carefully, you waited a moment to gauge your leg strength. "They seem ok for now." you sighed in relief. Taking the accessibility lift downstairs, you head for the back door of your house.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, missy?" asked Lenard. He stood before the kitchen counter casually cleaning a glass, a towel draped on his shoulder. You give a sheepish smile to his arched brow, "I'm just going to see Hasufel, Len. I promise I'll sleep after." You explained.

Lenard relaxed, "Oh well, if that's all. You may continue." he hummed with a simper. Lenard knew well that Hasufel was your best and truest friend, that old gray gelding.

Outside under the stars you walked to the one horse stall. Hasufel's head peeking over to greet you. He bob his head up and down with a soft snort. "Hey there." you called to him. Holding his face, you rested your forehead against him, just under his forelock. Hasufel whinnied quietly, "It's been a while, but I'm sure Lenard's been keeping you company these past new days." You said to him.

"We've got a big move, bud," you sighed. Shutting your eyes tightly, your teeth clenched, "and I've majorly messed up. I lied to your uncle Eddie."

"And I don't know how I'm going to explain it when it all inevitably goes to hell."

----------------------------------------- N O V E M B E R ---------------------------------------

Early in the morning, you stood in the sleepy stillness of the airport. Glancing around at the few people who waited for their flights and tended their luggage. Most looked like businessmen and women, while some others looked to be small families.

"And you're sure you don't need me to pick you and Lenard up?" Eddie asked as you spoke to him from the payphone. "Because I can totally skip my first couple of classes." He offered.

"Really Eddie, we'll be fine, Driver, remember?" You asked. "Yeah, that's still weird." Eddie sighed.

"Ok, well....um, call me from the new phone as soon as you can. Leave a message if I'm not home." Eddie said, he smiled faintly at the sound of your laugh on the other side, "yes momma Eddie." you teased. "Someone's got to worry about you, right?" he asked.

"Come on Y/n, that's our flight they just announced." Lenard called for you.

"Got to go, flights ready." you said to Eddie.

"Ok, have a nice flight, and you know, don't crash. Please." Eddie said. "Afraid of flying?" You asked him. "What?....no, just. You know." He muttered. You smirk, "Well, thanks. I'll be sure to call. I got to go, later." You said hanging up.

Turning to Lenard, you flash him a nervous smile, "aren't you two cute." he teased. "I'm not going to tell you many more times, Len. Eddie and I are friends." You said with a roll of your eyes. "He's like a needy older brother." you giggled. Lenard shook his head, "maybe in your eyes." he sang, giving the seat of the wheelchair a pat.

You take your seat and sigh, "It's just in case your legs get worse, you said you were feeling weak this morning." said Lenard. He flashed you an apologetic smile, Lenard knew you liked to do things for yourself whenever you physically could.

"I know." you said with a reassuring smile.

After a handful of hours, you touch down at the Indianapolis airport. Having sat for so long, your legs are unhappy, and they refuse to support you. Thankfully, Lenard was right about bringing your wheelchair along rather than having it with the luggage.

You sit and wait in the lobby, wheeling yourself forward while Lenard tows the luggage behind you. A tall man with a sleepy expression is waiting for you, holding a sign sporting your last name.

"Ms. S/n?" The man asked. You glanced up at Lenard, who gave a supportive nod, "yes, that'd be me." You said. "I am Marcus, your driver. The estate has arranged a vehicle that should be accommodating for your....condition." He said.

You arched a brow, "ok." You hummed. Marcus helped Lenard with the bags and lead you out of the airport.

The ride from Indianapolis to Hawkins was filled with a heavy, unsettling silence. Marcus wasn't much of a talker, and the large minivan created extra distance between the three of you.

"Hmm, what do you think the odds are of getting him to change the station?" Lenard whispered to you with a cheeky smile. "Not likely." you whispered back. Reaching into your purse you pulled out your walkman, "here," you said passing it over.

"I'm ok with my thoughts, you can use this for a while." you offered. "Bless your little heart." Lenard cheered quietly as he accepted the walkman, grinning ear to ear.

--------------------------------------- M E A N W H I L E ---------------------------------------

Jeff, Gareth and Paul stood together in the hall watching Eddie fidget about while they talked. "You've got more energy than normal, and that's saying a lot." Jeff pointed out.

"It really is, what's got you so excited?" Gareth asked. "Y/n's moving to Indiana, today." Eddie said. "Today? Like today, today?" Gareth asked, "what other today is there?" asked Paul.

"Today." Eddie repeated with a large smile.

"No way, where to?" Jeff asked. "Muncie." Eddie's smile was growing slowly, "holy shit that's close," Gareth said. "You should invite her to the hideout, man." he added.

Eddie's smile tumbled off his face, he wasn't sure just how he forgot so soon.

"Why does he look so horrified?" Paul asked cautiously. "I um, I might have embellished, our success as a band a little...." Eddie murmured. "Jesus, dude. How much is a little?" Gareth sighed, with his hands crossed, he watched Eddie intently.

"By a lot....like a whole freakin lot." Eddie admitted shoving his drama schedule into his locker. "Why lie?" Jeff asked.

"Because she's amazing, she rides horses, she can tame horses, she used to mountain climb with her dad before she got sick. She wants to open her own Equestrian ranch." Eddie rambled on.

"And then there's me, who grew up to be so far a wanna be rock star, who can't graduate and is the local dope man. I had to say something!" Eddie ranted.

Resting a hand on Eddie's shoulder, Gareth shook his head, "Calm down, man." he said. "You just repeat that to her, and you'll be fine." said Paul. Eddie turned to him with eyes straining, "You're out of your mind if you think I'm gonna tell her all of that." he said.

Gareth removed his hand and shrugged, "Otherwise you've got explaining to do that won't make sense, and you come off as an asshole." he said.

Eddie paled, his head rolling back he groaned, "She lands today, I'm sure we'll be hanging out in person soon."

"You dug this hole," Jeff scolded. "Don't be my mom, just help me figure something out." Eddie muttered. "We did." Paul shot, "yeah, Gareth had the best and only idea that will help you, man." Jeff chimed.

Out of the corner of Eddie's eye, he spotted Chrissy giggling amongst a group of cheerleaders. His eyes quickly followed her. "Well, that was quick." Gareth sighed.

"Huh? What was quick?" Eddie asked, shaken from his mild daze as Chrissy vanished around the corner. "You were worried abou-"

Jeff quickly hushed Paul, "nope, don't remind him, yet." He whispered.

"Oh shit." Eddie exhaled.

"See what you did?" Jeff said to Paul.

"My math homework is full of Prancer Doodles." Eddie muttered, pulling a note sheet full of tiny drawings out of his bag. A healer and a Bard were doing various adventures in mini scenes across his homework.

"What the hell are they doing?" Gareth asked, squinting at the paper. "Mooning a troll." Eddie said. "You drew the parts." Paul pointed out. "Well, yeah, that made it more fun." Eddie said. "You don't draw your friends parts, dude." said Jeff. "It's not Y/n, it's Prancer." Eddie reasoned.

"Who's based off of Y/n...." Gareth added. "Either way, you cannot turn that in. there is no erasing that." he snickered.

"Yeah, you'd be able to see the smudges still, damn. Maybe I can copy it over..." Eddie murmured.

The ride of strained silence was finally over at the end of a long dirt road. The road cut through a vast hillside surrounded by trees, "Hasufel will love it here." You murmured to yourself. Neither Marcus nor Lenard listening. Lenard had the volume maxed out and lip sang to Blondie as if in his own little world.

Peeking up the center of the minivan, your eyes spotted a large old house nestled within the tree boarder of the fields. A worn white fence, barely hanging on to life, protected the grand southern style mansion.

"How'd this end up out here?" You thought, it seemed like a poor place to build a house so big, crammed between the thick woods.

"Mrs. S/n fell ill in her last days and her mobility suffered. Fortunately, the home should prove comfortable for you with all of its renovations from her final days." said Marcus.

You glanced away, "she was sick...." the thought left a heavy feeling within your chest. "Did they say what she passed from?" You asked, curiosity gnawing. "I'm afraid not. It was in the Will that her medical records not be disclosed to anyone." said Marcus, causing you to slump down in your seat.

"Figures" you grumbled.

"Well, making new friends is out. No one's going to want to come to this creepy old place." You thought with a sigh.

"Tell me this man is not serious!" Lenard gasped, slipping off the headphones. With wide eyes and a shaken gaze, he looked over the old house as the minivan pulled into the driveway.

"I'm afraid so, Len." you reply.

Lenard sulked, "It's going to be a nightmare to clean." he said now carefully examining the surrounding landscape. "It's yard needs some extra tlc as well." His eyes sparkled, "But I see rose bushes!" he nearly sang.

You offer Lenard a smile, you can tell by the look in his eyes he had no real desire to be there, it would be a lot of work for one person to get the place in shape. But he was trying his best to keep you upbeat.

"We'll have it looking nice in no time. We'll make it homey." You said.

Lenard hummed softly to himself, "Looks like the sort of place that'd be haunted." he murmured.

"That isn't funny, Len." You warned. "I'm hardly kidding." he replied.

It was clear that Lenard and Marcus did not get along. You watched them carry in the luggage from your seat on the wrap around porch. It felt awkward just watching, "but you're the one who didn't want to be left inside alone." You thought to yourself.

"There, everything has been brought in." Marcus said. Standing before Lenard, he passed a simple white business card to him, "Call the estate should you need anything. They will give you time to settle in before someone arrives to discuss Mrs. S/n's will in full." said Marcus.

Lenard carefully looked the card and examined it, he was just as baffled as you were. "Something tells me your life is about to change. Welcome to Hawkins." Marcus said, turning to you. You barely offer a smile before he turned on his heel and returned to the minivan.

"Does any of this give you a strange feeling?" You asked Lenard, both your eyes glued to the car until it was lost in the trees. "It creeps me out. I hate to say this, but honey, we're in the start of a bad horror flick." Lenard murmured.

"Again, not funny, Len." you warned.

"I'm not playing with you." he sang. "Come on, let's get you inside. It's almost past the time for your medications. That's a thought worse than any ghost." said Len, wheeling you inside.

"You're not wrong about that..." You murmured, the last thing you needed was to flare up a seizure in a new town, whose hospital you'd never been to, "Doctor Brenner is very strict about which locations I'm treated at. I suppose that makes sense." You thought with a sigh, "but it makes things a lot more complicated."

--------------------------------------- T H A T N I G H T ---------------------------------------

The moon was mid-rise and the surround woods sang in songs that had your nerves on edge. Many of the outdoor lights were busted, but thankfully the interior of the old house was well lit.

Through the dusty, forgotten scent of the mansion came the faint aroma of microwave burritos and pine sol. Lenard was working his magic as always.

You lay nestled on a small but lush sofa, the furniture inside the home was very dated. However, it was also some of the most luxurious furniture you'd ever seen. "Who was this woman?" You wondered, picking up the phone and dialing.

"Do you know how long I've been staring that this phone, Y/n? Huh? Do you?" Eddie said the second he answered. You drew in a breath to reply, but were met with a shrill, "I thought you crashed. I did, I pictured a fiery, horrible death. Probably over Hawkins because that's about the luck of this place." He rambled on.

"You done?" You asked him calmly.

"No, but I can't think of anything else to say, so, yes." Eddie sulked.

"I'm ok. Well, for the most part. This old house, is really creepy." You said, looking around the living room.

Eddie flopped down on his bed, dragging the phone cord as far as it could go, wrapping himself in it. "Be glad you're not in Hawkins, we got loads of creepy ass places like that here." He said. You groaned inwardly, "telling him the truth is going to be so much harder after waiting this long, you idiot." You thought to yourself.

"But hey, you get to live in a mansion, right? That's pretty freakin sweet. Does it have a pool?" Eddie asked. You shrugged, "I don't know. I haven't looked around much. I was pretty beat by the time we got here, and the driver was super creepy." You explained.

Eddie sat up in his bed, "are you tired now? I can let you go, you should probably rest." he said. "I'm fine. Len's all the way in the kitchen and.... I don't like being left alone here." You confessed.

Eddie smirked, "oOooooOooo Y/n, are the ghosts going to get you, Y/n." he sang in a ghostly moan. "Stop it! You're as bad as Len!" You called. Eddie's laughter rolled in soft chuckles through the phone.

"Oh, you'd be fun to take to a horror movie." he mused.

"I like horror movies, for one it's not happening to me and two real life shit isn't the same dufus." You barked.

"It's still scary once you have to go to sleep." Eddie said.

"I...." Your voice faltered, "didn't think about sleeping." you said.

"Well, we can stay on the phone. Just like this, and I'll use my magical powers to keep the boogie man and ghouls away." Eddie teased.

You pulled your blanket over yourself and tried to cuddle down into the mildly dusty couch. "Yes please." You said. He smiled at the complete lack of protest and curled up in his own bed. "Alright. I'm here until you start calling hogs, then I'm hanging up." said Eddie.

"I don't snore." You murmured.

"I bet you totally snore, big ol' dragon snores that could knock down houses." He said in a playful hum.

"I do not! If I do, they're light, people who snore that loud wake themselves up." You reasoned. Eddie laughed, "not all the time."

"Shut up, you wake up your uncle." You shot.

"Uncle Wayne sleeps like a bear in hibernation. A bomb could drop outside, and he wouldn't so much as turn over." Eddie said.

You gave a great big yawn, the kind that make your face hurt. "Close your eyes." Eddie said. You gladly listened and closed them up. "Now, Imagine some place nice, something better than a creepy ghost riddled-"

"Eddie..." you lulled with a frown.

"You get it." Eddie chuckled.

Eyes still closed, you did just that, trying to imagine something better. "What are you imagining?" He asked quietly. "A nice hotel in the big city, Chicago or New York, very top floor" You replied. "Nice, penthouse or loft?" Eddie asked.

"Loft, it's small but cozy. There's a fireplace." You murmured.

"And the view?" Eddie questioned. He could hear your voice fading in strength, in your words, he could hear your consciousness struggle as sleep wanted to take hold. "It's beautiful, you can see the whole city from the window, It's hard to see the stair, but the city has its own lights. There's a small balcony. A random stray is perched on the railing." you smile as you describe your vision to him.

"Yeah? Bootsy coming by to visit again? You should leave out some catnip for her." Eddie said. "Fresh out." you replied.

"Is there room by that fire for one tired dufus?" Eddie asked. "Lots of room, Bootsy wants to nap by it too." Your voice started to fade away as you spoke.

Soon it became quiet and Eddie was left alone with the sound of your breathing. Smiling a small grin to himself, Eddie resting the phone next to his head on his pillow. "It'd be nice to curl up with you before the fire someplace new." he murmured while trying to silence a yawn, "I could make sure Bootsy always had her Catnip." Eddie's mind laughed as his eyes closed up on him.

"Goodnight." he whispered.

Eddie's eyes then shot open as he picked up the phone and held it to his mouth. "And if there are any actual ghosts. Please fuck off, she's tired and needs her sleep" he hissed in a whisper.

"Eddie..."

"Oh....shit. Sorry, sorry. Go back to bed." he whispered frantically.

You laughed silently, "I love you dufus." you said.

His heart beat faster as his cheeks flushed, "sure, back at you, now go to sleep dweeb. Bootsy's trying to cuddle by the fire, and you're ruining it." said Eddie.

----------------------------- PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT ----------------------------

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

Questions about me!

Thanks for the tag, @sleketon666 ! 😄 won’t tag anyone else as this briefly veers into somewhat personal mental health territory (and is under the cut for mentions of that.) This was fun!

Do you make your bed?

Yes. Not super perfectly but I just kinda automatically tweak the covers on a morning.

What’s your favourite number?

Don’t think I have one. Numbers are more useful and interesting in aggregate haha.

What is your job? // A job you had that would surprise people?

Hmmm well not to go into too much detail, but my real-life work is in science. I guess that might surprise people who know me for my creative side over here! (But also problem-solving inherently requires creativity, and a good plot a good dose of planning and internal logic. Perhaps they aren’t so dissimilar after all ;) )

If you could go back to school would you?

What? Primary school? Secondary school? Non. Secondary was rough until sixth form. I was so fucking bored a lot of the time, and harassment in my school was rife. Although I would love to do lessons with my art teacher again; she was wonderful!

University-wise: already did. Horrible undergrad, in a very high-pressure place, that completely destroyed my sense of worth and all my plans for the future. Took a few years out, went somewhere less horrible, and crushed it. Ta-da! (I mean I’ll forever have a lot of lingering self-doubt but you know. I did the thing. And proved to myself I both love it and am good at it).

Can you parallel park? // Can you drive a manual car?

I hate cars (on both an experience level and an environmental/political level) and will avoid learning to drive for as long as I possibly can. Luckily I love big-city life, which makes that easier!

Do you think aliens are real?

For sure, in a balance-of-probabilities way. The universe is vast. Will we ever find them? Again, the universe is vast. At the very least though, there’s some alien microbes wiggling away out there. That’s fucking cool.

(And watch the science on this, bc we FINALLY have telescopes capable of surveying the spectra of some exoplanets. Exciting discoveries about other planets’ atmospheres to come, and their reflected light, which can provide indirect evidence of life!)

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Oh boy. Bad reality TV. It’s a guilty pleasure because I know it’s a) completely engineered and b) exploitative. (And c) complete brainrotting rubbish). But then someone says “the new series of Too Hot to Handle is out!” and OOPS I am THERE.

Tattoos?

Nope. I’m not a tattoo person. I think some people carry them off but I wear a lot of different clothing silhuoettes and don’t enjoy tattoos half-peeking out of cut-outs. (I just like a “neat” personal style I guess?)

Favourite Colour?

Mmm midnight blue-purple. Some colours are contextual: that one is always perfect. (But I love colour full stop!)

Any phobias?

WASPS holy shit wasps. I know it’s irrational as fuck, and I know they’re important to the ecosystem. That is, in fact, one of the few things I cling on to when they’re really freaking me out. But suffice to say, you’ll never catch me sitting outside a pub in September.

As a kid I was terrified of hand dryers and air conditioning vents. To the point I spent every supermarket trip looking up to see whether I was standing under a vent or not. It is perhaps not surprising I ended up with OCD lol.

Favourite type of music?

Late 70s/Early 80s new wave. Talking Heads and Blondie my beloveds. 80s alternative generally.

Do you talk to yourself?

Unfortunately mostly when I’m struggling with OCD. I’ll curse myself out and say horrible things to myself aloud as effectively emotional self-harm. It’s not nice. (Don’t worry, I’m ok ATM. And have had therapy).

I will muse to myself a little sometimes, on a more fun note.

Do you like puzzles?

Yes! I go through occasional phases of being seriously puzzle-obsessed. Love a good overly-complicated Sudoku variant.

What did you want to be as a child?

Palaeontologist, all the way. I LOVED dinosaurs and would read my dinosaur books constantly. I think my faves were T-rexes (OBVIOUSLY) and Parasauralophus (probably not how you spell that and I suspect my ten-year-old self would have done a better job!)

Coffee or Tea?

Love them both. I drink more coffee atm but tea is great too (Lapsang Souchong being my absolute favourite. I need to order more!) I am 100% a caffeine addict but I find it so soothing. Even when I’m anxious, I want a cup of tea (yeah, yeah, sensible it is not. But ahhhhhh so relaxing).

Favourite Movies?

Star Trek: The Voyage Home. Just everything good about TOS Trek. Wonderful.

The Sure Thing: Underrated 80s romcom gem about an uptight, studious girl and a slacker-but-sweetheart boy getting stuck on a road trip together. It’s got a lot of humour and a lot of heart. Plus a great instance of the “confession via essay read in class” trope, which I love. The gif below is from this movie!

It’s a Wonderful Life//A Muppet Christmas Carol - I adore a good Christmas movie, and these are the best. I’m an atheist, but I adore Christmas; to me, it’s about kindness, family and community, which is why these films have me bawling my fucking heart out every year. (Yes, I cry when muppet Tiny Tim says “god bless us, every one”. Fucking come at me. Sniffle).

[swarmishstrangers]

If your still taking qrting requests can you do something like Fucshia Mallek with little diver MSPAR just imagine it

DUDE. FUSCHIA MALLEK IS SUCH A FUN THOUGHT TBH???

Like okay. I still imagine him to be involved with some sort of tech no matter what blood caste he would be in. So it's no different for my thoughts on Fuschia Mallek. Except ofc he's got WAYY more to see and can get his hands on any piece of information not even seen to the publics eye (stuff Tyzias would kill to get her hands on.)

Dreads about much more things in this position of caste. Not only does he dread space, what he dreads the most is the final fight with the Condesce. Even having the highest power one could possibly have on Alternia he does a lot of dreading. He knows that the odds are against him when that time comes where he's put up against the Condesce. He knows he's most likely going to get culled and the suffering of trolls will go on..but he can't help but feel he has a fighting chance. Maybe. He has a small sliver of hope.

I imagine most trolls know next to nothing about him. He has no social media's, he doesn't venture outside even in the ocean very much. Doesn't really talk to too many people. Ya know. Liking to keep a low low low profile. Obviously he has obligations to fill and handles very boring and menial shit someone in his position of power is supposed to deal with he supposes. But even being a fuschia blood it doesn't mean he can just. Snap his fingers and make everything good on Alternia, stopping the mass cullings, and stopping the suffering of lower castes. Unfortunately he doesn't have full power as he isn't the Condesce and she mostly has a say in everything. And there's no way in hell she would even consider the thought of letting up on lower castes so. That's dead in the water (hah)

But he doesn't increase the suffering either, in fact I'd say he was able to wiggle in some very very minor changes that were mostly to improve quality of life.

Oh yeah and now he has a little over more than 13 piercings. Some extras, ya know how cerulean Mallek and how some people like giving him snake bites? Well as a fushia he's got Shark bite piercings along with some conches, a bridge piercing, and a Nasallang piercing.

With those general headcanons about Fuchsia Mallek out of the way onto the rest of your request (sorry for the rambling lmao)

I REALLY love the thought of this Fushia blood Mallek and Mspar being friends, him being a Fushia instead of a Cerulean definitely changes their dynamic quite a bit and it's fun to imagine the possibilities.

If you liked how casual Mspar treats things imagine the absurd sorta casual air they have whenever they met and became friends with Mallek. Considering the heiress in the original Hiveswap seemingly had little to no knowledge of Mspar or maybe didn't even believe an alien really existed. Mallek I imagine as little as anyone notices him in particular due to a lack of general presence, he still manages to keep up with all that's going on. The heiress may not acknowledge their presence but much like Cerulean Mallek he knows they're there. But he has no intentions of obeying the "kill aliens on sight" rule.

Yeah even Fushia Mallek believes that Mspar being an alien is a rouse, believing them to also being a robot at one point.

As for general headcanons regarding them both:

🔱 Felt kinda weird to be in the presence of someone who's considered one of the highest importance and then seeing them be so...chill. And also just casually hanging out with him. Mspar can def get down with it though, Mallek certainly does. He's glad to have a friend like them and he doesn't feel so alone.

⚜️ THE coldest skin. I imagine he's got a lot of heaters around his place. Whenever Mspar was given a hoodie of his, putting it sent shivers all over from the lack of warmth and overpowering cold. I imagine the blood color and sign definitely makes things WAY more interesting as well. Since Mallek used this as well as making other things to better protect Mspar when they venture out, imagine how much stronger this message is to other trolls when it's Fushia Mallek.

🔱 Mallek sometimes can't hang out due to being busy with some important heir related things. But he does like those times where they wait anyways at his place and they hang out when he finished.

⚜️ Mspar likes to show him some of the different shells and stones they thought were neat from the waters and beaches. He likes to gift them beach themed things and shells, anytime he sees anything like that he thinks of them.

🔱 Needs to remind himself to be a little easier with them. He's a bro at heart and likes the shoulder claps and a friendly punch in the arm or something. But sometimes he forgets how much stronger he is compared to all other trolls so sometimes these friendly gestures come on too strong and leaves them with a big ol bruise (owie). He's good about this for the most part!

Sorry for how long it took to post this, hopefully the length of this makes up for it!!