#I needed a bat protecting my dash/blog

[sokkascroptop]

More Than Friends (sokka x f!reader)

A/N: Here's a lovely little one-shot written for Nina's (@fromthewatertribe) 1K challenge!! This is technically a modern! AU with a female reader but if one was to think that this Y/N is the same Y/N from Traitor I wouldn't stop you ;)

Years ago… not literally since this blog is like 3 months old, but Like Way Back When I Started writing Traitor, someone mentioned a Modern AU… and I wrote like, a full outline for it… fully not expecting to do anything with it. Well, today is the day. Here you have it, Sokka x Y/N modern au, but like only just a stitch of it since I might want to go somewhere with this eventually. I am purposefully leaving out the explicit content that I wrote for ✨reasons✨

When you come home from work and you notice your front door is unlocked and you know for a fact that you locked it before leaving for work, a normal person’s first thought would be to call the police. Y/N was not a normal person.

She turned the doorknob to her and Katara’s apartment as quietly as she could. As she stepped inside she peered around the living room. No one. Without looking away she felt along the wall for the softball bat she kept propped just inside the door. 

“It’s for protection, Katara!” She would always say whenever Katara opened the door a bit too far and sent the bat sliding down the wall to clang against the hardwoods. Katara hated that bat. Y/N, in the moment, loved it. 

Y/N slowly started creeping towards the hallway that led to her bedroom and bathroom, but a sudden noise from the kitchen startled her. She backtracked and stood just outside the doorway, the bat hefted in the air, ready to roll heads in a moment’s notice. 

She jumped when she heard another noise, like metal scraping on metal, followed by someone singing quietly under their breath. What kind of robber does that?!

“Whoever is in there, I have a bat and I’m not afraid to use it!” Y/N yelled. 

She heard a laugh and then a head peeked around the corner. Sokka smiled at her defensive stance. “Still thinking about using it?”

Y/N let out a heavy sigh of relief and dropped her arms, letting the top of the bat hit the floor. She could feel the pounding of her heart slow. “Why do you do this to me?” 

Sokka frowned and held up a spatula. “I am literally making you food. Don’t be snotty.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she rushed forward. “What are you making me? I don’t smell anything.” She stood on her tiptoes to look over Sokka’s shoulder.

Sokka placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back down to flat-feet. “I just started. Patience. Go shower or something and I’ll be done when you get back.” He turned her around and gave her a gentle push out of the kitchen.

“What would I do without you?” Y/N asked over her shoulder. 

She was met with a very exasperated groan. “Well apparently, neither you or Katara would ever eat. There was nothing in your fridge!”

Y/N hid a giggle behind her hand as she walked to the bathroom. It was true, she and Katara lived on take-out most of the time.

---

Y/N did what Sokka told her to and took her time in the shower, letting the warm water relax her tense muscles. Between classes and work, she barely had any time to do anything; cooking and showers longer than five minutes included. 

The food was even better than she had hoped; she tried to remember the last time she had a meal that wasn’t from a box or off a take-out menu. 

“It was alright,” Y/N shrugged as she licked the edge of her spoon and set her empty bowl on the center table. She leaned back on the couch and wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders. 

Sokka scoffed. “I can tell since you practically licked the bowl clean.”

Y/N leaned forward and grabbed the tv remote. “Shut it,” she murmured with a smile. “You could have eaten some too you know.”

“Nah, I put the leftovers in the fridge for you and Katara tomorrow. I can’t be here cooking every night.”

“Why not? I’d like that.”

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Of course you would, you’re obsessed with me.”

Y/N scoffed. “You were the one who let himself into my apartment to make me dinner. Sounds like you’re obsessed with me! Do I need to revoke your key?”

“That’s it. I’m taking the leftovers and leaving.” Sokka made to stand but Y/N wrapped her hands around his bicep. 

“Can you stay for a bit? I wanna watch something scary and I can’t do that by myself.” 

Sokka snuggled in next to her under the blanket. “Sure thing.” 

---

It was about halfway through the movie when the exhaustion of the day hit her. Y/N slid down further on the couch and rested her cheek against Sokka’s shoulder.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” Sokka murmured, just louder than the tv. 

“I’m just preparing to hide my face is all.” 

At that, Sokka lifted his arm and she slid under it and pressed her cheek against his chest. She was warm and content and she definitely could have fallen asleep had the music of the movie not begun to change. It was something faster-paced and anxiety inducing. 

Much like she anticipated, the next scene made her gasp in fear and jump half-way into Sokka’s lap. 

Sokka chuckled. “Are you okay?” His hands settled on her hips, holding her close. 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah, of course. I’m not even scared.”

“Do we need to get your bat? For protection from the clown on the television?” Sokka’s hands didn’t move from her, in fact Y/N was sure they tightened when she began to move away. So she stopped.

Y/N felt a little breathless. Probably just from the scary movie. 

“Maybe. You think it’ll help?” There was a stillness in the air between them and Y/N realized how close they had gotten in the moment. 

“Yeah, I think you can take him,” Sokka whispered. His words were meant to be banter but it didn’t feel like it anymore, not with the way Sokka was looking at her with eyes that were so dark they looked like the night sky. 

Y/N leaned in first. She was drawn towards him like a magnet. She had lost all self control and for the first time Y/N just wanted to know what he tasted like.

The second their lips connected, Y/N waited for Sokka to move away. To detach himself from her and push the blanket away and make some excuse about how he had to be up early and let himself out. So she was all the more pleased when he didn’t.

The kiss was slow and chaste and hesitant as if both of them were waiting for the other’s revulsion. But it never came. 

One second, Y/N was high in the clouds and the next she was standing and pacing in the middle of the living room, the movie in the background long forgotten.

“Oh my spirits, Sokka!”

“What? It wasn’t bad, was it?” The smirk on his face was clear. This was not a one-sided thing. 

Y/N’s thoughts swirled in her head. Was she missing something? Because unless she was hallucinating, Sokka definitely just kissed her back and then acted like it was normal for two best friends to do that.

It didn’t matter what she was thinking, her mouth answered for her. “Well, no but–” 

Sokka’s smile widened and Y/N blushed. 

He reached out and grabbed her hand. “That’s great, let’s do it again.”

“But you’re my best friend! And Katara!” Y/N’s head felt it was going to explode. “Katara is my best friend too!” 

She twisted her hand around, not pulling away but sliding their fingers to interlock them. She sat back down on the couch, trying to remember where she was before. Was she too close now? Too far away? She didn’t want to send the wrong message. What was the right message?

He smiled knowingly at her. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Of course I know that...”

Sokka was slowly pulling her closer to him with the grip on her hand and Y/N was completely letting him. 

This time when they kissed, she could feel him smiling against her lips. Not that Y/N wasn’t doing the same thing. Sokka! Her brain screamed. She was actually kissing Sokka and she liked it!

Y/N pulled away and let out a little giggle. She didn’t even have time to ask him what they were doing when Sokka pulled her back in for another kiss. 

“Stop moving away from me,” He murmured. His thumb traced her jawline and the other hand was on her thigh.Y/N’s heart raced as she began to wonder how far this was going to go.

All thoughts were quickly dashed as Y/N parted her lips and Sokka slipped his tongue inside. She grabbed his wrists and pushed his hands off of her. 

Sokka jerked away suddenly, his face a mask of horror, clearly concerned that somewhere he had crossed the line. However, Y/N was thinking the opposite. Maybe he hadn’t quite gone far enough. 

She climbed over his legs to straddle him and pressed his hands into the back of the couch. Sokka’s eyes widened and Y/N gave a little shrug before she kissed the corner of his mouth. She trailed down his jawline and neck, placing soft kisses along the way. She stopped at his collarbone, leaving a love bite that made Sokka groan. 

Y/N let go his hands to take out his ponytail because she just wanted to run her fingers through his hair like she knew he liked. Sokka took that opportunity to grab her waist and pull her closer, as if they weren’t already flush against each other.

They were kissing again, hard, as if this was the only thing left in the world. Sokka’s teeth clacked painfully against hers but it didn’t stop either of them. They just needed to be closer. Just them. Together. Sokka’s hands roamed over her body, never stopping in once place for too long, like he was trying to make up for lost time that he wasn’t able to touch her in this way.

Y/N broke away even though every muscle in her body told her not to and sat back on Sokka’s thighs. Sokka swiped a thumb over her bottom lip and Y/N grinned.

She shook her head in disbelief as she tried to wrap her mind around the last few minutes. Her fingers traced over his cheekbones and jaw as she tried to memorize this feeling of pleasure and excitement in one. She needed to remember the look in Sokka’s eyes in case this never happened again.

“How did we get here?” She asked softly. 

“I think it was a long time coming.” Sokka mirrored the smile on her face.

“Yeah?” 

“We’re more than friends and you know it. Always have been.”

“Well, I wish you would have said something sooner,” Y/N pouted. “We could have been doing this a long time ago.”

[justcourttee]

I Won’t Try Again-Pt 3

The word apartment didn’t even begin to describe the building Marinette was standing in.

“I have to post this on my blog!”

Alya grabbed Nino’s arm as she dragged him off to tour the supposed apartment, filming everything in sight.

“Mr. Wayne, I couldn’t possibly accept this!” Marinette barely squeaked the words out as she turned in the entrance to face the man.

He smirked as he offered her his arm to walk her through the place.

“Nonsense. You need the best space to design clothes for me and my family, plus I’m sure you all would like your alone time at the end of the day. Three bedrooms, a design room, and a grand kitchen for baking as I read in your resume, is a favorite pastime of yours?”

She raised an eyebrow as she offered a smile to the Wayne. He was thoughtful and remembered something from her resume. But something was still off about him. What rich boy would run directly into danger? Wouldn’t his first thought be to run away?

“Thank you Mr. Wayne. It all truly means the world to me.”

“Please, call me Damian. And don’t thank me just yet. I still want a taste of your talent. How about tomorrow? I can send Alfred to pick you up and bring you to the manor. This way you can get everyone’s measurements and learn what I am expecting out of this internship.”

She nodded slightly as he dropped his arm and picked up her hand. Carefully, he placed a kiss on the back of her hand sending Marinette’s stomach into a flurry.

“Until tomorrow Miss Dupen-Chang.”

“Se-see-see ya”

She managed an awkward wave as he backed out the front door, pulling it closed behind him.

“Marinette?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still waving.”

Marinette flushed red as she dropped her hand quickly, turning to face her laughing friend. Adrien wiped a tear from his eye as he sat at the dining room table.

“I thought you were well past the stuttering around cute guys phase.”

She groaned as she threw her head into her hands.

“I know!” she groaned. “But he might be my boss! And there’s nothing romantic between us, for sure. In fact, there’s something off about him.”

Adrien nodded in agreement.

“It was weird how he knew something was off in the airport before any alarm sounded. Also, didn’t the guys say something to him?”

Marinette looked up, her eyebrows furrowing.

“They did. Something about Ivy wanting an answer from his father, but hasn’t Bruce Wayne been missing for some time now?”

Adrien shrugged his shoulders.

“It wouldn’t be the first time a rich billionaire disappeared from society.  My father did it successfully for a while. Maybe he is in Wayne Manor, taking a break from society.”

Marinette sighed and nodded. It made sense. There was never a funeral for Bruce Wayne, only an announcement that his adoptive son Tim Drake-Wayne and his biological one Damian Wayne would be taking over his company while he stepped away for a minute. However, that minute turned into two years, and everyone began to assume that something happened to the billionaire.

“Girl, we need to tour the city. Like, now.”

Alya was beaming as she grabbed Marinette’s hand. Nino grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter and nodded in agreement. Sighing, Marinette shot a smile at Adrien as the two got up, excited to see Marinette’s possible new home.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Damian sighed as he slipped into the chair in front of the bat monitors. Alfred jumped into his lap, purring and demanding his attention.

“What do you think Alfred? What happened earlier? What has my father gotten himself into?”

The cat simply purred as he butted his head into Damian’s chest.

“Perhaps Master Damian, your father could be of some assistance?”

Damian turned to face the butler, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Perhaps Alfred, but he has yet to return any of my messages in the past month. I am concerned he has gotten into something he cannot handle.”

Alfred nodded in thought as he placed a tray of tea beside the young man, gathering the cat into his arms.

“I have known Master Bruce for quite some time, Master Damian. And while he has been in many tough situations before, he has never once disappointed. He is hard-headed, intelligent and strong. He may push his limits, but more times than not, he knows when to ask for help. I would not be too concerned.”

Damian turned back toward the monitors as he sighed. Deep down, he knew Alfred was right, but part of him still itched to know what was happening and where his father might be. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice the footsteps approaching from behind.

“What happened today Damian?”

He whipped around, swinging his katana, stopping short at his assailant’s neck.

“Grayson, you should know better than to sneak up on a man in thought.”

Dick laughed dryly as he pushed the katana down and stepped closer.

“You’re getting soft Damian. A couple years ago, you would have never allowed me to get this close.”

Damian let out a soft growl as he put  his weapon down.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to know what happened today. It was all over the news, ‘Damian Wayne held captive at the airport, saved by mysterious beauty.’”

Damian pulled up the article on the monitors staring at the blurry picture of Marinette pulling him towards the limo and away from the men. He sighed as he turned back to face Dick. Of course there was paparazzi. He tried so hard to stay out of the limelight, but when his father left it, he was thrust into it. Luckily, they didn’t catch the young designer's face. This wasn’t how he wanted to introduce her.

“Some of Ivy’s lackeys spotted me at the airport. It was almost as if they knew where I was and when. Before they reached the limo, I dashed into the airport to keep them contained. They wanted father, but for what, I do not know.”

He looked down in thought as Dick took in the information.

“What are you leaving out?”

Damian met his eyes as Dick stared down at him with his arms crossed.

“There was an-” he paused to think of the right words, “odd occurrence that allowed for my escape. One moment, I was surrounded, the next, approximately two dozen bats were dive bombing the men. Not once did they touch me, and they seemed to be invincible as when the men shot at them, they still continued attacking.”

Dick looked stunned as he searched Damian for any sign of humor, anything that might sound like a joke. When he didn’t find anything, he finally spoke.

“Bats. In the airport. Scratch that. Invincible bats in the airport who protected you.”

Damian simply nodded. He knew how it sounded, hell, he knew how it looked too. There was no straight or logical answer he could think of.

“At first I thought perhaps father sent drones to protect me, but there was no whir of machinery. They moved and sounded like live bats, but they appeared out of nowhere. Unless he figured out a way to weaponize the animal, I have nothing.”

Before Dick could even respond, the static of the police radio sounded through the batcave.

“We need backup at Gotham Green House, stat. Possible hostage situation. They’re demanding to speak to Bruce Wayne.”

The two Waynes shared a look before they took off. Magical bats could wait, someone needed their help.

Tag List:

@amayakans @maribat-is-lifeblood @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @moonlightstar64 @myazael @anonymously-odd @zebrabaker @crazylittlemunchkin  @moonystars14 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mandy984 @mysupporthyperfixations 

[duckbeater]

Four Short Stories

I’ve been sharing quick, minimally constructed stories with my friend Peter, as a way of batting away the rust around my writing. Now that I’ve sat with them for a week or more, and tinkered with them not at all, I’m ready to graduate them to Duck Beater, my horcrux, I mean my blog. 

I HAVE RECENTLY MET SOME VERY POWERFUL GODS

Oh, I stopped going. I gave up the gym because I wasn’t changing. What was my libido then? Tortured, I think, by coltish undergrads in form-fitting sweatpants. Weirdly, I noticed my mood improved if I looked at dogs. If I saw beautiful, loyal dogs in the evenings, open and knowable and kind—I felt my soul swell with every passing. It was a harder kick than studying strangers on the stationary bikes ahead of me. Weirder still, I developed a kind of superstition about these dogs on my nightly jogs. I sought them out, for the contact high. I would say to myself, “I’m gonna see five gods tonight.” Gods not dogs. “I’m gonna see six gods tonight.” I didn’t need to touch them but I did need to pass them and look into their eyes. “I’m gonna see seven gods tonight.” Anyway. That’s why I run outside.

PERFECT GAMES FOR COWORKERS WHO ARE IN LOVE

This one is called “Be Messy, Make Mistakes,” so named for the legend on a coffee mug. The rules are simple:

Wait for it.

Wait a day more for it.

The comparison rankles, but it’s impossibly obvious: Your design lead looks like a young Joseph Stalin (of the 1902 mugshot). Same wavy hair, oiled and swept away from the face, the sides short enough to reveal perfect “number 6” ears. Then the well-groomed beard; the merry dark eyes; the propensity for scarves worn under woolen coats, slightly too large.

Say: “You look like a young Joseph Stalin.” There’s no taking it back. “See.”

Present the results of a quick Google search (two tabs you’ve already opened).

“That’s pretty wild!”

“You’re really a dead ringer.”  

“Well, my family’s Russian.”

“Mm, so—so there could be—”

“A history that ties me to a war criminal, yes.”

You’re sitting side by side now with the perfect excuse to study his face, then the face of young Soso. For this photo, the Okhrana picked up Stalin just after the Batumi Massacre, and his expression, you find, is alight with the flame of revolution. For the sake of comparison, you're allowed to stare deeply, dreamily into your design lead's eyes again.

While he’s here, review some of the updated marketing collateral. Every item earns an affectionate knee touch. (Seriously, he taps your kneecap.)

You say, “New photo.”

He taps.

You say, “Colors print ready.”

He taps.

You say, “Ts and Cs.”

He taps.

Neither of you wins if he leaves his wife and kids.

WHEN THE SHARK BITES

One narrative that preoccupied me during my first serious relationship had to do with the Wright brothers—what the brothers were like as gawky teens. How they celebrated Halloween, where they rode bikes, cemeteries they explored on dares—that sort of thing. I was just out of college and crushing, apparently, on Wilbur, whose photo I’d seen at the Wayne County Historical Museum. I hungered for anachronism. I hungered, too, for love, and so gobbled up a dashing young man in Mississippi. While he fulfilled his tenure in Teach for America, I waited tables in Ohio and, when the spirit moved me, drove out to Dayton to explore the Wright archives.

This was a long time ago, when I was really into Thomas Pynchon and took everything for a sign. Everything conferred a “storm system of group suffering and need,” and there I was, pockets full of cash tips, full up of suffering and need, lamenting the distance from my lover and staunching an uncanny stream of rejection letters from graduate writing programs. Nobody wanted to fund my historiographic metafictions. And who could blame them.

The Wrights were awkward teenagers torqued more fabulously awkward by their mother’s slow death, their father’s increased absences, and the unsuccessful pursuits of their older brothers, who seemed to fail at everything they tried. Wilbur and Orville read widely enough to know their fortunes were unhappy (indeed, they sometimes signed their letters “Smike”). They lived in a small, comfortable city that elevated their ambitions to a high, miserable plateau, and their attempts to paper over poisoned circumstances—to write themselves an antidote—became a project that possibly saved themselves and their younger sister Katherine from fates like those in Dickens’ sentimental tragedies.

The stories I wrote, taken all together, would form The Falconers, a psychological novel that connected slender, depressed fellows to future, strapping heroes. How do lowly men become legends? How do cycling-obsessed boys conquer the skies? (It was that kind of story, with zits.) Thrillingly, my boyfriend moved to Falconer Avenue, just across from the middle school in Holly Springs. Every other month I made the eleven-hour drive, accepting blow jobs and raw dogs and golden showers as reward—monoliths of frantic, first-time sex to confirm our completely successful relationship. And this frosting? Was it frosting! I wrote chapters for The Falconers on Falconer Avenue. The world made perfect sense.

Of course, none of it “came to pass,” as Pynchon’s narrator in Against the Day is fond of saying. The novel fell apart. The boyfriend and I broke up. Still, when I revisit Wright letters and Wright biographies, I’m hounded by a mysterious and entirely inappropriate erection—that is, a kind of Pynchonian kink.

AFTER PICKING A FIGHT IN A BAR

People were gentler with me, I think, with my black eye. It was the week between Christmas and the New Year, I had obviously been in a row, not elbowed, not tripped, and so in addition to looking smaller and darker and sadder than is usual for the holidays, I also looked more crazed and vicious. Why this would compel others to treat me gently does not signify a particular gentleness, or generosity, on their parts—but rather, I detected, a means to protect themselves. If I was not able to defend myself then surely they could defend against me. Kindness is a soft weapon. I rarely wielded it but was nonetheless always disarmed by it. Gentleness did not make me more gentle. I spent the week puzzled by unnecessary soft gestures and soothing voices. I spent the week reminding myself my special treatment was because I looked beat down, not because I was special. Besides, what could that mean? “Special.” Chosen, preferred, anointed, deserving, etc. I sometimes thought about what the world owed me, that week. I landed on “abstention.” Not mercy or forgiveness but rather a quiet space to be alone in earnest, all obligations off, responsibilities tamped down, remission. I had the week off work, which, my brother let me know, was a kind of mercy, because it’s always professionally suspect to arrive at work with a shiner. Colleagues ask questions and bosses harbor suspicions. I was fortunate in that my face could recuperate without scrutiny.

[cgmayra]

I assume you've played Sonic Adventure and therefore know Gamma's story. I had this idea that Gamma could fall in love with Amy after she saves him. Obviously she wouldn't reciprocate because feeling attraction towards machinery is nigh impossible. Just an idea I had for you. Appreciate your writing!

Sonic Adventure was very fun! I have fond memories of the game :)c

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN! Please do not send me any requests at this time!

Commissions can be made through my blog’s tab or by simply messaging me, please go over specific rules first before any purchases!

Also, I appreciate your request. Gamma needs more love! lol And yeah, Amy wouldn’t feel anything more than friendship for a flicky, but I like the idea that one falls for her charms and big heart XD

This also reminds me of Game-Grumps lololol (they made a comment like this I think once. Ha!)

Prompt:

It was hard to process emotions when you’ve been turned into metal, but as Gamma looked through his green specs at the young hedgehog girl, he could briefly feel the muscles on his weakened wings. They felt stripped of flight, of the power of free life. For a moment, a tiny heart fluttered when his wings could not.

Amy…

Her name was Amy…

He had witnessed his friend, brother, and comrade be taken away to destruction by Eggman’s command and said nothing. Suddenly, the young hedgehog girl was asking him to find the remaining humanity still left in him, depart from the robotic pull of the machine strangling his tiny body into its control.

What gave her so much compassion towards his steely hide. What aided her in seeing the helpless little Flicky he truly was inside? He had forgotten so much… and yet…

He could, for a brief moment, imagine he was staring out from the robot. He imagined himself a small bird again, gazing at a girl he wished to perch on and nuzzle with loving affection.

She had loved him when all she could see was a robot. She had pleaded and given him back what he had thought he lost. She was…

Everything to him now.

He was a number with a gun. She stood before him when destruction in the form of a blue hedgehog was going to eliminate him.

A friend… she considered a robot, unfeeling and destructive, to have a heart and soul.

He had protected her back, he had released himself from his prison… at least…

Was the Flicky Gamma? Or was Gamma like a faint dream and that strange other life was still somehow living on inside him?

He had recently reunited with his family, but as his pink little wings fluttered along the coasting wind, he looked to see that same pink hedgehog girl moving on to Station Square.

After a moment’s pause, he joined her.

Finally, his longing to perch on her shoulder and squish his cheek against hers in a loving thanks could be realized!

But then he never wanted to leave.

After seeing him off, he perched on a branch and sorrowfully watched her enter the train, waving to him as he flapped his little wings in a return sign of mutual missing.

When the train departed, he ruffled his feathers and pouted. His companions noticed this and began to think…

With some help, and careful communication with gestures and claw-drawings, they were able to tell Tails that this little Flicky wanted to do more than just live freely in bliss.

He had a job to do and a hedgehog to protect.

Tails loosely understood and began to rebuild his Gamma incarnation, but before this, the little Flicky knew he couldn’t be away from Amy for long.

So a few weeks later…

There was a persistent tapping on the window, as Amy awoke with her face smushed into the pillow, trying to drown out the annoying ticking.

“Ohhh… What now?” she wiggled her face around the pillow before leaning up, yawning slightly and rubbing her eyes as she carefully tossed the bedsheet aside and looked out the window.

“Hmm..? Birdie? No… Ah! The Flicky Gamma saved!” She gasped, excited to see the handsome little bird sitting on the windowsill.

He puffed up his chest, happily panting at his accomplishment of getting her recognition.

She immediately opened the window and he flew up to her, flying around her in a circle as she spun along with him.

“Oh my! Hehe, you sure are full of vigor. I’m so glad you are safe.” She placed her hands neatly on her chest, overlapping the other.

Her sincere words filled him with great joy. She was still the loving Amy Rose he remembered through Gamma’s hazy memories.

“Oh, are you hungry?”

He chirped.

“Well, I’ll have you know I make the best food there is!” with a hop in her step, she hurried to her kitchen and the Flicky happily followed.

Once there, he helped her prepare a meal for each other, all the while whistling his affections for her.

He gripped the spoon with both talons and stirred before, looking over to see a radio and remembering something from being a machine.

He flew over and tapped it on with his beak, able to vaguely recognize words.

“Hmm?” Amy’s ear flicked a bit as a classic swing song came on. She laughed, “You’re a smart little Flicky.” she grinned warmly as he flew over and flapped his wings a bit in the air.

Then, out of nowhere, he swooped down and lightly took her hand in his beak, spinning her around.

“Ohh!” She was pleasantly surprised but realized he was trying to dance with her. “You’re just full of surprises!” she giggled, curtsying.

Everything was going to plan! The little Flicky gave a closed-eye smile in glee,… but that changed the second the wind blew by the door.

“Huh? It couldn’t be… could it?” Amy looked around the Flicky, hearing a knock that jolted her in spot. “Sonic?” There was a pause.

“The one and only.” A chippy voice spoke out.

“Sonic!” her enthusiasm in rushing to the door left the Flicky hovering in spot, disappointed that the same expression hadn’t been created with his own tactic.

When she opened the door, everything was about Sonic, and the Flicky was left as an decoration flying in the corner.

This new dynamic, her cooing and fawning over him as she made him some food and ignored him, left him in such wild, instinctual jealousy that he had gripped Amy’s shoulder and death-glared Sonic the whole time.

“Just thought I’d drop by! Tails says that family of Flickies you saved has a surprise for you.”

He ate some food as Amy reached down and pulled some food up for the Flicky to eat.

Angstily, he quickly grabbed it and chewed in the other direction, making her confused as to his behavior.

“Really? Oh… I really don’t need anything but their happiness though.” She smiled and lovingly scratched beneath the Flicky’s beak.

His feathers couldn’t help it, they ruffled and puffed and he melted at her touch.

“Haha! Seems to really like you, Amy.”

“Hehe! He even asked me dance! Unlike some shy hedgehogs I know.” she poked fun at him, huffing a sly remark and forcing Sonic to fold his arms and look away, not commenting.

Gamma! If the Flicky could regain his form that Amy had first bonded too, maybe he could receive more attention than Sonic!

The little Flicky suddenly went ballistic, cawing and crying out, tugging on Amy’s dress to get her to follow him.

“Woah, woah! What’s gotten into him?” She was being dragged away by the Flicky, and Sonic got up to see what was going on.

“He seems pretty determined to get you out of the house.” He noted, before shrugging and pivoting away. “Oh well. Looks like your charms are too much for him, Amy.”

“Oh, stop that, Sonic! Help me out!”

“With what? He’s just a small Flicky. Bat him away if you really want too.” Sonic gestured weakly the motion, mostly mocking her as the little Flicky flapped his wings with all his might.

“Where do you think he’s taking me?”

“Tails’s, I’d imagine.”

“OoooOOOOOoooh! Why are you acting so calm! He wasn’t acting this way this morning…” she looked worriedly to the Flicky as she finally gave in and stopped resisting, walking in whichever direction he pulled her.

“Persistent, isn’t he?” Sonic frowned a moment, seeing as Amy let the little tike win. “Guess I have too.” He sighed, racing after her.

After having tugged her so far, the Flicky realized she would willingly followed and started guiding the two. Though he pecked at Sonic whenever he got too close to walking alongside Amy… he finally led the pair to Tails’s workshop up on the hill.

“Hey! Sonic! Amy!” Tails waved but upon the hill, “I was just about to phone you!”

“No need. A little birdie told us it couldn’t wait.” Sonic joked, pointing his reversed thumb back at the Flicky, who with determined eyes, raced to Tails.

He briefly reunited with the other Flickies, who hurriedly told him how to access the new metallic body and regain his previous form.

“Tails, what’s this all about?” Amy worriedly looked to him, but he just chuckled in delight.

“Your new friends seem to really owe a lot to you. I think they wanted to bring back an old friend for ya, thinking you might have missed him.”

“Who?” Amy put a finger up to her cheek, trying to recall any Flickies she may have missed on her little adventure. “It hasn’t been that long… has it?”

The Flicky dived like an arrow into the deactivated, scraped Eggman contraption Tails had put together. It was as close to the real look as he would have hoped. He moved into the pod that would serve as a source for the robot and began moving his wings into what he thought might be the right position for them.

Suddenly, the machine whirred to life and little wires and lights began to buzz on all around him.

He opened his beak, his eyes sparkling with the thought of Amy dashing into his metallic frame and hugging him with blissful glee, just like she did the blue hedgehog.

He closed his eyes… expecting the experience to be very similar to the first time.

But it wasn’t painful… it wasn’t happening.

He worriedly squawked, his friends looking down at him as he struggled to kick and try and make the thing absorb his essence.

Tails, Sonic, and Amy approached the garage as Amy saw the little device, like a puppet, start to wiggle and turn.

She covered her mouth, “I-…Is that…?”

Tails smiled to Sonic, who nudged his arm as though saying, ‘Good job’ with a wink.

“E-102 GAMMA. REPORTING FOR HUGGINGS.” The little Flicky learned quickly that Tails had not perfectly designed the robot to match Eggman’s sadistic ways. Instead, it was more like an operating gizmo, one he could manually move and speak at his will.

The other Flickies flew a few inches away as the robot stood up, resembling Gamma very well as it stared blankly out at Amy Rose.

It gripped its gun and fired a warning shot to get Sonic to move back.

“H-Hey!” Sonic tip-toed away from the beam, but clearly looked on edge.

“Woah! What was that all about!?” Tails turned worriedly upset to the Flickies. “I gave you that to help out! Not to hurt my friends!”

The other Flickies glared down at the robot, Birdie even giving it a swift kick to remind the Flicky inside to play nice.

Gamma bounced wildly for a moment, as though mocking Sonic, before tucking the gun to his side and holding out his hand to Amy.

“MISS HEDGEHOG. I HAVE FOUND A WAY TO REPAY YOU FOR YOUR KINDNESS. I HAVE RETURNED TO SET A BLAZE TO EGGMAN, AND TO PROTECT ALL WE BOTH CHERISH.”

“Oh, Gamma!” Amy was moved, but worriedly looked to the smoking area where Gamma had fired. “But… Make sure you keep that blaster in its holster! Understood?” she put her hands to her hips, a slight lean forward to show she meant business, as Gamma stepped back a moment in unbalanced shame.

“I MEANT NO THREAT. HE WAS JUST TOO CLOSE TO YOUR EXCELLENCE AND BEAUTY.”

Tails and Sonic gave confused looks to Gamma, but Amy giggled, absolutely smitten by his words.

“You’re too kind~ But Sonic is allowed to be in my presence, so no worries!”

“B-BU-BU-BU-BUT!” rapidly bouncing again, Gamma seemed to very much appose Sonic’s permission to be near her.

“No, buts!” Amy winked, wiggling her finger in a scold. “However, I would absolutely love to give you a hug, old friend!”

Sonic gagged as Tails just awkwardly sweatdropped, scratching the back of his head.

“Guess he wanted more than a thank you from her… huh?”

“Oh, you think?” Sonic joked, rolling his eyes as he ignored Amy’s energetic jump into Gamma’s arms.

“YES. I HAVE DONE IT. I HAVE ACQUIRED YOUR PURE AFFECTION.” Gamma happily held her as the little Flicky did a cute little dance inside his new robotic toy.

Amy giggled, “I didn’t realize you wanted to thank me so much, even going back inside such a dark and scary experience for you… just to say hello again to little old me.” Amy trailed off, missing his point as he realized something very heartbreaking.

“YOU… YOU ONLY SEE ME AS THE ROBOT?”

“Oh no! I see you as that charming little Flicky you always were too!”

“…YOU SEE ME NOT AS I HAD HOPED.” The Robot leaned down, showing the Flicky’s disappointment as he gently set her down.

“I SEE NOW… THAT HEDGEHOG… HE IS THE OBJECT OF YOUR AFFECTIONS. THERE IS NO ROOM FOR A FLICKY OR ROBOT.”

“That’s not true! Many people dwell in my heart!” Amy happily placed her hands over her heart, then guided Gamma’s to the circular opening where the Flicky had flown inside. “Just like you hold a very special one in yours!”

The same feeling of understanding and affection filled the little Flicky, but he decided to pull more affection out of Amy by playing dumb.

“DOES NOT COMPUTE. HOLD HAND LONGER.”

“Umm… Like this?”

“YES. THIS IS GOOD.”

“Oh you. This isn’t even your real hand!” She let it go and reached in the circular hole all the way to the little Flicky, who happily, with a blush, reached out and let her touch his wing.

“Oh! There you are!”

He smiled sweetly, darting out of the machine and embracing her head, lightly pecking her with kisses on her forehead and cheeks.

Amy placed her hands over her face, giggling at the affections and squealing at how much it tickled.

Sonic continued to look uncomfortable while Tails looked to the other Flickies, nodding to them.

“I think I’ll keep Gamma Mark II with me. As long as he doesn’t blow anything up, he can come by and operate it anytime he wants too.” Tails gestured with a hand to shake on it and one of the little Flickies flew down and gave him his talon, shaking to it.

“You’re awfully nice, Tails.”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for giving others their hearts true desire~” he teased as he nodded his head back to Amy.

His tails wagged as Sonic groaned, turning his head away.

Amy jumped up and down when the Flicky returned to Gamma’s form and Gamma lifted her hand and spun her around.

They had an awkward dance, where Amy would do a little jig and then have Gamma, while standing in place, lift his arm to twirl her every now and then from side to side.

It was a cute moment, but the Flicky knew he wouldn’t lose his gratitude nor love for Amy Rose… but that perhaps, in either form, it wasn’t meant to be.

[liittlemac-a]

SO GIGA MAC HUH !!!!!!!

throws under a cut to keep dash clean. u guys are welcome

Personally, I think it’s kinda like the Hulk. Same dynamic, at least, and whilst he can hold it back to an extent... an intense adrenaline rush will force Giga out. He can also trigger it himself by just working himself up enough too, but I’ll get to why that doesn’t happen. Not usually.

Giga is not exactly an entirely seperate entity. It’s complex; Giga remembers Mac’s relationships very vaguely- the exact details and memories are missing, but he does know who he does like, and who he doesn’t, so on. So, someone like Toonie or Doc is never gonna get hurt by Giga. They might get man-handled a bit because hey he’s big now and he can do that, but, otherwise he won’t purposely hurt them.

And those he doesn’t like won’t get attacked right off the bat, infact he’s more inclined to avoid conflict (think of this form as like, a way of scaring others off), but if provoked, he won’t hesitate. So... keep that in mind.

as for why he doens’t purposely just let him out whenever he’s mad, Mac has no control over Giga’s actions, either, and he has a personality of his own, somewhat. He’s a little less stand-offish and defensive, as he doesn’t really need to be y’know, being fucking 7 foot tall with giant bulging muscles, but he can be just as hostile. he’s definitely as cocky as Mac, if not a bit more cocky. he can get a bit protective of those he knows Mac likes too

Mac doesn’t really remember what Giga does. Similarly to how Giga will only vaguely recognise Mac’s relationships, it’ll be a bit like de javu when he comes out of it. No real memories, but just sort of weirdly familiar.

Usually, Giga is a much, much more stable when Mac purposely allows him out, but will not revert back so easily. It’s the opposite for when it’s unconscious, vice versa.

also I like to think he’s more or less indestructable like this? emphasis on more or less. there’s a reason he comes out when he’s endangered, too- you can still injure him but its VERY very hard (considering this blog mostly takes place within Smash, probably not too hard for the other fighters though lol), but he will usually get back up unless the damage is extreme.

OH AND ALSO IF HE TAKES TOO MUCH DAMAGE OR HE’S TIRED... he will just automatically revert back. yeah. okay that’s it my essay is done

[hadariwizard]

I posted 2,077 times in 2022

That's 2,077 more posts than 2021!

16 posts created (1%)

2,061 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@maxiijay

@gooseyalghul-gumdrops

@rasalghul777

@scarletlyychnis

@arabian-batboy

I tagged 1,140 of my posts in 2022

Only 45% of my posts had no tags

#jason todd - 390 posts

#dc comics - 199 posts

#red hood - 195 posts

#talia al ghul - 186 posts

#damian wayne - 181 posts

#dc - 153 posts

#batman - 134 posts

#batfam - 120 posts

#bruce wayne - 113 posts

#dick grayson - 83 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#i’m so sorry i haven’t dealt with batcest shippers on any of ‘my’ posts but it’s come up on my dash and i block those bloggers so fast

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

5 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

#4

Hey does anyone know if Bruce having a no metas in Gotham rule is actually based in canon or did the fandom just make it up for drama

8 notes - Posted December 4, 2022

#3

My first attempt at writing fanfic I was hit with inspiration and free time so I wrote something

Constructive feedback is welcome

            After the fight Jason felt drained. Yes drained not exhausted, tired or even depleted just drained. In fact probably more drained then he’d felt since his stint across the globe training. He had just taken out and killed more people in one hour than he had previously ever done so. The worst part he would do it all again. As long as it kept Gotham and her people safe. The other bats really had no idea what it takes to truly protect and save Gotham. After all they couldn’t just capture the one hundred and fifty cobra cult members hell bent on sacrificing the city.

            Regardless he doubts Bruce or anyone else for that matter will agree. He knows it’s just a matter of time before they find out. To be honest he’s just so drained not from the killing but from the fighting with his family he knows will come. He knows they won’t see it his way. And he’s tired of fighting them regardless. Stuck between a rock and hard place staying and protecting Gotham or his family engaging all systems go in tracking him down and taking him in.

            He sighs the chill in the air not touching him through his armor and helmet. He knows he could take them down if he truly wanted to a part of him has known that for a while a smaller part of him thinks Bruce knows as well. His family is good no doubt about it in fact all of them together they are probably one of the most dangerous and competent groups of people out there. However, they are still undertrained compared to him the only ones that compare would be Bruce and Cass in fair fight he couldn’t take all of them down not together at least not now. Which would mean fighting dirty something he is very, very good at if he needs to be.

            All of this is assuming he chooses to stand his ground and fight. He could hide it would be hard especially with oracle against him but with some help from Talia he could manage. The question is does he flee or fight maybe try both and fail at both. He knows which ever he chooses must be committed to fully no room for doubt or hesitation or he will fail. Ultimately he can’t help Gotham for a while no matter what he does. So it’s decided flee no time for goodbyes shame he wished he could leave a message at least for the little one.

            With his decision made he takes a deep sigh steeling himself for the decision to run from his first home. Absently he wonders if his family will see why he did it.

            Hitting the secure dial he calls Talia with his helmet he can hear her breath on the other side of the phone. “Hey umii (Arabic for mom) I” he pauses she lets him take a moment “I need help I need to leave Gotham without any else knowing”.

            “Of course Habibi ( arabic affectionate term for loved ones) you will tell me more once you are secure”. He hears her reply and while most wouldn’t hear it he can pick up the tone of worry that she has when she is concerned.

            A small weight feels lifted from his shoulder now that he knows his mom will help him. He takes spit second to marvel that he has mom one who loves and supports him in a way he hasn’t truly felt before. 

8 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

#2

I found a really good quick summary that demonstrates just how capable Jason can be

17 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

DC Deep Dive: The Todd Family, Poverty and Patronizing Portrayals

This is a nice quick summary of some of the classism in DC

25 notes - Posted December 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[its-negans-lucille]

Coach

THIS IS A REUPLOAD

You can find my Masterlist HERE!

Prompt: Heyy, if you’re up for it, can I request an imagine where Negan was coach before the apocalypse (your 18-19 now) and  he finds you by  the road, realising you were his student and he takes you back to the Sanctuary and is really protective of you?? Sorry if it’s too long, love your blog <3 – Via @maddiemoo16602

Ships: None Words: 1,369 Warnings: Curses Category: Angst with a dash of fluff

***

You were walking down a street of an abandoned town, dilapidated houses either side of you. You kept your eyes peeled for any sort of movement. You heard nothing except the winds rushing through broken windows and long absent streets.

Ivy crawled up the once neatly panelled houses like a parasite. The neatly trimmed lawns and flowers which may have once been well kept and colourful were now overgrown with weeds which had killed the beautiful roses and daisies that once bloomed there long ago.

Your stomach rumbled as it had been for the past week. You had eaten nothing but a dead rat and even then you only ate half of it, its milky eyes felt although it was staring at you from beyond the grave.

You had been alone for maybe months? Possibly years? You had lost track of time when your mother had passed.

She had been bitten on a simple run, or at least it should’ve been simple. One minute you had been joking about something long ago, possibly school, you couldn’t remember now, when a walker had lunged at your mother from almost out of nowhere. Undoubtedly attracted by the scent of genuine joy and happiness.

After that you hadn’t returned to the group that you had previously belonged too. You had run and never looked back since. You usually blocked out such unpleasant memories of the past but your hunger was making you weak and slow.

You wandered around the small town for a while, only encountering a few of the corpses. You were so hungry that even their tainted flesh looked appealing to you. You shook that thought out of your head as soon as it had been established.

You eventually rested yourself on a swing which creaked loudly when you rested yourself on it. You tried to ignore the blood that stained the wood chips leading from the slide. You simply attempted to imagine what this town may have been like before the end of the world.

But if the world had ended, you thought to yourself idly, why am I still fighting? You were lost in thought for a great amount of time until you were brought out of your revelry by a low rumble.

You didn’t register what it was at first, turning your gaze to the dark and foreboding sky above you, thinking of thunder. But no, the rumble was gradually growing louder. Cars, you thought as you stood abruptly up and took out your pistol that had long run out of ammunition.

The sound seemed to echo around the abandoned houses, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact junction that the vehicles would immerge from.

The suddenly a convoy of dark cars and vans appeared from the junction directly behind you. You whirled around and turned to face the vehicles. You knew that it was too late to hide and that you were too weak to run. The cars circled the playground in the town centre until coming to an abrupt halt.

A man with a handlebar moustache immerged from a car; he had an unnervingly large smile on his face as he stood just beyond the playground fence.

“What’s a little lady like you doing out here all alone?” He called, a hand on his hip.

“Sight seeing.” You replied smartly.

“Sight seeing in a tiny town in good ol’ Georgia.” The man continued in an airy voice. “You part of any group around here?” He continued, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” You replied shortly. You began to back away, edging infinitesimally away.

“Well count me as-” The handle bar moustached man was cut off by a slam of a car door, the sound reverberated all around the houses and made you flinch.

“Simon! What the fuckty fucking hell is going on out here!” A man yelled from a few cars back. The voice reminded you of someone, though you weren’t entirely sure who.

Then the tall and lean form of a man that you thought you would never see again sauntered out from behind one of the large vans. He wore a leather jacket with a blood red scarf tucked into it. He also wore plain pants with dark, mud stained boots.

“Neg- I mean- mister Negan?” You corrected yourself swiftly. You were frowned and scrutinizing him from under his new salt and pepper scruff.

“Mister Negan, huh, well I fucking love that.” Negan said, he had yet to set eyes on you. You could spy a lethal baseball bat, with barbed wire curled tightly around its tip, slung over Negan’s shoulder. “Who’s askin- holy shit.” Negan said. He had finally laid his dark and penetrating gaze on you. “(Y/N)?” Negan asked, running a hand down his scruff.

“Dammit, if any of those disappointing sons of fucks would survive the end of the damn world it would be you.” Negan chuckled, striding over to you and giving you his coach handshake that he had with all the kids in his classes.

“Negan? You know her?” Simon asked, leaning backwards to get a good look at you.

“Hell yes I know her. My star fucking student. Won the regionals in running for two fucking years in a row!” Negan proclaimed loudly, almost like a proud father. “Would’ve been three if it weren’t for this shit show.” He motioned around with his hand airily, indicating the state of the world.

“Where did you go? How’d you get out? After the school was hit I mean.” You asked, all of a sudden giddy with joy for the first time in months.

“A good magician never tells his secrets.” Negan said wisely, avoiding the question entirely while tapping the left side of his nose.

“Bullshit!” You replied, playfully punching Negan’s shoulder.

“Language! What would your mother say if she heard you?!” Negan reprimanded in a joking tone. “What happened to your mom anyway, huh?” Negan asked in a genuinely interested voice. Your mom and Negan had always had some kind of on-off relationship; one that had been off ever since Lucille, Negan’s previous wife, had passed away.

That was when you fell down from cloud nine. Negan didn’t know. Well how could he? He wasn’t with you when it happened. He didn’t know about the pain and suffering you had gone through. You couldn’t blame him for asking about her.

“You in there, (Y/N)?” Negan asked, leaning down so that he was at your eye level.

“Yeah- yeah I’m here. Sorry.” You stuttered, attempting to get your words out. You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. You saw Negan’s face change from charismatic and smiling to frowning and eventually to concern.

“Oh.” Negan said finally, running a hand down his scruff. “She. . . didn’t make it?” Negan asked quietly.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself with words as you were sure that your voice may break if you did. You avoided Negan’s eye, far too interested in the ground and the dark sky than his intense gaze. That was, however, until you felt two arms engulfed you in a warm embrace.

You didn’t cry, you knew that. You didn’t think that there were enough emotions in you to cry. Your grief was too great for trivial tears.

“I’m sorry.” You heard Negan whisper in a genuine tone that none of his men could hear.

You didn’t reply. You had shut off that part of yourself that felt the pain of your loss. As far as that self knew your mother was back at your quaint, suburban home cooking your favourite food.  You had made it this far fooling yourself, you could continue.

“Come back to our base.” Negan said, stepped away from you and swiftly picking up the baseball bat once again. “We have food, water… everything you’d need.” Negan continued imploringly. “You’d be an asset.”

It took you no time to decide what you wanted to do. It was the choice of being left out in the unknown, death lurking behind every corner. Sadness and hatred all through the land. Now, more than ever, you had to stick with the people who had taken care of you.

“Yes.” You said almost immediately. “I’ll come.”

***

Thank you all so much for reading!! I hope that this is what you wanted!! Thank you so much for the request! C:

Thank you all for reading and have a great day!

@negans-network

[imagineyourocsandotps]

do you have anything for a vampire and human? thank you! love seeing your blog on my dash! have a great day/night :)

-Vampire A Is all stoic and cool and Person B (when they find out) practically fANGIRLS over Person A. 

-”LOOK AT YOUR TEETH THEY”RE SO COOL” “That’s nice Person B” “SAY RAWR PLEEASE” “Why don’t I stab myself in the heart with a stake instead”

-Person A is emo/goth and Person B is all about flowers and pastel things. Nobody would ever suspect that is was Person B who was the vampire.

-Vampire A accidentally eats a piece of garlic. Person B flat out panics and carries Vampire A to the emergency room (all while Vampire A tries to explain through a swollen face that they’re not going to die they just need their epipen) 

-Since Vampire A can’t see themselves in the mirror, they go to see a painter in the hopes that they’ll finally get to see what they look like. After a while of modeling for the stunning Person B, they suddenly decide that they need at least 200 more paintings.

-Vampire A finally plucks up the courage to tell Person B that they’re a vampire. Instead of the expected response of betrayal, Person B begins researching everything there is to know about vampires in order to help Vampire A be more comfortable. They start carrying around SPF 100, cooking food other than italian (which is their specialty), making sure to verbally invite Vampire A into their home, finding ways to travel without crossing bridges, destroying every bit of silver they own, ETC.

-Vampire A wooing Person B with their VAST knowledge of history (and bat puns)

-Person B telling everyone that they bought a pet bat so that Vampire A can ride on their shoulder all day and sit in their jacket pocket

-Diva/pastel newly turned Vampire A is appalled at the idea of being a vampire. Do they really have to wear black?? This whole bat thing doesn’t fit with their flower crown aesthetic. Why can’t they check their sparkle lip gloss in the mirror??

-Person A taking Vampire B to a house of mirrors, just to laugh as Vampire B runs into everything

-Vampire A traveling with Person B to a new place because they know almost every language in the world and Person B has been too scared their whole life to try and cross the language barrier

-Tol Person A holding an umbrella for Smol vampire B to protect them from the sun

-Vampire A seeing Person B dance and being like “NONONO that’s not dancing! Let me show you how we did it in the 15th century! 

-Person A doesn’t understand why their partner Person B has been avoiding them lately.

-Person B wishes Person A would take their sTtUPID SILVER STERLING PIERCING OUT OF THEIR MOUTH SO THEY CAN KISS THEM 

-Person A insisting that Vampire B dress up as a vampire/dracula for halloween 

-”That’s really insulting you know” “Babe I’m just teasing you” *Vampire B grumps* “How we make blood lollipops?” “yES”

 (sorry that i took so long to finish this, I had to take a couple of mental health days) 

(got some help from @starry-eyedyouth on 1,2,3, and 9!) 

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, CASS! You’ve been accepted for the role of CORIOLANUS. I don’t think you realize how absolutely, completely, utterly over the moon I am to have Verona’s favorite princeling join our ranks! Cass, your application perfectly captured Coriolanus. It was effortless, simple, and had my heart aching. That’s what Cyrus makes people do, he has them on their knees for him simply because he bats his lashes and asks them to do so. I don’t know what I’m looking forward to more -- Cyrus reaping his vengeance upon all of Verona or simply obtaining retribution on his mother dearest. Thank you for this beautiful application, Cass, I can’t wait to see Coriolanus on the dash!  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours.

Out of Character

Alias | Cass

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I am, admittedly, well, me.I am around everyday to chat plots and connections, and around (normally) at least every other day to write replies or starters or drabbles. Spring break is coming up, and I’ve balanced a few new things in my life, so I’m anticipating my activity picking up within the next few weeks, as well!

Timezone | US EST

In Character

Character | CORIOLANUS, CYRUS SLOANE

What drew you to this character? |  I was excited from the teaser, honestly, and the bio only strengthened my passion for Cyrus. I love how there are various features of his past that factor into who he has become (for example, spoiling being the source of rot rather than sheer anger or abandonment issues) and how those facets manifest themselves into a duality between what he shows the world and what he sees in himself.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

1. Plotting: Recently back in Verona, Cyrus still has several plans to finalize and a handful that have yet to be created. This is largely going to be the connection phase of his character development, and it involves getting close to people, learning secrets, and gaining trust. Thus, this is the most immediate plot, and Cyrus will act in a manner of angelic innocence while planning precisely what to do with all the power he’s slowly gaining. After all, good things take time. 2. Conquest: The time to act upon plans. This is the beginning of Verona falling, of Cyrus pitting two sides against one another until there ceases to be loyalties and breeds only chaos. This is the time to sit back and watch the world bleed, to see his wounds reflect upon the place that bred them years ago. 3. Retribution: Coincides with conquest, but on a far more personal level. This is for the people who have personally wronged him – specifically Mother. This is when her empire falls and his own begins, when he proves that abandonment only results on barren ruins and the ghosts that wander them.   4. Order: More an aspiration of Cyrus’ than necessarily a plot idea, the drive to create order from the chaos. To raze to the ground and rebuild so that Verona is a pedestal beneath him. To have Verona at his feet simply because the city has forgotten how to stand. To rule.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Cyrus’ eyes widened as he lowered his cup of coffee, obvious caught in half-sip. He waved his hand and reached for a napkin, dabbing his lips as he swallowed before exhaling as if he had endured a hard day’s worth of work.

“Sorry about that,” he said, straightening once more. “But my favorite place? Well, it certainly isn’t the streets. Too much trash, too little fresh air. I tend to be fond of the stores, but even they can get so crowded that they become more work than they’re worth. If I had to choose a single place, I would say the Cathedral. You can find peace there.” And every weapon that he would ever needed rested inside of it. God’s words protected an arsenal and his pews hosted an army that was just chomping at the bit for action, to tear someone else to shreds in the name of greater loyalty or personal gain. And she was here, reigning for only so long, only until her might collapsed around her, only until she was buried in her own rubble.

What does your typical day look like?

“A lot like this,” he answered, gesturing around him. A cup of coffee rested on the table (filled with precisely three sugar cubes) while shopping bags rested at his feet, sporting names from Armani to Valentino. They were so gaudy that they spoke for themselves, and Cyrus felt comfortable leaving his lie there while the truth rested in plain sight behind him. There was a bag, slightly more tattered than someone of his composure would usually carry, and it was filled with tattered journals and newspaper clippings. It housed all of his thoughts, written in Afrikaans and bursting with all the public details of the people who held Verona upon their backs. Old articles spoke of the “terrorist” attacks that the media was too scared to link publically to the mobs. An image of Verona as it now stood was created by mixing all the things in that pack, and Cyrus carried it with him everywhere. As soon as something new filtered through the streets, it was incorporated into the old-fashioned database, and that night, plans were updated, refined, articulated. The day was full of reconnaissance and the night was full of work.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“You waste no time in asking the heavy questions, do you? It’s admirable to be so forward.” Cyrus laughs like bubbles and his grin flashes like gold, falsely promising that everything is meant in good spirit without an ounce of vitriol. “I think that it needs to be resolved, and quickly. It’s tearing the city apart, and soon the whole of Verona will be noticing. Better to bring about peace before they try any other stunts.” He shook his head, falling into a mask of false sadness, of regret that he couldn’t have arrived prior to the bombing. He was the perfect image of a Capulet Emissary, ready to find peace and restore the order of the mobs.

Inside, it was a different story. This war was an opportunity just waiting to be exploited – and how no one had seized the chance yet was beyond Cyrus. A war like this would have never lasted long in South Africa without someone new rising from the ashes. There, people knew when the exploit weakness. In Verona, people seemed to be falling subject to it. It was time for a bit of foreign intervention in his hometown. Brought in to restore order to Verona, Cyrus was more than prepared to have precisely what he wanted: a new order under his regime.

In-Character Para Sample:

Cyrus Sloane always got what he wanted. From the time he was thirteen and requesting a pool table in his room to when he was eighteen and simply asking for Cape Town to bow at his feet, there was no resistance, no one was willing to tell him no. So imagine his surprise when he approached one of the clubs in Milan dressed to the nines, full of confidence, oozing sweetness – and was turned away.

“You’re not on the list, sir, and it’s a closed party.” The usher had left it at that, obviously fixating on a point just past Cyrus’ head as he spoke.

A lesser man would have thrown a fit then, or sidled up closer to the usher with intent in their fingertips, but both efforts would be fruitless. This was one of the most exclusive locations in the city, and settling into normal habits would yield little (if any) success. To make a scene would mean becoming memorable for all the wrong reasons, so Cyrus fell into an easy display of disappointment.

“Of course, I understand,” he said, stepping back and pulling a broken smile. He didn’t wait around for the usher to take pity, but instead turned back towards the line. It should only take five or so seconds, he guessed, and he began the countdown.

Five. A group of girls were cooing about how it was such a shame the list couldn’t be expanded. Four. A man was looking anywhere but him. Three. A couple fell into hushed whispered. Two. A child asked why this wasn’t like school, why everyone wasn’t invited. One.

“Hey.”

Cyrus glanced up, coming eye-to-eye with a woman approximately his age and perhaps dressed even better than he was. Careful to keep disappointment evident, he forced a small smile and hoped to look every bit like a kicked puppy. Something flickered in the woman’s eyes, and Cyrus knew that he was in.

“My date ditched me last minute,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as if she hadn’t been hurt by it at all. “Replace him, and I’ll get you in.”

Cyrus visibly brightened, going so far as to straighten his shoulders and erase all remain cracks of downtrodden deflation. “Shame he couldn’t make it, but I might need to write him a thank you note in the morning.” He slowly reached for the woman’s hand and, when she didn’t pull away, raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Answer enough?” he asked, smiling at her.

She pulled her hand away and flushed, falling into a modesty that could only be brought around by those surpassed by their forwardness. “Keep that up, and I’ll stop thinking of you as a replacement in no time at all.”

A laugh, and then they were walking into the club arm in arm. The usher glanced at him, surprised, as he stepped up to the line again, but this time the red velvet rope was pulled aside. Minutes later, he was alive with the wash of music and the thrum of elite company.

It was a golden rule of playing games with charm and will: there was always a way to get exactly what you wanted. Sacrifices were a thing of the past.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here!

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1299363955/playlist/3M0vhMqeSJL7d2izIpRQir

[fhaudhafhdugawainishot]

Creamed Tea

I was forced to do this and I was too embarrassed to post it on my personal blog.

I hope y’all are satisfied, you salty dildos. Btw nsfw

Dark clouds loomed over the Kingdom of Nohr as a small army marched towards the capital. The members chattered noisily among themselves; Elise clinging desperately onto her eldest sister’s arm who in return would deliver the young troubadour a delicate pat on the head, Selena sending a barrage of insults to Niles, who had made an offhand comment about her intense shopping habits, Keaton showing off his “treasure”–in reality a rotting bat wing he probably found at some swamp–to his disgusted peers…overall, there was seemingly a serene atmosphere that accompanied the army.

Except a certain flirtatious mercenary would disagree.

Lingering behind the group, Laslow kept his gaze downcast to the ground, struggling to keep his gait steady. Eyes puffy, he wiped his tear stained cheek with his gloved hand as the same thought echoed inside his mind; Lord Xander was in critical condition after an intense battle with a Hoshidan General.

He had failed his sole duty as a retainer, protecting his own lord. He clenched his fist, a shuddering sigh escaping his pale lips. If only he had paid attention to the battle and kept his overconfidence at bay, then the Nohrian Prince wouldn’t have shielded him from the deadly attack and the royal family and Peri wouldn’t be in despair…!

“Excuse me, Laslow?” A high-pitched voice asked, snapping the mercenary out of his daze. To his surprise, he found himself staring at the draconic princess, Corrin. Tucking a strand of her milky-white hair behind her pointy ear, she presented him with a gentle smile.

“Oh?” Forcing on an optimistic grin, he dramatically bowed to her with a flirtatious wink. “Why, hello there, Lady Corrin! Do you need something from me?”

“Listen, Laslow,” Her voice grew solemn as she spoke to his surprise, “I know you’re upset about my older brother’s condition…so, I was thinking that we could have a tea party at my place to lighten the mood! Just the two of us!”

He gaped for a moment, slowly blinking at her. The princess wanted to spend time with him of all people? Well, he couldn’t reject the princess’ invitation especially if it was a tea party. A wave of giddiness and nostalgia washed over him as he imagined the sweet taste of the drinks and the beautiful designs on the tea cups. There was no way he could miss out on the opportunity!

“Of course, milady! It would be a pleasure to spend time with you!” He announced, taking her hand and pressed his lips against it.

Laslow was beginning to regret his decision.

Seated at an elegant, circular table, the mercenary gazed at Corrin, who was sitting across from him, humming cheerfully as she held a small cup full of amber colored liquid. After pouring a dash of sugar into the drink, she picked up her silver spoon and began to stir. Laslow fidgeted, his face reddening as he watched the action with widened, curious eyes. Why did he suddenly feel so uncomfortable? Was it because of Lady Corrin? He stifled a bitter laugh; he had to admit she was a lovely woman, but she never managed to evoke any embarrassing feelings from him.

“Laslow, what’s wrong?” She questioned, her crimson eyes full of concern, “You haven’t even touched your tea yet!”

“O-oh, I’m just waiting for it to cool down!” He reassured her with a false, jovial laugh, resting his chin against the palm of his hand. “A-anyway, um, what flavor is it, milady?”

Her expression brightened, showing the tea cup to the mercenary.

“Earl Grey tea! Jakob brewed it, he’s quite skilled at it. It’s so warm and citrusy…it’s absolutely amazing!” She sighed cheerfully.

The intoxicating scent of the tea wafted toward the mercenary, who breathed it in, enjoying how pleasant it was. The thought of tasting it made him shiver delightfully until he felt an unbearable stiffening in his pants, a soft and lewd groan parting from his lips.

“L-Laslow, are you sure you’re alright?” She raised an eyebrow, rising up from her seat to check on him, baffled by his odd behavior.

“I-I-I’m fine! I-it’s nothing, I swear, there’s no need to fret over me, really!”

Before Corrin would question him any further, their attention was seized by a loud knock on the door. Swiftly, she opened it, her interest piqued when she found herself facing her silver haired butler, Jakob.

“Pardon me for intruding, Lady Corrin,” He apologized–briefly looking daggers at Laslow before returning to his carefree facade–and whispered something in the princess’ ear. Her serene expression warped, nodding in understanding.

“Ah, I’m sorry Laslow, I have urgent business to tend to. But, please make yourself comfortable in the meantime. I promise I’ll be back soon!”

Watching the butler leading her out of the room, Laslow stood in silence, unsure what to do. His gaze fell on the lone tea cup in front of him, instantly feeling his length harden more at the sight of it. Driven by lust and arousal, he snatched the teacup off the table with shaky hands as he approached Corrin’s bed. Placing the cup on the bed, he crawled on top of it, his cheeks growing red.

With desperate, deft fingers, he stripped himself out of his armor and clothes, carelessly tossing the articles off to the side. He grabbed the cup’s curved handle and tilted it forward, allowing the warm liquid to spill all over his naked body and the velvet sheets of the bed. Letting out a pleased groan, he observed a trail of tea trickle down from his torso to the base of his round balls. Why didn’t he think of this earlier? Instead of suffering heartbreaks and receiving slaps from numerous women, he could have just pleasured himself with a teacup!

His fingers glided over the trail to spread the warm drink over to his dark, hardened nipples in a circular motion. “A-ah…!” He gasped, descending more into erotic bliss, his fingers moving towards his balls. He shuddered, sensitive to his own hesitant touch. Gritting his teeth, he ceased to stop massaging the small, round objects, yet he couldn’t help but throw back his head with an erotic hiss. As pleasurable the sensation was, he had other matters to tend to. Breathing quietly, he aimed his excited gaze at the teacup, and for a brief moment, felt a twinge of guilt for neglecting his tiny and dainty lover.

Gravitating towards the cup, he brushed his thumb against it, whispering sweet nothings to the object:

“I love you, and only you…”

“I won’t be able to hold back now…”

“I want to make love to you everyday…”

Sighing deeply, he pressed an affectionate kiss on the cup. How strange, even though it felt so cold and lifeless…joy flared up in him that he was finally able to shower his deepest desires and passions to this lone cup.  He aimed his mighty cock at the entrance, unable to stop grinning giddily. White pre-cum dripping, it fell into the teacup like raindrops. A pang of nervousness slammed into him as the thought of Princess Corrin or Jakob walking in on him. But, he began to reason, it’s too late to turn back now. Determined, he mentally prepared himself before jamming his manhood into his lover.

Coldness and sweet tea greeted him and his unyielding cock when he began thrusting. Too occupied with his lovemaking session to wipe off the drool cascading from his lips, he listened to  his immodest moans echoing in the room, no longer caring if some soldier or even Selena and Odin could hear him from outside. His teacup–no, soulmate, wanted pleasure and he was planning on giving it no matter the cost.

His body became warmer and his desperate thrusts turned erratic. Breathing heavily, his right hand kept a taut grip his soulmate, his other hand clasped onto the bedsheets as if hoping the action would help him hold onto his small ounce of self control. That is, if it still existed.

Feeling a familiar stirring from within his thick and sultry cock, Laslow immediately knew that his climax was approaching at a swift pace. I don’t wanna stop, he thought when tears began forming in his eyes. He had finally found true love, the only person who never rejected or taunted him was his dear teacup. He sensed his blood run cold when he recalled that someday…he would have to return to Ylisse and leave his lover behind. A single tear ran down his cheek, yet he continued to aggressively grind his cock.

“No, I won’t leave you behind!” He vowed, smiling broadly at his significant other, “I’ll stay in Nohr. I swear, my love, I’ll–Ah, teacup!”

He shouted lovingly when he came, a thick, white strand of his delicious seed bursting into the teacup. Thrusting until he emptied every ounce of it, a pleasured groan escaped from him as he collapsed onto the bed, bringing the cup closer to his chest. While he recovered from his tryst, e enjoyed the quietness and serenity of Corrin’s room–

Wait a minute.

His face paled, and he checked the bedsheets. He whined softly, scooting away from the stained bed (both from him and the tea). Clumsily dressing himself, Laslow attempted to hide the evidence by folding the sheets until he heard the door open.

“Laslow, I’m back!” Corrin cheered, waltzing into the room, “Did you miss–oh! What’s that smell?” She crinkled her nose with disgust, unfamiliar with the strong scent of sex. Eyeing the blushing mercenary, who began fumbling for an explanation, she got closer until her eyes caught something odd.

Her sheets were stained with…some kind of liquids.

“Did you spill tea on my bed?” She asked skeptically, placing her hands on her hips.

“Erm…yes, milady?”

“Oh, silly Laslow! You should be more careful next time, geez!” She scolded, and with a sigh, reached over to gather the sheets.

“Hey Laslow?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“What’s this white stuff?”

He laughed boisterously, a smug smirk forming on his lips, “Oh, well…you see milady…I always enjoy my tea with cream.”

[janehopperra]

OOE:

So in order to take back some of the order on my blog, I’m gonna keep the tally for today’s stuff on one post, then when I’m done watching tomorrow, I’ll put that tally on here as well.

This is also to save the dashes of whoever likes to keep them clean. I apologize for the mass ooc. I just finally felt like I could safely let my saltiness over s3 run rampant.

Bad: The makeout scene Good: Will taking care of everyone in the party making sure everyone has snacks for the theatre Bad 2: Mike being a whiny brat right off the bat Good 2: Steve immediately flicking the switch on and off to spite Robin Good 3: Jane playing pranks with the party with her telekinesis. Bad 3: The Karen and Billy Thing Good 4: IT IS CONSTANT… CONSTANT. Bad 4: ‘Curfew at 4:00pm’ Bad 5: The apparent focus of Will’s character only being that he’s jealous of Mike and Jane and also that he can sense the mindflayer. literally nothing else. Bad 6: Karen and Billy Again Bad 7: Joyce eating tv dinner alone while thinking about bob :( Bad 8: Makeout scene 2.0 Good 5: Hopper yeeting himself to another plane of existence in the next room Bad 9: Mike whispering to Jane right in front of Hop ( As if I didn’t find this creepy enough ) Bad 10: I gotta admit Hop lying about Mike’s grandma is bad Good 6: Hop being an actual dad and placing boundaries between Mike and El makes up for that though. Like that needed to happen. Bad 11: Dustin being left alone at the radio tower. Bad 12: Karen??? what the fuck are you doing??? Good 7: Karen coming to her senses. Bad 13: Billy.. jfc

First episode - 7-13

Good 8: Boundary establishing actually working. Bad 14: Mike lying through his teeth, keeping the lie up even after Karen caught him in it. Bad 15: “You lie?” “What? No! Friends don’t lie!” Good 9: Hop scream singing his song in the Blazer. Bad 16: Nancy’s boss being an absolute??? Jerkwad??? They were that way in the 80′s to women yeah but yikes. Good 10: Dustin and Steve’s handshake Good 11: ‘Mike’s a piece of shit!’ Snaps fingers hell yeah he is Bad 17: ‘You don’t understand lucas! He’s lost his mind!’ How about stop??? Blaming other people??? For how you acted Mike??? You had a choice not to lie dumbass. Bad 18: The boys acting like this is some sort of battlefield where you need combat strategies when in reality you need to speak the truth. Bad 19: Them constantly leaving Will hanging, poor boy just wants to play dnd :( Bad 20: More Karen and Billy like tf Thank god Billy told her to stay away Good 12: The girls going out and having fun!!! To hell with the boys!!!! Bad 21: Joyce forgetting about Hop to solve the magnet issue ( wasn’t her fault but yeah ) Good 13: The Material Girl skit!!! The photographer session! High heels! Jane pranking the binch that rejected Dustin at the snow ball. There’s more to life than stupid boys! Bad 22: “Can we play DND now???” “NO!!!!” Bad 23: Mike trying to change the subject and recoiling when he’s caught at the mall, like he thought he would get away with the lie??? Good 14: I dump your ass. Bad 24: The face Mike makes when Jane walks away, like you’d think if he’s so??? in love he’d be at least a little more devastated??? He looks like a brat. ( No offense to the actor he’s great, the character’s a brat ) Good 15: IT’S CUTTING EDGE STUFF MAN!!! Bad 25: Hop being left at Enzo’s :((( He was so excited man Good 16: The scoops troop solving stuff. Bad 26: Hop taking the whole bottle of alcohol and leaving, kind of shit faced, DRIVES HOME SHITFACED. You’re a cop, Hop! For fuck’s sake.

Episode 2 mark - 16-26

Good 17: Jane and Max acting like best friends Bad 27: “I don’t understand what I did to deserve this why is she treating me this way I’m the victim” I honestly can’t. Bad 28: ‘We’re trying to solve the great mystery of the female species’ oh yikes. Bad 29: Hop arriving home drunk and barging into Jane’s room thinking Mike was with El and the door was closed. Bad 30: Hop.. acting like a bit of a creep and then cracking open the bottle of wine for more drinking!!! In the presence of El. After what he just did. Good 18: Honestly I think it’s kind of cool that Max and Jane have made a game utilizing Jane’s powers instead of shoving them away. Bad 31: The boys mocking Will for taking the chance to play DND. Will honey its okay Bad 32: Hopper being a weird disgusting bear, and also being kind of spiteful towards Joyce. I get she hung you up but like come on man, you know she wouldn’t do that without good reason. Bad 33: “You stand me up, no phone call no apology because you had to go to Scott Clark’s house” NOW IT’S TIME FOR HOP TO GET BASHED. Bad 34: Hop pretending to understand how Joyce thinks the magnetism loss thing was the lab then going back to being spiteful and a smartass. Bad 35: Max in denial about the Billy situation Good 19: Scoops troop being funny little shits. They’re the only pure group in this nonsense of a season. Bad 36: The boys still mocking Will during DND. Guys just humor him for fucks sake, he’s been dealing with yalls shit all summer. Bad 37: Mike recoiling when Will finally has enough of their shit and leaves. Bad 38: “You guys are never in the mood anymore! You’re destroying everything and for what, so you can swap spit with some stupid girl” “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” Honestly, low blow on both ends. Yikes. Good 20: Honestly the horror in this season is good so it gets it’s own good point for that. Good 21: Hop actually going to the lab with Joyce to soothe her worries about the magnetism loss. ( Also poor joyce remembering Bob’s death ) Good 22: The scoops troop again being on the case, only to then find out the guy they’re chasing is a yoga instructor. Good 23: Hop trying to make sure everyone feels safe and at home. Good 24: Hop opening up just a tiny bit about what he did after Sarah died, trying to relate to Joyce. Bad 39: The fact that Will felt so alone and outcasted to the point that he felt the need to tear the castle down after looking around at all the memories in it and bursting into tears. My poor lad. I’ve been in the same boat, fuck the boys honestly. Good 25: The scoops troop at it again, actually being productive in their side of the story. Bad 40: Something I just don’t get at all is the fact that Jane just.. introduces herself as El, giving herself away almost immediately. Hun, you have another name, you’re not still a number. Idk that thing just irks me. Bad 41: And again, Will just being used for the ‘woe is me/enemy locator’ trope.

Episode 3 mark - 25-41

Good 26: Max introducing the wonder woman comics to Jane after listening to her. Bad 42: Max still being in denial about Billy and Heather. Good 27: Joyce taking care of Hop, SOMEHOW dragging his ass back to the cabin. Bad 43: ThIs iS a CoDe ReD ( I don’t blame Max for turning the radio off I’d throw it across the room after all that’s happened ) Bad 44: Again. Will’s only purpose being that he senses the mindflayer– like what the fuck he could be used for so much more. Bad 45: This is just a thing– I honestly hate that we only get one scene with the hoppers and also the byers acting like a family. All that build up in season 2??? wasted. All that potential wasted. Bad 46: The mayor taking a jab at Hopper and his ‘dead daughter sob story’. Damn right you deserved that fucking punch. Good 28: Joyce pulling the phone line when the receptionist tried to call the police. Good 29: The scoops troop and their hilarity. Bad 47: Max continuing to be in complete denial over Billy’s role with the mindflayer. Good 30: “Don’t you love your country” “You can’t spell America without Erica” I love Erica so much Good 31: “I want you to forget about sales and come work for me at hawkins pd.” “And have to look at your face every day? I don’t think so.” I have to admit that was cute Good 32: Karen actually being a mom for a change and listening to and supporting Nancy. Good 33: “He made me lie, I mean–” “What if he’s right?” “No no no he’s just a crazy old man” “No, if I only see you and I’m a different species, maybe I should be with my own species more.” Bad 47: “Wait you spied on me? That’s totally against the rules!!!” Mike she’s a telekinetic who can locate people and also implode your brain. There are no rules. Good 34: “I make my own rules.” Except hers. Good 35: “If you die, I die” “Okay” Dustin’s such a ride or die bitch I love it. Bad 48: How many times has Will been used for mindflayer location? 4-5 times? Bad 49: Jane relenting when protecting herself and her friends. I’m sorry but if someone’s had a hand to her throat or face or anything she’s thrown whoever did that through a wall, caught off guard and not. Good 36: She eventually did throw Billy through a wall but still the point remains

Episode 4 mark - 36-49

Bad 50: Joyce’s bad throwing skills. Hun you’re throwing a gun not a baseball. ( jk ilu mom ) Bad 51: This terminator guy gets a bad point. I don’t think they explained him at all? Even if they did.. eh. Good 37: “Why wouldn’t he be safe? Nancy?” For once someone’s worried about the welfare of these kids. Good 38: Hop’s big butt sprawled over the Blazer gets a point. Bad 52: Hop calling Alexei Smirnoff gets an… eh point for me. Idk why it turns me off a bit. It’s a funny name and all but eh. Bad 53: The beloved Blazer exploding gets a bad point. Shame on you for killing it, st writers. Good 39: “Ill-annoy” cute. Bad 54: “ThEy’Re CoNsPiRiNg AgAiNsT mE” Not everything’s about you, Mike. Good 40: “She was making bad screams” “What’s a good scream” Max: “Doesn’t matter–” Bad 55: Hop making the joke that every man Joyce talks to must be another version of Clark. Yikes man, she burned you that bad? Good 41: “He’s a dangerous child murderer” As Alexei smiles whilst sipping his cherry icee.

[archiveddvrpg]

Congratulations, ASH! You’ve been accepted for the role of IAGO. Admin Sidney: With such a clear vision, you’ve brought Ivan to life and I could not be more pleased with the result! He’s wicked and petty and all the things that make up a good, horrible villain. But what struck me the most, perhaps, was your clear plans for his future within Verona, for all the inevitable destruction that will ensue as he pulls those puppet strings like a master of the performing arts. So many praises to you, Ash, and I simply cannot wait to see Ivan (and interact with him) on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

Out of Character

Alias | Ash.

Age | 25.

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I think everyone can attest….that I never leave, so I’ll say my activity is 9/10. I’m always reachable on discord to plot, and I usually get out a reply or two (at least) every other day.

Timezone | EST.

Current/Past RP Accounts | *gestures grandly to my Tiberius and Calina blogs*

In Character

Character | Ivan Ahmad ‘IAGO’ Rahal.

What drew you to this character? | I like to think I’ve been intrigued by Ivan since the first time I saw his name mentioned – via Grace’s bio. The thought of such a terrible twosome, an empty man yet full of such tangible chaos, fueling the fires of his hellcat friend and creating a reign of terror on Verona (just because), definitely drew me in to want to know more about the pair and more about Ivan. So it’s safe to say I’ve been awaiting his bio for a long time – and the moment it was released it was like catching lightning in a bottle, inspiration and ideas pouring in faster than my fingers could type, so I couldn’t resist applying.

Upon reading, I think what really sold me on Ivan is just how…diabolical he is. A snake hidden in plain sight. The one you feed mice to and allow to lovingly coil around your arm only to be surprised and dismayed when it wraps around your throat and suffocates you slowly. A demon forged of the bowels of hell and somehow escaped and walks among mere mortals causing power lines to snap and spark as he passes, glass displays to shatter with his sharklike stare, earth to rise beneath his feet with his every step, destruction left over his shoulder with a devilish grin. He toys with people like a far too full and languid tabby cat with a ball of yarn. He tears lives to shreds without batting a lash, he turns friends into foes with carefully crafted fibs, pits spouses against one another with evidence he’s fabricated, if for no other reason than because he can, if for no other reason than to delight in watching it all crash and burn around him. He places no stake in things like love or loyalty, not even family, as he turned on his own, his venom sinking and infecting them all slowly but surely.

But he seems to have a sort of complex: doing the devil’s work only to appear like an angel in the end. A savior to his family, a hero to his country, an honest man to his friends, an ally for justice to his coworkers. But he is every bit the serpent in the Garden of Eden, wearing one set of onyx scales to camouflage with the shadows only to shed such skin for something far more beautiful and iridescent when the right set of eyes falls upon him. This is probably what I find most intriguing about his manner and motive – why would a boy so driven to indulgence and pride in his sins want to come out smelling like roses, come out to be revered as something holy for the plights of wickedness he caused himself? It’s definitely something I intend to unpack and explore with Ivan, where does this thirst for the beauty in corruption truly derive from – we’ll have to find out.

But a sinner under the veil of a saint, a plague under the guise of a prophet, I fear what kind of damage a man like that can do on the unsuspecting.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

“–I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible.” –  Beautiful to him, of course. Ivan looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment and sees Verona as a vast life-sized game board. He sees all the pieces lined up, soldiers and captains, kings and queens, emissaries and associates, and he intends on making a new game with the rules ever shifting to benefit himself at every turn. He wants to see the Capulets and Montagues not only destroy themselves but each other, and he thinks all they need is a little push. A little aid, a little whispering in the ear, a little devil on their shoulder whispering of darkened desires that they have always considered but never acted on. I want him to try and turn Montagues against their own, have him be that danger that they flirt with from across the bridge, give them kernels of information to send them on a wild goose chase only for it to turn up fruitless. I want him to sow seeds of doubt within the Capulets and attempt to crumble their foundations from the inside. I want him to seek out neutrals and send them with a poorly-disguised pointed finger in circles as they search for the answers they seek most out of Verona. I want him to weedle so deeply under Pandora Phan’s skin that when he whispers of just how capable she could be, how she could be the catalyst of Roman Montague’s ruin – she believes him. I want him to pester Chiko just enough, that his fellow war dog takes a semi-automatic to the cathedral’s stained glass. I want him to goad Halcyon to her brink so she’ll see that she’s doing God’s will to free him from his bonds. I want him to cause as much discord in this city as possible, and I want him to do with with a lazy grin and a two fingered salute.

“–it’s a well-known fact about you: you’re like death, you take everything.” – It all starts with Odin, and it will end with Odin. Perhaps Odin just had one of those faces. Like the keen wide-eyed sort that made them a target to rob, a target to swindle and steal from, a target to dupe and con. He had one of those faces that made Ivan’s teeth ache and inspired him so creatively all in the same breath. It’s something Ivan saw in him since they were children. And I imagine that breaking up Odin and Delilah was his greatest scheme in a long line of schemes, his grand finale, his masterpiece. I see Ivan taking all the crayons in their scuola primario class, hiding them in poor unsuspecting Odin’s backpack so he’d get time out, only to find them later to garner praise from the class. I see him letting the dog out only to snatch it by the leash just in time to save it from a speeding vespa. There’s chaos for chaos’ sake and then there’s vendetta – what is it that Odin has done that has left Ivan with such a dire need to put his poisonous touch on everything he loves? Is he jealous? Does he detest the ichor that pumps from his heart, that he’s always looked to as something gilded and pristine while he had to fabricate such an image? Did he hate that Odin got the job, the promotions, the beautiful wife, the happy endings, while he didn’t get to have any of those things? Or does he hate that all these things have distracted his friend, drawn his attention away and so he’s not needed, not as important? Mostly – I want to see if Odin will finally get wise, see that his best friend has been playing him like a finely tuned violin all this time.

“–he tore the beauty from his face, and called it terror.” – There’s an innate ruthlessness to Ivan. This isn’t to say Tiberius and Calina aren’t ruthless in their own ways, but it holds true that they are both inhibited by certain degrees of decency, knowing that there are people they love and cherish and have to think about during their actions, even for them, some actions are unforgivable. But Ivan if void of that, gaze sliding lazily over towards his conscience with cool, callous indifference, letting it starve and shrivel as he feasts on his own depravity. There is nothing he won’t do. From splitting the marriage of his best friend to facilitating the downfall and dependency of his own family. This uninhibited nature of his actions has made him a fine soldier over the years, not unwilling to pick up one of his prized Chinese ring-daggers or lay down a line of bullets in the Capulet name (but not for the Capulet name – there’s a difference). But I would love to see something or someone finally compromise him. Someone or something that makes him think twice, makes his finger hesitate on the trigger – if such a thing even exists. Or, alternatively – I’d love to see someone attempt to try, try and crack him, appeal to the better nature they assume he has somewhere deeply hidden, only to be disappointed that as the further they delve, entranced by glittering glass-shard grins and the mesmerizing waves within the ocean of his eyes, that it’s the further they sink into the inky tar-like substance that he’s made of, that he covers those around him in.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Force feed him crackers to `til he chokes to death, he hates them.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:.

The sound of laptop keys clicking is the only thing to slice through the serenity of Cosimo Capulet’s office.

Odin had told him that the Don would eventually want to see him after his endorsements all these months. It was necessary if he wanted to make the jump from contracted black-hat hacker on occasion to full time soldier, complete with a benefits package of protection and black market weapons. Ivan had always been a rather good student and decided he’d bring a few visuals for the class as he gave his … ‘presentation’ before the syndicate’s crime boss.

His glasses are dark and tipped down the sharp slope of his nose, ice chip eyes flitting languidly back and forth. Elegant fingers typing idly, lines of cobalt blue rapidly moving in their own synchronized dance within a black text box. Codes. And they only answered to one master, only moved because he willed it so with a perfectly executed chain of embedded commands.

“I’m in,” he drawls, mouth forming a snug smirk, and the sound of hard bottomed oxfords tapping against marble tile sounds from behind him, announcing the other’s arrival, just like clockwork. His eyes lift first, only for his head to tip upwards in succession. Looking to the man that stands over him, he offers a wordless nod, a borderline-flippant salute of two fingers tapping to his temple before continuing to type. He was ancient – granted, anyone over the age of forty was ancient to Ivan, but that was neither here nor there – with eyes that crinkled at their edges and salt and pepper weaving through his hair, but he had to admit the Capulet patriarch was sharp, suit cut in slim lines and tailored angles. But the man was stern, and considerably serious – and it just so happened that Ivan positively shined in light of such solemnity in others.

“Now, what am I to call you, Mr. Rahal–”

“Ivan works,” he replied coolly, one shoulder lifting in a shrug, as if he couldn’t be bothered to raise the other in tandem, “But I almost like Mr. Rahal…makes me sounds real distinguished, like I have a waistcoat with a pocket watch hanging out.” A pause, a contemplative squint into the distance, a decision. “Changed my mind – Mr. Rahal works.”

A risen brow is all he’s offered, as Cosimo takes a seat in the high-backed leather chair behind his desk and folds his hands beneath his chin, considering Ivan openly, “And where are you in, as you said?”

“The Capital Library.” Now that caused the boss to blink twice.

Mouth curling into an impish grin, Ivan stands, resting his laptop on the desk, minimizing his terminal and pulling up a live security feed within the Montague headquarters. Long, clever fingers swipe at a crystal paperweight, tossing it up only to catch it again and again. “And that was without a single sip of espresso. Though, they have a dinosaur of a security system, which helped a bit.”

Paperweight is swapped swift for his laptop again, the movement so quick you’d think he was doing a magic card trick. “Can you do this in other places?” Ivan gives a soft chuckle, the sound low and rich like sweet syrup, “Can I do this in other places,” he repeats, all the more smugly, settling himself back in his chair lazily, and it’s unmistakable the manic glint flickering through his gaze,  “I could do this feed in Hotel Emelia in a few more minutes if the Witches don’t try to sprinkle their dust and stop me.”

Cosimo sniffs, a few nods given. He was thinking, calculating. It’s an expression Ivan knew well.

“You know,” he starts, after a few key clicks, tone flattened, almost bored, “Your footprint reads like a jacked up traffic cone stuck in a pothole.”

“My…footprint?”

Ice chips harden to a shard, piercing as he stares blankly at Don Cosimo. “Your digital footprint,” the words slip out slowly, as if speaking to a dunce, someone delayed in understanding and comprehension, “It’s a trainwreck. My little brother could hack you.”

With a tap of his finger to the F9 key, the lights in the east wing of the Capulet estate went dark. All devices powering down with a life-draining hum. A shrill ‘Papa’ sounding in the distance, ripped from the throat of the principessa. Only Ivan’s teeth shone in the shadows as he grinned, a smile wicked and knife-carved, jagged in all the wrong places.

“Alright, alright – I think we’ll have a talk with Odin.” Capulet almost looked like he wished to add a ‘Dio, help him,’ but smartly trapped it behind his teeth.  “Seems he might have a new soldier on his hands.”

And then there was light.

“Nice doing business.”

Extras:

And on this edition of Ash Attempts Headcanons (DISCLAIMER: Ramblings About My Son, Some Coherent, Some Not):

If you delve deep into the symbolism behind each of his given names, it is clear his parents took great care in naming him. Ivan is the Russian equivalent of the name John, a strong, biblically tied name that means ‘God is gracious.’ It’s a name his mother adored when his father’s tour stationed them briefly in St. Petersburg before he was born. A name fitting of their first born child, their first son, the first in a long line of bountiful gifts from upon high only made possible by the grace of their God. And as Ivan went through life, he made sure that in their home of weak-willed gluttons, he shined as something honorable and superior in their unworthy presence, making sure they knew how lucky they were to have him, their only redemption personified, siphoning their gratitude as sustenance. For such, it is only fitting that he is bestowed the middle name of Ahmad. Of Arabic origin, the native tongue of his Syrian parents, the name means ‘much praised,’ and was often considered one of the alternative names to the Islamic prophet Muhammad. To family and friends alike, he has never shied away from taking on the appearance of prophet – leaving no room for protest that he was an individual in contact with divinity, an intermediary to bestow blessing, someone God-touched and pristine in beauty. And it is this same beauty that makes him most dangerous, because no one expects the devil and his servants to look otherworldly.

There is something to be said about the first born child: a uniqueness that children to come simply won’t possess. There is something to be said about being the first born child – a privilege, a perk, of gracing the earth first. Because while children to come know nothing other than to have siblings, the first born knows what it is to be alone. To be coddled and cared for without interruption or distraction. To be the number one. But the moment that Amira Rahal was pregnant with her second child, a child that would soon be Omar, his younger brother, the seed of resentment had been sowed. Ivan detested that his mother was with child, an ugly festering tar-like hatred that threatened to consume him – and it did, he let it. Making his lunches became forgotten as baby Omar kicked in her womb, his stunning report card overlooked as she rushed to her doctor’s appointments. One extra child, he could deal with: but he couldn’t deal with two. And when little Alia was born, Ivan had to learn to wear the number three instead of number one he was accustomed to. He wasn’t wanted, more importantly, he wasn’t needed unless someone needed holding, or changing, or babysitting. So he’d had no choice but to show them just why he was needed. He leaves the young boy with crayons, letting him crawl and color as he aimed for the vast canvas of the living room wall, and it was Ivan who snatches the vibrant indigo from Omar, just as his parents return, salvaging the saffron gold wallpaper. He flicks the playpen latch open with a clever finger, leaving it open as his sister plays, knowing childlike wandering would overtake her as it once overtook him, and he’s sure to scoop her up and return her just in time before she can head for the open patio doors. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you,’ his mother often breathed, a relieved sigh, and he made sure she’d say it again, and again, and again.

The son of an ex-Marina Militare officer, Ivan and his family were cushioned by the luxury of having a veteran in their midst. Upon his homecoming from Lebanon, he was given the tools to create and found Rahal Securities – a private company affiliated with the Italian Military and Chief of Defense dedicated to providing security and military services that are not limited to personal security detail, convoy security, and private tactical operations. This is made possible through the enlisting of former military soldiers to take on the tasks. But Hassan Rahal took the war back with him when he returned to mother Italy, often drinking to forget realities that blended seamlessly into his dreams. His dependency on the bottle, the home his hand made around its slender neck, it threatened to ruin their family – but he’d tried his hardest to keep it in check, and like a bruise to an overripe fruit, Ivan pressed into the vulnerability, dug into it with thumbs until it tore, keeping the liquor cabinet key in far too obvious a place, letting his father think he outsmarted him every time he snuck a bottle of cognac.  

He works at Studio Legale Biondaro as a Senior Intelligence Analyst – leading and aiding investigative teams with research, case building and data collection efforts for specific unit investigations including (but not limited to) the prosecution of violent organized crime, street gangs, intercity gun trafficking and narcotics dealing and gang related homicides. He also aids in concealing or ridding of paper trails to clear the Capulet should any of their associates find themselves in a legal bind. After being snubbed by the police department for their digital forensics team – Odin had been rather keen on them working side by side on the home front too – he turned lemons into lemonade, figuring it better for his own illegal activities to be much more under the radar – and to work shoulder to shoulder, sharing a floor with Odin’s beloved made quite the sway on his decision. But the top reason he continued on the path from military to criminal justice? Because he continues to be paid and sought after to help people, his redeemer’s motif continuing to permeate through.

Before returning to Verona, Ivan was in the Esercito Italiano for 6 years – from he was eighteen until he was twenty-four (timeline might shift depending on plotting w/ Odin’s player). Enlisting in the army was something he felt surprisingly drawn to for a long time. Perhaps it was the fact that he was continuing a legacy his father started, or perhaps it was because he always thought school was boring, unable to bear the thought of having to sit through another four years at Università degli Studi di Verona just to obtain another degree. After his grueling basic training he took the track of becoming a cyber operations officer, learning alongside the best how to detect and identify security threats only to take such tactics and plant them himself. He took his knack for hacking and used it to clear his own records and trails, wiping his digital slate clean from the internet so he can move with anonymity and retain the pristine image he’s crafted. He knows that information is how you can hurt people most – the more you know or appear to know can break them down, make them stutter and squirm as you threaten to hang them out to dry – it’s why Ivan made locating the Achilles Heel his favorite past time, even if he had to create it himself. His skill made him sought after for freelance work for black market businessmen and shady government characters once he touched back down in Verona – something or other about the walls of the underground whispering of him slipping past the encryption systems of the Verona mayor’s office one time or two.

Special Skills Include: Encryption and decryption, forging electronic signatures, making fake identification cards, creating false social media profiles, installation of malware and spyware, identity theft … and Photoshop.

He also specializes in Trojan Horse programming. Misleading in it’s true intent, this is a malicious cyber attack technique disguised as something mild like an email or website add that opens a backdoor to personal devices, leaving Ivan access users’ personal information such as banking information and passwords.

Ivan Rahal, the same schemer who devised and doctored fake texts and emails to show Odin to aid in his case of Delilah’s infidelity, staging photographs at their workplace to show his poor friend after asking

Always has headphones in. 30% of the time he’s listening to music, the other 70% he’s keeping a keen ear on listening devices he’s planted in offices and meeting spaces, car interiors and hotel rooms. Tiny devices he’s stuck on the side of rubbish bins and under lamp shades, beneath fire detectors and in the corner of your underwear drawer, in the underside of your glove compartment or beneath your gaudy book ends. So it’s safe to say, pay careful attention to Ivan anytime he enters and exits a room, and if you feel comfortable to carry on a private conversations after he’s gone – you probably shouldn’t.

Constantly changes the Cathedral wifi password just to be a nuisance; makes Capulets do embarrassing things to obtain the new one, like butter him with a compliment, or answer a riddle, or fetch him the tallest iced coffee they can find with a straw…and Dio forbid they forget the straw.

TV TROPES: The Trickster, Affably Evil, Big Bad Friend, From Camouflage to Criminal, Pretty Boy, Manipulative Bastard, Dragon with an Agenda, Driven By Envy, No Sense of Personal Space, The Unfettered, The Sociopath, Villain With Good Publicity

[infinitehouseofbooks]

YOUNG ADULT FRIDAYS - The Librarian

Welcome to Shannon Muir’s Infinite House of Books!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by YAReads Blog Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

The Librarian by Christy Sloat

Genre: YA Historical/Romance

Published June 17th, 2017

Published by CHBB Publishing

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34415420-the-librarian

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Librarian-Christy-Sloat-ebook/dp/B071XF6XXZ/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-librarian-christy-sloat/1126502976?ean=9781547101078&quickview=true

He’s from 1892 England, she’s in a small library in 2017. And that’s just the start of their troubles.

Emme never meant to stay in Maine. She’d come only to find a librarian for her Gram’s library, a custodian for the collection of mysterious books she’d promised to protect. On a dark, wintery night, alone in the library, she takes her first glance into one of the antique novels and finds herself transported to 1892 England staring into the eyes of handsome and dashing hero Jack Ridgewell. As each chapter passes she learns you can truly fall in love with a character in a book, that book boyfriends are real and Emme must choose between the real world, and his. When the last page is read he’s gone and Emme feels the cold loneliness of lost love. Will she find Jack again, or will their love be forever lost? The answer lies within the pages…

About the Author:

Christy Sloat is a SoCal born girl who resides in New Jersey currently with her husband, two daughters and Sophie her Chihuahua. Christy has embraced the love of reading and writing since her youth and was inspired by her grandmother’s loving support. Christy passes that love of reading, writing, and creativity to her daughters, family, and friends. When you do not find Christy within the pages of a book you can find her being mommy, wife, crafter, and dear friend. She loves adventurous journeys with her friends and can be known to get lost inside a bookstore. Be sure to venture into her Past Lives Series, The Visitor’s Series, and watch for many more exciting things to come. Check out her website www.christysloat.com Instagram http://instagram.com/authorchristysloat_writes

Blog http://christysloat.blogspot.com/, Facebook: Christy Sloat Author www.facebook.com/christysloatauthor. Twitter: ChristySloat

Read below for an excerpt from the book:

I spent the rest of the day filing paperwork for the funding process and preparing to open the library doors on Monday morning. I told Rose and Becca to spread the word. Tarryn had decided to move her smaller items in already, and she was asleep by nine the same night. It didn’t seem strange to me that I had a roommate; instead it made me feel comfortable. I never lived alone before, and I would feel lonely otherwise. Tarryn was quiet, but I knew in time she’d get used to me and I’d get used to her. We just needed to get to know each other first.

Once I was done with the paperwork, I filed the books that were left on the shelf from when Gram was still here. As I placed the classic books on the correct shelves, I felt a longing to finish reading my mysterious book in my nook.

So, instead of going to bed at a decent hour, I climbed into my cozy space and picked the book back up. I didn’t open it right away. Instead I inspected the outside for any sort of title. I found nothing of the sort. I flipped to the title page once more, trying to find my place, and that’s when I saw the word on the page. It was just a simple “The” typed out on the once blank title page. I ran my finger across it and realized it was printed in ink as if the press had done it. I was sure the night before it was blank, but then again, I was sure my dream about being with a man was real. So I wasn’t really a reliable source at the moment.

I found the spot where I ended with a dog-eared page. I absolutely hated doing this to the book and didn’t remember it at all. I usually had a nice bookmark, but this seemed to be the only thing to mark the page before I had fallen asleep. Running my fingers across the crease at the corner of the page, I settled back and started reading.

I woke up once again face down, this time I was in grass. I blinked my eyes and felt the blades of grass tickling my nose and lips. I pulled myself up and took a deep breath. I looked around and saw the fields upon which I had dreamt of the night before. I was back in England. I was dreaming the same dream. How odd.

There were times when I had thought I had the same dream over and over again, to only find out that it was my mind playing tricks on me. This was no mistake. I was, once again, in the same place.

“Emmeline, are you all right?” I looked up and blocked the sun from my eyes. The man from before was standing in front of me. “You … you disappeared. It happened so fast that I fear I cannot explain to you how it happened. Now you’re here once again.” He sounded really confused and, to put it lightly, so was I.

This dream felt way too real. It was exactly like before. So real and tangible that I couldn’t explain it even if I tried.

“I … I don’t know how I’m here again,” I mumbled.

He reached out to steady me as I swayed to the side. “You’ve been gone for days. I worried I was going mad, that your presence was one of my imaginings. I dared not to speak a word to anyone about it. I have to admit, Emmeline, I’ve been going slightly crazed since I saw you last.”

His hair was disheveled and he had grown a slight beard that only enhanced the sexiness of his strong jawline. His deep set blue-green eyes looked weary, and for that I felt awful.

My sudden disappearance had made him fall apart, that was apparent.

“I’ll tell you, I feel like I’m going crazy too. Trust me,” I admitted. “Can we sit somewhere? Out of the sun?”

“Of course.”

He held my arm and led me to a tree in the center of the field. Once underneath the large tree, I felt instantly better. I looked down at my clothes and saw that I was, once again, in my own clothes. This time a little better than before. I was wearing yoga pants and an old T-shirt.

“I can’t explain how or why I’m here. Hell, I don’t even know your name, but I’m here again and I’m beginning to think that this isn’t a dream. That I’m really here, with you,” I said as I touched his arm. “I’m not from … here.”

I didn’t know how to explain it to him, but I did the best any girl who was somehow traveling through time could. I didn’t have answers or explanations, but I had a gut feeling.

“I’m from a different time as you. As you can tell by my lovely clothing, I’m not from 1893.”

He placed his fingers on my lips, stopping me, while shaking his head.

“This isn’t right, Emmeline. Trickery at a time like this isn’t fair,” he said as he stood up fast. “I am leaving soon. I shall not have you doing this to me.”

My mouth fell open in shock and I stood. “Do something to you? Listen here, buddy, I didn’t ask for this. I sat down to read a book and then boom, I’m stuck in England with a stranger.”

I pointed at myself. “Look at me. Do I really look like I belong here?”

He looked at my clothing and up to my hair, and I could see his cheeks redden.

“You are dressed very indecent, I suppose. No woman I’ve ever met wears trousers. Nor do they wear clothing that fitting.”

I laughed. He thought this was indecent, he should see some of the dresses I had worn to parties. They were nothing like the dresses he was used to seeing on a woman. We absolutely didn’t dress ladylike anymore. My sexy little black dress that currently hung in my closet would definitely shock some of the people of this era for sure.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I’m absolutely not trying to, I don’t know, hurt you or anything. I don’t know how to go home.” I slumped back against the tree. “I wish that I could prove to you that I’m not lying to you, but I cannot. You’ll have to just believe me, I guess.” It was as simple as that. He could either believe this bat-shit crazy explanation or not. One way or another, I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home.

“I don’t know why, Emmeline, but I feel as if I should say that I do believe you.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, mussing it up. “I just don’t know how else to explain your abrupt presence. One minute you are here and the next you’re disappearing into thin air. I read many books on fiction, so I suppose it could be true.”

“Well, I may know someone who knows something. She works for the lucky bastard that owns that house,” I told him pointing to the house where Nancy was the last time I saw her. She was probably cooking something again for her master.

He smiled. “That house?”

“Yes. Her name is Nancy.”

“Ah. Nancy. And who is this Nancy woman you speak of?” He continued to smile as if this was a joke, but I ignored it.

“She’s a cook. I met her on my last visit here,” I explained. “She’s not the nicest person I’ve ever met, but I think she has some answers.”

“I must argue that Miss Nancy is more than a cook. She’s also the lady upon with which I trust my household while I’m gone. She’s more of an aunt than a housekeeper,” he said as he took my hand in his. “It’s very nice to finally introduce myself to you, Emmeline Bailey. I’m Jack Ridgewell or you may just call me the lucky bastard.”

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YOUNG ADULT FRIDAYS – The Librarian was originally published on the Wordpress version of SHANNON MUIR'S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS.

[its-negans-lucille]

Coach

You can find my Masterlist HERE!

Prompt: Heyy, if you’re up for it, can I request an imagine where Negan was coach before the apocalypse (your 18-19 now) and  he finds you by  the road, realising you were his student and he takes you back to the Sanctuary and is really protective of you?? Sorry if it’s too long, love your blog <3 – Via @maddiemoo16602

Ships: None Words: 1,369 Warnings: Curses Category: Angst with a dash of fluff

***

You were walking down a street of an abandoned town, dilapidated houses either side of you. You kept your eyes peeled for any sort of movement. You heard nothing except the winds rushing through broken windows and long absent streets.

Ivy crawled up the once neatly panelled houses like a parasite. The neatly trimmed lawns and flowers which may have once been well kept and colourful were now overgrown with weeds which had killed the beautiful roses and daisies that once bloomed there long ago.

Your stomach rumbled as it had been for the past week. You had eaten nothing but a dead rat and even then you only ate half of it, its milky eyes felt although it was staring at you from beyond the grave.

You had been alone for maybe months? Possibly years? You had lost track of time when your mother had passed.

She had been bitten on a simple run, or at least it should’ve been simple. One minute you had been joking about something long ago, possibly school, you couldn’t remember now, when a walker had lunged at your mother from almost out of nowhere. Undoubtedly attracted by the scent of genuine joy and happiness.

After that you hadn’t returned to the group that you had previously belonged too. You had run and never looked back since. You usually blocked out such unpleasant memories of the past but your hunger was making you weak and slow.

You wandered around the small town for a while, only encountering a few of the corpses. You were so hungry that even their tainted flesh looked appealing to you. You shook that thought out of your head as soon as it had been established.

You eventually rested yourself on a swing which creaked loudly when you rested yourself on it. You tried to ignore the blood that stained the wood chips leading from the slide. You simply attempted to imagine what this town may have been like before the end of the world.

But if the world had ended, you thought to yourself idly, why am I still fighting? You were lost in thought for a great amount of time until you were brought out of your revelry by a low rumble.

You didn’t register what it was at first, turning your gaze to the dark and foreboding sky above you, thinking of thunder. But no, the rumble was gradually growing louder. Cars, you thought as you stood abruptly up and took out your pistol that had long run out of ammunition.

The sound seemed to echo around the abandoned houses, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact junction that the vehicles would immerge from.

The suddenly a convoy of dark cars and vans appeared from the junction directly behind you. You whirled around and turned to face the vehicles. You knew that it was too late to hide and that you were too weak to run. The cars circled the playground in the town centre until coming to an abrupt halt.

A man with a handlebar moustache immerged from a car; he had an unnervingly large smile on his face as he stood just beyond the playground fence.

“What’s a little lady like you doing out here all alone?” He called, a hand on his hip.

“Sight seeing.” You replied smartly.

“Sight seeing in a tiny town in good ol’ Georgia.” The man continued in an airy voice. “You part of any group around here?” He continued, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” You replied shortly. You began to back away, edging infinitesimally away.

“Well count me as-” The handle bar moustached man was cut off by a slam of a car door, the sound reverberated all around the houses and made you flinch.

“Simon! What the fuckty fucking hell is going on out here!” A man yelled from a few cars back. The voice reminded you of someone, though you weren’t entirely sure who.

Then the tall and lean form of a man that you thought you would never see again sauntered out from behind one of the large vans. He wore a leather jacket with a blood red scarf tucked into it. He also wore plain pants with dark, mud stained boots.

“Neg- I mean- mister Negan?” You corrected yourself swiftly. You were frowned and scrutinizing him from under his new salt and pepper scruff.

“Mister Negan, huh, well I fucking love that.” Negan said, he had yet to set eyes on you. You could spy a lethal baseball bat, with barbed wire curled tightly around its tip, slung over Negan’s shoulder. “Who’s askin- holy shit.” Negan said. He had finally laid his dark and penetrating gaze on you. “(Y/N)?” Negan asked, running a hand down his scruff.

“Dammit, if any of those disappointing sons of fucks would survive the end of the damn world it would be you.” Negan chuckled, striding over to you and giving you his coach handshake that he had with all the kids in his classes.

“Negan? You know her?” Simon asked, leaning backwards to get a good look at you.

“Hell yes I know her. My star fucking student. Won the regionals in running for two fucking years in a row!” Negan proclaimed loudly, almost like a proud father. “Would’ve been three if it weren’t for this shit show.” He motioned around with his hand airily, indicating the state of the world.

“Where did you go? How’d you get out? After the school was hit I mean.” You asked, all of a sudden giddy with joy for the first time in months.

“A good magician never tells his secrets.” Negan said wisely, avoiding the question entirely while tapping the left side of his nose.

“Bullshit!” You replied, playfully punching Negan’s shoulder.

“Language! What would your mother say if she heard you?!” Negan reprimanded in a joking tone. “What happened to your mom anyway, huh?” Negan asked in a genuinely interested voice. Your mom and Negan had always had some kind of on-off relationship; one that had been off ever since Lucille, Negan’s previous wife, had passed away.

That was when you fell down from cloud nine. Negan didn’t know. Well how could he? He wasn’t with you when it happened. He didn’t know about the pain and suffering you had gone through. You couldn’t blame him for asking about her.

“You in there, (Y/N)?” Negan asked, leaning down so that he was at your eye level.

“Yeah- yeah I’m here. Sorry.” You stuttered, attempting to get your words out. You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. You saw Negan’s face change from charismatic and smiling to frowning and eventually to concern.

“Oh.” Negan said finally, running a hand down his scruff. “She. . . didn’t make it?” Negan asked quietly.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself with words as you were sure that your voice may break if you did. You avoided Negan’s eye, far too interested in the ground and the dark sky than his intense gaze. That was, however, until you felt two arms engulfed you in a warm embrace.

You didn’t cry, you knew that. You didn’t think that there were enough emotions in you to cry. Your grief was too great for trivial tears.

“I’m sorry.” You heard Negan whisper in a genuine tone that none of his men could hear.

You didn’t reply. You had shut off that part of yourself that felt the pain of your loss. As far as that self knew your mother was back at your quaint, suburban home cooking your favourite food.  You had made it this far fooling yourself, you could continue.

“Come back to our base.” Negan said, stepped away from you and swiftly picking up the baseball bat once again. “We have food, water. . . everything you’d need.” Negan continued imploringly. “You’d be an asset.”

It took you no time to decide what you wanted to do. It was the choice of being left out in the unknown, death lurking behind every corner. Sadness and hatred all through the land. Now, more than ever, you had to stick with the people who had taken care of you.

“Yes.” You said almost immediately. “I’ll come.”

***

Thank you all so much for reading!! I hope that this is what you wanted!! Thank you so much for the request! C:

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