#closest thing he has to a kid and its a guy that absolutely got chewed up and spat out by the world AND the group HE made

[artuurle]

You and your hand-raised sacrificial lamb for the cause.

[fruitcoops]

Night Changes

This isn't based on an ask, but I've had some early-Cap ideas brewing and think about the first time the team heard him laugh a lot. His and James' friendship is so sweet in SW--the beginning of it must have been such a shock to them both. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

So maybe James had bitten off more than he could chew. It wasn’t the first time, to be sure, but coaxing (read: drag kicking and screaming) his new teammate out of the carefully-constructed mosaic of scowls that made up his entire personality was proving to be a little more challenging than he previously expected. With most rookies, all it took was some elbow grease and overenthusiastic inclusion in group events to get them to open up—with his brand-new soon-to-be best friend, he had to handle things a little more delicately.

Sirius Black was a puzzle wrapped up in one of those freaky code-breaking machines from World War Two Lily liked to talk about. He was one of the best hockey players James had ever seen, but off the ice he seemed to shut down. The intense focus on his face smoothed out into almost perfect neutrality, and in the four months since he joined the Lions, he had never once smiled for real in front of the team. He sat in his stall and padded up in silence, then went out and kicked ass before following Pascal home like a living shadow.

Naturally, James took it as a personal mission to pry Sirius Black’s closed-off persona open like a stubborn oyster. He tried including Sirius in group events—the rookie went along with a quiet “yeah, sure”, but sat at the table and nursed a single drink for the entire night. He tried getting into friendly banter with him on the ice, but it was like Sirius had never joked with anyone in his life. Hell, he even tried finding him a girlfriend, which tanked harder than the goddamn Titanic.

“Rookie!” James shouted down the hallway.

Sirius jumped and turned around, obviously confused. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” James laughed, jogging over to toss an arm over his shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Not much.”

He waited for Sirius to continue, then rolled his eyes and gave him a friendly shake. “C’mon, man, how was your weekend? Has Dumo coerced you into being a stay-at-home babysitter yet?”

Sirius’ frown deepened. “What? I come with him to practice every day.”

Change tactics, change tactics— “Got any plans for Friday?”

James knew the answer, of course; it was always no or not yet or a simple shake of the head. If he was a less observant man, he would have assumed Sirius didn’t actually want to hang out with the team. But the longing looks toward their easy rhythm and the way he always tilted himself toward locker room conversations told a different story. “None yet,” Sirius said with a shrug.

James gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Good, ‘cause I’m having a party at my place and you’re not allowed to miss it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you to be there, duh.” The bewilderment didn’t fade from Sirius’ face, but beneath it—well, maybe James was just seeing things, but he looked almost hopeful. He ruffled Sirius’ hair and headed for the locker room. “Friday at five, rookie! I’ll be waiting!”

--

The week passed in a slog of practices and cold weather. Sirius clammed up more and more as the party drew closer, but James didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered between the rest of them like he was analyzing a play. He would make one hell of a captain someday, if he could just relax a little.

“Hey, rookie, want a ride?” he asked when the big day finally arrived.

“Don’t you want to go home and set up first?” Sirius’ brow furrowed. For an eighteen-year-old kid, he was awfully thoughtful. James couldn’t wait to see him let loose a little. “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“It’s a yes or no question,” he teased, poking the bit of exposed shoulder through the widening hole in Sirius’ under armor.

“I…” He faltered, then the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was the closest thing James had seen to a smile from him yet. One point for Potter. “Sure, Pots. Thanks.”

“No problem. Meet me at my car in five or so, yeah?”

“D’accord.”

“Oho, fancy French,” James laughed, turning back to unlace his skates.

It wasn’t until thirty seconds after Sirius left the room that he remembered he never told the rookie what his car looked like. Horrible, terrible visions of the poor guy wandering around the parking lot—or, god forbid, thinking James had left without him—flashed through his mind. It would undo everything he had been working so hard to build.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath as he shoved his gear into his duffel with reckless abandon and hurried out of the locker room. His legs would be stiff from trying to run so soon after a grueling drill practice, but it was worth it to save his friend. “Rookie? Hey, Sirius, you still here?”

There was no response. James cursed again and made a beeline for the door to the parking lot. Please, God, don’t let him get lost. I need him to trust me.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he panted as he burst out onto the half-frozen concrete.

Sirius looked up from his phone with a strange expression. “Are you okay?”

“Thought I lost you for a sec.”

“You said to meet at your car, yes?” He glanced between James and the car in sudden worry.

“Yeah, yes, absolutely, I just—” He made an aborted gesture and dug his keys out of his pocket. “I realized I forgot to tell you which one is mine.”

Sirius blinked at him. “I know what your car looks like.”

“How?”

“Because you drive it here every single day and you gave me a ride three weeks ago.”

‘Dumbass’ went unsaid, but James could feel it hanging in the air. He coughed lightly. “Right. Anyway, you can toss your bag wherever and hop in the passenger seat. My place isn’t far from here.”

Sirius took his duffel as he unlocked the car and settled both in the trunk with more care than James’ poor, battered bag had ever seen in its life. That was another thing that confused him about Sirius Black—he was so careful. He walked quietly for someone so tall, and each movement seemed pre-planned.

Each movement, that is, until he tried to get in the car. “Uh, Pots?”

“That’s m—oh.” James covered his mouth to stifle his laughter as Sirius tried to fold himself into the passenger seat and failed miserably. “I’m sorry, my girlfriend was sitting there last. Uh, there’s a lever on your right—yeah, there, just give it a pull and—”

With a harsh ka-chunk, the seat slid all the way back. Both men froze. It took everything in James’ power not to burst out laughing at the deer-in-headlights shock on Sirius’ face.

“Yep, that one,” he managed. “Nice job.”

They drove in relative quiet—James chattered on about weekend plans and hummed to the radio while Sirius watched out the window with the occasional monosyllable response. It took James a bit by surprise how comfortable he was, even without a steady stream of banter. Sirius might have been stubborn and silent and determined to foil all James’ plans at getting him to socialize, but he was calming to be near, like an anchor on unsteady water. Despite his overall quiet air, he was obviously paying attention to every word that left James’ mouth.

“You’re a good guy, y’know that?” he said as they turned onto his street. Sirius glanced over in surprise. “Most people tune me out within, like, five minutes.”

“I’m a good listener.”

James opened his mouth to respond, then paused. “Was that—Sirius Black, was that a joke?”

Something akin to mischief—mischief!—crossed his face. “Maybe.”

“Were you roasting me?” James gaped at him. “Oh my god. The guys are never gonna believe this.”

“Probably not.”

“You sick bastard. They won’t believe me.”

“You can give it a shot,” Sirius said with a shrug as the engine turned off. Pieces began to connect in James’ head as he stared, incredulous, at the rookie he thought would never even crack a smile. Four months of work had not been wasted, as he had feared; every joke, every one-sided conversation, and every attempt to get Sirius involved had been seen and heard and taken to heart. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Sirius actively agree to something unless James asked personally.

“We’re friends,” he said aloud, too surprised and too happy to hold it in. Not friends in the way James was with the rest of their loud, over-the-top teammates, but friends all the same.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius said as if it was obvious.

James unbuckled his seatbelt and socked him lightly on the shoulder, barely suppressing a shriek of excitement. “Love you, man. Grab your shit, we’ve got a party to set up.”

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

As much as it pained James to say it, having someone around who was six-foot-three was a huge help. There was no blow to his pride as he dragged Lily’s stepstool out; no grudging acceptance that he simply couldn’t reach those last two inches on the wall. Instead, he could foist any and all responsibility on his brand-new best friend in the whole wide world and focus on the things that mattered, like putting anything breakable or important far away from the grubby hands of his inebriated teammates.

His success was still ringing in his ears when the guests finally arrived—throughout the evening, James rode the high of accomplishing his mission to pull Sirius Black into his tight-knit circle. Every minute of those four months was worth it.

Midnight came and went, and by one-thirty in the morning James’ cramped living room was packed with tipsy hockey players in a vague imitation of a circle. “Non, non, I’ve gotta good one,” Dumo said, hiccupping. The room fell quiet as he leaned forward. “What do you call a body of water with a chicken in it?”

“What?” Kasey whispered, starry-eyed like a kid at Christmas.

“A swimming pool.”

The room stayed quiet, and then someone started to laugh. Slowly, they all turned to the source of the noise, and James felt a ripple of shock roll through the team as Sirius snorted. “It’s a swimming pool,” he said around a smile, his accent thick from three drinks. He had a nice laugh; James could get used to hearing it. “Like—poule, like chicken?”

His whole face was alight with happiness. James wasn’t sure whether to cry or cheer. That’s what I’ve been waiting for, he thought. That look, right there. Sirius fit in among the group like a missing piece of their puzzle, snickering away as if he hadn’t been stoically silent a day in his life. His laugh was downright bubbly.

“I don’t think they get it,” Dumo said into the rim of his cup.

Sirius shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “D’accord, so—so ‘chicken’ in French is poule, yeah? So a chicken in a body of water is a swimming poule. Do you get it now?”

A few oh’s of understanding washed over them, but several people continued to stare. “Too drink for this,” Sergei grumbled, though James could see the smile pulling at his mouth as Sirius turned to him with bright eyes.

“But it’s funny!” Sirius protested, so earnest it made James’ heart hurt.

“I think it’s funny, rookie,” he assured him with a clumsy pat on the arm. “And it’s my house, so I say Dumo gets a point this round.”

Kasey hiccupped. “Hey, anyone who makes the rookie laugh gets points in my book. No offense, dude.”

“None taken,” Sirius said, though his cheeks were pink.

James nudged him with his shoulder as Talker started a knock-knock joke. “It’s okay,” he said under his breath.

Sirius picked at the label on his cup. “I know I haven’t been very social,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” James insisted. “It always takes rookies a while to warm up, so we’re just glad you’re happy. I’m glad my best friend is having a good time at my party.”

A heavy silence fell between them as Sirius looked over, eyebrows raised. “Best friend?”

“What, like you didn’t see this coming?” James slung an arm over his shoulder. “Yes, you French-Canadian nerd, you’re my best friend. And that means I’m your best friend, and there’s no take-backsies.”

“What the hell is a take-backsie?” Sirius laughed. “Did you make that up?”

James grinned. He had the feeling this was the beginning of an excellent friendship.

[poisoned-peppermint]

Part 4 of incorrect quotes because i feel obligated to make more due to the sheer number of people who liked it

Dream: My dearest beloved fuckos, is a fun, gender-neutral way to begin a speech

George: See also, esteemed bastards

Bad: Gentlefolk, Ferals, and Domesticated cryptids. 

Sapnap: My fellow yees and haws

~~~~~~~

Techno:Hey I know skyrim is revered as a classic but are we just going to ignore the fact that the entire game only had like 3 voice actors

Wilbur:Stop right there criminal cum

Techno:My ancestors are smiling at me, bastard, can you say the same

~~~~~~~

Foolish:When's your bedtime :)

Purpled: Whenever I next collapse in purely up to the gods

~~~~~~

Ranboo:Human skin is a fursuit for skeletons 

Tubbo: i’m going to debone you like a fucking trout

~~~~~~

Bad:You’re enough

Bad: love yourself!!!!!!! or suffer my wrath!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dream:And by wrath I mean love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bad:no I mean wrath!!!!! You reading this, if you don't love yourself I’ll beat you with a stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~

Bad:I hope everyone is today well! And tomorrow!!!! After that you’re on your own.

~~~~~~

Bad:what am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work

Skeppy:I don’t know, what do you normally do while I’m gone

Bad: wait for you to get back

~~~~~~

Velvet:For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5am on the day I can sleep in

Ant:Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

Velvet:Early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch

~~~~~~

Tubbo: 3:23 AM make a wish

Ranboo: I wish that you would go to sleep

Tuddo: Yeah well I wish I grew an inch taller every day as you get an inch shorter until you’re as flat as as a piece of paper and I’m 11 feet tall

Ranboo: You’re going to die of a mixture of skeletal instability and heart disease.

Tubbo: Yeah but I’ll look good while doing it.

~~~~~~

Bad:Disrespect me again and I’ll determine your bodies resonant frequency and play a jaunty horn solo that boils your miserable organs inside out 

~~~~~~

Quackity: If I were dating you?  Well, heh. Let’s just say horses wouldn't be called horses anymore

Karl: hey what the honk does this mean…..I’m shaking what does this mean!

~~~~~~

Skeppy: Are you ok?

Bad wrapped in a burrito blanket drinking his 6th cup of coffee: Yes, this is exactly what mental stability looks like

~~~~~~

Sam: My hands are cold

Ponk: *holds their hands*

Ponk: better?

Sam: My lips are cold too

~~~~~~

George at dream’s funeral: can I have a moment alone with them?

Sapnap: of course *leaves*

George leaning over dream’s casket: Now listen, I know you’re not dead.

Dream: yeah no shit

~~~~~~

Skeppy, jokingly: I should have Bad kill you for that.

Bad, peering around the corner: Who do I need to kill?

Skeppy: Wh- no, I was just kidding around.

Bad, pulling out a switchblade: No, who’s bothering you

~~~~~~

Bad *watching the news*: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium.

Skeppy *covered in ink*: Maybe the squirt was being a dick.

~~~~~~

Peacock: *spreads feathers at Bad*

Skeppy: It’s trying to attract a mate

Bad, extremely confused: *shyly lifts top*

Skeppy: No!

~~~~~~

Sapnap: Karl, do you eat olives? My dad wants to know

Karl: No, I hate olives. Olives are the spawn of satan. I hate olives so much my mom forced me to live in Mount olive for the rest of my childhood as a curse from the olive gods. Do you understand how much olives have ruined my life? I'm so offended that you asked me that have some consideration for people who have been abused by olives please!

Sapnap: K A R L ……….they’re just olives!!?

Karl: JUST OLIVES EXCUSE!

~~~~~~

Tommy: If you’re bored you can simply close your eyes and rotate a cow in your mind. It’s free and the cops can’t stop you

~~~~~~

Wilbur: is there anyone even named sheldon irl?

Tubbo: my class turtle from 6th grade :)

Wilbur: that’s a turtle

Tubbo: When god sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

~~~~~~

Ranboo: No bcuz why do ppl like salad?? What’s so good about it

Tubbo: chew leaf like god intended

Ranboo: No

Tubbo: Abandon god and see what he does next time you lift your hands in prayer

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Wilbur, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

~~~~~~

Quackity: So according to the cease and desist order I got, apparently you can’t ‘legally’ be a lawyer if your license is ‘cut out of a cereal box’.

~~~~~~

Puffy: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Bad: Sex.

Skeppy: Seriously, answer faster.

Bad: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Skeppy: It’s like a giant hug.

Puffy: Ant, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Ant: Food.

Puffy: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Ant: ……...Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Gumi: What about you Velvet? What would you give up sex or food?

Velvet: Oh… um… I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Gumi: No, you gotta pick one.

Velvet: Um, food… no, sex… no, food…sex… food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want Antfrost on bread!

~~~~~~~

Tommy, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVERS CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.

~~~~~~~

Bad: Why are you guys acting like this?

Boomer: Oh, we’re not acting. We really are like this.

~~~~~~

Techno: Dream has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing.

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re pathetic!

Wilbur: You’re pathetic-er!

Techno: You’re both losers.

~~~~~~

Bad: I wish I could help you, but I shorn’t.

Skeppy: Bad, please!

Bad: What part of shorn’t don’t you understand?

~~~~~~

Tubbo: Why did you leave Wrestlemania on for Michal?

Ranboo: They need to learn how to protect us.

~~~~~~

Antfrost: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.

~~~~~~

Bad: Strawberry milk doesn’t taste like strawberry OR milk.

Skeppy: Go the fuck to sleep Bad!

Bad: LANGUAGE!!

~~~~~~

Ranboo: Tubbo, please calm down.

Tubbo: I asked for two large fries!

Tubbo: *dumps fries onto table*

Tubbo: But all they did was give me a MILLION FUCKING LITTLE ONES!

~~~~~~

Bad: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time.

Skeppy: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.

~~~~~~

Wilbur: When you’ve been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.

Tommy: Navy blue isn’t your color.

Wilbur: Navy blue brings out my eyes you prick! *Chases after Tommy*

~~~~~~

Bad: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*

Puffy: Where did you get that?.

Bad: My pocket.

Puffy: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?

Bad: Skills.

~~~~~~

Tubbo: I will come to your house after work and knock on your window at 11 AM. You will not open the curtains, knowing full well what awaits you, but the knocking only grows louder, more demanding. Finally it stops, your ears ringing. You nervously let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're safe now. Minutes pass by and you start to relax. And then you hear a knock at the front door. Like before, you stay still and clutch the blankets around you. You try to tell your self that it's just your imagination. Maybe the milk man? But why would he come so late? Everyone else was asleep, save for Naomi who was playing video games down stairs. To your relief, the knocking stops after a few. Minutes and you breath easy once more. Until you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You don't move. It's just your imagination. She isn't here. She can't be here. You tell yourself, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to sleep. The knock comes again, but with horror you realize that it came from the closet inside your room. You know that you have no choice. You get up, climbing out of bed with shaking limbs. You walk to the closest, trembling, and holding back the tears threatening to spill over your porcelain cheeks. You hesitate with your hand over the closet handle. Maybe it's just your imagination? She's not really there. You can go to sleep and laugh it off in the morning. Your naive thoughts are cut off by another, more demanding knock on the closet door, inches from your face. You know what you have to do. You open the closet door, and there she stands. Chuck e cheese, the mouse looms over you in the dim light. It's soulless eyes boor into you. It raises its arms, and you flinch as it begins to floss at lightning speed. Tears spill over your cheeks. This is the last thing you'll ever see.

Ranboo: Wait, Chuck e cheese’s pronouns are she/her? Trans Chuck e cheese? Good for her.

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Would you like something to drink? *They opened the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Quackity: Spiders?

Bad: Spiders it is then.

Quackity: No, that wasn’t-

*But they were already pouring him a brimming glass of spiders…

~~~~~~

Puffy : Make her pussy wet not her eyes.

Velvet : Make his dick hard not his life.

Punz : Break her bed not her heart.

Skeppy : Play with his boobs not his feelings. 

Ant : Get on his dick not his nerves.

Bad : Always salt your pasta while boiling it.

~~~~~~~

Wilbur: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!

Tommy: Bet you I can!

Phil: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*

~~~~~~~

Ant: We need a way to lure in new customers?

Ponk: Maybe we could have some fun, interactive events!

Skeppy: Badboyhalo bath water.

Bad: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

~~~~~~~~

Fundy: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK!

Wilbur: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Mint is just cold spicy.

Pummel party Squad: …

Gumi: What the actual fuck is wrong with you.

~~~~~~~~

Quackity: Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Phil:

Phil: Why are you eating dirt?

Tommy: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

~~~~~~~

Tubbo: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies.

Quackity: You’re too young to have enemies.

Tubbo: You don’t even know.

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Puffy: What’s up your ass this morning!

Bad: *walks in* …Hi!!

Puffy: Hmm… nevermind.

Skeppy: WAIT NO!

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Ha! Don’t you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper?

Skeppy: I must be losing it, I’m quoting Bad.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Bad, I sense hostility.

Bad: Good, because I hate you

~~~~~~~

Bad: Are you a painting?

Skeppy: What-?

Bad: Because I want to pin you to a wall.

Skeppy: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG ME OR SOMETHING-

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re giving me a sticker?

Phil: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”

Tommy: I’m not a preschooler.

Phil: Fine, I’ll take it back-

Tommy: I earned this, back off!

~~~~~~

Dream, sweating: George, there’s something I need to ask you-

George: Finally! You’re proposing!

Dream: How’d you know?

George: Dream, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

George: I even picked it up once

~~~~~~~~

*Bad and Skeppy looking at a locked gate into a park*

Bad: Aw. :(

Skeppy: You know what they say.

Bad: Please don’t-

Skeppy: BE GAY DO CRIME! *hops gate*

Bad: Frick-

~~~~~~~~

let me know if ya’ll want more <3

[starfighter10]

tlou2 opinion

So I really had to share my opinion(rant) on the last of us part 2 and boy I have a lot to say. I am gonna dwell deep into this one, so bear with me if you can and want to

 But before that I have to share the feelings I hold for tlou1.Back when I finished tlou1, I knew I experienced something truly magical. I was pleasantly surprised by the beautifully crafted story, the execution of the characters, the music, the gameplay , and the effort that went into shaping the journey of the game,the character arcs and bonds. You could see and experience the uniqueness and passion that went into the first project. This game immediately became a favourite of mine.

When tlou2 was announced, my expectations were skyhigh,was elated to continue Joel and Ellie's journey and how it unfolds. The bar set by the first one was exceptionally high and probably impossible to achieve, but I had trust and faith in naughty dog, thought they couldn't go wrong with this one. After experiencing tlou2 , I am speechless.... not in a good way. I have no words to express my disappointment,frustration and anger I feel right now. I don't even know where to begin.... the absolute mess of a plot, the original characters being blatantly ignored, retconned and disrespected in favour of new bland characters, the plotholes in the story, the false advertising and marketing, naughty dog's hubris, making a complete mockery of your fans who are paying money to play something but getting baited for something else. I am utterly heartbroken and angry.

The plot - the driving force of the game is over ambitious, lazy,sloppy and nihilistic. It felt forced. Naughty dog bit off more then they could chew with this one. Tlou2 could have gone several ways in terms of plot with the existing characters, yet we get the cliche revenge plotline with the character abandoning the quest altogether to realise revenge isn't the answer. This trope has been done several times before, with more finesse and better execution. The writers aim for the " Ellie breaks the cycle of the revenge" but it really fails to achieve this as she blatanly annihilates several characters,npcs along the way in quest of her revenge. The damage has been done practically speaking. According to naughty dog's logic , I should expect Nora's sister or a random npc's friend/relatives in tlou3 hunting down Ellie in their revenge quest. Also Abby's quest literally does nothing for me. This character was so poorly written, executed and shoved down our throats, I didn't have any sort of attachment or empathy for her. I simply don't care about this character.

The circumstances that lead to Joel's death was out of character as well. Since the trailer drop in 2016, I was prepared for his inevitable death. Thought he would probably go out like the badass he is, maybe sacrificing himself for Ellie/tommy. The Joel I know from tlou1, a hardened survivor who has fought tooth and nail to survive the past 20 years would NEVER end up in a situation like that. Joel was intensely alert, critical,clever and intuitive. The argument here may be that he has softened in Jackson, but I feel at this point this should be 2nd nature to him. Something that is automatic. Yet the writer's now want you to believe he is a dumbass who would trust a group of strangers, make small talk and introductions and end up in a situation like that. One of the bigger issues was the constant reinforcing that Joel wiped down the fireflies in cold blood and doomed humanity for death by robbing them of their cure for survival,Ellie believing the cure would have been a guaranteed sure shot success ..... WHY? This retcons the first one completely. The beauty of the tlou1 was it's moral ambiguity and uncertainty. We were constantly hinted that fireflies is a mess of a group whose agendas weren't clearly known, whose actions caused the sacrifice of many people for the sake of a slight possibility of a cure.They were power hungry and were cruel enough to send a 14 year old girl to her death with no remorse,consent or any proper investigation or medical research. Joel initially negotiates to find someone else, gets shut down immediately, gets his means of survival snatched and was practically marched to his death. He had no option but to wipe clean these people who planned on killing someone dear to him, for something that is uncertain or in vain. And yes this was a selfish decision on Joel's part, and that was the beauty of it. The moral ambiguity. He was right or wrong or both - open to your interpretation. BUT NOW NAUGHTY DOG WANTS TO TO ERASE ALL THAT DEVELOPMENT. The active reinforcement that Joel was a cold, ruthless murderer who killed fireflies and deprived humanity of its cure? Trying to erase the fact that he was surviving and trying to keep his dear ones safe in this cold, brutal and unforgiving postapocalyptic world. So that we sympathize with Abby and enjoy golfing the tf outa Joel?. Ellie seems like a different character in this one, but again this character is immediately pushed to a whirlwind of traumatic events right from the start of the game. I missed her spark of joy,humour and enthusiasm. The treatment of the main chatacter in her own game is utterly cruel and disappointing, and seemed unfair to me. By the end, Ellie is broken beyond repair. Though she thematically chooses to be the better person and gives up on her vengeance and hate, she still manages to be on the losing side as she ends up losing her father figure which was her closest bond, loses Dina and the kid , she doesn't have her community, her people, her fucking fingers as well. Why? So Ellie could suffer a little more and be unable to do most important thing that bonded her to Joel. Not to mention she loses her switchblade too, her mother's final memory. Surprised that ND spared her mother's letter . Feel her pain and despair. Why does Ellie get such a shitty,depressing, worthless, futile and a hopeless conclusion while Abby not only gets her revenge successfully, forms a close bond in Lev and gets to escape possibly to a fresh start. Ellie? Nah she gets to suffer alone. Her BIGGEST FEAR has become a reality by the end. The least they could do is let Ellie have some solace and calm, surrounded by her loved ones on that farm,her trying to recover from her trauma slowly but surely, it's what joel would have wished for. But no, she is left all alone, absolutely traumatized, all by herself with nothing to look forward to. Oh and tommy is whole new character in every scene. So keep your eyes peeled for various versions of tommy throughout. The character inconsistencies are ridiculous.

The gameplay, beautiful sceneries, and new characters like dina and jesse are few of the positives of game - leaning more towards Jesse. Dina felt perfect for Ellie and Jesse did manage to lighten up few of the moments. The space shuttle cutscene, the museum flashback sequence, ellie and joel's flashbacks were the only parts that remotely captures the magic and beauty of tlou1. I got emotional watching them. The space shuttle sequence hits you with the feels. Joel slaying a bloater with a machete was cinematic art. (Hot too)

Abby... the forced deuteragonist, is an utter failure of character execution. Her character was forced onto us, felt hasty and lacked real build up. She starts off on the wrong foot by killing one of the most popular characters. If ND really wanted this character to work, the only possible way would have been to play her point of view and backstory prior to her mercilessly killing and torturing a guy who just saved her life. What was ND thinking? That a few hours of her pov,forced out of the blue background story, her getting to play with dogs while ellie has no option but to attack the dogs, the abby-lev bond which is pretty much discount or the walmart version ellie and joel would be enough to side with her over ellie and joel???? The part where they force you to play as abby against ellie? It made me sick. I felt cheated and disgusted.

The false advertising to make us believe joel is alive and good? That this is an ellie and joel centric game?To tug at your heartstrings like this. A complete mockery of the fans who waited 7 years to see their favorite characters get horribly treated,retconned, disrespected and thrown under the bus in favour of new unlikable characters. Butchering the heart and soul of the last of us - Joel and Ellie's bond. The fact that these two don't even get a heart to heart before his death, that Joel dies uncertain of ellie's future, maybe thought he could not save Ellie in those final painful moments, that she had never forgiven him, Ellie never getting her closure with Joel, or really getting to tell him how much he meant to her.... all these thoughts legit made me shed tears. Broke my heart. This is how much ND wanted to honour and respect ellie and joel.

The game's conclusion is hollow, futile, worthless and depressing. And in my opinion, this is non canon. This is the only way I can cope with this unsastifying conclusion. It is immaturity I guess... but I will feel better about it.

Though I utterly despise tlou2, tlou1 will continue to remain one of my favorite pieces of work in fiction. JOEL FUCKING MILLER WILL ALWAYS BE THE BADDEST BITCH AND NOTHING WILL CHANGE THE LOVE I HAVE FOR HIM.

If someone actually read it all the way, thank you for your time and effort. Really needed to rant and let these negative emotions out.

[lovelylogans]

the little things

oh i love the little things you say and i love the little things you do let's stay forever together this way my love, i'm so in love with you

—matt monro, "i love the little things"

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: sick mentions, food mentions, that’s about it this one’s pretty fluffy (but please let me know if i’ve missed anything!)

pairings: moxiety

words: 2,913

notes: hey, everyone. the world's kind of a Lot right now, and i figured people would probably need some fluff. i'm working on (a couple) longer pieces in this verse, including a few fluffy ones in the midst of the slightly more plot-heavy ones i was originally planning to put out next. this one was a little informal one that i could get out relatively quickly. stay safe, stay healthy (mentally and physically) and i hope that this helps brighten your day, even just a little.

virgil always gets so fussy whenever patton's sick.

even if patton's just sniffling because of allergies, for goodness' sake, virgil will ask if he's taken his allergy medicine and then, he's found it if he forgets it at home, he stashes some extra in the diner just for him, just so patton won't be sneezy when he goes off to work.

but if patton, god forbid, catches as much as a cold, then it means he's in for the mother-henning of a century. 

virgil clucks after him, asking about his symptoms, is he too warm or too cold, patton knows they could probably manage without him at the inn for the day if he needs to take a day to rest, he should take a day to rest, let virgil feel his forehead just to triple-check that he doesn't have a fever, ooh he feels a little warm maybe he should make a doctor's appointment, just to be sure that it isn't anything worse than a cold, and he could get some antibiotics if it's the flu—

even as patton groans and complains about virgil being a fusspot, really, he'll be fine, he, well. he always feels a little warm in the chest that has nothing to do with his cold or the flu.

it's just nice to be taken care of, sometimes.

⁂

patton has this really deep appreciation for food. 

he leans in and inhales the scent of his hot cocoa/coffee, even if he's acting like a sleep-deprived zombie otherwise. he makes happy humming noises whenever he tries the first bite of something. there's always this bright smile on his face whenever he tries something that virgil makes for him, especially for him, that doesn't seem to go away even if he's got his mouth closed and he's chewing. he almost always scrapes the plate with his fork, to make sure he's gotten every last morsel.

patton loves food. anyone can tell that patton loves food.

he'll never admit it, but virgil always gets this fluttery feeling in his stomach whenever he sees how much patton loves his food.

⁂

most of the time, virgil's a pretty clean-shaven fella. but sometimes, virgil lets the stubble grow out.

when he's anxious or overworked or busy, sometimes, it means that he doesn't want to spend time shaving and so just gets all five o'clock shadowy. but sometimes, it's just that he doesn't want to shave, when he's feeling a bit lazy or running late. sometimes in the winter, he lets it grow out, just because it's cold, and he tells patton that he can fool himself into believing that it's helping his face feel warmer; plus, it's what his dad does, a lot of the time, so he grew up seeing him do that and then just starting doing it himself.

when he's particularly stubbly, virgil ends up running his hand across his jaw or his cheek a lot more often than he would if he was clean-shaven. patton thinks it's about the texture, but he's never really asked. 

it looks kind of unfairly good on him? actually, no question mark, no kind of. it looks unfairly good on him.

it helps add to the whole "grr-gruff-diner-guy" thing he's got going on, with his flannels, and it just makes him look a little... rougher around the edges. 

turns out patton likes rougher around the edges.

⁂

patton always means it when he says please or you're welcome or thank you. especially thank you.

a lot of people just keep to manners because it's polite, not because they particularly mean it. and it's not like that's a bad thing—virgil is the same way, most of the time, because it's absent-minded. it's habit. he does mean it some of the time, most of the time, even, just...

it's not like the way patton is.

you can tell whenever he says "oh, excuse me!" to a person that it's real. you can tell he really, actually means it when he tells people that if they need anything, to give him a call or a text to let him know and he'll help any way he can, it's not just a nice gesture. when he thanks people, he... he means it. he really wants them to know that he's grateful, because he is grateful.

patton's genuine like that. patton's thoughtlessly good like that.

⁂

people probably wouldn't predict it at the sight of him—tall, dark-haired, scowly, sometimes-stubbly—but virgil is really great with kids.

kids of all ages, really, from babies to teenagers about to head off to college. patton wonders sometimes, how much of that is borne from practice with logan, which is a whole other huge part of why patton loves him, so he's going to get back on track here. (honestly, it probably has a lot to do with logan, and a lot to do with virgil's various nieces and nephews and cousins.)

virgil always gets this smile on his face when someone offers to hold a baby, and he holds them so carefully, always moving to support their head first and making sure that they're as secure as possible and that he's holding them textbook-perfect, surveying them to make sure they don't make any expressions of discomfort or if they start crying before he moves to start carefully rocking them, or bouncing them, this disbelieving, self-satisfied grin breaking over his face if he manages to make a baby laugh.

with toddlers, and with little kids, if he's capable of doing it, he'll always crouch down to their level, so they can look him in the eyes (or look down at him, depending on how tall the kid is) and listens to everything they have to say, asking questions that they'll be able to answer, even if he knows the answer. 

he's got a stash of kid-friendly band-aids, just in case a kid skins their knee in the town square outside before they come into the diner, and kid menus that they can color over or just plain coloring sheets if they're sick of the diner menus, and those cheap waxy four-packs of crayons. 

he's pretty decent with teenagers, too, or as good as anyone could be with a teenager—that part is probably born from him being a sulky teenager himself. he seems to know when to let kids rant, or when to let them be, or if they'll participate with gentle teasing, either of themselves or at himself.

virgil's just... really great with kids. so patton can't really help it, the way he stares at virgil with this silly smile on his face as virgil makes an overdramatically surprised face to the latest fun fact that one of his regulars' kids is telling him.

⁂

patton would tell you that he is not a great knitter, in good humor, all sheepish grin and ducked head and hand rubbing across the back of his neck.

well, not as terrible as he used to be; virgil still has the purple yarn that is still a bit tangled together that was once his first-ever homemade gift from patton, for his twenty-third birthday. at least the stuff he makes now is relatively decent at holding its shape, as long as it isn't anything too complicated. he has scarves and baby booties and hats and bags down.

but when he does try to make things that are complicated? he's absolutely hopeless. sweaters turn out lopsided. stockinette stitching is the closest virgil's ever heard to him cussing something out. socks? not a chance. 

but patton seems to survey them and then, always, always, he tries again, needles clacking away as he stares at the project in concentration, brow furrowing, his curls flopping into his eyes as he hunches himself over it. and then if it turns out slightly better, he'll get all excited, showing virgil the latest project even with its missed stitches and loops and endings, and if it doesn't turn out great, he'll sigh, and maybe get a little frustrated, but he'll unloop it and move to reuse the yarn for his next project.

he's that way about everything, really. if he doesn't succeed, he'll try, try again. 

it's just that with the knitting, virgil gets to see patton with a blanket thrown over his lap, a ball of yarn to the side, and him all focused, biting his lip and counting under his breath, even though he'll inevitably get distracted by something. it's cute. it's a cute hobby.

it fits him, since he's such a cute guy.

⁂

there's this thing virgil does when he's been on his feet for a long time, which is basically every day, since he works in a diner.

stretch his arms up over his head, then down his back. turn his head from side to side, then stretch his neck. plant his hands on his hips, leaning far to one side, then the other. stand on one leg and let the other bend at the knee, his foot close to touching his butt, then the other. if the diner isn't busy, he'll even bend to touch his toes and stretch to touch the sky.

the thing is, he almost never does his little stretching routine if he thinks anyone is watching. he'll go all red and mutter and disappear into the kitchen if anyone catches him at it. so patton always has to watch out of the corner of his eyes as virgil lets out this sigh when a stretch is particularly satisfying, or if some bone of his pops, as he does his little mini-calisthenics session.

only virgil, really, would keep that kind of practical thing secret in fears of seeming silly.

⁂

patton cries when he watches movies. not even just the sad scenes; the happy endings for some movies, too. when he watched homeward bound during a movie night with virgil and logan, when logan was about five, he was practically sobbing when shadow ran back into frame, leaving logan to confusedly pat his dad on the arm as he said "this movie is ill-o-gi-cal, daddy, you know that, right, animals don't talk," and virgil to offer his shoulder for patton to basically wipe his face off on it. well, he'd offered a hug, really, but patton had done that and also wiped his face off on virgil's hoodie.

so now virgil makes sure that there are tissues in his hoodie pocket, if they're watching a movie in theaters, or in the living room, if they're watching something at home.

⁂

virgil squints, near-suspicious, at measuring cups every time he's measuring out ingredients, to make sure that he really really has it right, even if he's been making the same food every day since he was allowed near a stove. like an i'm watching you kind of look.

⁂

patton's curls practically have their own moods. in comparison with virgil's hair, which have the three states of "unruly," "combed," and "actually styled," it feels like patton's hair has a thousand separate categories.

there's "generally unruly," which is patton's usual day-to-day look; he's clearly at least finger-combed through his hair, but it's still at least a little bit messy.

there's "i have styled my hair," which usually happens when he either has to go to his parents' house for friday night dinner or some other event in that world (chilton, charity dinners, the like) where he's made an attempt with gel, which has the bright side of taming the frizz but the dark side of taking away a lot of the lovable chaos that is patton's curls.

there's "bedhead," which is just one side of his hair flattened to his head, the rest of it frizzy and generally discombobulated.

there's a stage behind "generally unruly" and "bedhead," which virgil hasn't named, but it's when patton ruffles a hand through his hair to look at least a little bit more presentable, but really only succeeds in un-flattening his hair and making it look equally as frizzy and discombobulated as the rest of his hair. it usually makes an appearance on lazy days and in the early morning.

there's "i made an attempt with a comb or product," which usually happens on days where patton had meetings or had to go to the bank or something equally important, where the curls at least seem like they've been put into some kind of order, for the most part, with a few rebellious ones ruining the general effect.

there's "chaotically unruly," on days when patton has given up on organizing his hair for whatever reason, which meant his curls were just amok and nutty and tended to serve as a shortcut to see how frazzled patton was.

patton's curls get glimpses of reddish-auburn when he spends a lot of time in the sun in the springs or summers. it's really only easily visible when his hair catches the light. it fades away as the weather cools and the days grow longer, and virgil's almost surprised by their reappearance every year.

patton's curls grow out quick, and he isn't always the best at making sure to go get it cut, but patton looks good with his hair longer or shorter or any which way. the curls are good. the curls are great.

⁂

virgil is funny.

like, really funny. which most people wouldn't expect, because, again, he's so broody sometimes, but he is! 

he has these sly remarks that are muttered out of the corner of his mouth, usually about someone in town, which is usually about taylor, that makes patton stifle his giggles into his hand so he doesn't disrupt town meetings.

then there's his outright sarcasm, which can be in turn gentle teasing or biting commentary, which are usually more public but patton still wants to muffle his laughter by his hands, because virgil usually looked all fittingly derisive whenever he was sarcastic, and if he heard patton laughing then he'd probably crack a smile.

he even puns. he even puns specifically for patton. even if puns, a lot of the time, if it was anyone but patton telling them, makes him roll his eyes and groan. just because patton likes dumb dad jokes.

⁂

patton's an absolute gentleman.

he offers his arm for virgil to take when they're walking somewhere, almost always, either in the form of his forearm or in the form of holding hands. 

he opens doors for virgil. he pulls out chairs and helps virgil sit.

he walks between virgil and the curb, which he'd asked about just kind of mildly, since he'd never made a point of doing it back when they were just friends, and patton had rambled out some kind of explanation born the old days, like mud would splash onto him from some passing carriage or something.

he has meticulous table manners, whenever they go out to a restaurant that isn't his restaurant.

he almost always tries to pay for the check on dates, until virgil had talked him into taking turns with it, because it was getting a bit ridiculous.

if virgil's been particularly joking about patton's rich-person background, he'll start going even more overboard with it, standing when virgil enters a room and not sitting until virgil sits, taking virgil's hand and kissing his knuckles and everything. he does all of it with a teasing glint in his eyes, of course, but there's something particularly sincere and sweet in his eyes too that it makes virgil blush.

and, of course, since patton is a gentleman, he doesn't even comment on it. he just leans up to kiss virgil's cheek.

it's probably a holdover from his various etiquette lessons and the way he grew up, but virgil finds it charming regardless, tries to copy it when he can because it makes him feel nice and special when they're out on dates, so he figures it'll make patton feel nice and special when they're out on dates. even if virgil's pretty clumsy with it, patton always appreciates the gesture.

⁂

virgil has these really teeny-tiny freckles. they're basically unnoticeable unless patton's practically nose-to-nose with them. it had surprised patton, at first; virgil's so pale, he has such a creamy complexion that it seems like he shouldn't have freckles, but there they are. tiny, just-slightly-darker spots dotting his forearms, his shoulders, his cheeks. virgil had seemed surprised that patton had noticed them, then, off-handedly, mentioned that they were probably leftovers from sunburn over the years. he was pretty prone to that, being so pale.

but since patton had found them, he found himself seeking them out more and more often; there, on his shoulder blade, and here, on his knee. they're so small. like little markings on a treasure map, the treasure they led to being, of course, virgil himself.

⁂

there are lots of little things that they love about each other. things that may seem small, or near-unnoticeable, or things that are just little habits or actions or movements that seem like they shouldn't serve to make them feel as fond as they do.

but they do see it. and they do love those things, big or little. and there are plenty of big things: the way patton really, whole-heartedly loves roman like he's his own, the way virgil really, whole-heartedly loves logan like he's his own, patton's kindness and strength, virgil's heart of gold and deep-seated care for others. 

but the little things matter too.

they're finding a lot of new things to fall in love with, day after day.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #351

“the writing on the wall  /  a psalm of napalm  /  abandon all hope, but try to stay calm”

Do you have bad posture? Oh yeah. Are your eyes sensitive to sunlight? VERY. How many miles can you run without stopping? An astonishing zero miles. Who is the most attractive person you know personally? My high school friend Alon, probably. Have you ever dated someone who was very vastly different from your “type”? No. When was the first time you said "I love you" to a significant other? When I dated my first real boyfriend Jason at 16. I actually said it very early in because I thought I was "supposed" to, and I did REALLY like him. How old were you when you first lived alone? If you’ve never lived alone, how old do you think you’ll be? I haven't yet, and idk. What do you wish you had been better prepared for? Ha, adulthood. Is there anything about you (physically) that you think turns people off of you right off the bat? My weight. Do you know anyone with a semicolon tattoo? I have a semicolon butterfly tattoo on my wrist, and while it's very subtle, my Mark tat features a semicolon, too. It's outlined by a quote he's said ("you are important, never forget that"), and the "i" is a semicolon. Idk if I know anyone else with one. Have you ever overdosed on a drug? Once accidentally, once purposefully. Have you ever kissed a guy you didn’t want to kiss? Yes. Who was the last guy you cuddled with? Girt. What is something you’ve had a toxic reaction to? The breakup with Jason. In the last picture taken of you, how did you pose? I just tilted my head, smiled, and gave a peace sign, haha. Mom wanted to show my sister how I looked with a dozen wires and other shit attached to me for my sleep study. Have you ever made a fake Facebook account? If so, why? No. If you were an Eevee, what would you wanna evolve into? Probably Espeon? They're so, so majestic and beautiful. I'd love to feel like that, lol. What flavor was the last piece of gum you chewed? Raspberry lemonade. Did you ever used to watch the show Teen Titans? Nah. When you were in school/if you are in school, do you actually share your grades with your parents? If you got/get a bad grade, do you hide it from them? My mom always stayed up-to-date with my grades. I never really had anything to hide. Have you ever been the designated driver? Once or twice, yeah. Were you obsessed with Webkinz when they first came out? "Obsessed" is an understatement. I was that kid with dozens upon dozens. They were pretty much my favorite thing. Who do you subscribe to on YouTube, if anybody? Oh Jesus, looooots. Are you wearing nail polish right now? What color? No. Neon colors, or pastel? Pastel. Are you currently pregnant? Do you wish you were/weren’t? I'm not and have zero desire to be. Have you ever had a dog? A good number of them throughout my life. Is there any drama going on right now in your life? No. Does your hair fall out a lot? No. What’s your favourite type of bird? Barn owls. I also love ravens and crows. How many friends do you have on Facebook? 126. What was on the last sandwich you ate? Pb&j. What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? The same as I do now: metal and its various subgenres. Have you ever gotten back together with an ex? No. How far away is the closest store to your house and what is it? I'm actually unsure which is the closest. We live in a cul-de-sac with a bunch of houses, and the street opens into just outside the main city, so there's a lot of stores. What is your favourite Thai dish? I've actually never tried Thai food. How many contacts do you have in your phone? Very few, but I don't feel like counting. Are there any candles in your bedroom, and what scent are they? No. What pet names do you use with your significant other? I'm single. Do you have to wear a name badge where you work? I don’t have a job. Can you hear anything right now? Yeah, I'm watching Gab Smolders play Skyrim. It's a game I've always wanted to play myself. Is there anybody else in the room you’re currently in? No. What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? Walmart. Does your house have a porch/balcony? It has a very, very small porch. What is your mother’s first name? Donna. Did you have a tree house as a kid? No. Are you afraid of speaking to large audiences? I'm terrified of it. Have you ever cried from being so mad? Oh yeah, it's very common for me to cry when I'm mad. Have you ever taken a bath with someone? As a kid, yes. Do you have any brothers? One older one. Does your family use coasters? Is anyone in your family excessively tidy? No. Do you wear pajamas to places other than at your house? Ha, yeah, just depends on where. Do you take showers in the morning or at night more? Morning. I used to be ALL about night showers, but I just love how refreshing they are in the morning. It's a good start to the day. Do you snore? Steal the covers? Roll around in your sleep? I steal the covers SO bad and roll around a lot. God bless whoever marries me. You see the person you fell hardest for. What do you do? I can guarantee I'd be a total deer in headlights and probably tear up or just straight-up cry. Have you been/are you depressed? It's nowhere near as bad as it was once upon a time, but I honestly am depressed these days. Who is the one person you can completely be yourself around? I only feel entirely "safe" doing that around Sara. Are your popups blocked on your computer? Yeah. Are your parents night owls or morning birds? My mom's a total night owl. She absolutely hates sleeping because it's "such a waste of time" to her, but of course she does it anyway. I haven't lived with my father since I was like 16, so idk what he's really like with this stuff now, but I'd call him an early bird, particularly because his job has him up early anyway. Do you have high blood pressure? No; my blood pressure is actually extremely low, so much so it scares every doctor who hasn't treated me before. It's a medication side effect and seriously sucks, because I am absolutely always light-headed and dizzy. Have you ever pumped gas? No. Are you affectionate? Very. What would a perfect yard look like for you? Hmmm... I'm going to include things I know I won't realistically have for maintenance reasons, but what's ideal. I would loooove love love at least one really big tree with maybe a birdhouse and like a bat box (is that what they're called?), and I'd love tons and tons of flowers to feed bees and other wildlife. A koi pond would be amazing, but that's one of those things I know I won't actually have. A pool would be really nice, preferably inground, and having a spot in the shade would be perfect. Some berry bushes would be cool, and grape vines... Man, I'm really fantasizing now, haha. What is a topic that you have just recently become interested in? Nothing very recently, but I'd say the most recent would be uhhhh tarantulas, though that's been a thing for many months now. What is a feel-good song that you’ve been listening to lately? None lately, anyway. I can tell you "Jump" by Van Halen is the staple "feel-good" song for me, though. What are some things you enjoy seeing pictures of? Meerkats... Mark... more meerkats and Mark... oh also meerkats and Mark... Is there anything you are scared/awkward about talking about in life? Don't talk to me about sex. Has a pet ever stolen food from you as you were eating it? AS I was eating it, no. What is the weirdest compliment you have ever been given? I have no idea. What’s stronger - your upper or lower body? Jesus, I couldn't tell you. I'm just weak, period. Women tend to have more lower body strength, so I GUESS maybe that, but given the fact my legs are horribly weak, I don't know. My arms aren't strong, either. Are you very careful with your technology (phone, laptop, etc) or do you take risks that could damage them? I try to be mindful and careful, but you could say the way I pick up my laptop sometimes is risky. Have you ever been in the newspaper? What for? I think so, as part of my graduating class? But that would be a LOT of people... so I actually don't know. I have this faint memory of being in it with other people, but idr. Would you say that the area you live in is particularly picturesque? Ew, no. What is your favorite type of cat? One does not simply pick ONE favorite kind of cat. I love Persians, Ragdolls, Siamese, sphynxes, bengals, Abyssinians, and I could go on and on. If you had your way, what color(s) would you dye your hair? I have A LOT of colors I want to dye my hair, but the ones I'm currently most interested in are pastel pink, creamsicle orange, and lilac. Do you like seafood? If so, what is your favorite? If not, what is your favorite type of food? I only like shrimp. What religion/spiritual path intrigues you the most, if any? Paganism. It's the one I think is closest to what I believe in, and I just find it all very interesting. I love the nature focus. Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? Nooooo. How many times is your cartilage pierced in your ears? None anymore. :( I miss all my piercings that closed while hospitalized. Have you ever had a pet bird? Nah. It'd be cool, but I don't want one enough to actually get one. Do you like dinosaurs? I looooove dinos. They were my obsession as a kid. My first dream career was even a paleontologist. Do you like going for long walks with friends? If my legs worked like a healthy fucking human's, I would love to do that again. I would literally collapse if I tried to go on a long walk now. Do you miss anyone from school? I miss a lot of people from school. I'm thankful for Facebook for that, but even that's not enough, really. What is your favorite flavor of Jolly Ranchers? Watermelon, I think? Was there a strawberry one? How are your parents right now? I'm assuming Dad's fine, and Mom's okay, just stressed as she always is. Can you take naps, or does it make you feel horrible? Man, I love naps. They're like, mandatory for my existence, lol. If you celebrate Christmas, do you get a real tree or an artificial tree? A fake one. Have you ever been told you were a good writer? Yeah. Do you watch music videos? No. Do you own an account on Club Penguin? Haha awww, remember the worldwide heartbreak when that site shut down? Anyway, I did as a kid. Do you like lemonade? Sure do. Was your first kiss perfect? To me it was. How do you feel about the first person you kissed? I feel a lot of things about him. As of right now, how do you feel about your future? Nervous. Who is the last person you ran into unexpectedly? *shrugs* Is sex something special, or just for fun? It has to be something special for me personally. Do you follow fashion? If so, why? Not at all. Have you ever played a real pinball machine? No. Do you like the smell of BBQs? I love the smell, but don't like the food. Do wasps scare you? Yes. Are you currently trying to get over someone? I mean, yes and no. I don't think I'll ever be fully over Jason, but I feel like I'm as "over him" as I'll ever be, maybe. I hope I can even further let him go, but we'll just have to see. Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours? Yes. Have you ever worn flip flops in the snow? HA, oh yeah. If it's only a dusting, I don't care at all. I pretty much always wear flip flops. How old were you when you met your first love? I was 15. If you could have one more pet, what? JUST one? Probably a Brazilian Black tarantula, ideally. I technically want a western hognose snake more, but given I already have a snake, in this hypothetical situation, I'd take the spider. Would you rather have an owl or a snake? Ha, speaking of snakes. A snake, even though I adore owls. What do you order at Chic-Fil-A? I don't give my business to Chick-fil-A. They're reigned by homophobic, transphobic pieces of shit that have given monetary contributions to anti-LGBT foundations, including most disgustingly those that support conversion therapy. I admittedly looooove their chicken sandwiches, but I just can't in good conscience go there. Have you ever been addicted to cigarettes? No, given I've never smoked and will never. Which do you use more? Facebook or Instagram? Facebook. Did you enjoy your past relationships? Yeah. Do you like '80s music? '80s metal is great. Something you would NEVER buy? Drugs. Have you ever questioned your sexuality? I first questioned if I was bisexual in middle school, 8th grade I think, but I went into denial about it given I was Christian at the time. Looking back, there were many clear signs of me liking girls too, I just didn't notice them until a few years ago when I came out as bi. Do you like Star Wars? No. What is the best thing about life? Experiencing love, both platonic and romantic. Are you superstitious? No. What show/concert have you gone to that you didn’t like much? I haven't experienced a bad concert before, but then again I've only been to one. Is sex a must in your life? Nah. Have you watched porn alone before? I've never watched porn period. I have absolutely no desire to watch two random people go at each other. What do you think about weed? It should be legal everywhere, but treated similarly to alcohol in that there are legal repercussions to doing certain things, like driving, under the influence. There are just too many benefits for many health conditions to ignore. Have you read the entire Bible before? No. I've started to before, but I didn't get far.

[redbeanboi]

hello juno!! i hope youre having a good day! may i request mista and his s/o both wanting to have kid(s) and how their dynamic goes as spouses and then as parents if thats ok?

hello my unnamed friend! I’m having a pretty okay day. hope you’re doing well in these trying times! your wish is my command—

Mista and S/O as spouses… and parents!!

Mista leans really far into that Italian stereotype of family being very important. It may not be on the forefront of his mind 24/7 but he does want a family—spouse, kids, the whole shebang!

He’s very aware of the fact that his line of work is very dangerous, so he doesn’t even think about bringing it up until he’s sure that you want the same thing. It’d be unfair for him to ask so much of you when he’s not entirely sure of what might happen to him in the future. But once he knows that you want kids too, he’ll be ready. Mista isn’t the kind to half-ass anything, so expect him to be 100% on board, all hands on deck when the time has come.

Now this is going to sound weird, but I think Mista would be traditional in the sense that he’d want to be married to you before having children. He wants a pretty moderately sized wedding, with about 100 of your closest friends and family attending. Mista, being a big believer of fate, is probably somewhat religious and would want to have a religious ceremony. 

Also! Considering his position in one of the most powerful criminal organizations, Mista is pretty loaded. He spends a lot on his regular getup, so you can bet that he’ll get himself a really nice tux for the event. Will gladly set aside a lot of his money for the wedding’s budget. If you want to wear a designer tux? He’s got you? Want to wear a beautiful wedding gown? You’ve got it babe—Mista wants you to feel like royalty on your special day. He’s so happy you want to get married and start a family so he’s ready to spend it all on you. Just make sure he doesn’t get too carried away.

The food is also important. Expect him to get a menu all set for the reception. Four courses, baby!! The Italian way. Got your antipasti, primi, secondi, and dolce. Mista loves food and he has good taste. Leave it to him and the Sex Pistols.

And yes. You decide to adopt the whole cake cutting/feeding custom from the Americans… and you will most definitely be feeding cake to Mista as well as the Sex Pistols. Just go with it. hehe

Smashing a vase is a really big custom (according to tradition, however many pieces the glassware breaks into will symbolize how many years the couple will be happily married), and Mista’s really superstitious, so he insists that you both follow that custom and do it at some point during the ceremony. Vase breaks and—would you look at that!!

Giorno and Bruno count about 98 pieces total. Mista’s smiling ear to ear.

Anyway let’s skip the honeymoon and get straight to married life!!

Mista doesn’t know how to cook, but he wants to learn so he can help you. At the very least, he’ll brush up on knife skills so he can chop the vegetables for you. Always insists that you make enough for about 3 people because his stand needs to eat. 

Maybe it’s all those years of living on his own and having a job that sends him home every night with some kind of bruise or wound (or just straight up blood from someone he had to pummel), but Mista’s very very good at doing his laundry. Knows how to get just about any kind of stain out, and is very particular about how his (very expensive) clothes are cleaned. 

if you’re working full-time, he’ll make sure to split the chores with you so you can have time to relax. Usually likes vacuuming and dusting surfaces. Is very good at keeping things pretty organized.

If you’re staying at home (which you are totally welcome to do, because he has enough money to support you both), he will still insist on taking some of the chores off of your list so you can relax !! He wants you to feel pampered and everything.

He loves climbing into bed every night and cuddles with you before passing out. God he’s a cuddler. Expect to be held all throughout the night, especially because Mista is just so in love with you, and married life is just the best! He’s happy to be with someone like you.

You usually give in to Mista’s tenderheartedness, and have breakfast ready for him every morning before he goes to work. Mista likes to get his beauty sleep though and wakes up late, so you always have a pastry and some espresso ready for him. He’ll cram it down his throat and wash it down with a double shot of espresso before giving you a kiss and running off to work.

It’s like this in your apartment for several months until !! Mista proposes that you guys get a nice apartment closer to Giorno’s place (mostly because he wants to laze around in bed a little longer for…. you know what). And he thinks it’s time he got you a place fit for royalty! So you both settle on this really nice apartment in the Chiaia district, close to the Piazza Amedeo station. The location’s perfect because it’s cut his commute by like ten minutes and now he can spend his mornings with you. 

so several months after you’re moved in…. you finally pop the question. And Mista doesn’t say much because he’s absolutely floored. He’s been wanting this for so long! And he asks you questions. Are you sure about this? Do you think he’ll be a good dad? Will the kids like him? What if they hate him!

And once you and Mista have talked about it plenty, you finally decide to have children.

If you’re adopting, then you have to go through a lot of pesky paperwork because there’s surprisingly a lot of laws in regard to adoption in Italy. You’ll obviously get approved though, because you’re decent people. And if there’s something off in your records that’s holding things off a little bit, then well. Let’s just say that Mista’s boss is able to pull a string or two **wink wink**

If you’re having your own kids or if you want to carry the kids yourself then Mista, being the pervert that I suspect he is, will be enthusiastic about doing his part.

Oh he’s dedicated. Every day of the goddamn week until that test comes out positive.

Pregnancy (if you go this route) goes just fine and Mista is determined to be there every step of the way. He makes sure to tell Giorno that family is important and he wants to be there for his spouse at every doctor’s appointment and will need a more flexible schedule, and Giorno being the way that he is, is actually fine with this (might have something to do with him wanting a family of his own, but who knows?).

The baby is born !! Ahh!! Mista thinks names are important so you’ll spend a lot of time picking names

Honestly anything goes here, so whichever name you pick for your baby, is what we’re going with for now (I might pick one if someone wants a Papa!Mista fic eventually, but yeah)!

Mista is a great dad!! He’s always been a great caretaker for the pistols, but as a parent he goes above and beyond. He was born to do this.

Very flexible, go-with-the-flow; always able to make any adjustments for unexpected changes and such in the schedule or just life in general. He’s spontaneous, which your children will absolutely love, and he’s very big on communication. Sometimes wavers between blunt and tactful, but he always gets his message across to his kids clear as day, and makes sure they know what he expects of them so that no one gets hurt and that they’re all on the same page!

He really encourages his kids to be independent and take risks (though he’s not the greatest role model considering all the scraps he gets into) and overall gets a kick out of seeing his kids grow up. He’s a proud papa.

As the other parent, you’re the one picking up where Guido isn’t so strong, which is setting a healthy routine (important for kids!! don’t underestimate its value in a child’s life!!!), making sure they get their homework done and getting everyone together at the end of the day for dinner and also scheduling your family outings. 

Mista is the dad who likes to get his kids gifts on random occasions (and “just ‘cuz”) and taking his kids on adventures they’ll never forget (like going to the gelateria on the way home from school).

Mista is the dad who loves to roughhouse his kids. Expect pieces of furniture and small antiques to be broken as a result of a game of tag, wrestling, or just a plain old tickle-fight. If it’s something important, like a really old vase that was handed down in your family, Mista will bravely accept the punishment of being chewed out by you in rapid-fire Italian while the kids find a hiding spot. 

Mista loves sitting with the kids in their room at night when you’re reading a story to them. Sometimes he’ll fall asleep too. If he does, just shove him and tell him to get up so you can both sleep in your bed.

Sometimes he’ll ask you to sing them a lullaby and pester you with them if it means he can hear you sing. Moments like these make him realize how lucky he was to not only make it out of Giorno’s adventure alive, but also be able to meet you and fall in love and have a family with you.

—–

A/N: Ah !! This took me a while, I’m so sorry! But thank you for sending this in. I love Mista so so much and he’d be such a good boyfriend, an even better husband, and an amazing papa. Someone offer themselves up to give Guido a big and happy Italian family PRONTO. Thank you for sending this request in !! AHH. Mista!! Sweet sweet boy.

also i’m sorry i got pretty carried away. If you want to see more on the honeymoon/pregnancy stages, let me know !! I wanted to skip those and get to the important parts of the request. :) xx

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [9/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro. Jason and Isabel Ardila

Author’s Note: Exactly what it says on the can. I’ve had this idea kicking around my head for a while, getting in the way of finishing the next chapter of Philtatos and I figured if I started jotting down the basics of it, I could stop thinking about it.

________________________________________________________________

Jason really wants to say something caustic to Tim about that Robin comment—about how it’s something Dick would say, or that he’s watched one too many Hallmark specials.

But the thing is, he can’t argue the logic.

There is something about being Robin that creates a bond, and an inherent something you can trust in. They might disagree, and fight and even try to kill each other on occasion, but when it’s down to the wire, there’s no one you can trust more to have your back.

Not even Batman.

Which is why Jason hefts his duffel bag and allows Tim to lead him up the stairs of the open-concept apartment, through the upper floor that’s just as unnaturally clean as the rest of the house. Jason suspects that’s down to not really being lived in; his replacement probably spends more time falling asleep in his secret nest than anywhere else. Jason would bet his no-longer-extant trust fund that the only bit of the house that Tim spends much time it is in front of the flatscreen TV in his living room, playing on one of the fancy gaming consoles.

“This room’s yours for as long as you want it,” Tim says, disrupting Jason’s musings. “That’s the bathroom over there—clean towels in the cupboard under the sink—and my room’s down the hall if you need me for anything. Just shout.”

Jason takes a wary step into the room and blinks.

Tim probably thinks it’s entirely modest, but the room is huge, possibly bigger than some of his bolt holes; it’s practically its own self-contained unit minus a kitchen or bathroom. In addition to the usual trappings of a bedroom, there’s a loveseat and coffee table by the window, a desk and shelves in the corner, and another flatscreen on the wall opposite the queen-sized bed. Even with all of that, it doesn’t even feel crowded.

In fact, they could bring up all the stuff Tam Fox bought, store it here, and Jason still would be in no danger of knocking into any of it.

The reminder of the pile of baby things downstairs makes him frown again. Just how much help is he going to be accepting? He doesn’t take charity well under normal circumstances and receiving it from Tim—fellow Robin or not—is a bitter pill.

Could be worse, he tells himself a beat later. It could be Dick or Bruce, and then he’d have to endure the double-teaming of concern and disappointment from both.

Right. Disappointment from Bruce. Because that’s new.

Still, he feels a very pervasive and irritating sensation in his stomach at having to take Tim Drake’s help, especially after everything he’s done to him in the past. He sort of wishes the kid was being an asshole about it—holding it over his head or something—but the fact he’s not makes it ten times worse.

“Listen, I’m going to pay you back for all of this,” he begins. “Once I figure everything out, I’ll make sure we’re square.”

“I already said you don’t have to,” Tim dismisses.

“I’m still going to. I don’t like owing people. So, name your price.”

Tim sighs, and fixes him with an exasperated stare, like Jason is being needlessly stubborn or something. “I can’t think of anything. But how about we start with you getting some sleep? At some point, you need to be capable of making decisions for the baby yourself, and it’s not going to happen while you’re brain is stewing in shock and the attempted alcohol poisoning you subjected it to earlier.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. But your sleep schedule’s about to take a major hit. Tonight might be the last time you actually get a few solid hours in a row for a while.”

“If you think I’m sleeping tonight after all this…” Jason trails off, shaking his head.

“Fair,” Tim allows and turns to leave. “I’m going to head out now. I won’t be doing a full patrol, so if you’re still awake when I get back, I’ll help you bring the bassinet up and set it up. Unless you want to do it yourself. But Tam says those things require an engineering degree, and you’re not exactly the most patient person ever.”

“I’m not going to set fire to anything in your place. Probably.”

“Is it weird that that’s actually somewhat reassuring?”

“It’s the honesty. I’m fully aware of my faults. Unlike some people.”

“Speaking of…are you absolutely sure you don’t want to tell anyone else? I know for a fact Alfred’s way more qualified—”

“No.”

Bruce’s disappointment he can live with; Alfred’s, not so much.

“Right. Then I’ll see you later.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Jason alone once again.

He stares around the room, imagining a cradle set up beside the bed, and the mountain of baby supplies. Even having seen and held the baby—even knowing her name—he’s still having a hard time picturing bringing her home.

However temporary that is.

It’s yet another reason he’s not cut out to have a kid—you have to have a home and roots and stability. And the closest thing he’s ever had to a father figure was far from stable, judging by the propensity to dress up as a giant bat and fight crime.

Jason digs out his phone, tempted to call his friend again and to try to convince him he needs him to be here.

Except, if Roy’s in the thick of a job, Jason doesn’t want to risk calling at an inopportune moment just to bother him with his shit. And he knows how touchy a subject it is, especially considering what happened to Lian.

Better not.

Roy will contact him when he can, or he’ll likely just show up. Until then, Jason just as to…figure all this out on his own.

Which he can do.

He’s a goddamn adult, isn’t he?

Shit, I’ve got to be now.

There’s a knock at the doorway, which even if he didn’t know it was her, would tell him it’s Tam Fox.

(Bats don’t knock; that would mean understanding the meaning of privacy.)

Tam lingers against the doorjamb, shifting uneasily, and isn’t this a blast from the past?

Jason has done a pretty good job of avoiding running into anyone who knew him before he died, especially when it comes to civilians. The only person who knows for sure outside of the Family is a prostitute named Rhonda that’s walked the streets of Park Row since before Jason ran away from his first foster home. And while she knows he’s Jason Todd, she doesn’t know he’s the Red Hood or that he was Robin.

Which, I guess, Tam probably doesn’t either. Tim just said I was a ‘friend’, not what kind of friend.

Still, it’s a whole different thing, having someone from high society, who remembers the kid he was, even if it was the distant relationship of acquaintances. He has to remind himself that Tim trusts her, and Bruce has always trusted her father, and if those two paranoid freaks consider them good people, it would be stupid of Jason not to do the same.

“Tim asked me to stick around for a bit and keep an eye on you,” she says after a few seconds of awkward lingering. “I think it’s kind of pointless—I mean, look at the size of you.”

Jason shrugs. “He probably thinks I’m going to take off.”

“Are you?”

“Considering it,” he admits. “But what’s the point? It’s not like it would change anything.”

There would still be a kid out there—my kid.

Tam’s eyes soften. “You must be scared out of your mind.”

“I don’t get scared,” he replies automatically.

“That’s a bald-faced lie. Even people who plan to have kids are terrified when it happens.” She folds her arms. “Now, I don’t know your story or where you’ve been all these years, or how you’re involved with Tim and his…night job. And I probably don’t want to know. But you’re barely older than me, and if I was in your place, I’d freaking out.”

Jason clenches his fists.

“Also, Tim probably didn’t bother asking, but are you going to be okay?”

“I have no fucking clue,” he admits at last. “This was never the plan. It was never part of any plan.”

“I bet. The, uh, nightlife isn’t exactly one you want to bring kids into. Especially if you’re like Tim.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…look, Tim’s a good guy,” Tam says. “But when it comes to stuff like this, he’s sort of…” She tilts her head to one side as though thinking of the right words, and then says, “He’s sort of like Pinocchio.”

Jason huffs in amusement. “Because he’s so small and wooden?”

“Because he spends most of his time pretending to be a real boy and has a very casual relationship with the truth,” she corrects. “That’s not the sort of environment you want to raise a child in. Parents shouldn’t have to lie to their kids, even if it’s to protect them. And kids shouldn’t have to lie to their parents.” She pauses, clearly chewing on something, and then asks hesitantly, “Does your…um…does Mr. Wayne know you’re…?”

“He knows,” Jason replies shortly.

“Right. Of course. Though…I mean, I would have assumed if he did there’d have been a big press conference or media thing.”

“I didn’t exactly come back here on good terms with him.”

“That wouldn’t matter. He was devastated when you died. He stopped going to work or doing anything. Dad had to take care of everything.”

“Oh, yeah, he was really broken up,” Jason pretends to agree, feeling his mouth twist unpleasantly. “Didn’t take him long to move in the new kid, though.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Tam protests. “Tim told me. He said that B—”

She cuts herself off, clearly unsure of how much he knows. Jason can’t help be impressed by how in the know she seems to be; knowing about Tim’s extracurricular activities is one thing, but knowing Gotham City’s biggest secret as well? He begins to reevaluate just how far up her metaphorical security clearance is.

“He said Bruce was self-destructing,” Tam concludes, clearly deciding to remain vague. “It was going to get himself or someone else killed if Tim didn’t step in.”

And Jason knows that now, of course, and doesn’t even blame Tim for it anymore; but it doesn’t make things hurt less.

“Who’s to say that wouldn’t have been the better option?” Jason challenges. “Maybe if Tim stayed out of it and B crossed that line, Gotham would be safer now.”

The slight widening of Tam’s eyes is the only indication she’s noticed his acknowledgment of just how much he knows. But Jason is now too distracted by his thoughts to remark on it.

“See, dear old Dad and I have philosophical differences about some pretty common sense stuff. Namely, taking out the scumbags who deserve it. The unforgivable types, like rapists and child molesters and the Joker.”

“You went up against the Joker?” Tam gapes. “Are you crazy?”

“Seemed fair, since he was the one who killed me,” Jason shrugs. Tam’s mouth actually drops at this; clearly, she hasn’t heard those details, either. “Not that I’ll ever get the chance since B’s always there to get in my way. The number of times that crazed clown almost killed me—almost killed all of us—”

He cuts off with a choked growl because it’s an argument he can perform by rote now, in several languages.

His fists clench tighter in anger, seething at the old resentment. It’s not as fresh as it was when he first came out of the Pit, or even when he was carrying out his plans to force Bruce’s hand. But there will always be a stinging ache just beneath his breastbone whenever he thinks about the situation.

He remembers that other Earth, where after losing him, Bruce effectively ripped apart Gotham’s rogues and made the place safer; where the cost of peace for the city was his own soul.

It’s a sacrifice Jason’s always been willing to make.

He wonders if that’s all going to change now, with the…

Jason pauses, and realizes for the first time tonight since receiving that voicemail from Dr. Kerry, he hasn’t been thinking of the baby.

Granted, it was because his mind went back to fixating on the psychopath that killed him, but he’s finally feeling something beyond numb disbelief.

This feeling he knows; these thoughts are familiar ground.

He squints at Tam, considering.

“You’re good at that,” he says at last.

“At what?”

“Being a distraction. I see why he keeps you around.”

“He doesn’t keep me around, I keep him alive,” she retorts. “I’m way more than a distraction, thanks very much.”

“Obviously. You know the big secret and you’re still here. There are only a few people who can cope with it.”

And not everyone does it well.

“It’s been a steep learning curve. A lot of which was playing catch-up and learning to decode Tim’s everything. And I almost walked a few times,” she admits. “Last year was the closest I came to it. Tim faked my father’s death for another one of his convoluted plans. He didn’t tell me anything, and then just expected me to be okay with it.” Her mouth turns downward; obviously it’s still a sore spot. “After a few weeks of thinking about it, and talking things through with my dad, I understood why he did it. But I also decided I’m not cut out to be kept in the dark. If I’m going to be in on this stuff, I’m going to be in on it.”

“That’s a different take from your dad,” Jason says. “He always liked being ignorant until the last possible moment.”

“Pretending to be ignorant,” Tam corrects him. “For plausible deniability. But if there’s anything I’ve learned working for WE and for Tim, it’s that ignorance can get you in just as much trouble as knowledge can. And if I’m going to get killed by ninjas, I’d rather I knew what it was for.”

Jason can’t help a chuckle at that. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“Well, if you’re too wired to sleep, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Jason pauses for a moment, not entirely comfortable with the offer—it’s somehow too easy, too normal; in his experience, sitting down with old acquaintances leads to bloodshed.

But the lure of keeping his mind off his own troubles is too much.

“I’m all ears,” he tells her.

⁂⁂⁂

________________________________________________________________

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

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Next Chapter

[poketin]

What a Difference a Day Makes - Golden Lovers

A Golden Lovers fic inspired by the first half of Chungking Express, an absolutely beautiful film. I hope I managed to get across some of that beauty with the most beautiful tag team in the world. Fic title inspired by the song "What a Diff'rence a Day Made," played in the film.

read also on ao3!

Kenny sat at the bar, nursing his sad drink, trapped in his sad head. The last vestiges of his dream were swirling at the bottom of his glass, so far out of reach. He trailed his pinkie in the dregs of his green tea. Was it his fifth double tonight? There was a small collection of drained shot glasses around him, but the bartender could have easily shuffled them around. His heart guessed it was an action of sympathy, to help him look less like he’d been here for over an hour and a half, clearly alone. Pathetic. His brain bombarded him with cynical alternatives. You’re taking up too much space. He needs those glasses for the other customers. You’re woozy enough to accidentally knock them all off the counter and you don’t look like someone who could afford to pay the bar back for the damages. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol, but his head swam all the same.

He rested his chin on the bar, sighing through his nose, watching as the glasses fogged up in front of him. Tired. Clouded. Dominating. It was a pretty good image of his life, all things considered. Especially recently.

Last year he’d been invited to shows all over his home country. Sure, they’d been seedy bars clouded by cheap cigarettes and oppressive perfumes and colognes making his nose itch and his eyes water. On top of it all, the pay was crummy, barely enough to cover his travel expenses. The food he’d survived on during that time had been unspeakably cheap and horrifyingly bland.

But none of that had mattered when he wrestled, he only cared about doing it and doing it well.

He’d had difficulties, met naysayers and sneering so-called “wrestling authorities” that told him he would never make it, that he was too naïve, too optimistic, not interesting enough, not strong enough, not big enough.

He was never enough.

But eventually, he’d been noticed. Over the last few months, a small Japanese wrestling promotion had wanted him to appear in a couple of their shows, even covering his travel costs and letting him stay in a shabby apartment. They were even gonna pay him a little! His dream was being realized before his very eyes. He’d studied the language as hard as he could in that short time, murmuring phrases to himself as he packed his gear, a coat, his important nerdy shirts, one slightly wrinkled button up, a couple pairs of pants, and his old Game Boy. The frigid morning he had hopped on the plane had been one of the best days of his life, and he couldn’t wait to have many more of those in Japan, chasing his dream, doing his best.

But he had arrived almost two months ago. And nothing had happened yet.

After the first month had passed, his hopes had diminished slightly. He’d talked a bit with some representatives of the company when he’d arrived, but after that…He hadn’t wanted to goof off too much in case the company called his apartment and he wasn’t there, deciding he wasn’t serious enough about this and sending him home. He didn’t have much money outside his food (and souvenir) budget to go places anyway. Nor anyone to go with him.

He’d barreled forward without considering how lonely this would all be.

He had messaged friends online, needing contact, a voice of some kind to bring warmth to his silent apartment. But they were always already in bed or taking care of their kids or having a date night with their loved ones. And so he spent the days cleaning his apartment, practicing his Japanese, flipping through weird game shows that he thoroughly enjoyed, and hovering around the phone, waiting. When it got late enough for him to figure they wouldn’t be calling him that day, he’d go wandering around the streets, looking through shop windows, smiling at people even as they crossed the street to avoid him, and taking pictures of any cats he could find.

It was slow going, and, once this first month was nearly over, his spirits falling, he’d decided to buy one can of pineapple every day from the nearby convenience store, each one sharing the same expiration date: the end of the next month. He decided that he’d eat them all at the end of the month, and then…well. He didn’t exactly know. He wanted to push it all from his mind. He needed some kind of goal, something he could hold in his hands and accomplish himself.

The days went by, until he was stacking the 30th can of pineapple on top of the small pile in one of the empty corners of his apartment. He was almost excited, in a way.

And so, just after midnight tonight, his vow only half-way completed, he had cracked open every single one of the thirty cans, and had eaten them. He couldn’t tell if the pit in his stomach was because of his anxious thoughts, or because the pineapple had technically been expired as he ate it, and there had been a lot of it.

He looked out the window and decided two months with nearly no words exchanged with someone other than himself was not what he wanted to end the month on. He threw on his coat and pushed out of his apartment, leaving himself in the night’s care, where it welcomed him in its glittering streetlights and various sounds of late night entertainment.

Kenny passed by bright restaurants, full of smiles and laughter, clubs where neon lights and pulsing music streamed from under heavy black doors, and a handful of arcades that he foolishly searched for a glowing neon sign, or any sign of life at this late hour.

Finally, he stopped at a bar, tucked away into the shadows.

The door was scuffed and scarred, quiet even in the warm orange light that escaped through a small square pane of clouded glass embedded near the top. He breathed in the cigarette smoke that trickled from the gap under the door, the clinking of glasses like a muted gunshot in the darkness.

The shabbiness of it was familiar. Just what he needed.

He pushed open the door and was greeted by a blast of warm air, and the lights of a jukebox. There were a few couples here and there, a group or two sitting at tables and chatting, beers in hand, declaring a toast and then forgetting about it a minute later as they laughed together.

He had sat at the bar, shying away from the long benches and large tables and the people occupying them, and had asked for the non-alcoholic options, of which there was only green tea, and had been served in the only glasses available for the non-drinker at this place: shot glasses.

“If I make it a double, it’s just like a normal glass.”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t push the bartender. Despite Kenny ordering mostly in Japanese, the bartender had spoken nothing but English to him. He felt the enormous time and focus he’d put into Japanese drain out of him.

Another failure.

He couldn’t blame the guy, he was barely coherent in English to many let alone a language he only had a few months of practice in, but his effort crumpled in him, feeling like a waste of time anyway. He still wasn’t enough. He chewed on the ice that had been in the bottom of his glass and had remained in moping silence for nearly two hours. Possibly longer.

Where was the connection his heart was hurting for?

Just coming here wasn’t enough. He wasn’t grabbing any sort of destiny, nor taking control of his dreams…or anything. The only thing he’d been grabbing was another glass of watered down tea, the only semblance of control ordering another drink and choosing which lonely corner or flickering light to stare into. He let his head thump against the counter. He couldn’t go on like this.

Kenny bit his lip and decided.

He was going to fall in love with the first person who walked through that door.

His brain helpfully reminded him that this many failures in one night had basically crushed him, and how another was sure to snuff him out completely. He told his brain to shut up, downing the last of his tea and feeling like there was nothing else to lose. He picked his head up and looked towards the entrance he came in from.

Just in time.

A light caught his eye. A glint off a shiny surface, as a person stepped into the door frame.

He was wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night. His dark hair fell a bit past his ears, a huge coat dominating his tall frame, his broad shoulders.

Hiding from someone? Something? The whole world, maybe?

His shoes were bright orange. Not exactly subtle.

Kenny couldn’t help feeling excited, tapping at his glass with a fingernail. He could relate to it all.

He saw the shrouded stranger slide into one of the closest booths, the bartender already on his way with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. He tended to his drink, swirling it as he stared into the same emptiness that Kenny had occupied for hours.

Kenny thought of the expiration dates on the cans, and was standing before he knew it. He slid onto the bench next to the stranger.

"How's it going?"

Kenny could have kicked himself for the English that sputtered out. The stranger made no move to reply.

"How has the night been treating you?"

His Japanese was shaky, but hopefully still semi-coherent even after this long night. Still, the stranger sat still.

"Erm...Can I get you a drink?"

He pulled at any French memories that could grace his tongue for this moment of reaching out. He found himself grasping at empty air. This wasn’t going well. It wasn’t going bad either. It just…wasn’t going.

"Uh..."

"Your Japanese isn't bad."

The stranger was smiling now, still turned directly to the table but tilting his glass in Kenny's direction.

"Thank you...?"

No name provided.

“I’m Kenny.”

Still no name. The stranger offered something else.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a talker. Not usually at least.” His shoulders drooped by about a millimeter. Kenny felt his heart drop in turn, and tried a different approach.

“That’s alright, we don’t have to talk.”

But Kenny himself wasn’t much of a non-talker, so only a few beats later, after tapping his foot and trying to memorize 3 seconds of the smooth song playing from the jukebox, he blurted something out again.

“What’s with your outfit?”

Mystery man was facing him now, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses (if his raised eyebrows were any indication).

“What do you mean?”

“Well there’s only a couple reasons that someone would be wearing sunglasses indoors, and at night for that matter.” Kenny counted off his fingers.

“One, you’re blind.”

The stranger sipped at his drink. Kenny continued.

“Two, you want to hide from somebody, maybe no one in particular. Just somebody. Sunglasses are good for hiding faces…especially tears. You don’t want to stand out. Ironic, considering sunglasses indoors, at night (he really wanted to stress this) really sticks out.”

The smile was still there but there was something missing. Kenny had an idea.

“Or…number three. You just want to look really cool all the time.” He winked. “Well, let me tell you. It’s working. Really.”

His companion actually laughed at that, and turned to face him. Kenny felt himself grinning in response.

“That one is probably closest.”

His teeth were so shiny, his lips so pretty. Kenny saw himself reflected in the man’s sunglasses, red-faced and smiling and oh-so-eager. Maybe it was better to call it a night, he told himself. Better not to push everything that was Kenny Omega onto a total stranger after only meeting him a few minutes ago. He’d never actually fallen in love in one night before, but…there was something he felt with this guy. Something he’d never felt before, something he couldn’t even name exactly.

And somehow, he knew the stranger felt it too.

Their hearts beat as one, feeling like the oldest and closest friends despite Kenny not even knowing his name. He knew more about the guy’s lips and perfect cheekbones than his actual personality, his dreams and dislikes, his favorite food, what he does for a living, his hobbies. And still, when Kenny accidentally brushed the stranger’s finger with his own, reaching over to wave the bartender over, he swear he could feel it from the guy’s point of view, as well as his own.

He was well and truly connected to this man by the strange inclinations of love.

Kenny cleared his throat, and ordered another tea, as well as another of whatever the man next to him was currently sipping. He knew his Japanese was getting sloppier as the night went on, but he had never wanted to talk more in his entire life. He tried to pull up memories of a terrible Japanese joke book he’d studied the first couple days in Japan, even as he was already saying something.

“So…do you like pineapple?”

And as the night went on and on, their smiles turned to laughter turned to Kenny gesturing wildly about the crazy backflip he’d seen a guy do at the airport, “On an escalator too! It was amazing, let me tell you—"

And among the stories and jokes and whispered secrets about how this guy loved fireworks and had stashes of them in various places, how he ate cheese at every meal (“My doctor is not happy with me.” He was smiling as Kenny wheezed with helpless laughter), how he had tried over and over again to read the same novel for almost 15 years and had hated every attempt, the book worming pictures and authorial intent into his mind without permission, Kenny managed to pour his heart out.

Kenny actually managed to relate to this man, this stranger, his fears and woes that had swirled in his head over the past couple months. His loneliness and isolation because of time zones and outside responsibilities, his hope at a wrestling company finally wanting him and his hurt when all he had found was silence. Even something he’d never told anyone: a bit of his dreams. What he thought wrestling could be, and how he wanted it to be appreciated as the beautiful, exciting, emotional art that it was. How he wanted to change the world.

These feelings had been trapped, buried, with nowhere to go. Kenny showed a crack of vulnerability, and they came rushing towards that outlet, spilling out of his mouth at the slightest inquiring tilt of the man’s head and wry smile at his every other word.

Breathing heavily, Kenny apologized to the stranger he’d no doubt bored to tears with his ramblings. He simply motioned for Kenny to continue, that same mysterious smile on his lips, resting his head on his hand and absorbing every word.

At one point, the stranger’s head dropped closer and closer to Kenny’s shoulder, resting on it just as the bartender shook Kenny out of his own stupor to tell him the bar was closing.

Kenny groaned and made to stand up, but the man resting on him grabbed at his shirt, mumbling.

“Just take me somewhere we can rest, mhm?”

Kenny’s heart pounded. He paid for their drinks, and supported most of the dozing stranger’s weight onto his shoulder as he carried him out of the bar and into a waiting taxi (the bartender waved off Kenny’s sincerest thanks and apologies). He directed the taxi to the nearest hotel and hoped he had enough money for a room after all their drinking.

“Ah. You really meant resting, then.”

As soon as Kenny had gotten a room and deposited the stranger onto the huge mattress with plush sheets, he had immediately fallen asleep. He had done it so smoothly and serenely that Kenny had put his ear to the guy’s chest to make sure he hadn’t died somehow. He brushed a few strands of soft hair on the man’s forehead, trying to tuck them behind his ear, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Phew. No way we were doing that with how much he drank tonight. Plus, I think such emotional whiplash would have killed me.”

He chuckled to himself, plopping into an armchair next to the bed which the stranger was starfished on top of, and picked up the phone to call room service. He paused as he heard a shuffle of blankets next to him.

“Kenny…”

Kenny faced the bed again. The man hadn’t seemed to move, and his breathing remained steady. He seemed ready to fall back asleep at any moment.

“What do you when you’re sad?”

Kenny swallowed.

“Me? I guess…I run. Or walk. Or jog.”

His response was quiet breathing and sunglasses still obscuring the love of his life. Sleep had claimed him once more.

Kenny stared. Then he turned towards the small, box television sitting on the ledge in front of the window and flicked it on, settling back into the armchair and dialing room service once more.

He ordered two helpings of Chef’s salad, intrigued at the weird mash-up of ingredients and the fact this combination existed in Japan or at all for that matter, and ate both of them when he realized he’d already gotten through two movies he only half-way understood and his companion was still flopped in peaceful slumber.

All his trash went into the room’s trash bag, which he tied up and left outside the door. As he made his way back inside, he noticed a flash of orange among the plush, tangled sheets of the bed.

The guy was still wearing his blinding orange shoes.

Kenny remembered his mom saying something about feet swelling when someone slept in high heels, and assumed the principle still applied to most other shoes. He carefully unlaced the shoes, and slipped them off. Noticing a few faint dirt patches along the sides, Kenny brought the shoes to their room’s bathroom, and, wetting the end of his shirt in the sink, proceeded to scrub and shine every part of the shoes.

He seems the type to hate messing up his shoes. They should shine as bright as he does.

A smile quirked at his lips.

After some time of this, when he was satisfied they were extra shiny, Kenny stood up and, cracking his back, made his way to the lace curtains covering their room’s enormous window. He pulled back a bit of the curtains, peeking into the outside world. Blanketing the sweeping view of the city was the faint blue light that blanketed the world just before sunrise.

He headed out.

Kenny agonized over writing down and leaving his phone number, so when he left the room and made his way down to the lobby, he gave the receptionist his number and asked that if a sleepy man from room 702 inquired after him, that they’d give it to him. He stepped into the frozen morning and tried not to look back at huge windows and closed curtains.

His feet pounded the grass as rain fell around him, head tilted upwards, letting the rain pepper his skin. He’d lost count of how many times he’d run in this park near his apartment.

Even after being up all night, he didn’t feel tired. He didn’t feel anything beyond the splash of raindrops.

But he still jumped nearly a foot into the air when his phone rang shrilly in the quiet morning, almost buzzing out of his jacket pocket. Kenny flipped open his jangling phone, putting it to his ear.

“Who…?”

“Check your messages, okay?”

The man from last night….

“What—”

He heard a click.

He had bothered to call him after all that…but what could he possibly mean?

Unless…?

He felt a jolt run down his spine, rushing to grab his coat from the bench he’d left it on, throwing it on and ignoring how soaked it was and how extra soaked he himself now was as he ran from the park, ran from the rain.

He sprinted up the stairs to his apartment, two at a time, three at a time once he got to the top, nearly tripping and slamming right into his door. His hands were shaking, dropping his keys twice before he could finally wrench the door open. He saw the flashing light on the answering machine, and dove towards it. He swear he could feel someone laughing from somewhere.

He pressed play.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Winter Wolf: Part 12

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst

Word Count: 5,485

Box Filled: Gender Swap

A/N: This series was written for @marvelfluffbingo​ and it took on a life of its own. Enjoy!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It surprisingly took Steve a lot longer than you expected to return to Wakanda on ‘official royal business.’ You were laying on the couch in your living room, watching four and a half month old Anastasia laugh hysterically as she swatted at the colorful, handmade yarn dolls a woman at Bucky’s job had made for her that were hanging above her head. You smiled at her as you reached out and pushed one of the ones closest to you so that it would catch her eye and laughed with her as she kicked her legs and reached for it.

The knock on your front door startled you and you quickly sat up and grabbed the gun you had wedged between the couch cushion and the back of the couch. With quick movements, you got up and walked on silent feet to glance out the window since most people who came over to visit you and Anastasia called first. You peeked out the window and let out a sigh of relief as you turned the four locks on the door and turned off the house alarm system.

“Well I’ll be damned.” You laughed as you stepped back and let a very scruffy Steve into your two bedroom, two bath apartment. “That’s a good way to get shot in this house.” He nearly tripped over his own feet as you locked the house back up, turned the alarm back on, and put your gun on the table by the door.

“What is this?” He asked as he pointed to the little girl on the floor who was looking up at him in awe.

“It’s a baby.” You said with a shrug as you moved the arch away from Anastasia so you could pick her up. “And if we wanna get really technical, it’s a girl baby.” Steve’s face deadpanned as he met your eyes.

“Didn’t realize I became blind overnight but thanks. Where did the girl baby come from?”

“Anastasia…” You said as you balanced your daughter on your hip. “… came from Romania. Her birth mother was an old friend of mine named Daniela who had terminal cancer. Her father was a tourist and Daniela’s moms was a hardcore gypsy that surprisingly would absolutely not raise a baby born out of wed-lock no matter what her husband said. And she was a blatant racist so the mix race thing was not helping Anastasia’s case either. So, Buck and I took her. Well, we didn’t take her, I guess we officially adopted her. T’Challa’s lawyer guy helped us figure out the paper work so her official birth certificate says that we are her parents. So meet your… well technically you could meet your little sister…”

“Oh, my gosh, stop.” He laughed as he reached out his hands to hold her. “Anastasia, you said?” You nodded as you passed over your daughter.

“Anastasia Daniela Barnes. Her mom named her and we figured honoring her mom with the middle name was appropriate.”

“I like it.” He said as he sat down on the couch with her on his thighs. “Hi cutie.” Your daughter looked at him a little confused as she reached out to grab his beard. You laughed and gently intercepted.

“Bucky has to stay either clean shaven or he keeps his beard real short.” You said with a laugh. “We learned really fast that once she gets ahold of something she wants, she will not let go. We both keep our hair back in buns just to keep it out of her reach.”

“She’s beautiful.” He said with a smile as he held onto her sides so that his fingers were supporting her head even though she didn’t need it as much these days. “Now I’m curious. What is she?”

“Romanian, Puerto Rican, Guatemalan, African-American, and a splash of Scottish, Italian, and Greek. I had Shuri run her ancestry DNA when we did a full check up on her when we got her. She was born the day before Bucky and I got married and we got her when she was three days old.”

“God, she’s so cute. I can’t believe you two are parents.” You smile proudly and snagged one of the many toys off the floor.

“Me neither. It’s been a wild ride.”

“I bet.” He laughed as he watched you bop your daughter on the nose with a pink, stuffed rhino rattle to grab her attention. She laughed and reached for it as Steve looked around the living room. “Where’s Bucky?”

“At work.” You said as you handed your little girl her toy. “He got a really good job in IT at the transportation hub. He loves it. He actually should be home in an hour or so if you wanna stick around. I should probably start dinner anyways if you wanna entertain your niece.”

“I think I can handle that, what do you think?” He asked Anastasia, who simply tried to eat her rattle in response.

“Just keep your beard away from her grabby little hands.” You said with a laugh as you got up and headed to the kitchen. “She’s a sneaky little monster sometimes.”

“You can’t be a little monster.” He growled playfully as he picked her up off his thighs and slid down to the floor with her to play. “You’re too cute, right? Yes, you are.” You smiled to yourself as Steve continued to baby talk to your daughter while you got dinner ready for your family and your guest.

With Steve distracting your daughter, you got the homemade Italian dressing marinated chicken, the fettuccini you made from scratch that morning, and the Alfredo you found a recipe for on a website called Pinterest (which was, in your opinion, the greatest thing in the entire world) cooked in no time. You were just getting everything plated when the automatic smart locks on your doors unlocked and the alarm signaled it was temporarily disengaged with a beep. You looked up at the door from the kitchen as Bucky stepped in the door with a sigh.

“Hi baby.” You said with a smile. “We have a visitor.” Bucky looked over at you as he turned the last lock before turning the other way.

“Well I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Captain America. And my little angel.” He cooed as he went over to say hi to his friend and pick up his giggly little girl. “Oh, I missed you!”

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Steve said as he got up off the floor with a laugh. “Playboy Bucky Barnes has a kid.”

“I got bamboozled by the cute.” He laughed as he kissed Anastasia’s forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here on ‘official business’.” Steve said sarcastically with air quotes as Bucky came over to give you a kiss hello. “We’re trying to fine tune the Sokovia Accords and I figured I’d stop in to see how the newlyweds were doing while I was here.” He laughed as Bucky turned his head away from Anastasia before she could grab his bun.

“Didn’t expect the baby, did you?” Bucky laughed as he grabbed one of the plates to help you out before starting a bottle for his daughter.

“Not one bit.” Steve laughed as you passed him his plate and grabbed silverware for everyone. “But then again you two have been full of surprises in the last year.”

“We gotta keep life interesting, Stevie. I’ve been around long enough to know that.”

“Million years really is a long time.” Bucky teased as the three of you sat down at the table to eat.

“Shut up!” You laughed as he laid Anastasia across his arm and his lap and gave her her bottle before you went back to trying her on soft solid food again. He propped it on his chest and used his elbow to keep it upright so that he could still eat and make up for the time he spent away from home that day.

“I’d still love you even if you were as old as the dinosaurs.” He cooed with a smile as you cut his chicken just to make it easier for him to multitask.

“Guys, you’re gunna make me sick before I can even enjoy this meal.” Steve joked as he twirled some pasta around his fork.

“You’ll be fine.” Bucky said around a mouthful of fettuccini.

“So what’s going on in New York?” You asked with a glance over at your friend. “Do you have any juicy gossip for us?”

“Well.” Steve said as he chewed. “Not really. Teams good. We had a mission a couple weeks ago that was a pointless waste of time. Some idiot tried to release anthrax bombs in Central Park and apparently that now requires the Avengers to step in.” He rolled his eyes and sighed with a shake of his head. “Hence the reason I’m here talking to T’Challa. I’m trying to get some semblance of balance to these Accords which is proving to be difficult as expected.”

“How’s Tony?” Bucky inquired with a glance over at you.

“Tony’s… well, Tony. He and Pepper got engaged.”

“‘bout time.” You mumbled as you twirled your fork on your plate. “Is he… has he said anything about me?” You looked up at Steve through your lashes as he shook his head subtly.

“Nothing good nor bad. No one wants to bring either of you up.” You nodded as took a bite of your food to avoid inquiring about the next person but Steve answered the unspoken question anyways. “Natasha’s back. She just showed up about two months ago without a word of explanation of where she had been…”

“Good for her.” Bucky said curtly; still harboring a grudge for your ex.

“How’s Wanda?” You ask to change the sensitive subject. Steve nodded and swallowed his bite.

“She’s good. I think Vision is talking about proposing but I’m not entirely sure.”

“Awe, good.” You said with a genuine smile. “Those two are so good for each other.”

“Yea, yea they are.” Steve agreed with a nod. He could feel the slight layer of tension building in the room and quickly changed the subject to prevent an argument over Natasha. “So tell me more about my niece.”

——

“She’s asleep.” Bucky sighed as he closed the nursery door quietly behind him and trudged toward the couch you had flopped down on after saying goodbye to Steve. With a groan, he laid down on the couch practically on top of you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Finally.”

“I think she’s teething.” You said as you ran your metal fingers through his hair and pulled out the hair tie. “That’s what the book suggested. She was fussy for a couple days but she wouldn’t let me near her mouth to check.” He nodded against your stomach and buried his face in your shirt.

“Did you put those squishy things in the freezer?”

“Yes, James. I can mother, thank you.” You teased as you rolled your head on the arm of the couch to look at him.

“You sure? I still question if I can father, properly.” You giggled with him and laced your fingers together on his back.

“I think we’re doing just fine.” He said with a smile as he looked up at you. “We’re in this together, remember?” You nodded your head as he adjusted his head on your stomach with a content sigh. You let your eyes fall closed, just content on existing in that peaceful moment with your husband. You could feel his fingers making tiny, tight patterns on your back under your loose fitting shirt and moving at a glacial pace up your spine. There was no rush and no urgency, there was just love.

A knock on your front door caused both of you to stiffen and sigh at your ruined moment. Bucky pushed himself up off your chest and grabbed the gun from the couch cushions. You got up as well and purposely moved yourself between the front door and the nursery. With a glance over his shoulder at you, he turned off the alarm and unlocked the doors.

His whole body tensed as he quickly shove his foot against the back of the door and pointed his gun at whoever was on the other side. You instantly backed up to the nursery door and yanked off your shirt so that you would have better movement when you needed it. You tried to make your five foot six, thankfully muscular body as big as you could in the doorway and wished that you had put a weapon next to the door frame like you had wanted to.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Bucky demanded with more animosity and venom in his voice then you had ever heard before. Which meant one of two things; both of which you were not ready to face.

“Can I talk to her?” Natasha asked softly with tears obvious in her tone.

“Shut the door.” You said from your place.

“You need to leave, now.” Bucky growled.

“Please, I just need to see her!”

“You don’t need to do shit!” Bucky snapped back. “Leave, Natasha.”

“Please.” She begged as Anastasia started to fuss behind you. “Please, I just need to apologize.”

“You have no place to say sorry to me.” You snapped as you stormed away from the nursery door. You put your hand on Bucky shoulder and moved him back a step to look at the partially unrecognizable blonde in front of you. “You’re not welcome here.”

“My star…” She tried but you grabbed your gun from Bucky and cocked it harshly.

“No!” You shouted, which effectively woke your daughter up. “You stood there, Natasha. You just stood there when I needed you the most. You stood there and shook your head. You didn’t even try to defend the woman you supposedly loved as I was thrown from my home. I lost everything! My family, my security, my sanity. All of it was gone and Bucky was the only person that stood up to protect me. Steve did what he could but that wasn’t his responsibility; it was yours. And you- did- nothing!”

“(Y/N)…” She tried as tears fell from her eyes. You heard Bucky growl behind you as he turned to go to the nursery for Anastasia and you shook your head at your ex.

“No, Nat. I don’t want to hear it. Because even though I left, you still did nothing. Sure, you tried to hunt me down but, as you quickly realized, I won’t be found if I don’t wanna be. So that was a waste of time. Let me ask you this. Have you even bother to talk to Tony about me once? Did you try even one time to get him to see that I am not that monster anymore? Or did you just play victim because you choose to literally turn your back on your girlfriend and she was taken from your life like you promised would never happen? I don’t even need an answer from you because I already know it. You played the victim. I expected more from you Natalia. So much more. Especially after you fought so hard for Clint, who you have said you didn’t love as much as me, to get him back into your arms when Loki had him try to murder you.”

“Baby…”

“Go to hell, Natasha. I want nothing to do with you. Stay away from me, stay away from my family, stay the fuck away from Wakanda. Go do you, you heartless shrew because you sure as fuck aren’t doing me ever again.” Without another word, you slammed the front door closed and turned the locks as fast as your fingers would go. Once the alarm was reset, you set your gun down and followed your daughters screaming to the back bedroom.

“She gone?” Bucky snapped as he bounced Anastasia in his arms.

“She’s gone.” You said with a nod as you locked the secondary door in your room and sent out a silent thanks for Shuri making your house impenetrable once the alarm was set. “Come here, angel.” You carefully took Anastasia from Bucky and walked over to the bed with her while Bucky started to pace.

“How’d she even find us?” He asked angrily as he yanked off his work shirt and chucked it across the room toward the laundry hamper. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

“She’s gone, Bucky.” You said softly as you rubbed your daughter’s back and laid her out on your sports bra covered chest.

“She has no right.” He snapped as he continued to get undressed. “No right to just show up here like that.” You nodded in agreement as you tried to check Anastasia’s mouth again since she was awake. “Who does she think she is?”

“I don’t know, baby.” You said evenly as you forced yourself to keep your anger at bay and you absolutely felt one of her teeth near the surface of Anastasia’s bottom gums. “She’s teething.” Bucky glanced over at you and did a double take as your daughter grabbed your hand almost to hold the soothing metal in place. He climbed on the bed slowly as Anastasia’s crying turned into hiccups.

“Oh, baby girl.” He said sadly as he leaned against the headboard so that he was right in front of her. “You’re OK, sweetheart.” She hiccuped again as he reached up to brush his hand over the back of her head.

“We’re in for a world of fun.” You said softly as she started to chew on your finger. He nodded as her eyes started to slowly drift closed again.

“We’ll figure it out.” He said as he helped get the pair of you under the blankets. “We always do.” You nodded in agreement as he kissed Anastasia’s forehead and laid back against his pillow.

“Think she’ll tell Tony we’re here?” You asked as he grabbed the padded co-sleeper from under the bed.

“Probably.” He said as he laid the sleeper down between you knowing neither of you would sleep comfortably that night if she wasn’t in the room with you. “We’re safe here, though. Tony can’t get into Wakanda without T’Challa knowing about it anyways…”

“Nat did.” You said as you brushed your fingertips down Anastasia’s back so she would fall back to sleep.

“Yea, well now we’re prepared.” He said a little harshly.

“OK.” You said as you looked over at him. “OK…”

“Sorry, baby.” He said as he ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “She just… she makes me so mad.”

“I know, baby.” You agreed as you carefully pulled your hand back and laid your daughter down in her sleeper. “But we’re better than her now, right? We’re parents now. We can’t stoop down to her level.”

“Yea.” He said with small smile as he laid down next to the other little lady that stole his heart. “Yea, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, James.” You giggled as you got up to wash your face and get ready for bed. “That’s why you married me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the night Natasha showed up, you started to live in fear. Every time you stepped outside with Anastasia, you carried an unnecessary amounts of weapons on your person and constantly kept your head on a swivel. After two weeks of jumping at every little thing, the Wolf came back and began to taunt the safety of you and more specifically, your baby girl. And at that point, you locked yourself and Anastasia in your apartment and had your weekly groceries delivered by a teenage boy that lived in your building.

Bucky wanted to protest your seclusion but he was equally as scared for the two loves of his life. He convinced you once about a month after Nat showed up to leave the house just to head up to a restaurant on the corner. He barely made it long enough to order the food to go and rush you back home with a mild case of whiplash. He knew you were at least safe in your home, so after that failed attempt to be social, he looked the other way about you staying home all the time.

Anastasia was growing like a weed. One day she was needing help to sit up on your lap or on the floor and the next thing you knew, she was seven months old, crawling across the wood floors as fast as her chubby arms and legs could carry her, and practicing her standing as long as you held on to her sides. You were beyond ecstatic that her first word was ‘mama’, which Bucky wasn’t a huge fan of, but she didn’t disappoint for long because ‘dada’ came about a week later followed by ‘ba.’ And thus began the part of her life where she would follow you around after you while you cleaned, babbling ‘mama dada’ for hours over the sounds of her knees and palms clomping on the floors.

“She does this all day?” Bucky asked as he helped put away the lunch leftovers on one of his Tuesdays off. You smirked and nodded as you wiped down your kitchen counters while Anastasia sat right next to your legs on the floor repeating your name with the occasional ‘dada’ mixed in as she chewed on a frozen strawberry in a mesh pacifier.

“Every day. We’re getting a lot better at separating our names though.” He laughed as he walked over and looked down at her with his hands on his hips.

“What are you doing?” He said playfully as she looked up at him with a smile.

“Ma dada… da mama!” She said as she reached for him with one arm, not willing to pull the fruit pacifier from her mouth.

“That’s progress.” You laughed as Bucky picked her up and tossed her in the air a couple inches.

“I still can’t believe she’s ours.” He said as walked over and sat down on the couch with her. “I also can’t believe how fast she’s grown.”

“I know.” You sighed with a nod as you hung your rag over the middle of the sinks. “I just want it to stop already. Make her stay cute forever.”

“Yea, because both of us wanna change diapers for the rest of eternity.” He laughed as you flopped down on the couch for a break before you went back to doing laundry. You rested your elbow on the armrest and propped your head on your fist as you watched your daughter ‘walk’ up Bucky’s thighs and stomach while she continued to chew on her strawberry.

“We need to leave Wakanda.” You said softly. Your husband slowly nodded his head in agreement.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Tears welled in your eyes as the pair of you just watched your daughter with more love than either of you knew was possible. She walked her way up his chest so that her little feet were on his face and squealed in joy when he playfully pretended to eat her toes.

“Where should we go?” You whispered, not trusting your voice any louder.

“We can stay in Africa for a while.” He suggested with a glance over at you as he held his daughter over his thighs again. “Head south until we hit the end of the continent then try to catch a ride over to Asia. Head toward Australia. We’ll just keep moving.” You nodded your head and looked over at him as a few tears fell from your eyes. “We’re gunna be OK, baby girl. We know how to survive on the run. And we’ll just be more hyper-vigilant with Anastasia.”

“OK.” You whispered as you pushed across the couch to rest your head on his shoulder. “I’ll call up to Okoye and we’ll leave tonight?” He nodded his head as he turned to kiss the top of your head.

“We’ll pack as light as we can with her when she goes down for a nap. Get out after dark.” You nodded your head and sighed as you got up off the couch.

“I’ll get the laundry finished and make that call.” You heard him mumble ‘alright’ as he took the empty pacifier from Anastasia before she could throw it.

“Come on, pumpkin. Nap time.”

——

“Our clothes, her clothes, bottles, formula, baby food…” You said to yourself as you went through the two, overflowing backpack duffle bags on your bed. “… toys, bathroom bags, pacifiers, blankets.”

“We can strap this to your backpack.” Bucky said as he tossed the padded sleeper on the bed and grabbed the baby carrier from under the bed as well. “The play pen is a little too big to carry with us.”

“True.” You said as you grabbed the ball of twine and the sleeper off the bed. “Did you empty out every drawer on the changing table into the diaper bag?”

“And the extra stuff in the closet.” He said with a nod. “You got the new load of groceries in there?” You nodded your head as you checked the weight of both backpacks to make sure Bucky’s wasn’t too heavy.

“I think we should bring the stroller.” You said as you set his backpack aside, deeming it full enough. “I think we’ll regret it more if we don’t.”

“It’d make carrying the car seat easier. We could fill the bottom up with more stuff…”

“It would make carrying bottles of water easier.” You agreed. You grabbed the Ziplock bag of baby medicines, sunscreen, and other necessities for Anastasia and threw them in the last bit of space in your bag. “These are both done.” He nodded his head, acknowledging that he heard what you said as he pulled the old SIM cards from your cell phones and grabbed new ones and a pair of burner phones from your bedside table drawer. He pulled weapon after weapon from the drawer as you put everything from the room out in the hall.

“You gunna carry her first?” He asked as you came back in and started to load your old Winter Wolf cargo pants with guns and knives.

“Yea, I got her.” You said as you checked the gun you would keep on your hip to make sure it was fully loaded and the safety was on. You put it in your holder and made sure that it was far enough back that there was no way your daughter could reach it before grabbing the carrier off the bed. You followed Bucky out to the living room to load up anything else you could fit in the stroller; a case of water, some laundry soap you otherwise would have had to leave behind, and a few more of her favorite toys, and took one final look around your apartment for anything else you could possibly need.

“We have all the cash?” You asked as you headed toward the nursery to grab your daughter to leave.

“Yea, it’s all in the diaper bag.” He said as he put his backpack and the diaper bag on and grabbed the carseat to put in the front of the stroller. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you as you carefully picked your sleeping daughter up from her crib and put her in the baby carrier. You made sure to grab her bedtime blanket and her favorite stuffed bunny rabbit before heading out of the room to get your own backpack.

“You got everything?” He asked softly as he helped you put the backpack on so you didn’t jostle Anastasia too much.

“Anything we forgot, we can replace.” You responded as you tucked the blanket and bunny into the carseat. “Oh, grab the fold up booster seat.” You said as you pointed to the chair in the corner by the dinner table. You pushed the stroller to the door as he stuck the seat across the top and added the two bottles of water for you to the cup holders.

“Alright.” Bucky said as he looked back around your apartment while you shut off the alarm and unlocked the door. “Bye first house.” You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and look back at it as you pulled open the door.

“Let’s just go, baby.” You forced yourself not to tear up as you headed down the hall to the elevator.

“It’s alright, (Y/N).” Your husband said as he rubbed your shoulder with a small smile on his face. “We’re gunna be just fine. We can handle this.” You took a deep breath as the elevator opened on the ground floor and nodded.

“Yep. We’re…”

“Running away with a baby?” A voice asked from the shadows that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You whipped your gun out at lighting speed and turned around as Tony stepped out of the shadows. “Do you really think that’s the best parenting choice there.”

“Back up.” Bucky growled as he moved between you and Tony with his gun pointed at the man as well. “Baby, go.”

“No, no.” Tony said as he took a step closer with his hands raised. He instantly took two steps back as both you and Bucky cocked your guns and flipped off the safeties. “Look, I know you’re both a little jaded here…”

“A little?” You asked as your eyes darted around the street; catching Steve and Wanda hiding in the shadows in the alley across from you, Vision a block behind you behind a car, Clint on the roof across from you… and Natasha peeking out from the alley behind Tony.

“Wonder why…” Bucky growled.

“Yea, you have the right to be mad. I was an asshole. Plain and simple. But I was wrong. And I’m man enough to admit that. So if you wanna hide out, go ahead. You wanna raise your kid in fear here in Wakanda… yea, I know everything.” Tony said as you shared a side eyed glance with Bucky. “You wanna stay here, go ahead. T’Challa said that was fine by him. You wanna come back to the towers and feel safe, you can do that, too.” You forced yourself to keep your face unreadable as you searched Tony’s eyes.

“I’ll stay away.” Natasha said softly. “I won’t come near any of you. Just please. Please come home where you belong.”

“She’d be safe.” Bucky whispered in Xhosa without taking his eyes off Tony or Natasha as you watched the other Avengers. “Both of you.”

“Is it worth dealing with the other half of the problem?” You asked with a side look over at him.

“We’d be safe.” He repeated. “And we wouldn’t have to keep running.” You sighed, knowing that he was right and that dealing with Natasha was worth guaranteeing that the voices didn’t come back and that Anastasia would be safe forever.

“Come on, guys.” Steve called out as he took a few steps forward. “Do it for my niece.” You looked over at Bucky, who you knew wanted to go home and not have to work every day even if he wouldn’t admit it, and sighed.

“Fine.” You breathed as you flipped on the safety and ejected the bullet in the chamber of your gun. You could hear the subtle sigh of relief from your husband as he put his gun up while the other members of the team all stood down.

“You stay away from them.” Bucky growled as he pointed at Natasha and put the diaper bag on the stroller. She nodded and took a few steps back as Steve came over to say hi to Anastasia.

“I’m guessing you still have stuff upstairs?” He asked as he brushed his fingers over the top of her head.

“We packed as light as possible so yea.” You said with a nod.

“Alright then. Steve, get them to the jet. We’ll get the rest…”

“I’ll go up with you.” Bucky said as he pulled off his backpack and passed it to Steve. “We can just pile everything that’s left in the crib.”

“Leave the furniture and the dishes behind and put a note on the woman across the hall’s door that she can help herself to whatever is left over as a thanks for her son getting our groceries.” You told him as Steve took off your backpack for you. He nodded his head and headed back toward your apartment building as Steve put his hand on your back.

“Let’s go home, (Y/N).” He said with a smile as he lead you behind Natasha to the quinjet that was parked on the palace jet pad.

“I just hope it’s not the worst decision we’ve ever made.” You muttered as you stared daggers into Natasha’s back.

Part 13

[melonoverlord]

Ask meme for Lola

Which parent do they look the most like?

She’s a healthy mix of both parents, looking just a little bit more like her dad, which she’s not sure how she feels about. She got a lot of her dad’s genes with the coloring of her mom.

Is there a name they were almost given (either by their parents or during character creation)?

She was almost given her middle name, Anna and that was actually the name that her dad thought of, but her birth mom went with Lola because she didn’t really want much to do with her dad. But she still kept Anna as a middle name to honor her dad.

What were they like as a kid (if they’re currently a child, what would they be like as a teen)?

Lola was always a very rambunctious and active child, which is where she got her love of fighting and causing a ruckus. She was very close with her birth mom, and loved hanging out with her friends, but once her dad remarried, Lola was more quiet and angry at the situation until Dominica showed that she really cared about her step-daughter.

What’s their drinking tolerance and what kind of drunk are they?

She got the perfect mix of halfling endurance, barbarian, and post-grad college kid. She can take like 4 drinks before she’s a loud party drunk who wants to fight everyone (not out of anger but the thrill of it) and dance on a table. Because caballo dorado still exists in this world and she will step on you if you’re too slow.

Where do they like to be touched?

Lola got used to a lot of touches as a kid, especially in the form of hugs and face touches from her birth mom and step-mom (she didn’t really have any touches from her dad that much). From friends, she likes hugs but absolutely hates when people pat her head because it makes her feel like she’s a child.

What’s their favorite position (top/bottom/switch/pillow princess/etc.)

When she played softball as a kid, she was shortstop so that was her favorite position (other than batter). And of course lightweight wrestling champ where her favorite position was on top of the other kid.

What are their kinks?

You know when you’re watching the dvd logo bounce and it hits the corner perfectly? Yeah, Lola lives for that shit.

How do they feel about adrenaline (roller coasters, extreme sports, etc.)?

She absolutely loves and craves adrenaline. She is trying to go on all roller coasters in Astela before she’s 30. Anyone who wants to come on this adventure is welcome to join her.

What is their fight or flight response?

If it’s a problem she can physically fight, fight all the way. If it’s an emotional problem, she would much rather escape her problems than confront it. And she has. Several times.

What’s their pain tolerance?

Lola’s been rough and tumble her whole life that she has developed a great pain tolerance. She can last in a fight for a long long time.

What character archetype are they the most like (the Innocent, the Hero, etc.)

Lola is a Ruler who really doesn’t want to be a ruler. She’s been running from every responsibility someone has handed her, but fate has a funny way of picking favorites.

What TV-Tropes trope would they be?

Lad-ette. She’s allergic to sleeves unless its in a leather jacket, she loves drinking, fighting, and being cooler than everyone. She’s the closest thing you can get to a frat boy without being either in a frat or a boy.

What John Mulaney quote/bit do they most embody?

“Well, thank ya for askin’. I used the Bittenbinder method. When I saw the perp approachin’, I chewed up a tab of Alka-Seltzer I carry with me at all times. This created a foaming-at-the-mouth appearance that made it look like I had rabies. Now I’ve thrown him off his rhythm. Then I reach into his jacket pocket where I had planted a gram of coke and I went, ‘Whoa! What the fuck is this?’ And he goes, ‘That’s not mine. I never seen that before.’ I go, ‘Boo-hoo, it’s in your jacket. You’re doing two to ten and your kids are going into Social Services.’ Now he’s cryin’! Then I grab a telephone book and I beat him on the torso with it. ‘Cause as any Chicago cop will tell ya, a phone book doesn’t leave bruises.”

With the exception of love interests and immediate family, who are they closest to?

Besides her mom, Lola has never felt as loved as she has when she’s with Kris. He was her first mentor at the Detective Agency and they love each other like siblings and she honestly would have had a breakdown if not for Kris. She is the one constant so far in this group.

What is their moral alignment? What would have to happen for it to shift?

Neutral Good. She generally has a black and white morality thinking of people are either good or bad, but she knows that there are sometimes gray areas. Like with Astrid, or the Panahis, or even her parents and she knows that absolute power corrupts absolutely, so she’s trying to hold onto her moral code even while she’s running with criminals. She could become more Chaotic Good if her new crime friends show her that just because you bad guy doesn’t make you bad guy.

Are they a morning person? What are they like before 8am?

Lola’s used to getting up early first because she grew up on a farm and then college and then working at the agency. She’s actually pretty chipper in the morning, and loves to sing to herself while doing her morning chores, and always starts off the day with a Cafecito before going to take care of the animals. She tends to have more energy at the very beginning and end of the day.

What are they like when they’re tired?

When she’s tired, she’s more spacey and will zone out a lot and have to be constantly reminded to stay on task. She usually tries to go to be when she’s tired, but if she has to stay up, she is on the strongest of coffees and has to keep her hands busy at all times or else she will start to get incredibly antsy.

What are they like in arguments?

It depends on the context of the argument. If it’s an argument for fun (like the Great Baby War of 2019), she likes playful banter, but if it’s something she feels strongly about, Lola’s very judgey so she’s up in your face and trying to go for the gut to finish you off.

What is their dominant hand?

Left

Out of 10, how happy are they? How happy do they think they are?

Lola has arguably had the more “normal” life compared to everyone else (even if Casey had arguably the best upbringing). She’s had things that she’s gone through and right now she misses her family more than anything, especially after the things she heard and saw from the fortune teller. However, becoming official friends with Astrid has helped her shoulder through it, so 7.5/10.

[kawaiipsycho101srpblog]

Righteous Side of Hell--Ch.1

(NOTE: I’ll only be posting the first few chapters of this fic, so if you want to read the rest, you’ll have to go to my main blog, my ff.net page, or my AO3 [all have the name KawaiiPsycho101]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!)

1. That! That!

You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

It had taken a while, but with Ryuk’s assistance, I’d finally been able to track down the current owner of my notebook to a local mafia faction. The mere idea of these thugs possessing my Death Note, using it, defiling it, made me sick to my stomach.

“You’re all scum, ya know that?” I said to the oblivious men and women. “Worthless, life-sucking scum,” I could see the back of a head with silken blonde hair extending a graceful, well-toned arm. In its gloved-covered hand was my notebook.

A woman, huh? That’s actually rather impressive. Don’t see many godmothers these days.

“I look forward to murdering you all slowly and painfully,” I continued as I began to head towards her. “Your screams will bring me absolute pleasure, and only when you’ve begged for the sweet release of death will I holy shit, you’re a guy.”

Indeed, sitting before me on a tacky zebra-striped sofa was an attractive young man sporting a pair of tight leather pants with a matching vest. Dangling from the corner of his black-lipsticked mouth was a bar of chocolate that bobbed up and down with the movement of his jaw as he chewed, occasionally bumping against the wooden rosary around his neck. I glanced down and blinked at the most-likely loaded gun snugged securely in the front of his trousers. I looked up at his name and found the words Mihael Keehl floating above his head. Mihael was a boy’s name, last time I checked.

My notebook is in the hands of a blonde, leather-wearing, chocolate-munching, gun-toting, possibly-sociopathic, pretty boy?!

I slowly rubbed a hand down my face and sighed.

“Of course. Sure. Why the fuck not?”

After a few more seconds of staring at the oddity, I decided it was time to make contact.

He can’t see me until Snydar touches it. Guess I’ll have to wait...

A few seconds later...

Fuck this shit!

I plucked the notebook out of the blonde’s hands, giggling at the look of pure shock plastered on his face, and slapped it against Snydar’s cheek before dropping it in his lap. 

“The...The notebook just flew.”

“Heh, it’s a notebook that kills people. Hell, nothing surprises me anymore,” said a fellow mobster named Dwhite Gordan, a beefcake who only wore a suit-jacket to hide his chest.

Nothing surprises you, eh? Just wait...

I watched as Snydar turned around and saw me, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates.

“Ha! You should see your face right now!”

“AAHHH!” He fell out of his seat and pointed at me. “Boss, who is this?! The guy in the freaky costume?! Who the Hell is he?! Who brought him here?!”

“You idiot, don’t you know a shinigami when you see one?”

“A shinigami?” He began to laugh hysterically.

“That’s right. Now if I were you, I’d have the others touch the notebook before the men in white come and take you to the Happy Home.” I pointed at the Death Note. “Go on.”

Snydar picked up the notebook with shaking hands and looked at me, then his cohorts.

“It says you can see it if you touch the notebook! Please, everyone touch it! I swear I’m not crazy!”

Everyone looked at Dwhite, and I realized that he must be their leader, which struck me as strange. I’d been almost certain that Mihael was the one in charge, seeing as he was the one lounging around like he owned the place and examining my notebook like it was a shiny new toy, plus the sense of leadership and authority that practically radiated from him. 

Then again, he’s awfully young...Perhaps he’s a second-in-command...Still though, for someone so young to make it this far in the mafia...

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Dwhite gave an annoyed grunt.

“Fine, whatever. Come on guys, touch the notebook.”

Just as the first person’s hand was inches away from the book, I got a brilliant idea and quickly went through the wall closest to me.

“Well Jack, where is it?”

“It was right there, I swear! Just now!”

“Sure it was.” I heard a mumbled agreement from the other men in the room, figuring that by now they had all touched the notebook, and made my move, sliding through the wall as quickly as I’d left.

“WHAAAAZZZZZUUUUHHHP?”

The screams and gunshots that followed were music to my ears. I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. I was still trying to keep my sides from splitting by the time they calmed down.

“Jack’s right,” Dwhite muttered. “That ain’t no costume. That’s a real-life shinigami.”

“Damn straight,” I snickered.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing really, just my notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

“Yes, my notebook.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How do we know it’s yours?”

“Flip to the inside of the back cover and you’ll find a series of symbols scratched into the material of the lower right-hand corner. Those are my initials, which translated to the English alphabet, would be A.K.A.” The mobsters did as they were told and, sure enough, my initials were there.

“Okay, so it’s your notebook. Doesn’t mean we have to give it back to you.”

“Au contraire, my bald, muscular friend. You see, I don’t have long to live, and if I don’t write down some names in that Death Note soon, I will die. And if I die, that notebook will burst into flames. And if the Death Note is destroyed, you will all die in thirteen days.” The mobster’s faces all paled at my last sentence. If Ryuk hadn’t told me about the fake rules he’d written in my notebook, I wouldn’t have had my bargaining chip. “Tell you what, since I’m such a nice shinigami, I’ll make you a deal. Let me borrow the notebook for a little while so I can write some names down and expand my life-span, then I’ll give it right back as soon as I’m done with it, okay?”

As I spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that the blonde seemed unusually calm considering the situation he was in; not every day could someone talk to a shinigami. But his eyes never left my own, and I could practically see the gears in his head working at break-neck speed.

“How do we know you won’t just run away with the notebook? Or write all of our names down, and then run away?” My attention returned to the head mobster before me.

“A few reasons: one, the human has to willingly surrender the notebook in order for it to be returned to its original owner. Second, I can tell by looking at your lifespans that not that many of you have long to live, so why should I bother killing you if your deaths won’t be that much use to me? And thirdly, do I look like the kind of shinigami that would go back on its word?” I smirked under my scarf and held out my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll only need it for a few minutes, and I promise I’ll give it back.”

“But-”

“Just give it the notebook, Rod. I think it’s telling the truth.”

There was a brief silence before the mob boss spoke.

“Are you sure, Mello?”

Wait, WHAT?

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Without another word he handed me my notebook, and I took it from him while doing my best to hide my sudden anxiety.

Did he say...? No...no, it can’t be...I must have misheard.

“Thank you.” I pulled a pen from my belt and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook. “Any preferences?”

“No, thanks. We already took care of that.”

“Ah. Excuse me.” I stepped past him and sat cross-legged on the floor facing a TV. It was a news show; an anchorwoman was posing before a camera with a lot of bystanders standing behind her. “Perfect.”

I picked my victims, and the causes and times of their deaths, at random, while throwing in some criminals for good measure, but not enough for the men watching me to notice. After a couple minutes, I’d written down enough names to last me for a very long time.

“There,” I slapped the notebook shut. “I should be set for the next couple hundred years or so.” I stood up and handed it back to Rod. “I told you I was a shinigami of my word.”

“Right...” he said uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong? Still put off by my appearance?” I cleared my throat and threw my voice around until it was a perfect imitation of his. “Or is it the voice? Does the way I talk upset you?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How...how are you doing that?”

“It’s a quirk.” I grinned, knowing that my voice trick was putting everyone in a state of unease.

I’ll have these pigs in the palm of my hand in no time.

“Umm...Could you please,” mumbled one of the other mobsters. “Not do that?”

“Well, since you asked nicely...” I reverted back to my normal way of speaking. “Sure.”

“Shinigami.” I looked at the blonde on the couch, and was surprised to find that he was still remarkably composed. The way he looked at me...It felt like he was sizing me up, figuring out various ways I could be of use to him, and then when and how to dispose of me once he was through. This was a man used to getting what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would most assuredly wind up with a bullet lodged into their skull. Normally I despised people like this, and frankly, he was no exception; and yet, the more I studied him, I realized that unlike other pompous brats, he had the skill to back up his bravado. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to respect him.

Maybe...there’s a chance it might be him...But I have to be certain.

“Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me A for now.” I noticed how his brow twitched ever so slightly, as if maybe I’d struck a nerve. “Or ‘Shinigami’, or whatever. I don’t really care.”

“Then tell me...A,” he asked, taking a bite of his chocolate. “Is there anything else we need to know about the Death Note? Any other rules or limitations to who we can kill?”

I got an idea and smirked.

“There are, but I don’t like giving things away without getting something in return. So, how about another deal?” 

“What do you want?”

“That.” I pointed to his chocolate. “Give me some of that, and I’ll answer any questions you have with the utmost sincerity. No lies, no tricks.”

“Done.” He grabbed another chocolate bar off of a table next to him and tossed it to me, which I easily caught. I carefully unwrapped it, the smell instantly making my mouth water. I lowered my scarf and heard quiet mutterings from the others as they saw my razor-sharp teeth. As I bit into the sweetness, letting the taste melt into my tongue, my eyes rolled back into my head and I felt my knees buckle a little. A low moan escaped the back of my throat as I savored every single bite.

Oh, sweet motherfucking Christ, yes.

As I finished it off, I placed my palms together and closed my eyes for a brief second in an almost-reflexive sign of thanks. I didn’t really notice I was doing it until I’d opened my eyes again.

Huh...that’s odd.

I quickly put the thought out of my mind and positioned my scarf back over my mouth with a grin.

“The thirteen-day rule is totally bogus. Also, if I die, the notebook will not be affected; the same would also apply to me if the notebook is destroyed.”

“You mean those rules are fake?!” Rod cried.

“That’s what I said.”

“So earlier,” one of the mobsters grumbled. “When you wanted to borrow the notebook, you were-”

“Playing you for a bunch of chumps? Yes, yes I was.”

“But why? Why would you put in fake rules?” The blonde’s gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t, someone else did.”

“Who?”

“No idea,” I lied. “Most likely another shinigami. Probably did it to mess with a human. Ya know, shits and giggles. Oh, and you’ll probably want to know about the eye-trade.”

“Eye-trade?”

“A shinigami’s eyes can see a person’s real name and lifespan above their heads. In exchange for half of the current owner’s remaining lifespan, I can give him those eyes. And speaking of names, would you mind telling me how to pronounce yours?” His cerulean eyes narrowed as I squinted at the floating letters above his head. “I can read it, but I can’t figure out how you’re supposed to say it. Is it-?”

“That’s enough!” His outburst almost made me flinch. “I go by Mello, understand? Nothing else.”

Ho. Ly. Shit. It is him. It has to be!

“Alright, alright,” I raised my hands in a position of mock-surrender. “No need to get snippy.”

Mello quickly cooled down and resumed his leisurely position on the couch, his body practically draped over the cushions like a model about to be drawn nude.

“Are you serious about this eye-trade?”

“Quite. But I can only make the deal with the current owner of my Death Note,” I turned to Snydar. “That would be you.”

“Make the deal, Jack,” Rod ordered.

“Wh-what?!”

“You heard me. Make the deal for the shinigami eyes.”

“But I’ll lose half of-” It was at this point Snydar noticed the way Rod was reaching into his jacket. “Ya know, on second thought, I’d like to make to the eye-trade.”

“Atta boy.”

“So, uh...” Snydar looked at me. “How does this...umm, happen? What are you going to do?”

“Just close your eyes and hold very still.” He did as instructed and I gently placed my hand on top of his head. “Now, I’ve never done this before, so it may take a few tries,” I didn’t know whether to mock or pity the man as he started to tremble. “But it shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I focused for a second and felt a strange tingling in the hand that was on Snydar’s head which quickly shot up my arm and dissipated. “Annnnnd done. You can open your eyes now.” He did so, revealing bright red irises which quickly faded back to his natural eye color. “Congratulations, you are now that much closer to death.”

And I’m that much closer to getting my Death Note back... 

“What do you see?” Mello asked.

“Names...” Snydar whispered. “And numbers. Are those their lifespans?”

“Yeah, but they’re done in the numeral language of the shinigami. To translate it to human calculations, you’d need a calculator and a great deal of time, depending on how precise you’d want it to be.”

“Excellent.” Rod thumped Snydar on the back. “Now we’re in business.” 

“Thank you, A.” Mello smiled. “You have been very helpful.”

I felt something stir deep inside of me. A quiver just below my stomach that sent tingles up my spine and made my lower extremities throb ever so slightly. The sensation was new, yet faintly familiar. I almost gagged when I realized what it was.

Oh no, nope, nuh-unh, don’t even think about it, don’t you dare feel attracted to him ah shit, too late.

“No problem.” The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. “Any other questions?”

“I think we’re good for now.” His smile disappeared, as did the sickening feeling, and I inwardly sighed with relief. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions, but for now, you can keep watch outside.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t quite believe what I’d just heard.

“It’ll be very convenient for us that you can’t be seen by humans. Go outside and keep watch, got it?”

In another time, I would have pissed my pants and ran at the look he gave me then. It was goddamn creepy. But I had changed since then, and had grown used to these kinds of gazes. If anything, I thought it was extremely humorous.

“Heh...heheheh...” His left eye twitched in surprise as my giggles turned into guffaws of laughter. Everyone stared, bewildered, as my voice rose and fell, cracking in its insane cackles.

“What’s so funny?” Mello asked, irked.

“You are!” I chuckled. “You are without a doubt the strangest human being I have ever encountered! Your appearance! Your intelligence! Your chocolate and leather fetishes! And now you’re givin’ me friggin’ orders! Me! A goddamned shinigami! A being that has every single person in this room terrified except for you! The whole thing just strikes me as hilarious!”

I continued to laugh maniacally as the blonde glared at me with the icy daggers that were his eyes. Eventually, I began to calm down.

“Finished?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ll give you this though, you’re probably also the bravest human I’ve seen; it takes some serious guts to boss around a death god.”

There was a brief pause as my words sunk in. I had a feeling I had said what everyone else had once thought at one point or another. Mello was a very strange person. Brilliant yes, but strange...and maybe a bit psychotic, but hey, I wasn’t one to judge.

“So, are you going to keep watch, or not?”

My lips clenched into a scowl as my good humor immediately dissolved.

“Okay, let’s make something explicitly, perfectly clear here.” I took a few steps toward him. “The only reason I’m here is because shinigami law requires me to be. That does not make me your servant, alright? You do not get to order me around like one of these shit-for-brains asshats.” I motioned to the group of men surrounding us, stopping once I was right in front of him. He hadn’t moved an inch, his face only expressing the slightest hint of emotion. It was really starting to tick me off. “So, do we have an understanding?”

There was a tense silence, the people in the room waiting with bated breath for Mello’s response, until...

“Do it, and I’ll give you more chocolate.”

-snap!-

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the blonde by the throat and yanked him to his feet. He audibly gasped in surprise and pain as I slammed his back against the wall above the couch. I found it immensely pleasing.

“Listen well, Pretty Boy, because I’m only going to say this once,” I leaned in close until we were perfectly eye-level. “Don’t fuck with me. Fuck with me, and you’ll regret it. You have my word on that.”

I dropped him back on the sofa-cushions and he glared up at me with hate-filled eyes.

“You...you...” He was so angry, he couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew that feeling well.

“Maybe when you’re ready to treat with me some respect, we can try this again.” I placed a hand on his shoulder, tightening my grip when he tried to shake it off, and leaned in again, hissing into his ear. “Your tricks won’t work on me. I’ve been dealing with your type for a long time now. I’m used to it.”

  My type?” Mello whispered, caught off-guard again as I released his shoulder and stood up.

“Anyway, if you have any more questions regarding the Death Note, just give me a holler. Later.”

Black, feathery wings popped out of my back, and I flew up and out of the hideout so fast that Mello’s enraged shouts just barely reached my ears as faint whispers. I smiled in content as I settled on a high tree-branch, but it didn’t last long as I began to think about the recklessness of my past actions, and the young man whom was currently handling my notebook.

Hmm...Short-tempered, calculating, a bit on the arrogant side, chocolate addiction, late teens...There’s no doubt about it...It’s the Mello he told me about...

I held up my left arm and pulled down the shirt-sleeve, revealing a single letter carved into the flesh of my wrist and a list of names beneath it. Using the sharp tip of my pen, I began to add the names of the people I’d sentenced to death just a few minutes prior. I hoped that the familiar pain would be enough to distract me from my rapidly growing feeling of dread.

This might change things...

Alternate title for this chapter: HEYKIDSWANNASEEADEADBODY?

And before you ask, yes, Mello wearing black lipstick is totally canon. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Fabulous, no?

[kawaiipsycho101]

Righteous Side of Hell--Ch. 1

1. That! That!

You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

It had taken a while, but with Ryuk’s assistance, I’d finally been able to track down the current owner of my notebook to a local mafia faction. The mere idea of these thugs possessing my Death Note, using it, defiling it, made me sick to my stomach.

“You’re all scum, ya know that?” I said to the oblivious men and women. “Worthless, life-sucking scum.” I could see the back of a head with silken blonde hair extending a graceful, well-toned arm. In its gloved-covered hand was my notebook.

A woman, huh? That’s actually rather impressive. Don’t see many godmothers these days.

“I look forward to murdering you all slowly and painfully,” I continued as I began to head towards her. “Your screams will bring me absolute pleasure, and only when you’ve begged for the sweet release of death will I holy shit, you’re a guy.”

Indeed, sitting before me on a tacky zebra-striped sofa was an attractive young man sporting a pair of tight leather pants with a matching vest. Dangling from the corner of his black-lipsticked mouth was a bar of chocolate that bobbed up and down with the movement of his jaw as he chewed, occasionally bumping against the wooden rosary around his neck. I glanced down and blinked at the most-likely loaded gun snugged securely in the front of his trousers. I looked up at his name and found the words Mihael Keehl floating above his head. Mihael was a boy’s name, last time I checked.

My notebook is in the hands of a blonde, leather-wearing, chocolate-munching, gun-toting, possibly-sociopathic, pretty boy?!

I slowly rubbed a hand down my face and sighed.

“Of course. Sure. Why the fuck not?”

After a few more seconds of staring at the oddity, I decided it was time to make contact.

He can’t see me until Snydar touches it. Guess I’ll have to wait…

A few seconds later…

Fuck this shit!

I plucked the notebook out of the blonde’s hands, giggling at the look of pure shock plastered on his face, and slapped it against Snydar’s cheek before dropping it in his lap.  

“The…The notebook just flew.”  

“Heh, it’s a notebook that kills people. Hell, nothing surprises me anymore,” said a fellow mobster named Dwhite Gordan, a beefcake who only wore a suit-jacket to hide his chest.

Nothing surprises you, eh? Just wait…

I watched as Snydar turned around and saw me, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates.

“Ha! You should see your face right now!”

“AAHHH!” He fell out of his seat and pointed at me. “Boss, who is this?! The guy in the freaky costume?! Who the Hell is he?! Who brought him here?!”

“You idiot, don’t you know a shinigami when you see one?”

“A shinigami?” He began to laugh hysterically.

“That’s right. Now if I were you, I’d have the others touch the notebook before the men in white come and take you to the Happy Home.” I pointed at the Death Note. “Go on.”

Snydar picked up the notebook with shaking hands and looked at me, then his cohorts.

“It says you can see it if you touch the notebook! Please, everyone touch it! I swear I’m not crazy!”

Everyone looked at Dwhite, and I realized that he must be their leader, which struck me as strange. I’d been almost certain that Mihael was the one in charge, seeing as he was the one lounging around like he owned the place and examining my notebook like it was a shiny new toy, plus the sense of leadership and authority that practically radiated from him.  

Then again, he’s awfully young…Perhaps he’s a second-in-command...Still though, for someone so young to make it this far in the mafia…

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Dwhite gave an annoyed grunt.

“Fine, whatever. Come on guys, touch the notebook.”

Just as the first person’s hand was inches away from the book, I got a brilliant idea and quickly went through the wall closest to me.

“Well Jack, where is it?”

“It was right there, I swear! Just now!”

“Sure it was.” I heard a mumbled agreement from the other men in the room, figuring that by now they had all touched the notebook, and made my move, sliding through the wall as quickly as I’d left.

“WHAAAAZZZZZUUUUHHHP?”

The screams and gunshots that followed were music to my ears. I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. I was still trying to keep my sides from splitting by the time they calmed down.

“Jack’s right,” Dwhite muttered. “That ain’t no costume. That’s a real-life shinigami.”

“Damn straight,” I snickered.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing really, just my notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

“Yes, my notebook.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How do we know it’s yours?”

“Flip to the inside of the back cover and you’ll find a series of symbols scratched into the material of the lower right-hand corner. Those are my initials, which translated to the English alphabet, would be A.K.A.” The mobsters did as they were told and, sure enough, my initials were there.

“Okay, so it’s your notebook. Doesn’t mean we have to give it back to you.”

“Au contraire, my bald, muscular friend. You see, I don’t have long to live, and if I don’t write down some names in that Death Note soon, I will die. And if I die, that notebook will burst into flames. And if the Death Note is destroyed, you will all die in thirteen days.” The mobster’s faces all paled at my last sentence. If Ryuk hadn’t told me about the fake rules he’d written in my notebook, I wouldn’t have had my bargaining chip. “Tell you what, since I’m such a nice shinigami, I’ll make you a deal. Let me borrow the notebook for a little while so I can write some names down and expand my life-span, then I’ll give it right back as soon as I’m done with it, okay?”

As I spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that the blonde seemed unusually calm considering the situation he was in; not every day could someone talk to a shinigami. But his eyes never left my own, and I could practically see the gears in his head working at break-neck speed.

“How do we know you won’t just run away with the notebook? Or write all of our names down, and then run away?” My attention returned to the head mobster before me.

“A few reasons: one, the human has to willingly surrender the notebook in order for it to be returned to its original owner. Second, I can tell by looking at your lifespans that not that many of you have long to live, so why should I bother killing you if your deaths won’t be that much use to me? And thirdly, do I look like the kind of shinigami that would go back on its word?” I smirked under my scarf and held out my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll only need it for a few minutes, and I promise I’ll give it back.”

“But-”

“Just give it the notebook, Rod. I think it’s telling the truth.”

There was a brief silence before the mob boss spoke.

“Are you sure, Mello?”

Wait, WHAT?

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Without another word he handed me my notebook, and I took it from him while doing my best to hide my sudden anxiety.

Did he say…? No…no, it can’t be…I must have misheard.

“Thank you.” I pulled a pen from my belt and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook. “Any preferences?”

“No, thanks. We already took care of that.”

“Ah. Excuse me.” I stepped past him and sat cross-legged on the floor facing a TV. It was a news show; an anchorwoman was posing before a camera with a lot of bystanders standing behind her. “Perfect.”

I picked my victims, and the causes and times of their deaths, at random, while throwing in some criminals for good measure, but not enough for the men watching me to notice. After a couple minutes, I’d written down enough names to last me for a very long time.

“There,” I slapped the notebook shut. “I should be set for the next couple hundred years or so.” I stood up and handed it back to Rod. “I told you I was a shinigami of my word.”

“Right…” he said uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong? Still put off by my appearance?” I cleared my throat and threw my voice around until it was a perfect imitation of his. “Or is it the voice? Does the way I talk upset you?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How…how are you doing that?”

“It’s a quirk.” I grinned, knowing that my voice trick was putting everyone in a state of unease.

I’ll have these pigs in the palm of my hand in no time.

“Umm…Could you please,” mumbled one of the other mobsters. “Not do that?”

“Well, since you asked nicely…” I reverted back to my normal way of speaking. “Sure.”

“Shinigami.” I looked at the blonde on the couch, and was surprised to find that he was still remarkably composed. The way he looked at me…It felt like he was sizing me up, figuring out various ways I could be of use to him, and then when and how to dispose of me once he was through. This was a man used to getting what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would most assuredly wind up with a bullet lodged into their skull. Normally I despised people like this, and frankly, he was no exception; and yet, the more I studied him, I realized that unlike other pompous brats, he had the skill to back up his bravado. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to respect him.

Maybe…there’s a chance it might be him…But I have to be certain.

“Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me A for now.” I noticed how his brow twitched ever so slightly, as if maybe I’d struck a nerve. “Or ‘Shinigami’, or whatever. I don’t really care.”

“Then tell me…A,” he asked, taking a bite of his chocolate. “Is there anything else we need to know about the Death Note? Any other rules or limitations to who we can kill?”

I got an idea and smirked.

“There are, but I don’t like giving things away without getting something in return. So, how about another deal?”

“What do you want?”

“That.” I pointed to his chocolate. “Give me some of that, and I’ll answer any questions you have with the utmost sincerity. No lies, no tricks.”

“Done.” He grabbed another chocolate bar off of a table next to him and tossed it to me, which I easily caught. I carefully unwrapped it, the smell instantly making my mouth water. I lowered my scarf and heard quiet mutterings from the others as they saw my razor-sharp teeth. As I bit into the sweetness, letting the taste melt into my tongue, my eyes rolled back into my head and I felt my knees buckle a little. A low moan escaped the back of my throat as I savored every single bite.

Oh, sweet motherfucking Christ, yes.

As I finished it off, I placed my palms together and closed my eyes for a brief second in an almost-reflexive sign of thanks. I didn’t really notice I was doing it until I’d opened my eyes again.

Huh…that’s odd.

I quickly put the thought out of my mind and positioned my scarf back over my mouth with a grin.

“The thirteen-day rule is totally bogus. Also, if I die, the notebook will not be affected; the same would also apply to me if the notebook is destroyed.”

“You mean those rules are fake?!” Rod cried.

“That’s what I said.”

“So earlier,” one of the mobsters grumbled. “When you wanted to borrow the notebook, you were-”

“Playing you for a bunch of chumps? Yes, yes I was.”

“But why? Why would you put in fake rules?” The blonde’s gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t, someone else did.”

“Who?”

“No idea,” I lied. “Most likely another shinigami. Probably did it to mess with a human. Ya know, shits and giggles. Oh, and you’ll probably want to know about the eye-trade.”

“Eye-trade?”

“A shinigami’s eyes can see a person’s real name and lifespan above their heads. In exchange for half of the current owner’s remaining lifespan, I can give him those eyes. And speaking of names, would you mind telling me how to pronounce yours?” His cerulean eyes narrowed as I squinted at the floating letters above his head. “I can read it, but I can’t figure out how you’re supposed to say it. Is it-?”

“That’s enough!” His outburst almost made me flinch. “I go by Mello, understand? Nothing else.”

Ho. Ly. Shit. It is him. It has to be!

“Alright, alright,” I raised my hands in a position of mock-surrender. “No need to get snippy.”

Mello quickly cooled down and resumed his leisurely position on the couch, his body practically draped over the cushions like a model about to be drawn nude.

“Are you serious about this eye-trade?”

“Quite. But I can only make the deal with the current owner of my Death Note,” I turned to Snydar. “That would be you.”

“Make the deal, Jack,” Rod ordered.

“Wh-what?!”

“You heard me. Make the deal for the shinigami eyes.”

“But I’ll lose half of-” It was at this point Snydar noticed the way Rod was reaching into his jacket. “Ya know, on second thought, I’d like to make to the eye-trade.”

“Atta boy.”

“So, uh…” Snydar looked at me. “How does this…umm, happen? What are you going to do?”

“Just close your eyes and hold very still.” He did as instructed and I gently placed my hand on top of his head. “Now, I’ve never done this before, so it may take a few tries,” I didn’t know whether to mock or pity the man as he started to tremble. “But it shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I focused for a second and felt a strange tingling in the hand that was on Snydar’s head which quickly shot up my arm and dissipated. “Annnnnd done. You can open your eyes now.” He did so, revealing bright red irises which quickly faded back to his natural eye color. “Congratulations, you are now that much closer to death.”

And I’m that much closer to getting my Death Note back…

“What do you see?” Mello asked.

“Names…” Snydar whispered. “And numbers. Are those their lifespans?”

“Yeah, but they’re done in the numeral language of the shinigami. To translate it to human calculations, you’d need a calculator and a great deal of time, depending on how precise you’d want it to be.”

“Excellent.” Rod thumped Snydar on the back. “Now we’re in business.”

“Thank you, A.” Mello smiled. “You have been very helpful.”

I felt something stir deep inside of me. A quiver just below my stomach that sent tingles up my spine and made my lower extremities throb ever so slightly. The sensation was new, yet faintly familiar. I almost gagged when I realized what it was.

Oh no, nope, nuh-unh, don’t even think about it, don’t you dare feel attracted to him ah shit, too late.

“No problem.” The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. “Any other questions?”

“I think we’re good for now.” His smile disappeared, as did the sickening feeling, and I inwardly sighed with relief. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions, but for now, you can keep watch outside.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t quite believe what I’d just heard.

“It’ll be very convenient for us that you can’t be seen by humans. Go outside and keep watch, got it?”

In another time, I would have pissed my pants and ran at the look he gave me then. It was goddamn creepy. But I had changed since then, and had grown used to these kinds of gazes. If anything, I thought it was extremely humorous.

“Heh…heheheh…” His left eye twitched in surprise as my giggles turned into guffaws of laughter. Everyone stared, bewildered, as my voice rose and fell, cracking in its insane cackles.

“What’s so funny?” Mello asked, irked.

“You are!” I chuckled. “You are without a doubt the strangest human being I have ever encountered! Your appearance! Your intelligence! Your chocolate and leather fetishes! And now you’re givin’ me friggin’ orders! Me! A goddamned shinigami! A being that has every single person in this room terrified except for you! The whole thing just strikes me as hilarious!”

I continued to laugh maniacally as the blonde glared at me with the icy daggers that were his eyes. Eventually, I began to calm down.

“Finished?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ll give you this though, you’re probably also the bravest human I’ve seen; it takes some serious guts to boss around a death god.”

There was a brief pause as my words sunk in. I had a feeling I had said what everyone else had once thought at one point or another. Mello was a very strange person. Brilliant yes, but strange…and maybe a bit psychotic, but hey, I wasn’t one to judge.

“So, are you going to keep watch, or not?”

My lips clenched into a scowl as my good humor immediately dissolved.

“Okay, let’s make something explicitly, perfectly clear here.” I took a few steps toward him. “The only reason I’m here is because shinigami law requires me to be. That does not make me your servant, alright? You do not get to order me around like one of these shit-for-brains asshats.” I motioned to the group of men surrounding us, stopping once I was right in front of him. He hadn’t moved an inch, his face only expressing the slightest hint of emotion. It was really starting to tick me off. “So, do we have an understanding?”

There was a tense silence, the people in the room waiting with bated breath for Mello’s response, until…

“Do it, and I’ll give you more chocolate.”

-snap!-

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the blonde by the throat and yanked him to his feet. He audibly gasped in surprise and pain as I slammed his back against the wall above the couch. I found it immensely pleasing.

“Listen well, Pretty Boy, because I’m only going to say this once,” I leaned in close until we were perfectly eye-level. “Don’t fuck with me. Fuck with me, and you’ll regret it. You have my word on that.”

I dropped him back on the sofa-cushions and he glared up at me with hate-filled eyes.

“You...you…” He was so angry, he couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew that feeling well.

“Maybe when you’re ready to treat with me some respect, we can try this again.” I placed a hand on his shoulder, tightening my grip when he tried to shake it off, and leaned in again, hissing into his ear. “Your tricks won’t work on me. I’ve been dealing with your type for a long time now. I’m used to it.”

  “My type?” Mello whispered, caught off-guard again as I released his shoulder and stood up.

“Anyway, if you have any more questions regarding the Death Note, just give me a holler. Later.”

Black, feathery wings popped out of my back, and I flew up and out of the hideout so fast that Mello’s enraged shouts just barely reached my ears as faint whispers. I smiled in content as I settled on a high tree-branch, but it didn’t last long as I began to think about the recklessness of my past actions, and the young man whom was currently handling my notebook.

Hmm…Short-tempered, calculating, a bit on the arrogant side, chocolate addiction, late teens…There’s no doubt about it…It’s the Mello he told me about…

I held up my left arm and pulled down the shirt-sleeve, revealing a single letter carved into the flesh of my wrist and a list of names beneath it. Using the sharp tip of my pen, I began to add the names of the people I’d sentenced to death just a few minutes prior. I hoped that the familiar pain would be enough to distract me from my rapidly growing feeling of dread.

This might change things…

Alternate title for this chapter: HEYKIDSWANNASEEADEADBODY?

And before you ask, yes, Mello wearing black lipstick is totally canon. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Fabulous, no?