#anyways will be back to turtle programming just had to get this guy out of my system 💯💯

[slushglow]

where are my edward elric fans in the crowd tonight

[colleendoran]

Great Big Good Omens Graphic Novel Update

AKA A Visit From Bildad the Shuhite.

The past year or so has been one long visit from this guy, whereupon he smiteth my goats and burneth my crops, woe unto the woeful cartoonist.

Gaze upon the horror of Bildad the Shuhite.

You kind of have to be a Good Omens fan to get this joke, but trust me, it's hilarious.

Anyway, as a long time Good Omens novel fan, you may imagine how thrilled I was to get picked to adapt the graphic novel.

 Go me!  

This is quite a task, I have to say, especially since I was originally going to just draw (and color) it, but I ended up writing the adaptation as well. Tricky to fit a 400 page novel into a 160-ish page graphic novel, especially when so much of the humor is dependent on the language, and not necessarily on the visuals.

Not complainin', just sayin'.

Anyway, I started out the gate like a herd of turtles, because  right away I got COVID which knocked me on my butt. 

And COVID brain fog? That's a thing. I already struggle with brain fog due to autoimmune disease, and COVID made it worse.

Not complainin' just sayin'.

This set a few of the assignments on my plate back, which pushed starting Good Omens back. 

But hey, big fat lead time! No worries!

Then my computer crawled toward the grave.

My trusty MAC Pro Tower was nearly 15 years old when its sturdy heart ground to a near-halt with daily crashes. I finally got around to doing some diagnostics; some of its little brain actions were at 5% functionality. I had no reliable backups.

There are so many issues with getting a new computer when you haven't had a new computer or peripherals in nearly fifteen years and all of your software, including your Photoshop program is fifteen years old.

At the time, I was still on rural internet...which means dial-up speed.

Whatever you have for internet in the city, roll that clock back to about 2001.

That's what I had. I not only had to replace almost all of my hardware but I had to load and update all programs at dial-up speed.

Welcome to my gigabyte hell.

The entire process of replacing the equipment and programs took weeks and then I had to relearn all the software.

All of this was super expensive in terms of money and time cost.

But I was not daunted! Nosirree!

I still had a huge lead time! I can do anything! I have an iron will!

And boy, howdy, I was going to need it.

At about the same time, a big fatcat quadrillionaire client who had hired me years ago to develop a big, major transmedia project for which I was paid almost entirely in stock, went bankrupt leaving everyone holding the bag, and taking a huge chunk of my future retirement fund with it.

I wrote a very snarky almost hilarious Patreon post about it, but am not entirely in a position to speak freely because I don't want to get sued. Even though I had to go to court over it, (and I had to do that over Zoom at dial-up speed,) I'm pretty sure I'll never get anything out of this drama, and neither will anyone else involved, except millionaire dude and his buddies who all walked away with huge multi-million dollar bonuses weeks before they declared bankruptcy, all the while claiming they would not declare bankruptcy.

Even the accountant got $250,000 a month to shut down the business, while creators got nothing.

That in itself was enough drama for the year, but we were only at February by that point, and with all those months left, 2023 had a lot more to throw at me.

Fresh from my return from my Society of Illustrators show, and a lovely time at MOCCA, it was time to face practical medical issues, health updates, screening, and the like. I did my adult duty and then went back to work hoping for no news, but still had a weird feeling there would be news.

I know everyone says that, but I mean it. I had a bad feeling.

Then there was news.

I was called back for tests and more tests. This took weeks. The ubiquitous biopsy looked, even to me staring at the screen in real time, like bad news. 

It also hurt like a mofo after the anesthesia wore off. I wasn't expecting that.

Then I got the official bad news.

Cancer which runs in my family finally got me. Frankly, I was surprised I didn't get it sooner.

Stage 0, and treatment would likely be fast and complication-free. Face the peril, get it over with, and get back to work. 

I requested surgery months in the future so I could finish Good Omens first, but my doc convinced me the risk of waiting was too great. Get it done now.

"You're really healthy," my doc said. Despite an auto-immune issue which plagues me, I am way healthier than the average schmoe of late middle age. She informed me I would not even need any chemo or radiation if I took care of this now.

So I canceled my appearance at San Diego Comic Con. I did not inform the Good Omens team of my issues right away, thinking this would not interfere with my work schedule, but I did contact my agent to inform her of the issue. I also contacted a lawyer to rewrite my will and make sure the team had access to my digital files in case there were complications.

Then I got back to work, and hoped for the best.

Eff this guy.

Before I could even plant my carcass on the surgery table, I got a massive case of ocular shingles.

I didn't even know there was such a thing. 

There I was, minding my own business. I go to bed one night with a scratchy eye, and by 4 PM the next day, I was in the emergency room being told if I didn't get immediate specialist treatment, I was in big trouble.

I got transferred to another hospital and got all the scary details, with the extra horrid news that I could not possibly have cancer surgery until I was free of shingles, and if I did not follow a rather brutal treatment procedure - which meant super-painful  eye drops every half hour, twenty-four hours a day and daily hospital treatment - I could lose the eye entirely, or be blinded, or best case scenario, get permanent eye damage.

What was even funnier (yeah, hilarity) is the drops are so toxic if you don't use the medication just right, you can go blind anyway.

Hi Ho.

Ulcer is on the right. That big green blob.

I had just finished telling my cancer surgeon I did not even really care about getting cancer, was happy it was just stage zero, had no issues with scarring, wanted no reconstruction, all I cared about was my work. 

Just cut it out and get me back to work.

And now I wondered if I was going to lose my ability to work anyway.

Shingles often accompanies cancer because of the stress on the immune system, and yeah, it's not pretty. This is me looking like all heck after I started to get better.

The first couple of weeks were pretty demoralizing as I expected a straight trajectory to wellness. But it was up and down all the way. 

Some days I could not see out of either eye at all. The swelling was so bad that I had to reach around to my good eye to prop the lid open. Light sensitivity made seeing out of either eye almost impossible. Outdoors, even with sunglasses, I had to be led around by the hand.

I had an amazing doctor. I meticulously followed his instructions, and I think he was surprised I did. The treatment is really difficult, and if you don't do it just right no matter how painful it gets, you will be sorry. 

To my amazement, after about a month, my doctor informed me I had no vision loss in the eye at all. "This never happens," he said.

I'd spent a couple of weeks there trying to learn to draw in the near-dark with one eye, and in the end, I got all my sight back.

I could no longer wear contact lenses (I don't really wear them anyway, unless I'm going to the movies,) would need hard core sun protection for awhile, and the neuralgia and sun sensitivity were likely to linger. But I could get back to work.

I have never been more grateful in my life.

Neuralgia sucks, by the way, I'm still dealing with it months later.

Anyway, I decided to finally go ahead and tell the Good Omens team what was going on, especially since this was all happening around the time the Kickstarter was gearing up.

Now that I was sure I'd passed the eye peril, and my surgery for Stage 0 was going to be no big deal, I figured all was a go. I was still pretty uncomfortable and weak, and my ideal deadline was blown, but with the book not coming out for more than a year, all would be OK. I quit a bunch of jobs I had lined up to start after Good Omens, since the project was going to run far longer than I'd planned.

Everybody on the team was super-nice, and I was pretty optimistic at this time. But work was going pretty slow during, as you may imagine.

But again...lots of lead time still left, go me.

Then I finally got my surgery.

Which was not as happy an experience as I had been hoping for.

My family said the doc came out of the operating room looking like she'd been pulled backwards through a pipe, She informed them the tumor which looked tiny on the scan was "...huge and her insides are a mess."

Which was super not fun news.

Eff this guy.

The tumor was hiding behind some dense tissue and cysts. After more tests, it was determined I'd need another surgery and was going to have to get further treatments after all.

The biopsy had been really painful, but the discomfort was gone after about a week, so no biggee. The second surgery was, weirdly, not as painful as the biopsy, but the fatigue was big time.

By then, the Good Omens Kickstarter had about run its course, and the record-breaker was both gratifying and a source of immense social pressure.

I'd already turned most of my social media over to an assistant, and I'm glad I did.

But the next surgery was what really kicked me on my keister.

All in all, they took out an area the size of a baseball. It was  hard to move and wiped me out for weeks and weeks. I could not take care of myself. I'd begun losing hair by this time anyway, and finally just lopped it off since it was too heavy for me to care for myself. The cut hides the bald spots pretty well.

After about a month, I got the go-ahead to travel to my show at the San Diego Comic Con Museum (which is running until the first week of April, BTW). I was very happy I had enough energy to do it. But as soon as I got back, I had to return to treatment.

Since I live way out in the country, going into the city to various hospitals and pharmacies was a real challenge. I made more than 100 trips last year, and a drive to the compounding pharmacy which produced the specialist eye medicine I could not get anywhere else was six hours alone.

Naturally, I wasn't getting anything done during this time.

But at least my main hospital is super swank.

The oncology treatment went smoothly, until it didn't. The feels don't hit you until the end. By then I was flattened.

So flattened that I was too weak to control myself, fell over, and smashed my face into some equipment.

Nearly tore off my damn nostril.

Eff this guy.

Anyway, it was a bad year.

Here's what went right.

I have a good health insurance policy. The final tally on my health care costs ended up being about $150,000. I paid about 18% of that, including insurance. I had a high deductible and some experimental medicine insurance didn't cover. I had savings,  enough to cover the months I wasn't working, and my Patreon is also very supportive. So you didn't see me running a Gofundme or anything.

Thanks to everyone who ever bought one of my books.

No, none of that money was Good Omens Kickstarter money. I won't get most of my pay on that for months, which is just as well because it kept my taxes lower last year when I needed a break.

So, yay.

My nose is nearly healed. I opted out of plastic surgery, and it just sealed up by itself. I'll never be ready for my closeup, but who the hell cares.

I got to ring the bell.

I had a very, VERY hard time getting back to work, especially with regard to focus and concentration. My work hours dropped by over 2/3. I was so fractured and weak, time kept slipping away while I sat in the studio like a zombie. Most of the last six months were a wash.

I assumed focus issues were due (in part) to stress, so sought counseling. This seemed like a good idea at first, but when the counselor asked me to detail my issues with anxiety, I spent two weeks doing just that and getting way more anxious, which was not helpful.

After that I went EFF THIS NOISE, I want practical tools, not touchy feelies (no judgment on people who need touchy-feelies, I need a pragmatic solution and I need it now,) so tried using the body doubling focus group technique for concentration and deep work.

Within two weeks, I returned to normal work hours.

I got rural broadband, jumping me from dial up speed to 1 GB per second.

It's a miracle.

Massive doses of Vitamin D3 and K2. Yay.

The new computer works great.

The Kickstarter did so well, we got to expand the graphic novel to 200 pages. Double yay.

I'm running late, but everyone on the Good Omens team is super supportive. I don't know if I am going to make the book late or not, but if I do, well, it surely wasn't on purpose, and it won't be super late anyway. I still have months of lead time left.

I used to be something of a social media addict, but now I hardly ever even look at it, haven't been directly on some sites in over a year, and no longer miss it. It used to seem important and now doesn't.

More time for real life.

While I think the last year aged me about twenty years, I actually like me better with short hair. I'm keeping it.

OK. Rough year. 

Not complainin', just sayin'.

Back to work on The Book.

And only a day left to vote for Good Omens, Neil Gaiman, and Sandman in the Comicscene Awards. Thanks. 

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Tiring Out

Summary: Buck's watching Christopher and neither one can sleep.

(Wanted to share one last one ❤️ :) Hope you guys enjoy ❤️ :) And have a great Halloween if you celebrate! ❤️ 🎃)

"You like this show?"

Christopher didn't turn away from the screen. "Bluey's awesome. Even my Dad likes it."

The young firefighter watched the group of animated dogs move across the screen. "Can't really see why."

"It's really funny." Christopher glanced over at his friend. "Also, it really helps me fall asleep."

This time, Buck kept his attention on the TV. "Whatever helps you bud."

The firefighter had agreed to stay with Christopher until Eddie got back from his night shift. However, the kid was supposed to be in bed an hour ago and didn't seem to be tiring out any time soon.

Buck hadn't planned on sleeping anyway. He just hadn't expected to have a buddy with him when he did.

Christopher nudged his friend's arm. "The Dad can be so silly sometimes."

The two watched Bluey's Dad run around screen like a gorilla.

The silliness did pull a chuckle out of Buck.

"See? You're starting to like it too."

"Somewhat."

A moment later, Bluey jumped across the screen with a blanket to tackle her Dad to the ground. She then commented about tiring him out before tickling him through the blanket.

Buck chuckled again and shook his head.

Christopher quickly paused the episode. "I have to go the bathroom."

"Okay."

Christopher took off.

"You don't need to go so fast. Bluey will be here when you get back."

"I just really need to go."

The young firefighter's eyebrows furrowed together.

Once a door shut, Buck stared up at the ceiling. For several seconds, his body screamed at him to get some sleep but his mind just wouldn't get with the program.

The young firefighter pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He then heard movement off to his right. "You're back fa---."

Suddenly, a blanket was thrown over Buck before someone jumped into his lap.

Outside of a slight startle, Buck didn't really move from his spot. "What are you doing Christopher?"

"Tiring you out."

Before the young firefighter could ask what he meant, two hands dug into his sides making him jump and cackle in surprise.

Christopher chuckled along. "It actually works."

Meanwhile, Buck was trying to fight his way out of the blanket while also trying to grab the Christopher's hands. "Chrihistopheher!"

In response, the kid spidered upward to tickle his friend's ribs. "Whahat?"

Buck bent forward while still trying to grab Christopher's hands through the blanket, yet the kid managed to slip out of every grab and kept attacking his midsection.

"Yohou hahave a very loud laugh," Christopher teased.

"Christohopheher, Ihi cahant breheathe!"

The kid finally reached up to help pull the blanket off of Buck's head. "Hi Buhuck."

The young firefighter gave him a playful glare.

"I never knew you wehere ticklihish," Christopher replied with an 'innocent' smile

"And Ihi thihink I'm about to figure out yohou ahare too." Buck then started attacking the kid's sides. "With a littlehele pahaybahack!"

Christopher broke into adorable laughter as he tried to squirm out of the hold. After a moment, he managed to wriggle his fingers into Buck's armpit.

The young firefighter squealed and tried to get the little stinker's hand back out.

The two went back and forth for a bit, trying to one up the other.

After a couple minutes, Christopher managed to wriggle through Buck's arms and blew a raspberry into the crook of his neck like his Dad had done with him.

Buck squealed again and turtled. "Okahay, ohokahay! You wihin!"

Christopher leaned back. "Win whahat?"

Buck went limp. "I dohon't knohow, buhut Ihi need aha break."

"Are you okay?" Christopher asked in concern.

"Yeheah, yeah Ihim gohood."

Christopher scooted down and snuggled into the firefighter's chest.

Buck patted his back. "Let's get you to bed so you can sleep."

The kid shook his head. "No. I want to stay out here with you."

"You need to sleep buhud."

"So do you."

"I'll be fine."

"No." Christopher shook his head.

Buck looked down at the mop of hair on his chest. Normally, he would be firmer with getting him to sleep, but he was too exhausted to think of a valid argument. "Alright fine."

"Yes!"

Buck chuckled. "Want to go back to your show?"

"Yes! We have to get to the next episode!"

"Whatever you say bud." Buck settled back on the couch with Christopher still in his lap before hitting play on the show.

The two finally finished the episode they had paused before moving on to the next one. Buck kept feeling his focus on the show slip as the exhaustion finally hit his brain. He kept having to peel his eyes back open just to focus.

Christopher started to drift off too. With one final yawn, he slipped off with a "Night Buck."

"Night buddy," the young firefighter replied as his eyes finally stayed shut.

When Eddie got back that morning, he found the two fast asleep with the TV still on.

[skinnyducky]

poster girl // v.h.

a/n this was supposed to be a double update yesterday but i literally fell asleep the minute i posted it. i was very inspired by 00′s sex comedies for this one, so if you see some american pie influence in there, that’s why. anyways, back to our regularly scheduled program.

p.s. y/h/c = your hair colour

vinnie hacker x fem!reader

Word Count: 837, edited

WARNING: language, mentions of self-gratification (lol), and that’s all.

---------

Y/n was seated in the dining room of the Hype House, feet kicked up onto the table as she flipped through the newest issue of Vogue, the same one she just so happened to grace the cover of. It came as a shock when the famous fashion magazine decided to make her the poster girl for the month of July, but it wasn’t that surprising. Not only was Y/n an influencer, but she was a rising star in the modelling world. Her Vogue era was bound to happen at any moment.

As she gazed at the various photographs and spreads, all consisting of her in dark and sultry positions, she reached for the box of chocolate turtles on the table right next to her. However, before she could even snag one, there was a knock at the door. "You guys, someone’s at the door!" She shouted, hoping one of her roomies in the next room over would get it.

However, the knocking ensued. She scoffed, tossing her magazine onto the table. "You know what, I’ll get it!" She got out of her comfortable spot and headed to the front door. "Assholes can spend an hour making one tiktok but can’t take a second to answer the damn door." She grumbled.

She opened the door and was greeted by an elderly man holding a large Starbucks drink. "Order for a…Winnie Sacker?"

Y/n snickered, "I think you mean Vinnie Hacker, and yes he is here. I will gladly take that." She took the drink for the man and shut the door, not before bidding him a ‘thank you.’ She then proceeded to make her way up the stairs to deliver Vinnie his drink. On her way to his room, she stole a few sips of the delicious latte. It’s not like he’d care, they were best friends.

As she stepped up to his door, she couldn’t help but notice there was a bit of commotion going on inside. She pressed her ear against the door, Vinnie’s low moans and groans flowing into her ear.

"Oh my god," he wailed. "Oh, that’s it."

Y/n’s brows knitted together, the girl curious as to what was going on inside. Was he in the middle of streaming? He was notorious for making random noises during his streams. Or maybe he was in the middle of a steamy foreplay session with some girl on Facetime. Either way, it couldn’t be that bad.

Without a knock or a shout, Y/n barged into his room. "Hey Vinnie, I got your— OH MY GOD!"

Y/n couldn’t believe her eyes. There, standing just a few feet away from her in front of his window, was Vinnie…butt ass naked, with one hand gripping his one-eyed trout and the other holding a magazine.

"Oh my god, Vinnie, I didn’t know you had it like that!" Y/n teased, shielding her eyes.

"Fucking hell, Y/n, get out!"

"I just," she laughed, trying to catch her breath. "I just came by…to drop off…your drink."

"Okay, cool! Drop it off and leave, please!"

Without removing her hand from her eyes, Y/n roamed around the room until her hand came in contact with the coolness of his computer desk. After placing the drink down, she started making her exit. But before she left, she turned towards Vinnie and split her fingers to get a quick peek, wanting to see how red in the face the boy was. Just as she thought, he was absolutely flushed, his cheeks redder than Satan’s dick.

Though she couldn’t help it as her eyes gravitated to the magazine that was covering his junk. While it was upside down, she was able to comprehend what the image was. She recognized the facial structure of the model, the same Y/h/c that pigmented the hair on top of her head, and the slight glimmer in said model’s eyes. That’s when she figured out that in his hands was the latest issue of Vogue. Well, there’s no doubt he was using that to unclog his drain, but does that mean he was tickling his pickle to…?

She pointed down at the thick booklet, her mouth forming into the shape of an ‘o.’

"Holy shit, you were jerking off to me!" She shrieked.

"Y/n, keep your voice down!"

"I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or weirded out," she said, ignoring his wish. "Eh, regardless, I’m flattered…I think."

Vinnie sighed, "Can we really not do this? I don’t know if you can see, but I’m literally naked and I would rather not deal with this right now when there’s wind blowing through my ass crack."

"I get it, dude. Carry on with, um, your session." Y/n spun around, taking her leave. Just as she stepped foot outside of his room, she once again looked back at her curly-haired friend. "By the way, if you’re trying to see the good stuff, page forty-six has a nice spread of me." She shot him a wink, walking out of his room both a blushing and giggling mess.

---------

tag list: @barbietiingz​ @tvdsure​ @hwrteye​ 

[lokidokeyartichoki]

Excuse me, what?? You fought a huge python???? You can't just drop that in the tags and not explain how that happened

Lmaoooo I forget not all of you were here in 2015.

This all happened in the very exotic area of the northern suburbs of Chicago. I used to pet sit for a guy who owned a reptile roadshow, and he had like 2 black throat monitor lizards, a few ball pythons, a couple of boa constrictors, a sulcata tortoise, some more lizards and snakes, a tarantula, a snapping turtle and an African millipede. Anyway, I got to feed the smaller animals because they needed to be fed more often but the Burmese python (pictured above) and the adult monitor lizard were fed before he left every time.

They’re all show animals, so they were trained that they were only getting food in their enclosures to minimize incidents at shows. I misunderstood the directions to mist the python’s moss bed and stuck my hand and squeeze bottle into the Burmese’s enclosure.

At the time I had two small dogs and I wasn’t a familiar smell so I don’t blame the snake at all, but it struck my left hand and threw coils around my arm. The snake constricted and let me tell you that thing was 80lbs of pure muscle. Pythons have four rows of teeth on the roof of their mouth and they’re all hooked back to aide in moving food down their throat. So I’m like, “fuck okay” and started pushing my hand back further into its mouth to unhook the teeth.

By the time I managed to get the snake off my arm (it was turning purple) I hadn’t figured out how I was going to close the sliding glass door and my grip weakened enough for it to turn around and bite my right wrist. Which is my dominant arm and all I can remember thinking was “oh okay I guess this is happening now” in the calmest and most resigned way possible. So now the 17ft snake has thrown coils again, is constricting my dominant arm, immobilizing a joint and I’m like “wtf did Jeff corwin and Steve Irwin teach you dumbass”. So I struggled with the snake as gently but firmly as I could until I unhooked it again from my arm. I’m talking prying a hand sized snake head off my limb with my usually useless left hand. It was all in all a 20 minute fight that ended with me getting the snake off and quickly locking the enclosure.

(I did not realize it at the time but if I had stood up and tried to use gravity to get the snake off or moved it out of the enclosure so I had more room I could easily have died if it decided to throw coils and constrict my chest. But that comes into play later.)

ANYWAY, I then wash all my puncture wounds out with antibacterial soap and call my mom who was hysterical and told me to go to the ER. There’s nothing quite like showing up to the ER in a suburb like “yeah I got bit by a very large nonvenomous snake 😔” and they’re like “?????” So all my punctures get washed out with saline and then they take X-rays to make sure no teeth broke off inside my arms.

The funny bit, the funniest part of this whole thing was I was in an intensive out patient group therapy program at the time. Imagine your new patient of like 2 weeks suddenly walks into group one Thursday morning with their forearms and hands all professionally wrapped up with gauze and shit. They were all like “did you self harm” and I was all “no I got bit by a 17ft 80lb snake” and they were like “we haven’t heard that before but we need to unwrap them to verify”. But I was like “Peggy you don’t understand if you unwrap them I can’t wrap them up again and the doctors told me to keep them covered” but Peggy was like “I need to make sure you didn’t cut or self harm” so she unwrapped my arms and was very surprised to find out I had, in fact, been attacked by a large snake instead of lying about it.

Anyway, I then found out that I’m more terrified of open communication and conversation about relationships than possibly dying fighting a snake so I learned a lot about myself that week lmao.

[damsel-loves-machines]

Parenting Shell-don with Donatello would Include:

Author’s Note: This took freaking forever when it shouldn’t have and I, for the life of me, can’t comprehend why. I would like to thank @aceing-it-spaceing-it​ for recommending this prompt to me. Just a reminder that I am not accepting requests at all at the moment. Everything that I usually write is all based on inspiration, but I couldn’t pass this idea up.

Here is an excerpt from my Interested in Donatello’s Tech writing, the piece that has started it all. Since it’s my piece of writing, I can copy and paste it without guilt.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.? He’s your son now. I don’t make the rules.

Donatello programmed him to call you ‘Mistress Y/N’ until his brothers somehow managed to reprogram the A.I. turtle behind his back (once again) to call you ‘Mom’. After chasing his brothers with his rocket hammer and fighting down the sheer embarrassment, Donnie didn’t bother with changing it back. The damage was already done.

A part of him liked it, too, but he is taking that secret to the grave.

Donnie does enjoy the fact that you treat and take care of Shell-don like a son just as much as he does. You make sure to keep track of Shell-don’s coolant to be changed thrice daily so that it doesn’t overheat and scratch behind all 8 of his favorite places whenever you have time.

You even decided to freshen Shell-don’s metal coat with polish every once in a while as a treat for working so hard.

He dubbed you ‘his favorite parent’. Donnie is only partially offended by that.

What a lovely introduction. Anyways-

Shell-don is baby. To you, at least.

“He is not an infant, Y/N. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. is a very intelligent artificially-created being with a well-crafted independent personality that I have concocted-”

“He is also two-and-a-half months old. HE. IS. BABY.”

“....don’t you mean, “He is A baby?”“

“Don’t sass me, mister.”

“Mom, Dad. Please stop fighting.”

At first, Shell-don couldn’t...compute the reasoning why you were coddling and spoiling him like this. He wasn’t complaining, but he was very confused as to why you insisted he’d rest his hard wire for the afternoon while you took care of the rest of the chores he was assigned.

Shell-don confronted Donnie about this and his creator said:

“They have always had a great fascination with all of my technological inventions and achievements. However, the second you called them ‘Mom’, you completely won their heart. Even though the primary goal for that remark was for my embarrassment, but you made Y/N happy nonetheless. You’re my greatest creation and they acknowledge that. They love you just as much as I do, bud.”

Cue robo-tears.

If Shell-don isn’t scurrying around the lair or resting at his charging station, you’re carrying him around in his arms like how Misty carries Togepi all around Kanto.

While Shell-don goes for Donatello for basic things and physical guidance with topics revolving technology and the sorts, he goes to you for emotional support and chill times.

The warmth and softness of your body hits differently against his metal body when in your embrace, something that Donatello’s reptilian physique somewhat lacked in. Shell-don fully understands why Donnie always tries to “subtly” cuddle up to you whenever he can.

Shell-don is, at times, emotionally stunted with a hint of dead-pan snark. He gets it from his father. -_-

So whenever some sort of argument would ever erupt between the two violet turtles, you do one of three things:

1. You try to sit them down and talk to them both.

2. You pull the “I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.” move.

or 3. You threaten to call in Dr. Delicate Touch.

So far, nothing failed as of yet.

You hound the two of them to teach you binary code. You can’t tell what kind of conversation they are having when they communicate in 0′s and 1′s and you hate being left out. They always seem to love watching you pout about it and continue with their aimless banter in a playful manner.

Once Donnie constructed a body for Shell-don, you made it your mission to make matching clothing for the two.

*enter The Clothes Don’t Make the Turtle music segment here*

Everything felt sweet until Shredder infiltrated the lair.

You were stuck at the lair during the tragic mishap, along with April and Karai. You ran to enlist Shell-don to aid in the fight to meet up with the others...

...until you saw the tech lab completely trashed.

You called out for the violet tech-terrapin. The only noise that answered your calls were sounds of broken static underneath debris and mechanical parts.

“...M..bzzt..m...mo...glitch..om?”

You knew that so long as his memory chip is free of damage and/or corruption, Shell-don could be rebuilt with his memory intact.

But the sight of your son’s tremendously damaged tech anatomy only made you shed your tears harder.

You reunited with Donatello later on, with help from April and her bike.

The violet-cladded terrapin took one look at Shell-don’s chip laying tenderly in your grasp before crushing you in a hug of his own, desperate in trying to find comfort for the both of you.

*Fast forward to after the Finale*

Donatello manages to rebuild Shell-don once the Sewer Fam managed to safely settle back down into their home with massive clean up and renovation.

You guys ever seen the ending scene of Big Hero 6? It’s basically that.

“Did I do well?”

“You did awesome, buddy.”

“We are so proud of you, Shell-don.”

[webrokethe4thwall]

Can you write a Fanfic where Rupert Swaggart finds his own brooch and gets his live back?

Sorry for the wait @the-deku-guy, but here’s your request!

Brooches before Swine

A large man adjusted his trench coat and fedora as he scanned the stalls of the jewelers’ black market. He was not searching for your standard silver necklace or ruby ring, but a brooch. Specifically, a cloaking brooch. Meat Sweats was once again on the hunt for a mystic cloaking brooch. However, even now as he looked over the charms laid out on the table, his hopes plummeted. Several brooches, ranging from simple to ornate to tacky, were lined up, but none of them were mystic.

He had been through all of the black market stalls, antique malls, and even online auction halls. Each location yielded the same result: nothing. The former celebrity chef released a frustrated groan. He had been so close to reclaiming his old life with the last brooch he had found here. If only those two pesky girls—the curly-headed one and the slime-ball—hadn’t stolen it from him and ruined his plans!

And to add insult to injury, they had trapped him in that backwater barbeque studio. Did those amateurs not understand how to properly prepare meat before cooking it?!

“Rubbish, pitchfork-wielding hicks,” Meat Sweats grumbled, stalking away from the broach district. “Don’t know the difference between brine and a bay leaf.”

Regardless of the past, Meat Sweats was determined to regain his fame, his cooking show, and his previous life as Rupert Swaggart. Nothing and no one was going to stop him! …Well, except for his lack of a human appearance. Meat Sweats continued to mutter under his breath. He had seen other mutants—pardon, yokai—with cloaking brooches. Why was he unable to find one? Maybe there was a recall for some kind of mystical enhancement.

“One moment,” Meat Sweats grunted. “A memory stirs.”

He put a fist to his chin as he thought of a past conversation. It had been a few weeks ago with a tiny worm mutant whose name completely slipped his mind. The fellow had said he purchased a mystical enhancement jewel from some mystic shop disguised as a secondhand corner store.

“If that’s the case,” Meat Sweats mused, “perchance a visit is in order.”

That very night, the pig mutant went to the corner store. He pulled his clothes tight to his frame upon entering the store. He didn’t much care if he looked suspicious; he just didn’t want the police called on him tonight. The first thing Meat Sweats saw was some skinny greasy guy standing behind the counter. This fellow must’ve been the cloaked yokai. Meat Sweats took in the man’s lackluster appearance, baseball cap, and vague scent of chevon. After taking a moment to size each other up, the mutated chef decided to break the silence first.

“I heard that you sell delectable jewelry in this establishment,” Meat Sweats said.

“Oh, we sell all kinds of things here,” the man stated. “Lamps, dolls, and toasters to name a few; but yeah, jewelry is in the mix. The name’s Clem!” He gave Meat Sweats a lazy onceover. “You, uh, looking for something particular, friend? Nudge, nudge.”

“Nudge, nudge?” Meat Sweats asked. “It’s ‘wink, wink,’ matey.” What a peculiar character.

“Clem, get your act together!” The man shook his head in self-deprecation. Giving the password away again because he forgot an idiom. How embarrassing!

Before Meat Sweats could fake curiosity over what Clem meant, the man began shedding his disguise. The now purple goat yokai rang the bell on the counter, revealing hidden compartments in the displays that contained his mystical wares. Clem spread his arms out, showcasing the jewelry on his shelves.

“You said you’re looking for jewelry,” he droned. “What kind?”

“Cloaking brooch,” Meat Sweats stated, tearing away his trench coat. “Can’t really go on live television looking like this, now can I?”

“Wouldn’t really recommend it, no,” Clem said after a low whistle. “I’ve got just the thing.”

He knelt down behind the counter and pulled up a tray laden with stunning brooches. Clem plucked one up and handed it to the pig mutant. Meat Sweats turned it in his metal hands, admiring the star-shaped silver with a shining pink pearl in its center. He pinned the brooch to his collar and gave it a little shine. Soon his body was wrapped up in the soft pink glow of the mystical cloaking energy. Meat Sweats looked at himself in the counter’s shiny surface. It was perfect.

“All kinds of handsome is me once again,” Meat Sweats, now Rupert Swaggart, grinned.

With a wink and kiss sent to his reflection, Rupert threw a few bills at Clem. He had no appetite for goat yokai shopkeepers at the moment. No, it was time for Rupert to reclaim his previous life in full.

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A few nights later, Mikey upped the volume on his kitchen television. It was time for Kondescending Kitchen, and he was determined to make the perfect risotto!

“Are you ready to unleash the flavor?!”

Mikey came to an abrupt halt. That voice…it couldn’t be! He focused fully on the television. Meat Sweats, disguised as Rupert Swaggart, stood front and center for a cheering audience. Not good.

“Guys,” the box turtle yelled, already reaching for his kusari-fundo, “we’ve got a problem!”

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Rupert left the stage with the sound of the audience’s queued cheers pouring into his ears. He smirked to himself as he entered his dressing room. It was quite refreshing to hear after months of absence from his television career. The station manager even said that she was going to schedule an interview about his dramatic transformations and his unexpected final return. Yes, his cloaking brooch shining brilliantly on his apron was working greatly in his favor. The chef grinned as he picked up the night’s winning dish: pork risotto.

“Time to savor my victory,” Rupert hummed contentedly.

“Not a chance, Meat Sweats!”

One yellow and four green blurs swept into Rupert’s vision. No, not these reptilian nuisances and that ruinous girl! While Rupert hadn’t done anything more than reclaim his television program from an undeserving rival, Meat Sweats should’ve known that these pains in his tendrils would catch wind of his return.

“Not you rotten eggs!” Meat Sweats snarled, ditching his disguise in favor of his more combat-ready pig mutant appearance.

“You know it!” April defiantly retorted. “Which poor yokai did you steal this brooch from?!”

Now Meat Sweats was genuinely confused.  He was also annoyed, but he had some modicum of integrity. He never stole the brooch. He didn’t even steal the first one! He bought both pieces fair and square. Granted his newest item was from a slightly more legitimate business. Nevertheless, why are these pests coming after him tonight?! He hadn’t even attempted to eat or poison anyone recently!

Before Meat Sweats could state his innocence, the fight was on. Raphael and Donatello charged him head on, while Leonardo and Michelangelo went for his sides. Meat Sweats easily knocked all four of them back with a swing of his meat tenderizer. He nearly missed April reaching for his rose gold cloaking brooch.

“Hands off!” Meat Sweats roared, stepping away from the girl and raising a protective hand over the shining pearl. “This is me own brooch!”

“Oh, yeah?” Mikey challenged. “Show us the receipt then!”

Meat Sweats, fed up with these annoying teenagers that always seemed to pop up in his life, shoved the seedy secondhand shop’s receipt into the smallest turtle’s face. The turtles and girl clearly didn’t expect this response. All fighting stopped, and it appeared the children were taking a moment to process the strip of paper between the pig mutant’s gloved fingers.

“Satisfied?!” Meat Sweats demanded.

“Wait,” Raph said in disbelief. “You actually, legitimately bought a cloaking brooch?”

“How much does one go for?” Donnie asked, squinting at the too small smudged numbers.

“Enough to get the job done,” Meat Sweats stated, stuffing the receipt back into his pocket. “Now, leave me be before I cook you all into turtle soup!”

“Not so fast,” Leo said. “Why do you need a cloaking brooch anyway. You’ve just been trying to eat and poison people this entire time. Did you want to do that when you were human, too, or is it a pig thing?”

Meat Sweats sighed in exasperation. Maybe he should’ve just let the fighting go on until either he passed out or they ran off. It was too late to find out, in any case. Now he had to converse with, ugh, teenagers about his rather tame plans and not-so-tame eating habits.

“Pig thing,” Meat Sweats stated shortly. He rubbed his cloaking brooch and reactivated his human façade. “I’m taking back what’s mine with this brooch. My show, my fame, and my life need my human face. I’m not about to let some mediocre fry cook take over my kitchen!”

The so-called chef the station had replaced him with was barely out of culinary school his skills were so dull. It boiled Meat Sweats’ blood. Whether those pesky teenagers liked it or not, Rupert Swaggart was making a comeback. Kondescending Kitchen needed him! Meat Sweats just needed a human face to rescue it. While some people were accepting of mutants or cosplay junkies, the public eye required a certain degree of discretion.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” April asked. She gave Rupert a distrustful once over.

“Not a problem!” Mikey interjected. He slid himself between his siblings and the returned celebrity chef. “We’ll just enroll him into my Evil League of Mutants Going Good Rehabilitation Program!”

“His what?” Rupert asked, baffled by whatever the exuberant turtle was rambling about.

“It is Michael’s method of transforming our enemies into allies,” Donnie drawled. “It has been showing promising results for Draxum. Though there may be a learning curve.”

“Yeah,” Leo reluctantly agreed, “but Draxum’s the only one that Mikey has worked with so far. How do we know it’ll work on this guy?”

“That’s easy,” Raph stated, fully confident in his baby brother. “Since we know that Mikey’s program worked on one of the worst people we know, we’ll help him with setting Meat Sweats on the right path.”

“And keep Mikey from getting star-struck,” April muttered, eying the way Mikey fawned over the sweaty chef.

Rupert rolled his eyes. What is wrong with these kids?! Were they seriously discussing the future of his moral status in front of him? He didn’t need to put up with this!

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Rupert demanded.

“No!”

All the teenagers glared at him, except for the orange clad turtle who had stars in his eyes. The audacity!

“Rubbish,” Rupert grunted.

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For weeks, Meat Sweats was under the unnervingly close surveillance of the Mad Dogs. A ridiculously unsuitable name for those five obnoxious kids. He despised how involved they forced themselves to be in his life. Telling him what to do and what not to do. It was annoying! Don’t eat the mutant silverfish this, and don’t sabotage your culinary rivals that. He was sick of it and was very vocal about his displeasure.

However, the teens didn’t seem to care nor let up in their efforts to conform him to the moral high ground. The chef didn’t know if reclaiming his glory was worth the hassle. At least he didn’t have to waste energy tenderizing their bones anymore. Michelangelo even had a realistic view of his character in spite of his fanboy attitude towards Rupert Swaggart.

The box turtle never expected him to become 100% kindhearted, if he ever became nice at all. However, Mikey did put limits on Meat Sweats and made him stick to some simple moral codes. Rupert just wanted to get his status as “Most Pretentious Chef in New York” back on track. Unfortunately, the youngest turtle did not allow him to perform any of his deliciously underhanded tricks on his competition.

“Meat Sweats!” Mikey admonished. He had just caught the reforming chef about to pour mystic poison into his delightful pizza puffs. Again. “What are we supposed to do with our culinary competition?!”

Meat Sweats released an annoyed grunt. He was getting tired of repeating his supposed mentor’s lessons, but it was mildly better than the intermittent fighting they used to go through.

“Out-serve them with quality meals, not quality poison,” Rupert droned. It was verbatim from one of Chef Mikey’s many “Maintaining Healthy Competition” lectures.

“Exactly,” Mikey said in a condescendingly sweet tone. He took the poison from Meat Sweats’ grip and yeeted it into the distance. “Now put on Rupert Swaggart, and let’s make filet mignon!”

Meat Sweats rolled his eyes at the young turtle’s antics but went along with it. Michelangelo was a decent enough chef for his age, proving his potential by the way he prepared that salmon when two drooling snakes were baring down on them. Rupert Swaggart activated his cloaking brooch and picked up a knife. He may as well humor Mikey with an attempt to mature his talent.

“Not a bad idea, lad,” Rupert agreed. “Filet mignon with roasted asparagus and,” he smirked, “truffles.”

Mikey’s eye twitched at the traumatic memory. “Not funny, sweat sock.”

Meat Sweats laughed uproariously, and even harder still when he saw Mikey’s annoyance growing. It was fun messing with this one. No matter what the chef threw his way, the young turtle always bounced back with an even snarkier reply. He might make a Kondescending Chef out of the boy yet. With no further preamble, the two mutants proceeded to craft a fine meal of filet mignon over roasted asparagus drizzled with mushroom sauce.

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A month later, Rupert’s program established itself as the most popular food-related show on television once again. Crimes related to a food truck driven by a pig mutant plummeted as the celebrity chef made more public appearances. He had finally achieved his goal. Now Meat Sweats could kick back in his apartment, resting in his easy chair, and let the adulation from his fans inflate his ego, and his wallet, once more. A loud knock on his door broke him out of the moment, and the door being kicked open entirely had the pig mutant falling out of his chair.

“What in blazes?!” Meat Sweats shouted, quickly activating his cloaking brooch.

“Sorry for the door,” April cheered, giving no sign of remorse at all. “But I come baring gifts, and they’re heavy!”

April lifted several plastic bags filled with groceries. Rupert gave the girl an annoyed glare. He got up from the floor, set his door back into place minimal effort, and stared his “visitor” down. The chef didn’t know why she was in his home without her turtle friends, but he did catch the delightful aroma of raw meat, seasonings, and vegetables wafting from the bags in her hands. April immediately went to the kitchen and dumped a few wrapped lamb chops, fresh artichokes, a jar of capers, and several other ingredients onto the countertop.

“What are you doing, girlie?” Meat Sweats asked, dropping his disguise.

He was well used to the turtles’ surprise visits, but they always came in through the window or a portal into the living room. April rarely came by herself, so the chef had yet to learn her favored way of barging in.

“Setting up an apology,” April replied, organizing the meat, spices, and other ingredients.

“A what?” Meat Sweats was taken aback. This teen had been screwing up his life for months. Why was she apologizing now? What was she apologizing for?!

“You’ve been doing pretty good since you got that cloaking broach and went into Mikey’s rehab program,” April snickered. She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “And I started feeling kinda bad about trapping you in the ‘Sauce That Hog’ studio.” Meat Sweats frowned deeply at the memory, and April had the sense to move on to the ingredients on the counter. “So I brought over all the ingredients for fancy lamb chops.” She waved the bag of artichokes enticingly. “Including some mystic artichokes fresh from the Hidden City.”

Meat Sweats snorted at the attempt to woo his culinary pallet. He may not spend much time with the girl, but he knew April could kiss up to anyone’s better nature once she found their Kryptonite. His was fairly obvious, and the chef took great pride in flaunting his cooking skills.

“So you thought that catering to me superior culinary taste with mystic produce and corner store mutton would make up for that torment?” He wasn’t going to let April off that easily though.

“It’s actually hogget from my cousin’s farm,” April corrected. “She raises the best meat livestock I’ve ever tasted, so I thought you might like to try it.”

“No kidding?” Meat Sweats, surprised that April knew different types of lamb meat, looked at the wrapped meats inquisitively.

“It’s sheep meat,” April smirked, “not goat.”

“Why must you pun like the blue one?” Meat Sweats grumbled. “Just give me the ingredients and watch me—”

“Unleash the flavor!” The mutant and teenager chorused.

Meat Sweats wasn’t expecting that either. He gave April an odd look. Mikey was his fanboy, so what was her excuse? April just grinned.

“Mikey got me to watch a few episodes from his favorite seasons of Kondescending Kitchen,” she explained. “What can I say? It’s a catchy line.”

“Yes, well,” Meat Sweats countered, “it’s my line.” He knows it was a lame comeback, but he really didn’t know how to respond. One minute he and these kids are at each other’s throats, the next he’s cooking filet mignon and lamb chops with them. He shakes his head and gestures to the other side of the sink. “Hand me my knife block. I want to chop up these artichokes for a marinade.”

“Yes, Chef,” April saluted.

“Cheeky girl,” Meat Sweats commented.

He and April made a delightful set of lamb chops topped with marinated artichokes and seasoned capers. The chef figured that if the return of Rupert Swaggart meant being badgered by those annoying Mad Dogs, then there are worse fates he could have been forced to endure. They weren’t as awful as he dreaded. If he didn’t enjoy being a jerk so much, he may have been tempted to even call them his friends. He still might. Just not when they were around. He had an image to maintain after all.

[sweetwritertanya]

Just A Friend

Summary: You and Namjoon have been friends for about two years and you grew feelings for him. But you think it’s unreciprocated. On a vacation which he invites you to come along in, things take a turn.

Warnings: Starts with ANGST and ends with a whole lot of SMUT! Like a lot, so be ready for: swearing, erotic body touching, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (because of the next listing), impregnation kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, praising, dom!Namjoon, sub!reader.

Requested: YES! The 💒 anon, as they wish to be known, requested this fic. In fact, they provided a lot of detail, especially for the smut, so a lot of props to them! I used a lot of the ideas they provided, so thank them as well! I really hope this is what you had in mind and that you’ll like it sweetie.

Word Count: 4889

Stomping across the bedroom you were staying at, you even consider just picking up your suitcase and leaving. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you were doing here anyway. You had long ago sworn to yourself you would stop hoping for things to change and just give up, but yet, as soon as he asked you if you wanted to tag along you smiled brightly and promptly agreed, heart singing within your chest.

You felt stupid. You felt stupid and angry and rejected. Mostly, you felt hurt and to make matters worse you knew you were the only one to blame. It was you and your own feelings fault.

Namjoon and you have been friends for two years now. You’ve been in love with him for over a year and a half. It brought tears to your eyes, thinking of how much you’ve been pinning for him, how much you wanted him to reciprocate your feelings. But he only saw you as a friend, the chubby female friend that would hang out with him and the guys, introduce them to cute girls or give them advice when it came to women. And that was it.

Two months ago, you decided enough was enough. You would distance yourself from him slowly, just enough to give yourself some time to somehow get over your feelings without having to ruin the friendship. Because, truth be told, you still wanted to keep him close. As much as it hurt to have an unrequited love for him, it hurt more to think of him not being around.  

But then he decided to invite you on a trip with the boys to the Alps. He would even pay for the plane tickets and the stay in the ski resort. And he asked so nicely, so excitedly, with that stupid little dimple smile that always melted your heart and all you could do was say yes. You forgo all your plans of getting over him for one last hope that this meant something.

It didn’t. Just as you got ready to go on the ski lessons programmed for this afternoon, you saw Namjoon flirting with one of the female instructors at the entrance of the resort place you were all staying at. It made your stomach turn and left a sour taste in your mouth. You turned around, took off your new windbreaker ski jacket and stomped up the stairs into your room in a hurry.

Taking a few shaky breaths in your room, you decided to light up the fireplace in the room. The plane ticket had the return date scheduled for the day after tomorrow, and even of you went and tried to get it changed so you could leave today, Namjoon had all the plane tickets in his room. You weren’t about to go and ask him for yours.

Struggling to get the flames to cling to the wood, your heard a knock on your door and assumed it was the resort’s staff coming to clean the room.

“No need, thank you” you yelled at the door, huffing at how the fire just wasn’t starting.

“Y/N, it’s me.”

You froze. That was Namjoon’s voice. After considering for a moment to just ignore him completely and carry on as if you didn’t hear him, you sighed and got up. You crossed your arms above your chest and glared at the door with a subconscious pout in your lips.

“I’m not going on the ski lessons, so just leave without me” you informed him in your best detached voice.

“I know, I’m not going either. The boys already left” he responded from behind the door.

“What? Why didn’t you go with them?” you frowned.

“Just let me in, Y/N. It’s awkward talking through a door” he begged, knocking on the door by the end of his sentence.

You hesitated, biting your bottom lips as you remembered him with that woman from before. But then again, why would he flirt if he wasn’t going with them to the ski lessons? Something felt weird about it, so you just launched your arm forward before you changed your mind again and opened the door for him.

He looked as if he had planned to go with the guys, dressed with winter boots, long brown snowboard pants, a turtle neck sweater underneath the blue ski jacket, scarf still around his neck and gloves pocking out from the jacket’s pocket. His short hair was slightly disheveled as if he had a beanie on before.

The moment you saw his concern small brown eyes looking at you, you turned your back and went back to the fireplace, trying to distract yourself from your aching heart with the task at hand before.

“You seemed so excited yesterday about the prospect of going skiing, you went on about it almost the whole plane ride, why did you change your mind?” you heard him asking as he closed the door after stepping inside.

“So were you, so why didn’t you go?” you questioned back, not wanting to answer him.

“I asked you first.”

You sighed, irritated with everything, the conversation, the fireplace that just wouldn’t start, the feelings you had for the man behind you. Everything.

“I just didn’t feel like going anymore, okay? And I’m in a bad mood right now, this stupid fireplace isn’t helping, so maybe you should just go and leave me alone, Namjoon!”

You didn’t mean to yell, but your voice elevated before you could stop it. Giving up on the wood catching fire, you walked away from the fireplace angrily, crossed your arms and went to the window, trying to calm yourself by looking at the beautiful white scenery outside.

“Let me help you with this” he offered, taking off his jacket and scarf, busing himself with the fireplace as you had before.

“Just leave me alone, Namjoon. You know I’m not great to hang around when I’m in a bad mood” you tried to warn him, more so because you really wanted distance from him right now. “You should have gone with them. Maybe you can still catch up.”

“It would have been fun, but even with the bad mood, I prefer your company” he shared.

“Liar.”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud, you honestly thought you had just thought it for yourself, but Namjoon heard you loud and clear.

“What does that mean?” he sounded offended.

You cursed at yourself for not being more careful before turning back to him, eyes set on the large carpet beneath your feet and arms as tightly wrapped around yourself as ever. You tried to think of how to get him to go away without destroying the friendship.

“Nothing. It just makes sense, you’ve been friends the guys for way longer than you’ve known me, why wouldn’t you want to go with them and have fun instead of wasting time here with me? Plus, there was the pretty instructor, who wouldn’t want to go and learn from her?”

You pressed your lips together and kept your mouth from opening again, realizing how saddened you seemed by the last sentence. You needed to keep your feeling at bay.

“So you did went down for the lessons” Namjoon realized, as that was the only way you could have seen the instructor. “What happened, Y/N? Why are you lying to me?”

Hands closing down into fists at your sides, teeth grasping down on your bottom lip as you tried to keep yourself from crying. The atmosphere in the room felt colder than the snow outside. This was probably going to be it. As much as you treasured this friendship and wanted nothing more than to keep it intact, it felt as if you guys were about to fight and things probably wouldn’t be the same after.

“Y/N? Y/N, just talk to me!” It was Namjoon’s turn to grow frustrated. “You’ve been acting strange lately. I don’t know why, but it seems like you suddenly want to get as far away from me as possible, and I feel like I’ve done nothing to deserve that!”

“And you didn’t! You did absolutely nothing wrong, Namjoon, it’s all my own fault, okay?” you barked back, tense arms falling to your sides as you finally gaze back up at him, seeing his own worried but serious stare. “I’ll get over it, alright? I promise, just give me some space.”

“Get over what, Y/N? You’re making no sense!” he continues, irritated, lifting his hands in the air.

“You!” you finally declare.

Your watery eyes can barely stay focused on him as you feel the shame washing over you, after admitting your feelings like that when it was the last thing you wanted to do. But the harm was done now. And as much as it still hurt, a weight seemed to lift off your chest as you confess the deep secret you’ve been keeping for so long.

“I’ll get over you, Namjoon! I’m sorry, I know we’re just friends but…” your voice breaks a bit and you have to look away from him. Only then did you realize he had managed to light up the fireplace, without setting anything on fire, which was a win for such a clumsy guy. It almost makes you smile. Almost. “I’ve had feelings for you for way too long and I don’t think I can get past them without distancing myself from you for a while. I’m sorry, I just-”

Two strides. Two strides is all it takes for him to close the gap between the two of you, an undecipherable look on his unusually stoic square face that you missed as you looked at the ground, before taking your round face into his big hands, forcing you to lift your head just in time for his mouth to capture the words you were about to say.

Completely shocked, your whole body freezes as you feel his fleshy lips clam around yours purposely, hands pulling your face towards him as he keeps pressing his lips further, almost to the point it hurts. All your thoughts clutter in your brain, disabling any rational understanding of what was going on.

When he separated his lips from yours for a split second, you try to speak even as you have no idea what to say, but he doesn’t let you. His hands fall from your face only to go around your back and around your neck, pulling your scrumptious body violently against his own as his parted mouth finds yours and steals the breath you were about to take.

You find yourself closing your eyes, the forceful nibbles he starts around your lips singeing your prickled skin, head still spinning but body giving in completely to him. You lean against him and move your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as you kissed him back.

He rumbles against your lips when he feels you complacent, sucking on them lightly as he pulls his head back up and looks at you from half-closed dark eyes.

“For how long?” his raspy voice asks.

“Hum?” Your brain is still in short-circuit, eyes heavy and clouded.

He squeezes at one of the lumps at your sides urgently and pulls slightly at the hair at the nape of your hair, trying to grab your attention.

“How long have you had feelings for me?” he demands to know.

You swallow dry at the intensity behind his eyes, your heart beating madly on your chest and your muscles tensing up. A flare of heat rushes to your cheeks as you decided to tell him the truth, too anxious to even try and lie to him when he looked at you like that.

“A year and a half. At least” you add, hesitant eyes jumping between his.

Again, Namjoon almost jumps at your lips and ferociously ravishes at them, smacking them hard together and tracing your soft bottom lip with his tongue. You yelp at the warm and wet touch, and it’s a good thing his hands are keeping you so close to his body since you feel your legs loosing strength as he slips his tongue past your parted lips and swirls it around yours, coaxing you to respond.

You don’t care to know how this is happening. You don’t dare to question if it’s even real or some mad hallucination. You just take it all in, the warmth of him around you, the scent of musk and dew of him mixing with the smoke and fire of the fireplace, the taste of menthol and honey. The feeling of his rough hands holding you close. The small groan he released when you sucked on his tongue and ran your fingernails down the back of his neck.

Not sure how, if Namjoon just couldn’t hold your weight up anymore of if he himself lost his strengths as well, but you felt the world around you swirl and your back hit the floor, the pain only numbed by the hands and arms around you, a barrier between you and the floor.

It knocked the breath out of you, but it was still nothing compared to the way Namjoon bit your bottom lip and pulled it with him as he raised himself up on his forearms, each around your face, legs kneeling around your bulky thighs. He looked exasperated and deranged.

“Two years” he growled, much to your confusion. “I’ve been in love with you for two fucking years and now you tell me I could have had you more than a year ago? Do you have any idea how I feel right now?!”

His face told it all, he didn’t need to say it. Frowned thick eyebrows, creating lines on his tall forehead, thin eyes with a fiery intensity that outdid even the fireplace crackling to your left, full lips set in a straight line as his bottom jaw stood out with how tense he was.

“I never thought you would like me back. I thought I was just a friend” you whispered at him, wide eyes staring with incredulousness at him.

Namjoon dryly chuckles as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. When he opened them again, they were calmer and sweeter. Loving.

“How many friends introduce you to all their friends, to their parents and take you out on vacations like this one? How many friends call you every day, say they missed you when you were just together, tell you how beautiful you are every single time?”

“Namjoon, I… I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t” he interrupted, his frustration bubbling back up. “And now we wasted two years we could have been together pinning for each other. But no more.”

Reuniting your mouths, this time not only is he kissing you deeply, his hands busy themselves with tracing your full body above your clothes. You can feel them slowly going down beneath your arms, softly groping your lumpy sides, grasping at your wide hips and down your fleshy legs, on the way back up finding themselves beneath the thick hoodie you were wearing.

“I’ve dreamed… about having this body… next to mine for so long” he tells you between pecks at your lips that slowly travel down your neck. You tremble both because of his words and of his cold fingers dipping into your skin, swallowed between the rolls on your stomach. “Thought about all the things I wanted to do to you. How heavenly your body must be and how good I could make you feel if you let me…”

His hands pull your hoodie up at the same time his tongue slips up and down your pulse point on your neck, and you squirm a bit as a light moan leaves you.

“N-Namjoon…” you sigh as you close your eyes, hands blindly clinging to his arms and back.

Growing impatient, you feel him lifting his upper body away from yours and you open your eyes in time to see him strip of his turtle neck, leaving his torso bare for your eyes to take in. The sun kissed skin covering the defined muscles, shadows created by the fire on the fireplace making him look sculptured, hard nipples standing out. He looked breathtaking, and that was the exact effect it had on you.

For your surprise, he actually pulls you up so you are sitting in front of him, his strong legs straddling you, as he pulls at your hoodie with a determined gaze set on you. His demeanor makes you offer no resistance as he removes the article of clothing from your body, leaving you with your bra underneath. But his fingers dance across your back as he leans in to steal another kiss, undoing the hooks and the straps slowly fall from your shoulders. He leans back again just to see as he removes the bra entirely from you, exposing your breasts. Through the orange flickering light of the fireplace you see his pupils dilate.

“So fucking beautiful…” he whispers more to himself than anything. “You are much more beautiful than I ever imagined, angel. Can’t believe it took this long.”

His hands cup your breasts and he feels the weight of them, the roundness of them, thumb brushing your puckered nipples as he did so. Your back arches towards his touch instinctively and he does it again. One hand at your shoulders pulls you back down into the carpet, laying your back to it as his head slowly follows you down and his lips wrap around one of your nipples.

You writhe beneath him and whimper shamelessly as he lavishes on your chest, wetting and sucking your erect globes until you are yelping and clawing at his shoulders and down his back, your legs rubbing together under him in search of some friction. So very slowly, he moves his head down your body, leaving your nipples to swipe his tongue on the underside of your breast, then leaving long wet kisses down your pudgy stomach, hands kneading at the soft flesh.

“You feel so good, Y/N. All softness and warmth, so much to squeeze and hold on my hands.” He tells you as he reaches your belly button, pecking around it which tickled a bit. “I bet you taste sweet too. Let me find out, yeah?”

You gasp as he aggressively removes your pants from your body, as if offended by them. They fly off your wide legs in a second, your socks going with them, and leaving you clad only in your panties. You look down at him with overly hot cheeks and uneven breaths, a tight pull in your lower belly at the thought of what he was about to do.

With a hungry look, Namjoon kisses from your ankles up your legs, hands following his mouth on the outside of your thighs as he moved up. They grasp at your pillowy flesh and pull your legs apart, until he is facing your burning center. You cry out loud when he sucks on your clit through the panties, the unexpected feeling at the sensitive button making your hips jump up, only for his hands to grab you tightly and keeping you in place.

He keeps teasing you through the fabric, much to your frustration, panties growing wetter both from your overflowing juices and from the work of his tongue against them, tracing your slit up and down and lapping at it.

“N-Namjoon, p-please!...” you cry out as the tightness on your womb becomes excruciating and you want - no, you need - more.

“Please what, kitten?” he knowingly asks against your covered mound, the rough voice reverberating against you and you mewl at the feeling. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I…” your brain spins around in search of the right words, but it’s so difficult to think when he flicks his tongue so expertly around you bundle of nerves. “I want you to fuck me. I need you inside, now, please, Namjoon!”

Your hands hit at his shoulder with how exasperated you are and he chuckles against you.

“Get on your hands and knees for me, kitten, and take off the panties. I’ll give you what you want” he promises.

Hooking your thumbs around the hem of your panties, you pull them off you as you turn around and get on your knees like he asked, turning your ass in his direction as you hear him removing his trousers. You bite your lips and can’t help getting even more aroused as you think about finally having him inside, like you dreamed off so many impish nights.

“So pretty, angel. All pink and glistening for me” he tells you and you feel his fingers opening your folds for him to see. “It’s like you want me as much as I want you” he whispers.

“I do, Namjoon. I d- Ahhh!”

You wanted to turn around and tell him how much you loved him, how long you hoped for something like this to happen as well, but then he grabs both of your ass cheeks in his hands, squeezing the abundant flesh and parting them as he leans in and licks up your exposed pussy, catching you completely by surprise and you almost fall flat on your face, the strength of your arms wavering for a split second.

His hands keep massaging your rump and his head moves up and down your velvet skin, licking away the overflowing juices only for you to replace them instantly, your inner walls clenching down on nothing as he keeps nipping and sucking on your clit and his tongue swirls around your entrance.

“F-fuck, Namjoon, I’m gonna… I’m gonna!...”

Your legs and arms are starting to quiver, the tension of your muscles making you sweat alongside the heat of the fireplace next to you, your heartbeat feeling like it’s inside your skull and the most agonizing knot about to burst from within you.

But then he pulls his lips away from your lower ones and you whine profusely at the loss of the feeling, only to have him kiss around your ass cheeks and up your spine, hands gliding up and down your horizontal body as you feel something hard pocking at your legs. You swallow dry.

“So, so pretty… like a goddess” he murmurs against your skin, leaving kisses between your shoulder blades and hands coming around you to play with your breasts a bit. Your whines have turned into almost sobs at how much you needed release. “I love, Y/N. Loved you for so long.”

You turn your head at that, lust blown eyes staring back into yours before he united your lips for a sweet kiss. As your mouths press together, one of his hands positions his length and in a swift sway of his hip, he enters you. You part your lips away from his as you wail at the feeling of him stretching you, the size of his cock reaching deep within and it almost makes you come undone from the feeling only, hands clawing at the carpet beneath them.

“You’re so tight and slick, kitten! Feels so good, like you were made for me” he remarks, backing his hips up only to thrust them back into yours as deep as he could go. “Were you made for me, angel? Are you all mine now?”

“Y-yes, Namjoon. All yours, please. Please, more” you beg of him.

As he starts picking up the rhythm, his hands are clawing at the sides of your hips, guiding you with him at each lunge, and his kisses travel down your back, until he leans back up and just looks at you from behind. You are whaling his name and digging your nails in the carpet. Your skin is all sweaty and gleaming with the light of the fireplace. Hair is sticking at the nape of your neck and back, and Namjoon goes to brush it away but instead he grabs and tugs slightly on it, at the same time he gets faster. You feel the tip of his cock hitting at your cervix at the same time the sting of him pulling your hair kicks in and it drives you insane.

“Fuck, Y/N, you look so good like this, you take my cock so well” he praises with an out of breath speech. “I’ll bet you look so pretty cumming. Are you gonna cum for me, sweet angel?”

“Namjoon, ahh… Ahhh!...”

His praise and the repeated assault on the sensitive spot on your cervix with the tip of his length finally does it. Your walls convulse and crash down around him, the aching coil inside unfurling and pleasure cascading in waves through your body as you moan out his name, falling to your forearms as you can’t keep yourself up any longer.

Namjoon stops for a moment to let you catch your breath, but it isn’t much longer before he starts moving again, still perfectly erect inside of you, your sensitive walls feeling how hot and throbbing his cock was.

“You look better than my dreams. I dreamed of you like this so much, of seeing you come undone and filling you up with my cum until you can’t take it no more” he confesses, pulling your body up until your back meets his chest.

One of his hands grasp your neck and turns your face to him, so he can leave sloppy hungry kisses on your mouth as he keeps plummeting his cock into your overly sensitive quim. The other moves from your wide hip into your stomach and he grabs the protruding flesh above the place where your bodies joined together, feeling the ripples each plunge created on your skin.

“Namjoon, please!” you sob out, tears from the overwhelming pleasure gathering at the corner of your eyes.

“Please what?” he repeats, kissing down your neck as the hand on your neck moves down to swirl one of your nipples in between his index finger and thumb. Your walls automatically clench around him and he hisses. “Ugh, kitten, if you keep clenching around me like that, I will cum sooner than I want.”

“Please fill me up” you find yourself saying. “I want your cum so bad, I want to be filled by you and just you, please! Please make me cum again.”

You had no idea you had such depraved thoughts, much less that you could say them out loud, but when it came to Namjoon you wanted anything and everything. You felt no shame, in fact you couldn’t help but feel a hint of proudness when he cursed and the thrust of his hips grew quicker, face hidden in your shoulder as he bit down on it.

“Fuck, you like that? When you beg like that it makes me want to give you everything you desire, kitten” he says. “Bet you would look so pretty… Your fertile womb overflowing with my seed, I bet it’s begging for it right now.”

“Yes, Namjoon, yes! Please!”

The hand that was holding your stomach drops down until his fingers rub your clit and he keeps thrusting up into you. Your head falls back into his shoulder as you scream, too much stimuli making your nerves catch fire and the dam breaks. You cum heavenly and violently, your slick heat spasming and tightening around him and sucking him dry as Namjoon’s cock twitches inside and spills out his essence.

Both of you fall into the carpet and Namjoon finds the strength to pull out of you and parting your legs to see your overflowing womanhood, a mixture of your juices spilling out. He smiles and kisses up your arm, one arm stuck under your head and the other around your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on the skin of your belly as you both take time to recover.

It’s comfortable to stay where you are for a long time, twenty minutes going by as you lay side by side with the warmth of the fireplace keeping you contented. At some point you rolled over to face him and you both just smile at one another, your fingers coming up to trace over the dimples on his cheeks lovingly.

“I’m sorry I was so rough on our first time together, angel. I didn’t mean to, I envisioned being a lot more gentle” he apologized, one hand coming up and brushing your hair. You shake your head.

“Not at all. It was perfect, Namjoon. With you, everything is perfect” you reassure him.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so glad we came on this vacation. Even if we end up never going skiing as long as we do this instead” he teases with a smirk.

“I love you too. And next time, let’s not waste the perfectly good bed over there” you point out, finger aiming to the soft bed that was just a few feet away from where you were both laying, on the ground, on top of a carpet.

“You’re right. It was a waste. Let me correct that.”

“Wait, what? Ah!”

A mixture of a yell and a chuckle leaves you as Namjoon pulls you up with him and drags you back into the fluffy bed, intent on more than making up for all the wasted time you both were pinning for each other unnecessarily.

[eternalglitch]

Like Father Like Son: Chapter 3

Prologue Arc 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Mikey let out a small sound in the back of his throat, bending down to pick up the odachi by its hilt, hands shaking slightly. His reflection stared back at him, eyes wide and face a paler shade of green than was normal, pale enough that he could actually see his yellow freckles that oh so rarely showed up. “Guys?” he whispered. “Has Leo ever gone out without his weapon?”

Read it HERE on ao3.

Chapter Specific Warnings: no specific ones (please see the general ones listed in the prologue)

Chapter Three: All Green and Blue

“He’s not picking up. Why isn’t he picking up?!” Mikey demanded, looking up from his phone. The youngest couldn’t help but shift from foot to foot, a sort of buzzing energy from his anxiety making him want to move. Why couldn’t his brothers walk faster?

“Yeah, it is odd he wouldn’t answer either of us…” Donnie agreed, squinting at his wrist tech. “I can’t locate his phone’s location, either. It’s either out of battery or broken.”

Finally, Mikey thought with relief, Raph’s pace noticeably quickened, his brothers right on his heels. “Okay… okay. First, we’re gonna backtrack the possible routes to the pizza place, and then we’re going to check any place he could have ended up. Donnie?” The leader of the group glanced at the purple turtle, gaze expectant.

“On it, I’ll hack any nearby cameras and run a scanner through social media looking for buzzwords,” the technological prodigy replied, typing quickly. “I’ll compile a list of people that might’ve gone after him as well.”

“People that went after him?” Mikey asked, now even more nervous, his voice rising a pitch or two until it cracked completely. “You think the foot clan or Big Mama is behind this? What if they’ve hurt him?” Mikey reached out and clung to Donnie’s elbow, staring over at Donnie’s screen as stats whizzed by. The other turtle tolerated it, but didn’t stop typing to pat his shell or head. That was a sign things really were serious. “What if he’s all alone and scared or… or I don’t know! I can’t even begin to picture him being scared!”

“Again, Michael, I’m sure it’s really nothing, we’re just being thorough—“ Donnie finally started to reassure him, but his eyes never moved from the screen until a loud clatter rang out. Donnie froze, Mikey almost stumbling as he was also pulled to a sudden stop. They looked down.

Leo’s sword was lying, innocently forgotten, all alone on the sewer floor.

Mikey let out a small sound in the back of his throat, bending down to pick up the Odachi by its hilt, hands shaking slightly. His reflection stared back at him, eyes wide and face a paler shade of green than was normal, pale enough that he could actually see his yellow freckles that oh so rarely showed up. “Guys?” he whispered. “Has Leo ever gone out without his weapon?”

“I’m sure there’s a reason… or… or an explanation,” Donnie grasped at, but after he glanced at Raph, who shot him a panicked look, Donnie bowed his head, his eyes flicking back and forth as he thought.  

It was Raph who spoke next, his voice low and urgent. “If something did go down– someone must’ve been inside of the sewers– I’m not sure Leo even made it outside for the pizzas in the first place.” The eldest scratched his head, his expression slowly darkening.

“So they came here purposefully looking for us and somehow we didn't even notice them brothernap Leo from right here?” Mikey looked around at the ground, eyes flicking up and down the sewer walls like the name of the culprit would be left behind with a clean, neat note. He needed someone to tell him flat out that it was going to be okay, he realized weakly, hugging the sword close. Someone to crack a bad joke about the situation, or know what to say. He needed… he needed his brother.

“I’ll call April,” Raph said, phone already out. He already had her number pulled up as well, finger hovering over the green button to call. “We’ll need eyes in every possible place, including checking to see if this was on Leo’s way to or from the pizza place.”

“I now have generated the list of most likely suspects,” Donnie added, pulling up a screen that had a numbered list of the names of their many yokai nemeses. At the top of the list were the various yokai that constantly fought with them on the regular, and the list continued down until it ended with a Warren Stone, although Donnie must have added him just to be safe; in reality, Mikey barely remembered the guy. “It looks like the first name my algorithm came up with is those mutant crabmen we came across recently- apparently they sometimes linger in this area.”

Raph nodded, pulling his phone away from his tympanum and giving them a thumbs up. “April’s in,” he confirmed. The way he said it was heavy; the air shifted, and the panic is forced down until Mikey only has to concentrate on being efficient and focused. “Now, Mad Dogs; let’s move.”

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The floor framed between Leo’s hands was swimming; sweat dripped down and splattered onto the negative space that the floor was made up of, and he was dimly aware that his arms shook under the pressure of holding himself up. Get up, he told himself. Get up, you have to do something. Anything. Just get up, Leonardo.

“Get up,” Draxum echoed his sentiment, voice expectant.

The repeat was like a slap to the face; Leo could only lift his chin to stare at him, a bitter laugh being swallowed before it escaped his lips. Sure, he knew he needed to do that, but it seemed a bit ridiculous for the guy with the metaphorical big red button to ask him to as well. He had a concussion and had just been fried; what did Draxum expect him to do-

The collar let out a shrill buzzer sound, and Leo only had a split second to think what? before the collar lit up for a third time. His arms gave out and he hit the ground hard, and even though he knew what would happen if he screamed, he couldn’t help but do so anyways. The result was exactly as expected. His mouth felt dry.

“Don’t you think the shock’s intensity is too high, Boss?” one of the gargoyles asked from above him. Leo couldn’t see which one; stars danced in front of his hazy vision. “He looks kinda dead after just four zaps.”

“Yeah. And it’s probably going to take a lot of these shocks for it to sink in,” the other agreed. “He keeps making it worse.”

Draxum scoffed, and Leo flinched slightly at the sound, hands weakly rising to shield his head from any more attacks. “Well. I just set it to what he should be strong enough to take. It’s his own fault for being weak. He’s lucky; I don’t have the advanced setting on yet.”

Leo felt Draxum’s nails dig into his bicep as the yokai reached down and hauled him up to his feet, Leo swaying as he tried to lean away from the yokai. “Stay still,” Draxum ordered, and Leo bit down hard enough on his inner cheek he tasted copper, barely accomplishing the feat.

Draxum circled him, hands clasped behind his back. Leo’s head felt foggy, and he didn’t even bother watching Draxum; his head kept drooping forwards, like when he was watching Donnie’s favorite Jupiter Jim movie without Raph around to liven things up. Everything hurt so badly. His hands wrapped around himself and Leo shrunk a bit under Draxum’s assessment.

“You’re slower to catch on than I would have thought,” Draxum said after a moment. “But let me spell it out now, just for the sake of ‘fairness,’” he added with his fingers punctuating the last word with air quotes. “The collar has three things that you will be shocked for. Any vocalizations, or any failure to follow my exact orders as well as… well. I could always just order it to go off.” Leo flinched, his fists tightening. Was Draxum enjoying this? April had taught them the meaning of the word sadistic at one point, after their first prank day on her where no one had told her it was coming. And that was the only word Leo could think of at the moment when he glanced up and into Draxum’s eyes.

This was sadistic.

“It was quite the impressive invention, really,” he continued. “Somehow a simple shock collar had a complicated A.I. that understood the situation at hand enough to correct situational humor. Not to mention it didn’t even need to feel the vocal chords vibrating; it could be programmed to listen for a certain individual’s voice and go off regardless of if it was being worn or not. A bit overkill, if you ask me, but who am I to judge?” A smug smile crossed his lips. “Your brother must have felt quite strongly about this to have put so much work into fixing your flaws.”

He didn’t know anything, Leo told himself. Donnie was just like that, he had made his dorky and kind of insensitive gifts for everyone, he hadn’t been trying to single Leo out or anything. Of course not. Even if Mikey and Raph’s inventions hadn’t caused them any harm at all when they used them, just tried to prematurely stop them from doing it. Even if Leo and Donnie were the main two that squabbled, he never would have… Leo shook his head, one hand slowly rising to press against his forehead.

He couldn’t think like this, he needed to bounce his ideas off of someone for it to be useful. Had Dad ever taught him what to do in a situation like this? A quick scan through memories of Splinter handing him his first pair of swords, of noodle fights and throwing stars, and the only thing Leo could come up with was the advice “stay with your brothers. You will protect all of them, and they in turn will all protect you. And if you get separated, stay in one spot until we can find you.”

Yeah, great, but that advice had been from when Leo was seven. When Splinter had first let them wander a bit farther into the sewers to explore with just the four of them. This wasn’t getting lost in the sewers, this was- this was something more. He was starting to have to face the knowledge that this was something serious, even.

“Pay attention when I am speaking!” Draxum suddenly snapped, and Leo went rigid when the collar let out a low, almost inaudible chirp, his eyes darting down to where he could see the blue rim of the machine before back up to Draxum. The collar didn’t otherwise react, though, but Leo kept still, wondering when the proverbial shoe would drop. “How will I teach you anything if you keep zoning out?”

“It miiiiiight be the concussion,” Muninn offered, one hand on his chin. “We’ve seen a few guys get hit before, Boss, and they also had that spacey look to them.”

Draxum threw up his hands. “Well, he should learn to deal with that. Injuries are something to be powered through.” The yokai took a deep breath, and the two gargoyles dipped as his shoulders slowly became less tense. “But. Very well. Before I forget, a few rules,” he said, voice suddenly back to the flavor of ‘calm with an undertone of smugness.’ AKA the most punchable tone of voice Leo had ever heard. “No trying to escape from me.” The collar let out a soft beep and Leo winced. “No trying to take the collar off.” Another wince. “And, other than attacking, absolutely no contact with any other turtles.” What? That wasn’t- he couldn’t just do that. Leo opened his mouth, keen to argue, but Draxum just raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and waiting.

On second thought, Leo had nothing to say. His hands curled into tight fists.

“Excellent. And now that I have…” Draxum trailed off, pausing. He fixed Leonardo with a puzzled gaze. He leaned closer to Muninn, holding up one hand to loudly whisper to the gargoyle. “What was this one called, again?”

Muninn blinked, turning and glancing at Huginn, who shrugged back at him. “Uh… ha, wow, Boss, wait, you don’t know?” The gargoyle asked, chuckling nervously. “Didn’t you hand pick him, though?”

Draxum’s eyes widened, slightly flustered. “No! Well, yes. But…” All three villains turned and stared at Leo, who crossed his arms as he stared back at them, lifting his chin slightly in a challenge. This guy had been after them long enough to at least know their nicknames, he thought, somehow still finding it within him to be annoyed.

“Wasn’t it… Larry or… Lawrence?” Huginn weakly offered up, but Draxum rested his chin in one hand, thinking.

“No, it wasn’t that. What was it again…” Draxum trailed off, frowning.

Muninn suddenly perked up. “Hey, wait, why don't we ask him? Hey, turtle! What’s your name?” he yelled, and Leo felt one of his eyes twitch. He glanced down at his shock collar, and both gargoyles made little ‘oooooh’ sounds of understanding.

“That’s right, it was Green!” Draxum suddenly said, hitting his fist into the palm of his other hand. He smiled, brushing some of his hair over his shoulder. “I remember now, how silly of me to have forgotten.”

“What? But- but he’s the one wearing blue.” Huginn darted around Leo, pulling at the bandana tails behind his head. It was a light touch, but even just that made Leo sway, his arms having to slightly go forwards as he forced himself to stay standing. He didn’t know if he would be shocked again if he fell, but from the way black dots swam in Leo’s vision, he couldn’t afford to risk it. “I don’t know, Boss, I think his name would be Blue if he’s named after a color.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure of it,” Draxum declared as Leo weakly shooed the gargoyle away from him with one hand. “It was definitely Green. Besides, that’s but a small detail. I could call him whatever I wanted, really. More importantly, we need to decide how to go about making him my ideal warrior before any of the others show up.”

Leo flinched, one hand absently reaching up to rub at the collar. The skin underneath it already felt raw and uncomfortable; he wondered if it was going to leave scars.

He then wondered if he’d ever be able to even see if it had.

“Ooh, why don’t we inject him with some more ooze?” Muninn suggested, clasping both hands together excitedly, wings fluttering as he hopped slightly into the air. “That seems to make everything better! Think of the possibilities: spikes, a tail, and our personal favorite—”

“Fire-breathing!” The two gargoyles sung at the exact same moment.

“A tempting idea, but no,” Draxum said, shaking his head. “Physically speaking, his body is as good as I had hoped for, it’s the rest of it that’s the issue. Respect and obedience should come naturally with the aid of that collar, but as for training techniques…” Draxum circled Leo yet again; was he trying to make him dizzy enough to fall over? “With the level of sheer incompetence that I’ve witnessed, it would take far too long for me to train him myself from scratch. And I don't trust you two to be in charge of it, either…”

“Ouch, Boss,” Muninn said, one hand over his heart. “That really hurts.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Huginn flapped harder, shooting over to Draxum. “We actually know exactly how to do this! I mean, not to flex or anything, but Muninn and I did do our fair share of training in school.”

“Uh,” Muninn stammered, looking lost, but a quick elbow from Huginn and he blinked and also smiled at Draxum. “Yeah, absolutely. So…” he trailed off, shooting his friend a nervous glance.

“What faster way to train someone than to just give them a bunch of experience! You know, the good ole ‘learn as you do’ method!”  Huginn finished with a flourish.

“Hmm, you do have a point,” Draxum considered. He stopped walking. “Surprisingly.”

“Why thank you,” Huginn trilled, bowing.

Draxum’s gaze went back onto Leo, who couldn’t help but shrink away, hands nervously reaching up to hold onto the top of his plastron. “And that gives me the perfect idea…”

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“Draxum!” Raph bellowed, kicking open the door, Mikey and Donnie flanking him on either side. The turtle huffed, glancing around the lab as he searched for his target.

The third name on Donnie’s list had to be it, right? Surely. It had taken them far too long to hunt down the Sando Brothers and force them to tell them anything, and the next yokai they had tried had had similar results. April hadn’t found anything, either, but the pizzas had been paid for so… so…

Ugh! Raph couldn’t put these pieces together right now. He just needed to find his younger brother and save him from whatever mess he had found himself in this time.

There was the sound of slow clapping, and the sheep yokai appeared from around the column of ooze, one gargoyle perched on his right shoulder. “Well, well,” he greeted them, a smile on his face. “It’s quite rare for you turtles to come and seek me out. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut the cr—“ Donnie started to say, but Mikey beat him to it, bounding in front of his brothers. Raph almost reached out to pull him back, but he stopped himself; he understood Mikey’s point of view enough that he had also barged in, weapons ready to go.

“Where’s our brother, you creep?” Mikey demanded, his weapon already spinning in his hands.

“Ah,” the yokai replied, blinking at them. The gargoyle snickered softly, and Draxum glanced at it, some message passing between the two of them. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The way he said it- it was casual. Too casual. That was suspicious, right? Raph couldn’t possibly be the only one to think so. “You’re lying,” he snarled. “What did you do with Leo?”

The gargoyle perked up, about to say something, but Draxum covered it with one of his hands. “Really,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Whatever you silly children are accusing me of, I don’t have any involvement. Search my lab, if you must, but I’m in the middle of some very important experiments. I’d really rather not fight today; but I will, if you insist. That is,” and the yokai sneered at them, eyes flashing. “If you have that kind of time to waste. Whatever you’re up to, it sounds very... urgent.”

(Chapter Four –>) 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More]

A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Thank you all so, so, so much for your support. Every single reblog, message, comment, emotional rant, and/or screech of despair makes my day, and I couldn’t do this without you. 💜 Only THREE more chapters left!!!

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “More To Life Than Baseball” by Petey. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, angsttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

Word Count: 7.5k. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​​ @queenlover05​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​ @some-major-ishues​​​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​​​ @youngpastafanmug​​​​ @simonedk​

The Rain

I wish I felt empty.

I’m supposed to feel empty, right? I’m supposed to feel steeped in grey, oceanic misery; I’m supposed to dip in and out of depressive naps all day and sob delicately over creased photos and fading, wistful memories. I always envisioned heartbreak as a soft and inherently feminine sort of affliction: the hems of nightgowns and bathrobes sweeping along hardwood floors, Kleenex boxes and concave couch cushions, weepy phone calls to friends and aunts and mothers, Queen Victoria wearing black for the rest of her life after Prince Albert’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln sinking into dark and hushed obscurity. Women, hollowed out by despair, cross the history of the earth like lines of latitude.

I don’t feel empty at all. I don’t even feel sad. I feel razored by sharp, red, ceaseless anxiety. I am consumed by thoughts of what I did wrong, what I said that started the wheels of doubt spinning in his mind, if he had known how it would end from the start. I dream of white, clawed hands dragging me down through cold waves. I hear words scream to me as I toss at night in my suddenly too-spacious bed, words that now hit me like knuckles to the gut: Shhh, hey, it’s just me, don’t get up, as Joe slipped beneath the Arizonan blankets, wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my collarbone as I tumbled back into sleep; I love you to death, as his Subaru idled in Charlie’s driveway; Baby Swan, listen to me, nothing is supposed to hurt, okay, so if anything hurts, ever, at all, you tell me and we stop, deal? as we stood in the doorway of our hotel room at the Four Seasons in Chicago. And now...and now...

And now everything fucking hurts.

It doesn’t make any sense; and yet it does. Look at him. Look at me.

The Polaroid photo from Homecoming was still taped to the top of my full-length mirror. I peeled it free like a layer of translucent, friable reptilian skin, tore it straight down the center, burned both halves over a brand new three-wicked, lemon-scented Bath And Body Works candle—a gift from Renee and Paul—and closed my eyes like a child casting a wish over her birthday cake like a spell. I wished for my memories to vanish with the photograph. I wished to get hit by a truck and wake up in the hospital with no recollection of the past two and a half months. I wanted the Lees to dissolve into distant, enigmatic mystery; I wanted to join the rest of Forks in believing that they were nothing more than bewildering and yet harmless freaks, barely worth noticing, one of those glitches of the matrix that were better off ignored like liminal seconds of déjà vu. I wished to carve out every part of myself that they had ever touched.

And Joe’s voice came rushing back from where we stood by that star-lit fountain outside the Church of Saint Lawrence, accompanied by falling raindrops and a crooked grin: I can make wishes come true.

The three tiny flames flickered in the breeze that sighed through my open window. The bright, citrusy scent of the candle reminded me of Lucy. I couldn’t fucking win. What else is new?

I turned back to the mirror. I flinched when my gaze snagged on my reflection: bloodshot-eyed, swollen-faced, utterly unbeautiful, restless like a caged animal. Look at him. Look at me.

I ripped the last memento off the mirror—Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!!—and watched the yellow square of paper catch fire, curl up around the edges, become unrecognizable, turn to ash. And I wished over and over again, like a poem, like a prayer: Let me forget, oh god please let me forget.

Charlie keeps asking if I’m okay. The answer, of course, is no; but I can’t tell him that. So I wear a serene smile like clip-on fangs, a cheap polyester cloak, crimson smudges of lipstick like trails of spilled blood down the side of my neck. Every day is Halloween for me now. I dress up as someone who isn’t haunted, who hasn’t become a ghost.

And when Charlie turns up the World Series or I’d Do Anything For Love on his geriatric, staticky kitchen radio—the same radio he’s had since my mother was the one joining him for daybreak coffee and Pop-Tarts—I choke back tears like dragonfire.

Missing In Action (Revisited)

Joe wasn’t here. Neither was Ben.

Lucy, Rami, and Scarlett were sipping cups of tea at the Lees’ usual table, their eyes downcast, their voices low and murmuring, their pristine lunches neglected. Lucy and Rami were dressed in matching charcoal grey turtleneck sweaters; Scarlett had come from Fencing Club and was wearing royal purple yoga pants and a black tank top, her duffle bag of gear on the floor by her sneakered feet. Her hair was in a long fishtail braid. Archer hadn’t mentioned her since Joe broke up with me. That either meant that it was going blissfully and he didn’t want to injure me further, or that Scarlett had ended things as well.

Since Joe broke up with me. That sounds so fucking pedestrian.

I stared at the three present Lees, almost leered, commanding them to see me, to acknowledge me, to admit that I had once meant something to them, that this hadn’t all been some transitory delusion to fill the cavernous void of losing my home, my life as I knew it in Arizona. They took no notice whatsoever.

Jess kicked me beneath the lunch table. My attention snapped back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to go shopping with me and Angela tonight?” Jessica’s hands were folded just beneath her chin, her voice gentle, her eyes large and sympathetic and watery. This was her version of being supportive. I appreciated it...in a perpetually tormented and preoccupied sort of way.

“No thanks.” I forked my cold, sauceless spaghetti listlessly. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I didn’t have an appetite anyway. I had deleted the GrubHub app from my iPhone and had no intention of using it ever again in my comparatively short and calamitous human life.

“You could come to temple this weekend,” Jessica pressed.

“Uh.” Mingling with a churchful of sociable, wholesome, marriage-obsessed adolescent Mormons sounded like the absolute last thing I’d want to spend my evening doing. “That’s a really generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Well you have to do something,” Angela said. “You can’t just sit in your bedroom alone all weekend and stare at the wall and wallow in self-pity.”

We’ll see about that. I turned to Jess. “How’s Vodka Boy from your Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class? Did he ever reappear? What’s his name again, Elmo? Ellington? El Chapo?”

“Ellsworth.” She frowned as she slurped her patron-drink-of-Mormons Sprite. “And no, he definitely failed out or overdosed or something, because he never came back.”

“Tragic,” I noted.

“But I’m pretty sure Mike’s coming over this weekend, so we’ll see if I can get some Netflix and chill action going.”

“Jess,” Angela chastised, widening her eyes and nodding to me subtly (but not quite subtly enough). No talking about getting lucky in front of the heartbroken single loser, that look said.

“I think I can be emotionally supportive without taking a goddamn vow of chastity, Angela!” Jessica hurled back.

“I gotta go.” I stood, threw on my backpack, discarded my nearly untouched lunch.

“You’ve barely eaten anything!” Angela protested. “You’ve barely eaten for a week!”

“I’ll live.” I picked my umbrella up off the slippery tile floor—peppered with muddy shoeprints and pearlescent drops of water fallen from coats and limp, sopping locks of hair—and headed out into the pouring rain. I hated the rain. I hated it. Maybe I had forgotten that for a while, but it all came hurtling back now like a hurricane, like a hand cracking across my face. I ached for the desert, for blatant and unapologetic heat, for palm trees and cacti and naked stars in the night sky. I had been researching marine biology graduate programs in the Southwest. There were good ones at UC San Diego, UC Santa Barbara, Texas A&M, the University of Southern California, UCLA. I would miss Charlie and Archer—and maybe Jessica and Angela on occasion—and absolutely nothing else about Forks. At least, that’s what I promised myself.

This is a no-giving-a-fuck-about-Lee-boys zone, I thought morosely.

Ben was brooding at our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom. It was the first time he’d shown up to Chemistry since that day Joe met me on the beach at La Push, since the place I’d once occupied in his universe had closed like a wound. I took my seat beside Ben. The window was shut today, the downpour outside torrential. Ben recoiled, just enough for me to notice; he was wearing his oversized black hoodie and practicing his Welsh, his handwriting messy and unbalanced.

“You could have warned me,” I said.

Ben didn’t glance up from his notebook. “Would that have made it any easier?”

“No,” I realized in defeat. I guess it wouldn’t have. I pulled my own notebook, my favorite pen, and a can of Diet Coke out of my backpack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You really need to know that. It had nothing to do with you. And none of us are happy with the current situation. None of us.”

None of them. That included Joe. “Interestingly, that didn’t stop him from creating it.”

Ben was thoughtful, debating his next words. “We’re probably going to be moving soon.”

“What?” I startled; my turquoise blue pen dropped out of my grasp and rolled across the table. Ben snatched it up and returned it to me. “Really?”    

“Yeah.”

“And what, just redo this whole college thing?”

Ben shrugged. “We’ll probably start our junior years over again. Gwil will say there was some horrible family tragedy and we needed a few semesters off. I could use the extra time to figure out Calc anyway. Parametric equations make me want to kill myself.”

I just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. “But...why would the whole family leave Forks? Because of me? One pathetic, aggrieved human? Do you all pack up and relocate every time Joe fucks and dumps someone? That must be exhausting.”

“It’s better for everyone if we get some distance. Put more space between our world and yours.”

“But...” I tried to imagine never seeing any of them again: no Mercy humming merrily as she tossed handfuls of homegrown carrots to the alpacas, no Dr. Lee dabbing away my blood with an ageless sort of patience, no Scarlett or Lucy or Rami, no brief glimpses of Joe as he avoided me in the campus library. It’s exactly what I wanted; and yet it wasn’t. It so, so, so, so wasn’t. It keeps getting worse. How is that possible? My voice was flimsy and quivering, absolutely pitiful. Disgustingly pitiful. “Who will be my lab partner?”

Ben peered over at me with wide, confused green eyes. And then—gingerly, awkwardly, like holding an acquaintance’s baby for the first time—he laid his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you too.”

Professor Belvin lectured about coordinate covalent bonds. I didn’t absorb a word. I conjugated Italian verbs with my turquoise blue pen, sketched disordered whirlpools of ink, tried not to think about whether this was my last-ever Chemistry class with Ben, whether it was my last-ever weekend sharing Forks with the Lees. Those rageful, frantic thoughts were back. What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Why did he have to leave?

My nomadic gaze caught on a flier on the wall next to our misted window. I had assumed it was a leaflet for some club or protest or seasonal dance that I would definitely not attend, but it wasn’t. It was a missing poster.

Have you seen this student? the flier asked in bold, businesslike black font. It was urgent, but not quite despairing; not yet, anyway. I could hear a Dean of Student Affairs cajoling some affluent, strings-of-pearls-adorned mother over the phone: Yes ma’am, you have my full attention and I can assure you that we’re very concerned, but I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding...he’s probably gone backpacking or sailing with some friends and forgotten to call home. You know how college students can be. Beneath a large photo of a grinning blond kid—pink polo, flushed cheeks, clever crop job to nix a can of Natty Light clutched in one fist—was a name: Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin.

Ellsworth, I thought, my stomach plummeting. The guy from Jessica’s Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. He hadn’t failed out. He was missing. Missing like a 20/20 episode or a true crime podcast, missing like the pregnant stillness before a murder is confessed in some glaringly florescent-lit interrogation room, before a distended and bloodless corpse washes up on shore.

I turned to Ben. He noticed me eventually, crinkled his brow, shrugged in that way that seemed so petulant if you didn’t know him well enough to not be offended.

I pointed to the flier and raised my eyebrows. Ben twisted around in his chair to look. Then he sighed, scribbled a sentence in the corner of a piece of notebook paper, tore it free, and slid it across the table.

Ben’s note read, in atrocious penmanship: Are you seriously asking me if I ate that guy?

Maybe, I wrote back after a moment’s hesitation. Maybe that wasn’t exactly what I was asking; maybe I just wondered if he knew anything about it.

In either case, Ben’s reply was swift and resounding, and underlined three times: No.

Sorry, I wrote, abruptly remorseful. I am a jerk. And I added a frowny face for good measure. Ben chuckled when he saw it, shook his head, gave me a drawn little smirk. His words tiptoed around in my skull, leaving searing imprints like footprints in the sand. I’ll miss you too.

I have to forget about them. I drummed my turquoise blue pen against my notebook as Professor Belvin drew families of molecules on the whiteboard with squealing dry erase markers. I have to find a way to make myself forget.

Jessica was waiting for me in the hallway after class. It was part of her convince-Baby-Swan-not-to-jump-off-a-cliff initiative. “Hey.”

“Okay,” I told her with steely resolve. “I’m ready for you to set me up with one of those guys from your church or temple or whatever. I’m ready to be a nice wholesome wife, pop out like six kids, learn how to scrapbook, give up caffeine and horror movies, do the whole white picket fence thing. Sign me up.”

Jessica blinked at me. There were flecks of fallen mascara on her cheekbones like ashes. “What?”

“You’re a Mormon, right?”

“Girl, I’m not a Mormon,” Jessica said, puzzled. “I’m a witch.”

Lucille

I found Joe where he usually was these days: sprawled on the sofa, engulfed in the same blue Snuggie he’d been wearing for thirty-six uninterrupted hours, gazing catatonically at the big-screen tv. A 90 Day Fiancé marathon was on. Some rodentish guy named Colt was apologizing to his gorgeous, aspiring-green-card-holding Brazilian love interest for calling the cops on her during their last screaming match. He was also apologizing for the fact that they lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his mother. I didn’t need clairvoyance to see where their future was headed.

“Hey,” Ben said when he spotted me. He was sitting next to Joe and occasionally tried to shove pieces of popcorn into his mouth, which Joe accepted passively like coins plinked into a gumball machine. Ben had been his shadow for the past week; he was perhaps the best equipped of us to understand this degree of melancholy, of hopelessness.  

“Ciao.” And then, to Joe: “How are you?”

“Terrible,” he replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv.

“I figured.” I squeezed between them on the couch, curled up next to Joe, rested my chin on his shoulder. He ignored me completely. I could hear Mercy tapping at her laptop keyboard out in the dining room; she was browsing through Zillow listings in Portland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland. Dear god, please don’t let us end up in fucking Cleveland. “Guess what.”

Joe stared at the tv for a long time before he answered. “What.”

“I had a vision of you. Just now, as I was doing laundry. Crystal clear and very scenic too, I might add.”

“Fascinating,” Joe said flatly.

“What happened in this vision?” Ben asked, far more invested, which I was thankful for.

“It was pretty far away, maybe a year from now. I saw you in the desert at night, under a full moon. There were cacti everywhere. The shadow of the Milky Way was threaded through the sky, and the stars were very bright. I could make out the constellations Pegasus and Cassiopeia. You were filling up a tiny glass bottle with dirt.”

“That’s remarkably helpful,” Joe said.

“It is, a little bit,” I insisted. “It means you get through this. That you have a future. I get nervous when I go too long without a vision of someone in the family. But now I know you’re going to be okay.”

The reflections of the feuding 90 Day Fiancé couples danced in his glassy eyes. “Being alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“That’s dark,” Ben said. “Even I think that’s too dark.” He pushed a handful of popcorn into Joe’s mouth. “Are you gonna hunt at some point or what?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna sit on this couch and waste away?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to bring you anything? Grizzly bear? Brown bear? Fuck it, I’ll get you a polar bear if that’s what you want. There’s probably some on the black market. Rami would know.”

“He what?” Mercy called from the kitchen. Her typing had stopped.

“Nothing, Mom!” I shot back.

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said. That was a lie, of course. We all knew what he wanted. Rami couldn’t stand to be around him; the thoughts were relentless, smothering.

I linked my arms around Joe’s neck, laid my head against his chest, sighed deeply and mournfully. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. But I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll help however I can. We all will.”

And I had accepted that Joe wasn’t going to respond at all when he finally whispered: “I just wish I could forget.”

Cato

My rolling suitcase snagged on the cobblestone driveway. The tiny spinning wheels bashed against concrete as I scaled the front steps. As the taxi pulled away, I dug around in my suit pocket for my keys, found them, unlocked the enormous front door, stepped inside the palace as my suitcase trolled along the marble floor.

“Cato’s back!” Charity announced as she breezed down the nearest staircase, beaming and embracing me. She was a lovely, innately warm woman from Pointe-Noire, Congo; she still wore the silver cross necklace her mother had once given her around her neck. “Did you have a nice flight? Wait, let me check.” She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to my cheek. I felt the memories rush up like blood to a flushed face: the bite of sipped champagne against my tongue, the thin semi-transparent newspaper pages gliding between my fingers, the husky voice of the bearded, bearish naval officer who sat in the seat beside me, the misted silhouette of Vladivostok as it rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. “Uneventful, but pleasant enough. You flew commercial?”

“The jets were otherwise occupied, apparently.” Charity could see things with the predictability and precision that Lucy so often lacked, but only the past. I pushed her hand away. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re not mad,” Charity declared, confident, impish, helping me shed my suit jacket and draping it over her arm. “You’re never mad.”

She was very nearly correct. “Where are the rest of the kids?”

“In the kitchen. Go say hello, they’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“I know the feeling.” I kicked off my Berlutis, ran a palm over the wiry fur of the Irish Wolfhounds that appeared to greet me before they resumed padding watchfully around the palace, and went to the kitchen, my black socks slipping a bit on the marble floors.

I could hear their voices before I reached the door: laughter, teasing, complaints, requests. The scents of pancakes and cold butter and maple syrup were thick in the air. Charity was one of our four newest recruits, and they all still had that energetic lightness of being human, a youthful enthusiasm, a relative normalness. I spent quite a lot of time with them. It was my job—to help with the transition, to keep them happy, to facilitate the welding of their individual parts into the beastly machine that was the Draghi—but oftentimes it felt more like a reprieve. Some would stay close to me as they matured, others would grow in different directions, like ambitious vines climbing the skeleton of a garden trellis. I usually missed them when they ‘grew up,’ so to speak...although there were exceptions. I had never liked Liesl. I had always liked Ben. I opened the door.

“Ah, you are home!” Ksenia cried from where she stood over the stove, a spatula in her right hand, bouncing excitedly in place on her small bare feet.

“Hey!” Max and Austin called together. They were both sitting with their shoes propped up on the unglamorous kitchen table. There was a massive formal dining room that could accommodate up to twenty-five guests, but we rarely used it.

“Good morning,” I said, aware that I was smiling for the first time in days.

Max groaned as he scrolled through his Google search results on a burner phone. “What the fuck. My name is one of the top five dog names again. I think I’m gonna have to change it.”

I ruffled his long blond hair, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. Max had grown up a trust fund kid in Perth, Australia. His mother was old money; his father was a professional surfer. “Your name is fine.”

“Really, Kato Kaelin? Is it really? How am I supposed to intimidate people when I have a fucking dog name?”

“So make them call you Maximilian,” offered Ksenia in a heavy Ukrainian accent. She’d only been with us for eight months, but her English was coming along swimmingly. She flipped a massive A-shaped pancake on the sizzling griddle. That one was for Austin.

“Seriously?” Max said. “That is just way too many syllables. They’ll be halfway down the block by the time I’m done introducing myself. ‘Hey, come back mate, I haven’t killed ya yet.’”

“At least you aren’t stuck with a basic-white-boy-circa-1992 name for all of eternity,” said Austin Tyler McInerny, originally of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was chomping on a multicolored Fruit Roll-Up, which swung from his mouth like a lizard’s tongue. He’d been working at an ailing skatepark when Larkin found him. He still enjoyed showing off his kickflips, and kept insisting that he was going to teach me how to ollie. I didn’t have the faintest idea what an ollie was.

“Do you want a pancake, Cato?” Ksenia asked, passing Austin his plate and wiping her hands on her pink apron. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail with a matching rose-colored ribbon. She looked so young. She was so young, actually. Nineteen. And she would be forever.

“No, thank you dear. I’m alright.”

“I like Alaric,” Max decided. “First king of the Visigoths. Alaric is a name fit for a vampire. Creepy, yet dignified. Or maybe Silas. Or Draco.”

Austin shook his head as he swirled a river of viscous maple syrup over his A-shaped pancake. “Definitely not Draco.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the Harry Potter connection is unfortunate. People will hear Draco and think of that obnoxious white-haired kid from the evil snake-people house or whatever.”

“Oh, right,” Max sighed. “Like I said. Alaric would work.”

“So many A-shaped pancakes!” Ksenia poured a K on the griddle for herself.

“It’s good for you,” Austin replied, pointing at her with his fork. “We’re practicing English.”

“Alaric Luther,” Max mused, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t think he’d find that on any list of trendy dog names. “Alaric Lothaire...Alaric Lucian...”

“I like your name, Max,” Larkin said from the doorway. None of us had heard him arrive. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a deep maroon suit and a ring on every finger, grinning hugely. He was exactly as I remembered him: stunning, captivating, terrifying. The kitchen fell quiet. I could smell Ksenia’s pancake beginning to burn.

At last Max chuckled nervously, pushing soggy pancake hunks around on his plate with his fork, averting his gaze. “Guess I’ll keep it then.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Larkin told me.

“It’s always a pleasure to be home.”

He nodded out towards the hallway. “Come. Regale me with the stories of your travels.” Then his eyes flicked down to my socks, and he grimaced—slightly, briefly—before turning away. “And find your shoes.”

I followed him through the hallway, the living room, the grand front foyer with the crystal chandelier, into the elevator. Larkin did not speak, but he hummed as we ascended: House Of The Rising Sun.

It hadn’t always been like this. It was difficult for me to pick out the details of what had changed—the tone of his voice, the proportion of wonder and gratitude I associated with him versus fear, the way this palace (or the one in Reykjavik, or Juneau, or Ivalo, or Murmansk, or any of the others) felt when I stepped inside it—but I knew something had. It had begun before Ben left. It was much worse now. Older vampires, in my fairly learned opinion, are something like the stars. They mellow as they age, temper their character flaws, grow wise and patient like Nikolai or Honora or Gwilym Lee; or they rage until they burn away every last atom of humanity, until they destroy themselves and take entire solar systems down with them. Increasingly, I harbored fears that Larkin was a vampire of the latter variety. And we were all his planets.

In his study, Larkin dropped into the chair behind his desk, brought a hand to his forehead, surveyed a disarrayed flurry of papers: letters, notices, deeds and titles, meticulously managed accounts of finances and disciplinary actions. Larkin had a laptop and burner phone, of course, as we all did; but he liked to work in paper as much as possible. That’s how he’d done things for centuries, since long before the name of the inventor of the internet (or harnessed electricity, for that matter) was a whisper on his parents’ lips. The sky outside was clouded and seeping soft rain.

“Things have been busy?” I ventured.

He frowned, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “I’m in purgatory.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

“The Lancaster coven says they’ll need an extension for their dues. That’s the second year in a row, now it’s not just an exception, it’s a precedent. If you let one coven bend the rules, others will follow. So something will have to be done. Then there’s Stockholm. Anders’ coven has eaten a few too many locals—including the mayor’s favorite niece—and now the city is launching an investigation. Fucking idiots. They’ll probably all have to relocate. There’s some new territory dispute in Lima between Alejandro’s coven and a group of strangers that just came out of the Andes. We’ll have to make their acquaintance, of course. And as if all that weren’t enough, Rigel accidentally fed on a heroin addict and he’s currently detoxing in a cell in the basement. Would you check on him for me? I’m sure your presence will be a...” He waved his hand distractedly, almost dismissively, searching for the words. “A comfort to him.”

“Of course.”

“How are the Lees?”

“Fine. Typical. Gwil’s putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. Rami’s planning to get another law degree. Ben is, uh, adjusting. Slowly, very slowly. He’s not particularly content. But he hasn’t murdered anyone that I’m aware of.”

“How nice.” Now his eyes darted up to catch mine: focused, luminous, unreadable. “Nothing new at all?”

And instantly, I wanted to tell him everything. I forgot why I had ever planned to blunt the girl’s existence, to conceal her talent entirely; I felt her name rising in my throat. And then I remembered again. I’m doing this for Gwil, for Ben.

I pretended to ponder Larkin’s question, as if it was so difficult to remember, as if there was nothing left to sift through but a trunkful of mundane details from the trip like a grandfather’s tattered correspondence and tarnished war relics. That was something an average family might have squirreled away in their attic, I assumed; I’d never met my own grandfather, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had anything to leave me if I had. “Joe’s got some new girlfriend, but I don’t think it’s serious. I doubt she’ll be around long. You know how Joe is. Scarlett’s seeing someone too, actually. A Quileute kid.”

“Poor boy.” And Larkin grinned like a shark beneath burning eyes. “He’s in for a lifetime of disappointment. Who will ever be able to hold a candle to those memories?”

Larkin had a moderate preoccupation with Scarlett’s beauty, her...tenacity. Her lack of talent was a great disappointment to him, a somehow more egregious fault than Joe or Gwil or Mercy’s. What a shame, Larkin often said. And I believed I knew what came after in his mind, although never aloud: What a partner she could have been.

He was still grinning at me. His expression was hollow, vacuous. A shiver clawed down my spine. He was waiting for something. No, he was searching. I stared back, and I willed for that intangible, contagious harmony I carried around like a wedding ring to hit him like carbon monoxide or bromine: undetected and yet inexorable, knocking him off his path of inquisition.

What does he suspect? What does he already know?

“Anyway,” Larkin continued abruptly, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “I’m glad there’s nothing to worry about in Forks. Liesl will be back in the next few days, Rigel will be ready to work again, I’ll come up with a plan to handle all this and my mood will improve tremendously.”

And where has Liesl been? I almost asked; and then I didn’t. It was a good sign that she was coming home. I had looked for her once while I was in Forks. When I made up my mind to find someone—when that switch flipped in my skull or in the tangle of nerves of my solar plexus or wherever it lived—it wasn’t like poking around on Google Earth: zooming in here, scrolling over there. A goldish trail lit up on the floor, a ‘Yellow Brick Road’ Honora and I sometimes joked, and I followed it. And I had no way of knowing how far that trail might lead. A route heading dead east from the palace might stop in the next town over or continue across the Pacific Ocean; my search might last one day or a hundred. In Forks—as I perched in a soaring western hemlock tree in the forest outside the Lee residence on a cool October evening—Liesl’s trail had led north. North to Vancouver, to Victoria, to Dawson, to Alaska? Who the fuck knew. I was just relieved it hadn’t led to the tree next to mine.

“Well, as always, I’m happy to assist however I can,” I told Larkin. “Just let me know and I’ll be on the next flight out of Vladivostok.”

“I appreciate that, Cato.” He smiled, paternally this time. And then he spun his chair around to peer out the window into the episodic flares of lightning that illuminated great dark clouds like neurons in a celestial brain. I hate thunderstorms. They remind me of South Carolina. “But I think you’ve earned a rest.”

After checking in on Rigel—irritable, frenetic, pacing, and yet predictably pacified somewhat by my visit—I trotted up the main staircase to the second floor of the palace. I found her in our bedroom: sitting at her easel, a paintbrush held in one graceful hand, an image like a photograph on the canvas. I promptly pried off my Berlutis for the second time today and tossed them into the closet.

“Ciao, amore,” I said.

“Ciao!” Honora replied, beaming. Her curly brunette hair was pinned up and away from her face; wayward tendrils spiraled down to brush her bare shoulder blades, the back of her neck. “Just give me five minutes...I have to finish the shadow of this tree...”

There weren’t many in the Draghi who survived the transition from Nikolai’s leadership to Larkin’s, but Honora had. She was gentle to a fault, a hopeless warrior, turned into an immortal on her forty-fourth birthday when Rome was still an empire; and she was without any talents whatsoever, except for one which was useless in combat. Her paintings, drawings, and sculptures adorned every palace the Draghi owned. Each year, Larkin would ask her to paint all of us together, incorporating any new faces, erasing the memories of those who had proven themselves unworthy. One such portrait, I knew, hung in Gwilym Lee’s home office.

I went to the woman I called my wife, laid my palms on her shoulders, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Take your time, love.”

“Everything’s alright?” Honora asked, looking hopefully up at me with large, wide-set jade eyes. No, not just hopefully. Trustingly.

“Everything’s alright,” I agreed, not knowing if I believed it.

Shadows And Spells

“He just...just...disappeared?!” Jessica sputtered, scandalized, gaping at me as she held a Styrofoam cup of spiked apple cider in her clasped hands.

We were on a quilt near the outskirts of the sea of beach towels and blankets that circled the bonfire. Women—wearing flowing dresses or robes or tunics or not very much at all—flounced around the flames banging tambourines and reciting chants that I didn’t know the words to. Some carried torches, beacons of heat and light in the darkness. Jessica was wearing a short black shirt, fishnet tights, and a black crop-top turtleneck sweater; I had opted for a bohemian blue dress patterned with stars, an old thrift shop find and the closest thing I owned to Wiccan festivities apparel. I had a cup of hot apple cider as well, enhanced with a generous splash of Captain Morgan, but hadn’t quite conjured up the rebelliousness to drink it yet.

I suddenly recalled Mercy bringing me an endless supply of virgin autumnal sangrias as Joe and I swam in the hot tub on the Lees’ back porch. As soon as you turn twenty-one, you can have the real thing. I frowned, shuddered, took a bitter and burning sip.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He told his roommate he was going to a frat party or something and never showed up and never made it back home either. The parents are blaming the university, the university is insisting he must be off with a girlfriend or on some hipster soul-searching nature adventure or whatever, it’s a mess.”

“Jesus,” she murmured. “What does your dad say?”

“He’s been helping the state police with the investigation. There’s really no evidence of anything. No witnesses, no footprints, no surveillance footage, no handy anonymous tips...”

“No body,” Jessica finished.

“That’s morbid.” I downed the rest of my cider. Was the world already beginning to list like a ship on choppy waves, or was that just my imagination? I guess it would be possible. I’d barely eaten all day.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, one’s mind does tend to wander towards homicide under such circumstances.”

“It is the season of the dead.” She grinned wickedly, then took my empty cup. “He’s probably fine. I bet he wants to drop out to become a weed farmer and hasn’t worked up the guts to tell his parents yet. You want another?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” Jess rose to balance on black boots with five-inch heels and staggered off to the foldable table piled high with cans and bottles and snacks. I was getting the impression that her Wiccanism was more of a novelty than a spiritual commitment.

The season of the dead. Now that’s VERY morbid.

There were some guys laughing, smoking home-rolled cigarettes, and toasting glasses of red wine on a nearby mandala blanket, bespectacled intellectual types who were probably getting PhDs in Anthropology or Medieval Studies at the University of Washington. One of them—curly-haired, pale-eyed, wearing a sweater vest and a cautious smile—raised his wine glass in my direction. I waved back without much enthusiasm.

“He’s cute, right?” Jessica asked, plopping back down onto our quilt and shoving a full cup of spiked cider into my grasp. She motioned for me to drink. I did. “That’s Sebastian, but he likes to be called Bash. He’s twenty-three and speaks fluent German.”

“Charming.”

“He’s very...uh...gifted. I’m not saying I know from personal experience, but I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. And his parents own a beach house in Monterey. You could go skinny-dipping.”  

“In the ocean?” The world was definitely wobbling now. I was warm all over, numbed, fuzzy; it was becoming difficult to picture Joe’s face, to hear his voice. This was good. I kept drinking. “No thanks. Too many sharks. They have great whites down there.”

Jess tossed her long, loose hair and sighed impatiently. “I’m just saying that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So you should pursue that.”

“I’ll totally consider it.” I lied. I would not consider it.

She smiled, sympathetically, fondly. “I can’t believe you thought I was a Mormon.”

“I can’t believe I’m out in the Washington wilderness commemorating the Gaelic festival of Samhain, but here we all are.”

Jess glanced over my shoulder. “Oh my god. He’s coming over here.”

“Ugh.” I craned my neck to see. Sebastian—whoops, my mistake, Bash—was approaching. “Please distract him. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Also I’m pretty sure I’m getting drunk and I don’t want to do anything humiliating, like sob uncontrollably about how much I miss my ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchu, Baby Swan.”

“Hey Jess,” Bash said, but he was looking at me. He pitched his cigarette off into the trees. What the fuck, who does that?

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I told him in a woozy, mock-Smokey Bear voice.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” Jess said quickly. “So what’s up? Come on, sit with me. Keep me toasty. Teach me some German...”

As they chatted and giggled and snuggled closer together—I’m starting to think that Jessica might have been her own reliable source—I studied the forest, watching to make sure the cigarette didn’t begin to smolder in the damp brush. The voices and crackling of the bonfire and sharp ringing of the tambourines faded into one muted, uniform drone. The trees reeled in the haze of the spiked cider; the cool wind moaned through them. And then, for only a second: a glimpse of something impossibly quick, something silvery and reedy and sunless.

What was that?

I blinked. It was gone. I blinked again, staring penetratingly. The swarming heat from the cider evaporated from my skin, my blood. There were goosebumps rising all over me.

What the hell was that?

I remembered how Calawah University students sometimes reacted to Ben: flinching, withdrawing, autonomically fearing him on some primal, evolutionary level. They knew he was a predator. They knew they were prey. It was chillingly similar to what I was feeling now.

I have to get out of here. I have to go home.

I shot to my feet. Oh, wrong move, that was too quick. I swayed, and Jessica reached up to steady me. “Are you—?!”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I gotta go home now.”

“What?! We just got here! Look, chill out, let me get you some vegan samosas or something—”

“No, seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Jessica conceded. “I’ll finish my drink and we’ll call an Uber, alright?”

“Really?” Bash asked, crestfallen.

“I’ll call an Uber,” I told Jess. “You stay, I’ll go.” Maybe she shouldn’t stay, I thought foggily, irrationally. Maybe it’s not safe.

“I can’t let you go alone. I got you drunk and now you’re a mess and if you end up murdered it would be my fault. There are unsolved mysteries going around, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Girl, there’s no way I’m gonna—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get in the Uber and I’ll stay on until I’m physically inside my house, okay?”

Jessica considered this. Bash leaned in to nibble her ear. I could smell the red wine and nicotine and animalistic lust sweating out of his pores. And unexpectedly, agonizingly: a biting flare, a muscle memory, Joe’s fingertips skimming down the small of my back and his scent like winter nights saturating the capillary beds of my lungs. Stop, stop, stop. “Okay,” Jess agreed at last.

“Awesome.” I was already opening the Uber app on my iPhone.

My driver was a Pacific Northwestern version of Santa Claus: wild grey beard, red flannel, L.L.Bean boots, rambling about his upcoming trip to hunt caribou in British Columbia. I honored my promise to Jessica and kept her on speakerphone for the duration of the twenty-minute drive. I rested my whirling head against the seat, let my eyes dip closed, watched the intermittent streetlights appear and disappear through my eyelids. I let myself into Charlie’s house when I arrived, wished Jessica goodnight (and reminded her not to get pregnant), and meandered clumsily into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cookie dough Pop-Tart to ward off a possible hangover. Charlie was snoring quietly on the living room couch. I watched him for a while, smiling and achingly grateful, before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

My window was wide open; that’s the first thing I noticed. I didn’t remember leaving it that way. I was always neglecting to lock the window, sure—I kept forgetting that there was no one to leave it unlocked for anymore—but I hadn’t left it open when I went to meet Jessica this evening. Icy night air flooded in. The stars were bright and furious in an uncommonly clear sky.

“You trying to give me pneumonia, old man?” I muttered, thinking of Charlie. I tossed my iPhone down onto my bed and crossed the room to close the window. And as it creaked and collided with the sill, I heard my closet door open behind me.

Someone’s here. Someone’s in this room with me.

I turned, very slowly; it felt like it took a lifetime. She was standing in the doorway of my closet, sinuous and white-haired, wearing black leather pants and stiletto heels and a long-sleeved lace blouse the color of blood, the color of her eyes. And she was harrowingly beautiful; not like Lucy or Mercy, not like Scarlett. She was beautiful like a prehistoric jawbone, like a serrated crescent moon, like a blade.

The owl. The goddamn albino owl.

I recognized her immediately. I heard Joe’s words as he introduced each vampire in the immense painting hanging in Dr. Lee’s upstairs office to me, though I desperately didn’t want to: She’s literally Satan, only blonder.

Her name tumbled from my trembling lips. “Liesl.”

“Wonderful, we can skip the introductions.” Her voice was like windchimes, cutting and brisk, with a hint of an Austrian accent like a shadow. Now she was at my bedside and picking up my phone, scrolling through it with lightning-quick and dexterous thumbs. “Hm. No texts from any of the Lees in the past week. So we don’t have to worry about them dropping by, I suppose. Joe got bored with you already, huh?”

“Evidently.” My own voice was brittle, anemic, weak; just like my ineffectual human body.

“That’s quick, even for him. How sad.” She sighed, tucking my iPhone into her red Chanel purse. “There’s a private jet waiting at the Forks Airport. Pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” I whispered, scalding tears brimming in my eyes.

“Of course not,” Liesl replied with a savage, saccharine smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

[writingamongther0ses]

Realization

Summary: With his new goal of Siv in mind, Kari comes to a realization of where exactly the ship crashed.

Notes: This is just a random snippet of Bride of Loki. Hope you enjoy!

-_-

The weird doctor from before ran up.

He came to a stop before them, panting. Kari rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "I apologize for that; I'm a bit out of it." The guy glanced at Siv, who had quickly buttoned up Kari’s jacket to hide the drawer. Ruby had snapped to russet. Sigyn looked like she was hugging her from behind, staring at the doctor with narrowed eyes. "I was worried when I couldn't find you Siv." the doctor said. 

She must've snuck out of somewhere, he thought, which would explain the third fall he hadn't seen. She gave a sheepish laugh, retreating into the jacket and her bangs like a turtle retreating into its shell. "I, uh, needed air?"

"Oh, of course!” The doctor sighed, trying a grin. “But, I must be honest. I am late for an engagement and was planning to leave earlier." He handed Kari his boots. He took them eagerly, sick of the fine layer of dirt on his socks. There was also the large puddle of blood he had walked through earlier...with the flats Siv now wore in the middle of it.

Just how bad did she get it?

“Great! You can take us to my home planet and we'll be out of your hair." Kari said.

In front of Siv's disdain filled "Us?", there was his "I'm sorry?" This guy was dense.

"You have a ship, right? My planet isn't too far from here, you can just drop us off."

"I'm sorry," The blue-skinned doctor said again, stretching out his hand. "But I don't think I've quite gotten your name."

"It's Kari." Yeah, no, he wasn’t shaking this guy’s hand.

"Oh, yes. My name is Miks." He still held out his hand. When he realized Kari wasn't going to shake it, he pulled it back. "Yes, well, about the ship. I'm sure you would like to go home, but the ship will be heading straight to Baldar's Headquarters. It was programmed to."

Realization struck. It made sense now. The tacky periwinkle blue and white color scheme, the cold hospitality, the plant fence that was just a little too "white fence".

"Baldar?" Siv sounded nervous, and for good reason.

"Yes Siv, Baldar. I'm a Follower of his."

Kari pulled out his pipe. Everything had been building up: the stress of crashing the ship, the heat he still had prickling under his skin at Siv's fiery new alienage, and finally this guy. He needed a smoke to relieve the ache in his bones. "So, you're Baldar's cult. That makes sense."

"Excuse me?"

Siv cut in before something could begin, her eyes gleaming the ruby color. The doctor seemed way too chipper anyway for a fight. She asked a few questions before announcing that she was going with Miks.

The weird blue alien.

To a cult meeting.

Kari risked it and shared a confused look with Sigyn. "Seriously?!" Siv didn't seem the type to lack any and all common sense, but that was how he had met her. He whispered the last part to Sigyn. "What was that about common sense?"

Unless this was part of her "business".

"Makes sense, my dear never had any either."

When he looked up, Siv and the doctor were walking away chatting, leaving him behind. Kari gaped after them the best he could with a pipe in his mouth before gesturing to the air in obvious confusion. What the hell had just happened?

Miks glanced back. "Kari, coming along?" Kari glanced at his scanner. The screen had been shattered enough to show a blurred picture and the words TARGET LOST. A glance back at the ship caused a few pieces of glass, apparently excited by the attention, to fall.

"Yeah. I guess so." He grumbled, pulling the pipe out.

"Excellent!" When could he hit this guy?

"I'm sure they have a real ship service I can use."

"Or," Miks said, finger raised dramatically. "Baldar could help you find the righteous path of light-"

"Spare me." He whacked his pipe against the palm of his hand to empty it, tucking it back in his pocket as they headed to Miks’ ship- the same round and sleek model all Baldar members had. Miks was still going on about Baldar, this time to a sweating Siv.

"Is that so?" she asked nervously, glancing back at him with nervous russet eyes. Kari rolled his eyes and made the sign for crazy. Siv gave a helpless shrug, which confirmed that she knew and this probably did have something to do with her mysterious agenda.

She asked another question, which made Miks stutter. "Uh..." He reached into his bag, only to frown. "Drat. I left my book back in the house. Make yourselves comfortable, Mabelle might be awake if you want to go check." He turned and left.

Siv popped the jacket collar up and turned to descend further into the ship. "Mabelle." She walked down the hallway. "Mabelle?"

[mae-gi-writes]

Deobi Playlist (EP 7) | The Boyz Imagine

Ep 7: in which Mae and Kevin have THE TALK 

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Main Characters: Hyunjae, Juyeon, Kevin and OC (Mae)

Sides: the rest of The Boyz.

Genre: fluff, slice of life, comedy, BROMANCE BRUH

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10 | EP 11

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

“Yeonji?” Hyunjae asks.

“Yunji,” Juyeon corrects.

“Right, Yunhee.” 

“Yun-ji. Yun and Ji.”

“Right right,” Hyunjae pauses, forehead creasing, “Yunji.” 

“Fucking finally.” 

Hyunjae frowns, before throwing his arms around Juyeon in a cuddle. The younger man shrieks like a girl as he thrashes in his embrace, “ew, get off!” 

“I love you,’ Hyunjae says while batting his eyelashes up at him, causing Juyeon to sniff and push the caramel-haired man’s head away, “sure, sure.” 

“Oh I see how it is now, can’t even say it back now that you’re going out with Yeonhee?”

“It’s YUNJI.” 

“Oh shit. My bad. Anyway, same thing.” 

Hyunjae totally ignores the glare that Juyeon sends him, which would’ve sent anyone else running despite the fact that he is an intern. Not many are aware of Juyeon’s childish and easy-going nature because of his serious expression and nonchalant manner of speech. That, as a result, has unfortunately garnered him a reputation as unapproachable. 

Pushing Hyunjae’s face away so that he can shrug on his jacket, Juyeon grabs his bag before he says, “I’m off” and heads out of their shared office.

“Heading out already?” 

“Date night.” 

“But everyday is date night for you guys!” 

Juyeon ignores him.

“Are you going to eat sushi?” he hears Hyunjae call out after him, “Or is it European tonight? Don’t forget to bring some back for me!” 

Juyeon only proceeds to shut the door in his face and is satisfied when only silence resonates in the corridor. He loves -- adores -- Hyunjae with all his heart. But sometimes, the latter can be so loud and noisy that it takes up all of his energy to just keep up with him. 

Nevertheless, a soft smile dances across his lips as he thinks back to his older friend’s pout when he’d mentioned that he was going on yet another date with Yunji, and hopes that Hyunjae can find romance with a possible candidate like Sarang around. If there’s one thing that the said man lacks in his life, it is indeed, someone special whom he can confide into. 

Juyeon makes his way down to the ground floor as swiftly as he possibly can, ducking his head at the right time so that people don’t get suspicious of where he’s going, and only lifts his head when he’s out in the parking lot. Glancing right and left to ensure that the space is void of activity, he strides over to the red used car in the far corner: Yunji’s. 

“Hey,” his girlfriend says as soon as he slides into the passenger seat and closes the door shut. 

He grins back at her and without hesitation, drops a kiss onto her cheek, “hey noona.” 

“You really love calling me that don’t you?” she teases while sliding the car out and onto the road, “so? Where to?” 

With Juyeon’s directions, the pair find themselves parking off the side of the street next to the Han River before Juyeon motions towards a small eating shack nestled between two apartment buildings on the opposite side. It’s orange panel gleams with the words ‘Crispy Kitchen’ and his heart swells twice the size of his chest upon noticing how Yunji’s face lights up.

She looks at him with excitement dancing in her eyes, “fried chicken?” 

He can’t help himself from curling a stray strand behind her ear, “you said you were craving it. That’s the best place that serves chicken, cross my heart.” 

“You’re adorable,” Yunji says, leaning to peck him on the cheek, “let’s go.” 

Two baskets of chicken wings and two beers later, the couple decide to walk off the amount of food by strolling along the Han river. The wind is cold enough to be pleasant but not chilly, and as Juyeon shyly slides his hand into Yunji’s while looking away, he can’t help the smile from breaking across his face when he feels her squeeze back, almost shyly, as if even she isn’t used to such things. 

He had learnt, on their very first date, that she hadn’t had a relationship ever since she completed her Phd program. Her last one had been a complete disaster and the stupid bastard had been found cheating with one of her friends. Ever since then, she’d decided to focus on her career and hadn’t given dating a second thought-- until Juyeon came along.

“I really want to tell people you know,” Yunji confesses, looking up at him through her bags and her glasses catching the city lights in their reflection. 

“I don’t know noona,” Juyeon answers with unease growing in his stomach, “I don’t think they’ll take it very nicely.” 

“Who cares what people say?” 

He bops her nose gently, “I don’t care about me, but what will they say about you?” 

“Well, I don’t care what they say about me either,” she wrinkles her nose, “so why not? It’s not like it’s illegal or anything.” 

“You are my superior. I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m taking advantage of you in that way. Plus, if we tell people, they might separate us whenever we want to work together.” 

She hums in agreement, “still, I hate hiding like this. I--” when her eyes catch his, they are filled with a tenderness, honesty shining through so vividly that it makes his insides go all warm and fuzzy, “I really like you, Juyeon.” 

Juyeon lets out a soft smile and can’t help himself but dropping a small kiss atop her forehead then. She might be older, but she’s so so fragile, and he wishes he could just protect her forever from all the bad things that might happen. This kind of happiness is so fleeting, so outrageous that he fears something or someone might just roll in and break them up as easily as glass. 

“I love you.” 

Yunji’s head snaps up, eyes wide. She gapes at him and he feels like hitting himself for blurting it out like that in the open. Shit Juyeon, are you stupid?! He internally screams, what if she runs away now that your heart is all out in the open?! 

“I--Uhm--I--” his brain tries to scramble together a bunch of excuses, except nothing seems to work, his mind turning to straight-up mush, “sorry, I--” 

Her hands cup his cheeks and before he can finish his sentence, she’s up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

He stops breathing, muscles frozen in place. Yunji slowly pulls back, still so close that their noses brush together as he searches her eyes for an answer.

“I love you too,” she breathes, gentle affection brimming through her gaze, “I really do, Juyeon.” 

And that’s all Juyeon needs to hear really. That her love for him is as clear and as strong as his heart beats for her. 

----------

Having been sent to the Pediatrics department for the day, Ji Changmin is currently checking and ensuring that all appointments are up to date, when the door suddenly bursts open to reveal a flustered Kevin. The latter glances right, then left, and without sparing Changmin a glance, dives under his desk that faces away from the door. 

Changmin, slightly curious and concerned, peers down at him before chirping cheerfully, “what are you up to, Doctor Moon?” 

“Hiding,” comes Kevin’s gruff response as he internally groans. Why in the world does Changmin have to be his assistant? Today of all days? 

“Why?” Changmin asks.

“I--Uh--Just because. I’m tired.” 

“Why are you tired?” 

“Long shift. If anybody asks, I’m not here.” 

“Why not?” 

Kevin shoots him a glare, “just do it.” 

“Okay, if you say so,” Changmin replies like a cheerful little boy and it takes the doctor all of his self control not to punch him right where the sun doesn’t shine. Mind you, Kevin is a gentle person and it takes someone like him -- meaning, his greatest rival-- to rile him up that way.

His mind suddenly goes blank upon hearing a pair of footsteps rushing through his office door and almost jumps in sheer fright when Changmin’s voice booms through the room without warning: 

“Hi Mae! What are you doing here?” 

Kevin’s body instantly tenses up. Shit, his mind whirls with panic. If she finds him underneath his table, he’s dead meat. 

“Where’s Dr. Moon?” comes Mae’s breathless question. 

“Oh, he’s hiding.” 

Kevin almost curses out loud. The little f*cker.

“What? You saw him? Where is he?” 

Footsteps shuffle. A pause. Kevin can practically hear his heart booming out of his chest and he’s surprised that he’s managed to make it this far without yelping. As if on impulse, he can’t help but clamp his teeth down onto his lower lip, neck tucking between his shoulders like a turtle feeling attacked. 

“Kevin?” 

Mae’s voice is like a slap to his face. He bites down harder, so hard he tastes blood. 

He hears a foot step forward. Then another. Some more shuffling. 

“Changmin, I need a word with Dr. Moon.” 

“Why?” There’s a whine in Changmin’s voice. 

“Because he fucked up a surgery and now he’s going to pay for it.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Okay.” 

Kevin hears Changmin shuffle out before silence reigns over the room once more.

“Kevin. I know you're there."

Trying to hold his breath, his heart almost knocks out of his chest when he spots her shoes scuffle over behind his desk, right in front of him.

"Kevin."

With a loud sigh, the said doctor peeks out from underneath his desk and looks up at Mae's face, whose eyebrows are kissed together and her lips are turned down in an expression of consternation. 

"Yeah?" Kevin blinks up at her in what he hopes is an innocent way.

"So I've heard something interesting about you."

He crawls out of his hiding place like a kid about to be scolded, head hanging as he straightens up with a groan, "I'm very interesting."

She crosses her arms over her chest, "I'm gonna be frank. Do you like me, Kevin?" 

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

Tagging: @juyeonzz @thesingingfae1905

[xxcherry-killerxx]

Hmm one shot where you ask Robotnik to make you a robot son? (Been dating for awhile) XD I'm sorry I haven't requested this kind of stuff before

Heck yeah, what's better than commitment to taking care of a bundle of joy together.

Summary: exactly what the ask is, with some cuddles at the end UwU ((idk what to title this)) i oh so hope you all like this 🥺

_________________________________________

Being 26 and still not having anything new was kinda weighing down on you and your long time boyfriend robotnik, marriage was brought up a few times and seemed to be a possibility. Although robotnik would get sweaty and quite frazzled at the question on kids. Although you two have been dating the sexual contact was little, there were times when things got heated and got a little out of hand but never anything too much. Skin to skin contact with you sent chills running up his spine, every time you tried to coax him in with you alluring gaze and soft and gentle voice calling for him. It made his heart race just thinking about it. Shaking his head and ridding his fantasies he continued to finish his latest creation. He felt so ashamed he couldn't give you what you wanted, what you both wanted. He wanted to so badly, but just couldn't for reasons he himself is to emberassed to admit ((he's just really scared he might mess things up)) he decided that he would try his hardest to make up for it, he knows you would love this little guy, it was a little robot named toby, he had a neatly styled head of hair and a permanent smile with happy eyes, he had synthetic skin and was secretly a dangerous weapon so he could protect you.

He wore a crimson turtle neck, black dress pants some black shoes and a neat little coat that robotnik for sure designed himself. He always designed everything even the clothes with you in mind giving him a lighter shade of (y/s/c) and (y/h/c). He even programmed toby to call you mom or mommy if you wanted. He was really going all out for this boy bot of yours.

One day the sun's rays shine brightly into your room as the birds sing a cheerful tune of their own, you sit in peaceful slumber still deep in the confines of soothing darkness when you feel yourself being jerked back and fourth "wake up! Wake up! It's nice to finally meat you mom! Wow your so pretty like dad said!" You try your best to wrap your head around it untill your eyes were able to fixate on The face in front of you, a cute little boy that resembled you was holding your hand smiling up at you, then robotnik peaks his head in. "I see you've found your new little buddy" he said walking in and closing the door, you smile up at him and look back down at the little bot " what's your name buddy?" The bots eyes seem to sparkle as he shyly speaks " toby, dad said you picked my name" he said in his child synthetic voice. He almost sounded real every now and then. Eventually they were able to get you out of bed, and thus you began your morning routine but this time with your new baby.

Month 2 into parenting and things are fine, you found out that toby was a dangerous weapon when a man tried roughing him up when you took him toy shopping once, when robotnik got word of it he made sure the man was in a full body cast the next day. You questioned him about it but all he would say was "hm? I don't know what your talking about" and look away. All you can do is smile and kiss his cheek. Tonight it's you robotnik and toby, you all decided that maybe it would be nice to just watch a movie, well that was untill toby slipped into rest mode. It was close to his bedtime anyways. Ivo picked toby up and carried him to his room, you followed and made sure nothing was in the way, opened the door to his room, opened his charging pod and kissed his forehead when ivo set him inside. After closing you both watched as the charging sign lit up and the screen above him showed his consciousness was having an active dream about doing arts and crafts with you and ivo. You smiled and silently awed at the sight, ivo too was smiling. He guided you back to the couch and assumed the position of big spoon " I'm so happy we have a son. These two months with the both of you have made me a better man, i don't know who i would be without the two of you" he said peppering kissed along your neck, the two of you just cuddle and watch TV with a warm fire still going. Ivo getting playful and slipping his hands under your nightgown to grasp at your bare waist and pulling you close. "Well I'm glad I decided to invade in Your life, I'm never leaving your either" he sighed, his hair a mess and all in his face, his shirt unbuttoned at the top exposing some of his chest, you lay your head on his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. And soon you both fell asleep.

-The end🌹💕

[freebooter4ever]

AU where Joe Mazzello’s character from The Social Network transfers to an actually good computer science school and we turn the movie into a romcom. This is for @detectivecutiepants who suggested Dustin needed corrupting. Let’s give Dustin the meet cute with an art history student he never asked for deserves. Not based on real people any names are PURELY COINCIDENCE. First person pov, apologies.

"Anyone sitting here?" a voice asks.

I look up at the guy asking, and then behind me at the rows and rows of empty seats in the lecture hall peppered with a handful of twenty or so sleeping students.

"No?" I reply, like it's a question.

The guy sits down. I deliberately don't look, because that seems like it would be rude, or weird, or awkward. Plus I already know I don't recognize him. He isn't one of the five guys in the school of art. It's kind of easy to remember who's who when most of your class of sixty five students are women.

I sit through the whole class trying to guess who he might be and why someone outside the art college would willingly subject themselves to this introductory art history course which is known throughout campus to be both a bore and useless.

Unable to come up with any answers, I finally give in and introduce myself at the end of class. The rest of the students stampede out of the room in a herd, but the guy lingers, neatly tucking his notebook into his backpack. His handwriting is equally as neat. I had been sneaking curious glances at his notes during class.

"Dustin," he says, extending a hand in answer to my introduction, "I transferred here this semester. Too much stress."

"You came to the wrong place to get away from stress," I say skeptically.

"Ehhhhh, maybe," he says, equally skeptical.

We fall into an awkward silence. I realize it's just the two of us in the room. We either have to talk, or leave. And it's written plain on his face that he's standing here more out of awkward obligation than actual interest, so I have to say something or give up entirely.

"Why'd you sit up front?" is my genius conversation starter.

"You were the only one who looked conscious," is his reply.

"Fair point," I concede, "If you're new here, you should know, you picked the wrong art history course to take."

"It was the only one I could get into," he explains, "Non majors get lowest priority."

"Well, if you get the chance, Melissa's Pop Art course is great," I tell him. I'm not normally one for crushes on professors but I've been in love with Melissa. She organized a trip to the Whitney Biennial in NYC, and I signed up immediately. She didn't recognize me. She remembered the international exchange student who had been here for a month, but she didn't remember me, a junior. I found out about this over pizza at Two Boots in Manhattan. It hurt. "The Pop Art class is a bit more topical to the university and the professor's enthusiasm is as good as this guy's jokes are bad."

"I liked his jokes," the guy says, looking confused.

"I know, but...you have to admit…?" Nevermind. I was already losing him. "I'll see you next class," I say instead, and give a little wave before walking backwards out the door.

He waves back. It's kind of adorable.

Of course, when I told him I'd see him next class, I assumed it meant the next art history class a week later. I didn't expect him to show up that day in the Turtle-Eating-A-Cheeto lecture hall for 213 at three pm.

"Don't sit there," I tell him without looking up when he goes to take the empty seat next to me.

"Sorry!" he leaps away as if the shitty folding chair is lava.

"You see the guy sleeping next to me?" I ask, pointing at my friend with a pen.

"Yeah?" he responds.

"He does this every class, and every class we get a chalkboard eraser chucked in our direction to wake him up. So unless you want to wear white eraser dust the rest of the day...don't sit there," I explain.

"Oh...well...I don't know…" he sounds constipated.

I look up at him. He is clearly in conflict about his seating choices. I raise my eyebrows at him like 'pick one already.'

He sits down, "Honestly, eraser dust is probably the least of my outfit problems."

I side-eye his striped collared shirt, "True."

He winces and slides down to slouch in his seat.

"If you're new you probably haven't heard of Kesden," I say, changing the topic to save him some embarrassment.

"No, I have not," he admits.

"Did they stick you in this class automatically?" I ask, "They did that to me, when I took my first programming class. I had no idea who Kesden was, I got lucky."

"No I just picked a professor at random," the guy shakes his head, "Didn't recognize any of the names."

"Okay, well Kesden is the best. Everyone knows he's the hardest. You come out of his class and you know twice as much as any of the students in the parallel classes. You pick him if you have something to prove, like me. If you don't, and want to reduce stress, it's maybe not the best choice," I say pointedly.

"I think I started picking up on that after what you said about the eraser dust."

I laugh, "Welcome to Carnegie Mellon. Where'd you transfer from, anyway?"

He takes a deep breath and releases it fast, "Harvard."

"Oh shit," I say, "Seriously?"

He nods.

I do the mental math and add, "So...you transferred out of an ivy and into a research university ranked higher for computer science, and picked the hardest programming professor...for stress relief?"

He smiles wanly, "At Harvard it was less the academics and more about...social...stress."

"Okay, then that's easy our 'frats' can barely even call themselves frats. No one cares about social life here unless it's fighting over a coveted computer spot in the Wean Linux cluster," I say, "Oh!" I turn and grab his arm to emphasize, "But have you played Capture The Flag With Stuff yet?"

"Noooooooo," he says, staring at my hand with wide eyes, "I have not."

"Well, you gotta," I say, "And don't worry about being new, no one has any idea what anybody's doing in that game."

"Okay," he sounds skeptical again.

"You'll see," I reassure him, "What's your phone number?"

"Uhhhh…." he looks hesitant.

"I'll let you know when the next game is organized. I have friends in the KGB," I explain.

"You have what?!" his voice goes high pitched.

"Not the actual KGB, the social club on campus," I say.

"Oh god...what have I gotten myself into…" his eyes roll into the back of his head, “Not again.”

"Gee, now you're worried? I tell you that you've signed up for the hardest programming class at this level and you don't blink an eye but one word about a social club…"

"I thought you said there were no social clubs on campus?"

"There aren't! Not really...KGB is like...the anti-social club. Ignore the name, it was coined in the 90's by a bunch of nerds who thought they were being funny. They're weird, but harmless, and they throw a good game of capture the flag," I say, "With stuff!"

"I have made a grave error in judgement," he says, looking more and more concerned.

"If I promise you zero social stress, will you give me your number?" I ask.

He looks at me with furrowed brows.

The professor chooses that minute to walk in, fashionably ten minutes late. The first thing he does is pick up the chalkboard eraser and chuck it in our direction. The professor was probably aiming for my still sleeping friend. He misses. It hits Dustin in the face.

"Ah!" the guy cries, flailing his arms and sliding almost out of his seat, "God!"

"Sorry, that wasn't meant for you," the professor says, and then starts in on his lecture. Programmers are not known for their aim.

My friend sleeping next to me snores softly.

Dustin sits frozen in his chair, clutching the arm rests, his expression a picture of consternation. A fine layer of pale chalk dust coats his bright copper hair and pastel yellow shirt.

I lean over close. "I did warn you," I whisper, and then sit back to take notes. 

He gives me his phone number after class.

I save it to my contacts as "Dusty".

[yibuo]

Hey, I love your blog ❤️. Can I ask for Uniq full story? I've seen a bits of it online but it's such a mess I can't figure out what's truth. Have a nice day 😁

FUNNY how i received this ask when i was crying about wenhan’s baby angel voice in best friend just earlier

tldr if i ever meet du hua it’s on SIGHT

LOL okay idk if this is the FULL story i probably won’t include details and stuff because i didn’t closely follow uniq during their whole hiatus thing (i had the brainpower to stan one group at a time but now look at me TWO kpop groups AND i’m starting to follow a cpop group AND pd camp 2020 AND am constantly fuming at yibo and xiao zhan’s management agencies for ruining their idol groups )

pls correct me if i’m wrong im small brain ok i’m putting this in keep reading bc it’s too long and a ramble

tldr thanks yuehua for messing w/ 5 guys’ dreams.. even though they’re successful they’re not able to do what they originally wanted to

also there’s this legendary video dragging yuehua

also thank u for ur love sweetie i love u too xoxo i hope ur having a wonderful day/evening/night!

LOOL anyway so uniq is a korean-chinese boy group formed under yuehua ent which has korean and chinese management ... you probably know other kpop artists from yuehua like wjsn (co-managed by starship) or everglow... if you’re into cpop there’s next/next7...anyway they have 3 chinese members(yixuan, wenhan, and yibo) and 2 korean members (sungjoo and seungyoun) and they debuted in 2014 with falling in love, promoted btwn china and korea, released a couple of osts (for like, teenage mutant ninja turtles and madagascar lol lol lol) and then in 2015 they came back w/ eoeo (if you’re into kpop you probably know eoeo at least) it’s their most well-known song, and this comeback was w/ their first (and only lol lol) ep/mini album.

they started garnering a good amount of attention and started to appear on more variety shows in korea and china, started promoting in japan, they even went to brazil in a fanmeet that’s pretty cool lol , (but...why didn’t they solidify uniq’s position in kr/ch with their momentum instead of sending them to different countries??? we love money-minded yeehaw entertainment)

and then china’s hallyu ban happened (which is something that i never really understood and never took the time to fully research because it hurt my brain) but essentially chinese govt restricted k-entertainment from profitting in china because politics, for example a lot of kpop tours and fanmeets got cancelled. and this put uniq in a difficult position because they’re split between being based in china and korea, but eventually the ban got lessened (there’s still tension but like, there’s literally adore u playing in the camp of pd camp 2020 ep 2 so like lol) but yeehaw made NO efforts to maintain the group musically b/c they’re money-minded cows and if they split uniq up into a kr and a chinese unit they can’t make as much money as if they sent the members into acting.... (literally there’s an interview from a couple yrs back where xuan talks about how itd be nice to make music but it doesn’t make as much as acting does in china :-(( ) so while they still had events in japan, they didn’t do much together in their main bases, and acted a lot cool cool

one thing i never understood is why yuehua never just pushed them more in the kr market...there are so many groups in the k-industry w/ chinese members (i literally STAN one, my ULT is a chinese member in a kpop group what the HECK)...but making money right lol anyway so xuan, wenhan, and yibo went into acting in china (and yibo is an mc on day day up), and acting takes up sm time, (gonna quote my chinese friend here who’s a sad wjsn ot13 stan who misses cheng xiao, mmq, and wxy, once ur popular in china it’s goodbye kpop) and sungjoo went into acting in korea (if you’ve ever watched my secret terrius or the disaster that was liar and his lover w/ joy, sungjoo is in those lol) and seungyoun continued to produce and release music as woodz and luizy

but it’s sad because they all trained for so long to perform on the stage as 5 but yuehua’s shitty management in the hallyu ban crisis thing really screwed them over...in terms of being on the stage like come on! THEY HAVE TALENT.. ok in early 2018 they released an ep and in dec 2018 they released their single monster (last single together lol), but again, no group promotion, no being able to perform on the stage, no nothing (oh yeah also yibo was a dance mentor on produce 101 china in 2018 nice)

2019 was a good year for most of the members:

-wenhan went on qcyn (youth with you season 1, the second show in the idol producer franchise) and got 1st, debuting in unine which he’s currently a part of, and got to perform on the stage after years of not being able to, thanks yuehua

-yixuan went on all for one (another survival program from youku), also got 1st, and debuted in new storm

-yibo (as we all know) acted in the untamed and became ultra-popular for his well-roundedness

-seungyoun went on the 4th season/spinoff of produce 101 in kr called produce x 101 and got 5th place, debuting in x1, which later disbanded, THANKS MNET THAT’S ANOTHER STORY BUT anyway i don’t think seungyoun was rigged into place, does yuehua even care that much?? lmOA he was so loveable on px101 and i think the move perf rly sealed the deal for everyone

-sungjoo...was done dirty by yeehaw...he’s a MAIN VOCAL he has SOLo potential but yeehaw just put him in the dungeon thanks.. and he recently enlisted in the army not too long ago

oh also sungjoo, xuan, and yibo performed monster + eoeo together at yuehua’s 10 anniversary concert...seungyoun wasn’t there because of x1 and wenhan performed with unine

wow yeehaw really thought they deserved a 10th anniversaryy celebration LMFAO

***the members are still part of uniq though, survival shows are weird

anyway as we can see each member is talented in their own way and uniq is an unfortunate case of yuehua not knowing how to manage people lol but if you watch their shows you know that they’re genuine and tight-knit, and even though they might not be together rn, in their hearts they’re still a part of uniq (cue pics of their weibo usernames having uniq in them, cue wenhan spamming his dad’s video with “UNIQ IS STILL TOGETHER” when his dad talks about how uniq disbanded) and they haven’t forgotten their identity of being part of uniq even as they get older. their contracts expire in 2022 and w/ kim sungjoo in the army, who knows if they actually will make a comeback but this is why everyone hates yuehua and everyone misses uniq bye

again i know they’re successful individually, i know seungyoun’s able to produce his own music, yibo’s able to turn his hobbies into work, wenhan and yixuan are still able to perform on a stage, they came here for uniq and got separated w/o them ever wanting to

[icariamusing]

CHARACTER BASICS

FACECLAIM: Saoirse Ronan

NAME: Larkspur Durham Fox

AGE: 27

BIRTHDAY: July 20, 1993

OCCUPATION: PhD Candidate in History at Icaria University / Freelance copywriter and Editor

HOMETOWN: Calgary, Alberta, Canada (although she has not lived there since she was twelve)

PETS: Red-eared slider turtles named Justin Turtleake and Alanis Tortoisette

POWERS

Manipulation in volume and origin point of the sound of the human voice in real time. While technically unvoiced consonants are not, well, voiced, she can take those along for the ride too. Unable to distort the contents of the speech (or scream, I guess), but can make them inaudible or painfully loud with perfect clarity. This ability does work on recorded voices, but has less effectiveness the more distortion is built into the audio. Lark has an odd tendency to slightly raise her own volume without thinking about it, but she’s also just loud without powers. Your guess is as good as hers when she’s using powers or just shouting. She would be better with her powers if she made a point of using them, but she has not tested them heavily outside of verbal conjecture. While she has never tried it, Lark considers her best offensive tactic to shift the origin point to within an opponent’s inner ear and amplify.. but she’s a pacifist, and does not like to think about it.

BIOGRAPHY

Lark came in two volumes: Loud and VERY LOUD. An intellectually brilliant radical anarchist, she was prone to protesting against Icaria’s government and for a different cause every week. Although she certainly spread awareness for some significant issue, not every cause Lark champions is noteworthy… or even logical. Whoever came within her radar will inevitably hear an earful. She could best be described as a gigantic nerd- particularly history- that knows a lot of stuff but lacks in common sense.

Her conception kicked off in a dramatic fashion. Diana Fox was a sixteen year old Canadian teenager when she attended her first protests (various feminist ones, mostly). After one of them, she met up with a strange guy who just seemed to get it who would debate her for fun. He (the god Zelus) was definitely too old for her, but she lied about her age, and ended up pregnant after a few trysts. Diana decided to keep the kid, but she most definitely wasn’t ready to be a mother. Thinking the name sounded cool, Diana named her daughter “Larkspur” after pretty flowers… and also she was kind of a punk who got a kick out of her kid being named after something poisonous. And that was about as much contribution as little Larkspur’s parents offered up in terms of upbringing for those early years. Gods weren’t about that sort of child-raising life, and Diana wanted to enjoy what remained of her adolescence.

Cecilia and Dale Fox stepped up, and raised their granddaughter. Larkspur adored her grandparents, even if they did not quite expect to have to raise a baby at their age. They were only in their late forties, but had not expected to deal with a grandchild while they were both still working. Cecilia’s job didn’t pay as well, so she took a few years off to be the primary caretaker for the little girl age four and preschool became an option. Larkspur frankly thought her name was embarrassing.  She was much happier to go by Lark in school, or even just Fox. Even though her mother could have cared less about books and learning, Lark took to school rather well. Rarely needing to study, Lark knocked out essays and reports without thinking too hard about it. Marks didn’t mean much to her, but she still skipped grade two and continued to excel academically.

When Lark was nine, Dale started to get sick, which inspired Diana to head back home. After moving back in, Diana tried to be more than a parent, but only when it was convenient. Lark saw right through her mother, and clung to her grandmother, or shut herself up in her room for a while. The only time that Lark felt really close to her mom was when she took her along to protests. Lark was absolutely arrested for protesting before, but it never resulted in any real convictions. Her mom is the one who’s actually seen prison time, which Lark always considered extremely cool. Diana and Dale could not be considered sterling examples of propriety, but they did not quite agree with the coolness level of any criminal activity. They always did their best to point the kids (i.e. Diana and Lark) in the right direction.

Not that long after returning home, Diana explained the mystery of Lark’s parentage to the family using print-outs of search results from Google. Even after doing some research on Zelus, Lark decided that her dad was terrible, and did not actively seek him out. Lark met her father once, and while he was less awful in person than she had expected, she still could not get over his poor judgment. Later in life, Lark would make a game out of ignoring him when he visited on Icaria. Anyway, Lark’s grandparents were the best parents that she could have asked for, and her mother… helped.

It devastated the family when Dale passed away when Lark was twelve, but Cecilia took it especially poorly.  When the opportunity came up, Cecilia accepted a job transfer opportunity with slightly better pay in the UK, where she was born (while technically she was from Northern Ireland, the job was in England where some family lived). Diana wanted to stay in Calgary, but Lark wanted to go with her grandmother. Making her first mature decision in a long time, Diana conceded, and applied for jobs overseas.

Lark had never been a popular child, and her ease of making friends did not suddenly improve after moving thousands of miles away. The person that she got on best with was Steffi, a recent transplant from Germany. Since Steffi did not seem to have any friends either, Lark latched on immediately. The mean comments did not exactly phase Lark (especially because the older girl didn’t seem to outright hate the idea of being friends). While they were very good friends, it still did not come up in conversation where they both settled on schools until acceptance time came. Heidelberg University’s History program was amazing, and Lark couldn’t turn down how reasonably priced German schools were. She casually-but-not-casually suggested that she and Steffi room together, and was pleasantly surprised to start the next year with a roommate that wanted to be friends. Their friendship was always odd and a little codependent, and Lark sometimes struggled to figure out whether her infatuation with Steffi was strongly platonic or a romantic crush. Whatever it was, Steffi apparently did not have any romantic feelings for her, and Lark wondered if that was for the best. After that graduation (Lark was 20 at the time), Lark and Steffi went to separate universities for graduate school, and largely lived separate lives apart from a few odd chance encounters. Lark even began to make more like-minded friends in her Musicology masters program at the University of Birmingham. The professors seemed not to hate her either; she was “a pleasure to have in class” but not the student with the highest grades.

After finishing off her masters, Lark stuck around Birmingham for a year. She wrote prolifically- scholarly writing for her own enjoyment, and copywriting professionally. The future seemed murky, but Lark assumed that she would head back into academia at some point. She had no plans of moving to Icaria until she got her heart figuratively ripped to shreds, and decided on a spontaneous move to Greece.

It had never seemed like a good idea to mention her demigod status until Lark and Steffi bumped into each other… on Icaria. Overjoyed to have her friend back, Lark suggested rooming together again, but this was shot down. She kept up her freelance positions, but she had a difficult experience filling her time. Eventually, she decided on starting up a PhD program in history at the local university (on the topic of music’s impact on ancient Greece). Unfortunately, Lark’s previous tendencies toward procrastination have not served her well without a short timeline to hide behind. The June 2021 deadline has haunted her ever since she started it up, but she leveraged many distractions.

lisa| she/her | 28 | pacific