#but this was kind of a bitch to draw. where is the layer function. why was my laptop screen still registering my skin when i was using pen

[peachcitt]

normally i never make resolutions because im of the opinion that you can change your life whenever you want and technically speaking any day of the year can be the start of a new year. that being said. my past year was kind of garbage.

so! i have decided to be more keen on new years resolutions, especially making ones that will hopefully make me feel better if something i can't control affects me negatively. i actually made a huge list of resolutions, more than i put here, that all kind of boil down to trying out ways to make my life more comfortable and fulfilling for myself and the people around me.

happy new year everybody i hope this year treats us all kindly :)

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone

A Tyler Rake/Established Female OC fic

Summary: A lot changes in five years. Now a family of nine, the Rakes are splitting their time between Australia and New York City. With Dhaka nothing but a distant yet still painful memory and the dirty work mostly behind him, Tyler is healthy and thriving. Not only as a husband and father, but as the acting founder and boss of his own mercenary business and co-owner of his wife's well loved and flourishing bookstore. But while love and domestic happiness abound, the past and its secrets are never far behind.

Huge thanks and tons of love to @tragiclyhip​ for never letting me give up! It’s thanks to her I ever actually finished off the last fic, or started this one.  And she also made my incredible banner! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @tragiclyhip​

Prologue

FIVE YEARS LATER

******

The stand sits fifteen feet above ground and wraps halfway around the gnarled and twisted trunk of a centuries old Kapok tree. No hunter has made use of it in years; the stairs leading upwards weakened by harsh weather and neglect, wood cracking and bowing under the soles of well worn combat boots. Despite the added weight of gear and a kevlar utility vest, long legs and a wide stride make it easy to navigate the missing steps. His movements are purposeful and quiet; careful to avoid even the slightest snap of a twig or the rustle of dried and fallen leaves or the scratch of dirt and pebbles against the pitted and fragile wood. Any sound is a detriment in this environment; the lush and dense landscape so eerily still and silent that even a hint of noise would seem deafening. The slightest of movement has the potential to stir up the wildlife, which in turn would draw unwanted attention upwards from the banks of the Mekong River.

Even under the thick and expansive umbrella of the forest the heat is stifling. Humidity oppressive and choking. A thin layer of sweat gathers on his brow; errants droplets burning his eyes and gathering on the ends of his lashes. His shirt -long sleeved to not only provide cover in the jungle but protect from scrapes and cuts and the burn of the sun- nearly soaked right through; darkened patches under the arms and at the small of the back, the fabric clinging to dampened and slick skin. Fine beads settle around his mouth, and when he drops into a crouch at the top of the stand, he swipes his tongue over his top lip in an effort to clear away the sweat. It had been an hour hike through the jungle; moving swiftly and silently as he listened to directions being given through a transmitter he sports in his left ear. It’s sweltering and he’s thirsty; head pounding and his hands begin to tremble as the beginning stages of dehydration begin to settle in. He takes the time to remedy the situation. Shrugging off the rucksack slung over his left shoulder and dropping it onto the floor of the stand; hands shaking yet able to tear open the zipper. There’s two bottles of water packed in amongst the gear; extra pairs of socks in case of treks through swamps and marshes, two full clips of ammo that will only be used if someone on the other side is able to pinpoint his location and launch a full scale and fully armed search.

He hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Downing half a bottle of water, he uses the remains to cool himself down; splashing a handful of the liquid against his face and then dumping the rest over his head. Ten years ago, the elements wouldn’t have bothered him as much; he would have been thirty seven years old and still in relatively good shape. Physically AND mentally. And despite a consistent and punishing routine of heavy lifting, core training, and cardio, he’s definitely feeling the effects of both age and decades of hard and often dangerous living. Knees stiff and aching from the brisk hike over rough terrain and then through mud and thick brush; the arthritis that takes up residence in the small of his back and the right hip making its presence known. He’ll be sore tomorrow; every step he takes will send pain shooting through him, and for the next week he’ll wonder just why the hell he ever said ‘yes’ in the first place. Each stiff movement and slow step and aching muscle will remind him of just how things HAVE changed over the years. Gone are the days when he could skip a few days sleep; able to function on both little rest and minuscule amounts of food and drink. There’s no way he’d be able to do THAT now; push his body to the limits he’d been testing for so long. That man no longer exists. The one that would take the most dangerous and unpredictable jobs in hopes of catching a bullet. Who’d almost pray, beg and plead each and every time he went out that it would be his last; one sniper’s shot away from finally being put out of his miserable existence.

Things changed, of course. When he’d been least expecting them to. There’s way too much to lose now. It’s why every decision he makes now...every movement...matters so much. Even the smallest of mistakes can change the course of the future; one misstep potentially blowing his cover and leading to his untimely -and likely extremely brutal and bloody- demise. An hour away a helicopter waits for him; on standby to whisk him back to Vietnam and that little ‘hole in the wall’ hotel he’d been staying in. A quick shower and he’d back in the air; rushed to the nearest backwoods airport where a private jet would take him home. It’s been four days now; two spent in the planning stages before his first ‘hit’ in Laos and then the trek to Cambodia. Two for the price of one, Anil had said, although money matters very little now. These kinds of gigs are more a service; wiping out the dregs of society more of a gift to humanity than anything else.

He normally doesn’t take on jobs. A total of three in the past five years. This is the fourth AND fifth. The skills and the mindset quickly and effortlessly returning, the first kill a lot easier than he’d thought it would be. It’s like riding a bike; once the gun is in your hand and you’re peering through that scope, your finger easily finds and pulls the trigger. And this job had been impossible to turn down; the dirty and vile details hitting home and preying on his ‘human side’. Anyone in his position as a husband and father would have been enraged and disgusted. Drug runners and weapons smugglers that moonlight in abusing and torturing their wives and exploiting children. Sometimes even their own. People that evil don’t deserve to live; even a bullet between the eyes considered too kind. But it’s all he has time for. No ‘face to face’ meetings. He can’t be seen or even identified by name in order to protect his OWN family. He has to remain a ghost. An urban legend of sorts. Talked and gossiped about in drug circles and even among the local police and military who’d either been paid off by the criminals or had been hopeless and hapless when it came to stopping the activity. Nothing will be known about him. No glimpse of his appearance, no chance to hear his voice or even know his name. He’ll be known for just those ‘lucky shots’ he’d gotten in. Turned in to nothing more than rumours and speculation that will continue spreading long after he’s gone.

***

“T...you there?” Yaz’ voice through the earpiece. The reception is spotty; words broken up by heavy static.

He uses a forearm to wipe the mixture of water and sweat from his face, then lays a finger against the transmitter clipped to his vest. “I’m here.”

“Hot out there today, isn’t it.”

He smirks, then begins pulling pieces of a semi automatic rifle from the confines of the rucksack; hands moving quickly and efficiently as they snap and twist the weapon together. “I don’t want to hear your bitching. You’ve got air conditioning. I’m the one out in this shit.” His voice is low and quiet as he speaks. Even the smallest of sounds can travel great distances; echoing through the jungle and making its way down to the banks of the Mekong.

The river sits fifty yards to the south; muddy and heavily polluted and dotted with boats belonging to local fisherman. One vessel stands out from the crowd. A large and expensive houseboat; the chrome that lines the powerful motor and makes up the railings on the top deck sparkling in the sunlight. His mark is inside; meeting with some of Anil’s people acting under the guise of weapons buyers. When the time is right, the man in question will be led out onto the bottom deck and he’ll have one shot to get the job done. It’s another reason Anil had personally sought him out; his marksmanship impeccable, no other employee coming close to possessing that level of skill.

“You good?” Yaz inquires.

“Yeah…” he snaps the magazine in place and then switches off the safety. “...I’m good.”

“I’ll let you know when there’s movement. Going silent for now.”

He tears off the lid of the second bottle of water and takes a single sip before setting it down; using his sleeve to wipe both the opening and every side of the plastic. He can’t leave any trace of himself behind. Not a drop of sweat or a hint of saliva or his fingerprints. He’ll wipe the stand down before he leaves; methodically cleaning anything he may have come in contact with. IF his location is discovered, money talks. Anyone remotely related to his mark will pay to get answers, and the police will take what’s offered and collect every shred of possible evidence. He can’t take that chance. A single, unattached person may not care. Had he still been the guy living in the rundown and beaten up shack in the outback, he wouldn’t have thought twice about covering his tracks. But lives depend on him. A wife and seven beautiful little humans that count on him to protect them and keep them safe.

He CAN’T fuck this up.

Up in the stand he’s well hidden; camouflaged by the abundance of thick, lush greenery. It’ll be a tough shot through twisted and tangled branches; not even a foot of clearance between wood and leaves. Depending on exactly where his mark is led, he’ll compensate for that; pulling to the right or left in order to prevent the bullet from getting too ‘dirty’. He’s made tougher shots; mostly in his SASR days. And there’s no doubt he’ll make this one.

He bunches up the ruck sack and places it near the edge of the stand, facing the river. He’ll use it as both a ledge and a form of cushioning; balancing the long barrel of the rifle will provide stability and muffle the sound of the shot, disguising where it had originated from. He winces as he gingerly lowers himself onto his stomach; the cracking in his hip and the soreness in both knee and shoulder reminding him that he’s not as young as he used to be. Forty-seven is ancient in mercenary years. Most never make it that far. The odd few get to retire peacefully, but the majority are taken out by a bullet; one too many lapses in judgment and the smallest of errors leading to their deaths.

But most never get to have what he does either. A normal life with a family that loves him ; thousands of miles away, anxiously awaiting his return. It’s why he’s so careful; every decision he makes and every action he takes is done with them at the forefront of his mind. And he thinks about them now; warm and safe in the confines of a townhome in New York City. Four days ago they’d travelled from Australia and he’d promised to meet up with them as soon as the job was finished. It’s their third Christmas there; an eight bedroom brownstone in Gramercy Park. The kids especially enjoy spending the holidays there. Quickly falling in love with the idea of a white Christmas and enjoying all of the outdoor activities; sledding and skating and seeing the tree at Rockefeller Centre and visiting Santa and the reindeer in Central Park. And while life in the Big Apple had never appealed to him, the draw of Gramercy had been impossible to resist. Quiet and quaint; tree lined streets and a private park and neighbours that mind their own business and don’t ask too many questions. He’d initially worried about standing out like a sore thumb; tanned skinned and the array of tattoos and scars and the ‘Down Under’ accent. It turned out to be everything he HADN'T expected. The feeling of small town life within an enormous city.

The back of his hand swipes at the locusts and mosquitos that hover close to his face; their buzzing and humming both tickling and irritating his ears. The right isn’t as good as it used to be; hearing slightly muted and distorted thanks to years of both firing and coming in close contact with weapons. It’s another drawback to getting old. Along with his eyesight. Needing glasses to read or to spend anytime staring at a computer screen.

“They’re on the move.”

He blinks sweat from his eyes and wipes his lips and chin on the sleeve of his shirt. Then he settles in; bending his left leg at the knee and wriggling his stomach against the wood beneath him. The latter is mind over matter; as if the simple movement and the way he presses the toes of boots against the stand will improve both shot and stability. His finger hovers over the trigger; other hand lightly supporting the barrel of the gun, allowing the rucksack to bear the majority of the weight. Anil’s people come out first; identified by the tan linen suits he’d been told they’d be sporting. The ‘Mark’ is a middle aged man, clad in casual attire; olive green cargo shorts and a simple white golf shirt. He’s short and stocky with greying hair and a noticeable limp; a run in with a rival drug crew years ago resulting in the amputation of his leg and the acquisition of a prosthetic device.

His jaw clenches and his lips settle into a thin, pursed line. His heart hammers in his chest and both his shoulders and his chest tighten. It’s adrenaline. That unmistakable rush that comes before an imminent strike. He remembers it well. And it’s both surprising and disheartening how much he’s actually missed it.

As they chatter and laugh, one of Anil’s men places a hand on the Mark’s back and ever so slightly turns the other man in Tyler’s direction. It’s all he needs; just enough of the Mark’s forehead to ensure a ‘kill shot’. And he takes it; the sound slightly muffled but still deafening as it echoes through the jungle and stirs birds from their perches and wildlife from the safety of their nests and dens. The bullet easily tears through layers of leaves and bypasses branches; finding its target and sending the Mark sprawling backwards and then down into a pool of brain matter, fragments of skull, and quickly spreading blood.

“Target’s down.”

The words are simple. To the point. And as chaos erupts down by the river, he calmly begins his retreat; pushing himself up onto his feet and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. There’s no pressing need or rush; Anil’s people have made their quick escape and the screams and shouts are coming from startled fisherman and colleagues of the Mark that had been inside the houseboat. He has time; methodically cleaning every inch of both the stand and the stairs and making sure he’s left nothing behind.

“I’m heading back,” he says, shouldering the ruck sack and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s suddenly anxious to get on his way; feeling the relief that sets in as he begins his hour long trek.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Not from the success of the mission or the satisfaction that comes with ridding the world of yet another monster. It’s one of happiness. One of peace.

The realization that each step he takes brings him closer to home.

[gretchensinister]

Operation Welcome Mat (preview)

I usually like to post a fic for my birthday, and well, this is a few days belated, but sometimes that’s how it goes. This is a preview of something I’m working on, now, and it’s a branching out of my usual fandom territory! I hope you’re curious, and I hope you enjoy!

It all stems from the question: Why does so much stuff that only Superman can deal with happen on the planet that Superman is on? That’s not the question that Lois Lane asks, but it’s the one she’s going to find an answer for.

Lois Lane always checks her spam folder. In fact, she always opens each individual message in there. Ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent of the time, what’s in there is garbage, but garbage is not synonymous with useless. Consider the journalists in Portland who went through the District Attorney’s garbage to make a point about privacy. Her daily ritual isn’t on that level of significance, but she feels the point still stands.

           Today, she opens an email that isn’t promising free trials of herbal supplements, contact info for hot singles in her area, or insurance policies that will cover damages caused by any and all anomalous events for as little as $10 a month. (These last annoyed her enough to ask Louise in Business to do a small expose on such companies—turns out, the fine print stated that given the regularity of attacks on Metropolis by aliens, robots, metahumans, etc., etc., these events could not be considered anomalous. Fucking scammers. She’s pretty sure they’re involved in a class-action lawsuit right now.)

           Instead, it reads thus:

           I am sending this to you because I think you are the only person in the world who might have adequate protection after I tell you this. It is for my safety and yours that I have not used your name or described what that protection might be.

           I ask you to use any and all resources you have at your disposal to investigate Operation Welcome Mat. I cannot tell you much more without compromising the slight chance this communication has of reaching you. However, I do not exaggerate when I say that the revealing—anything more I dare not hope for—of this operation will affect every human life on Earth.

           Sincerely,

                       One who works in the organization that knows you always check your spam folder

           The remaining message is a long and rambling series of testimonials for anti-aging and potency supplements, but Lois sees no reason to consider these as marks against the authenticity of the original message. Camouflage is important. As is covering one’s tracks. She opens her desk drawer and retrieves a high-quality digital camera that’s nevertheless old enough that it needs an actual physical cord to transfer the pictures on it to any computer. Lois has kept it in excellent condition, save for, oh, the pesky matter of the fact that the delete function doesn’t work on the camera itself, and that she just can never find the right kind of removable memory cards. Darn, what a problem! Fortunately the camera contains a 5000-image capacity non-removable internal memory. She takes a picture of the relevant portion of the email—well, ten pictures—and then sets about blocking every IP address that’s sent her something that ended up in her spam folder today and deleting every email indiscriminately. She’d like to perform a more thorough delete, but she never does that with any of her spam, and she’s got a feeling that now would not be a good day to start.

           Amateurs might worry about how she deleted the original email, but Lois knows that if she finds anything, she won’t need that email, and for another thing, the writer of that email most certainly doesn’t want anyone to be able to analyze their word choices and phrasing.

           She rests her arms on her desk and starts letting her mind work through everything the email told her. So, she’s the only person who “might have adequate protection” after learning about Operation Welcome Mat? The only unique protection she’s had under any circumstances is Superman. In a few well-known incidents, he’d appeared to give preference to getting her to safety before others. Lois isn’t one hundred percent sure that’s true, as she knows very well that she might’ve been the person in the greatest danger during each incident. Over her career, she’s tended to disregard danger for the sake of the story. And she can argue persuasively that in order to be a successful female journalist, she has to be prepared to face a certain amount of danger; she can argue that her years of experience have given her the ability to accurately evaluate the potential danger of a situation. These arguments have been, and are, vital to her public persona.

           But under a few layers of “I have to do this” is the chewy center of “I want to do this.” It’s true! Believe it or not, Lois Lane, Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist, is a bit of a thrill-seeker!

           Good thing that might be exactly what her email contact needs.

           So. Back to the email. Back to Superman. She knows well enough that she doesn’t have a raven-haired alien angel at her beck and call, but, based on what the public has seen, is it more likely that she does than any other investigative journalist? Yes. So, if only Superman can offer her adequate protection, then—

           “Hi Lois,” Clark says, setting a paper cup on her desk. “Two sugars, no milk—” He breaks off into an almost cartoonishly exaggerated yawn that Lois nevertheless is familiar enough with to know is genuine.

           “You ought to buy some coffee for yourself,” Lois says, digging a few dollars out of her wallet and tossing them at him, which he barely catches. “I mean, if you’re going to volunteer to walk down to Reeve’s every day, anyway. And didn’t you grow up waking up at 4am to milk cows or whatever?”

           Clark smiles shyly. Like he always does. It’s a good smile, and on a kid who’s six foot three and probably better built than any of the barns he ever helped raise, it could very well explain why he always seems so exhausted in the morning. Though if Lois’ theory is true, she hasn’t seen or heard any other evidence of it. A gentleman never tells, Lois thinks idly.

           “I can and have milked cows in my sleep,” he says. “I can’t do anything in my sleep, here.” He looks down. “Uh, the truth is that I haven’t been sleeping well since the—what did they call it? The Chirauga Incident?”

           Lois grimaces. Yeah, Clark and half of Metropolis. Including her. When an army of aliens that big showed up all at once, there was no way to avoid some level of freaking out, special protection from Superman or not. “Yeah, the Chirauga Incident. Ugly sons of bitches, in my opinion. I killed one personally, you know.”

           Clark’s eyes widen in shock, and Lois grins. “What? I verified they weren’t bulletproof before going out to start, you know, researching my story.” But, because she is committed to the truth, even though Clark seems like he’ll believe anything she says, she has to add, “Well, okay. I’m pretty sure I mortally wounded it. Superman took care of it before I could find out for sure.” It had been clean. Heat vision through the Chirauga equivalent of the spinal cord. And Superman had turned to her with that red glow still shimmering in the back of his eyes. “Are you all right?” he’d asked, hovering a foot above the ground like it was nothing, looking at her like she was something. And she’d looked into the terrible weapon of his gaze and been stunned by the perfect surety that he’d never use it on a human being.

           And for all that, she’d never seen him look so alien.

           “Weren’t you watching? I had this one handled,” she’d said, with a rasp in her voice she hoped he’d attribute to the heavy dust and smoke in the air.

           “Well, in that case, I guess all I can do now is tell you to be careful out there,” he’d said.

           It would be nice if there was a discreet little jump cut in her memory right after that, but, unfortunately, Lois remembers with perfect clarity that she’d responded, “Sure thing, spaceboy,” like a complete and utter dumbass. But then Superman hadn’t laughed at her, no, he’d given her the smile and wink of an old-fashioned movie star before flying away to continue saving the world. She, on the other hand, had staggered off, feeling as emotionally churned-up as a teenager.

           The worst part about it, in her opinion, is that she knows very well that Superman has this effect on almost everyone who encounters him.

           “Ah, Superman,” Clark says, drawing her back to the present. His shocked expression has been replaced by the little smile she’s often seen him wear when talk of Superman comes up. She’s always thought there was something secretive about that smile, something notably different from the rest of his farm-boy guilelessness. (Though, she doesn’t quite believe he’s as transparent as he otherwise appears. And she doesn’t think that’s just her natural suspicion kicking in. For one thing, the Daily Planet is big, but not big enough that someone who was hired as a journalist could fall through the cracks and become nothing but a friendly coffee boy. She’s read some of his articles, the neighborhood news stuff he generally covers, and the writing is as solid as he is, with words chosen with care and sensitivity. There’s more to him than meets the eye, and if he ever decides to get ambitious, Lifestyle is in for a big surprise. For another thing, he’d moved to Metropolis during a metahuman surge, and that, frankly, was not what normies did, no matter how clueless they were.)

           The running undercurrent of what she knows about Clark and the smile that’s the one noticeable discordant note in the melody of the person she works with suddenly gel into a possible conclusion, one that Lois could’ve kicked herself for not even considering earlier.

           Talented kid moves from small-town Kansas, where he could’ve been a big fish in a tiny pond. And he doesn’t even move to a city in the same state or region, where he could have been a big fish in a medium-sized pond. Instead, he moves to Metropolis, where he won’t be a big fish at all, but where it’ll be a big project for anyone who knew him in Smallville to ever visit, or know anything about him he doesn’t want them to know. Metropolis, which, despite its dangers, still lives in the cultural mind as a place where the good kind of anything can happen. (Where Superman is often seen.) And when he’s here, he never, ever says anything about even going on a date with anyone, and mentions of Superman bring out that secretive smile. And he started off writing his articles with a clear awareness of issues that Lois has seen other straight white male coworkers fail to grok even after clear, baby-step-style explanations. And he’s never, ever tried to turn getting her coffee into something uncomfortable.

           So, possible conclusion: Clark is some flavor of queer, and still closeted/uncomfortable about it. But he can’t completely hide his crush on Superman because, well. Superman. And the kid has an honest face.

           Just goes to show, she thinks, how slow and unreliable gaydar can be, even if you are bi.

           But this does give her an idea on where to send him as she starts her initial investigation of this Project Welcome Mat. If it is big, bad business like it seems, Clark doesn’t need to get mixed up in it, even to the point of overhearing a phone call. And besides, it might help him accept himself, if he needs that.

           “You know what, Clark?” Lois says. “You need something to take your mind off shit like alien invasions.”

           Clark grimaces. “I don’t know if anything can.”

           “Yeah, it’s a toughie, but you’re a Metropolitan now,” Lois says, with more bravado than she feels. Some things you don’t get used to. But some of those things you have to at least pretend to get used to. “Get outside. Write your cat-up-a-tree article tomorrow. Do something completely out of the ordinary.” And then, as if she’s just thought of it, “Powtown Pride is going on today. Powtown’s a neighborhood. Pride’s something to write about. You could go there and see what you can see.”

           “Powtown?” Clark says, raising his eyebrows. “That’s the metahuman neighborhood. That’s…a bit more interesting than where Rowlands usually sends me.”

           Lois waves her hand. “Rita is seventy-eight and still thinks anything involving a metahuman is a front-pager. Perry can tell her otherwise when you bring back something nice.”

           “Well,” Clark says, warming to the idea, “there are a lot of misconceptions about Powtown that ought to be worn away by a reliable source like the Planet. I mean—there probably are. I don’t know, personally. But if everything written about Powtown was true, no one could live there. It’d be a smoking crater in the ground.”

           “So you see? Needs you,” Lois says. She smirks. “Be careful, though. They’ve got twinks down there that could rip you in half.”

           “Says someone who just told me about personally shooting a Chirauga,” Clark says. “No, no, I know—you had it handled. Anyway. Yeah, I will go.” He looks towards the windows and sighs. “After all, it’s a beautiful day to be outside.”

           Lois waves at him as he leaves, then glances towards the windows herself. It really is a beautiful June day, not too hot, vivid blue sky, puffy clouds slowly drifting by. Does Superman prefer days like this for flying? She wonders. Or would it not affect him at all? What would it be like to fly with Superman on a day like today—Lois sticks her tongue out in an exaggerated expression of disgust. She’s better than that! She has to be!

           Anyway, she’s got something new to investigate. Before Clark interrupted, she was thinking of what things out in the world only Superman could be adequate protection from. Well, aside from horrible things from space, that leaves a very short list that prominently features a house of a certain color and a building of a certain shape. And the name—Operation Welcome Mat—it has a very particular ring to it.

           But she’s still going to look into the rest of that short list. A direct assault isn’t the correct approach here, and besides, there might be connections, even if the person she’s going to call is officially blacklisted from government contracts.

           She scrolls to the contact in her phone for “Louis L’Amour,” and reaches out to someone who definitely isn’t a dead writer of Westerns.

Notes: I’ve decided to have Superman’s code against killing be specifically about humans/earthlings because for one thing, I don’t have to answer to Standards and Practices, and for another, I don’t feel like having every alien army be robots (which with sufficiently advanced AI doesn’t help anyway), and what do you want me to do, have Superman knock all the aliens out? If they’re going down long enough to be essentially counted out of the fight, they’re getting life-threatening brain injuries anyway. 

[sanjuno]

I'm interested in that idea you mentioned where the Vongola brothers thaw Xanxus, pack up their followers, and go to Japan. (Tsuna getting four older brothers would be awesome.)

*slams back onto the blog* MY INTERNET IS BACK AND SANJUNO IS ONLINE AGAIN, BITCHES!

I call this one FIRE SHALL WAKEN and I straight up admit that I did not expect this much of a plot for something that was essentially an offhand comment I made because I thought it was funny but oh well.

Let’s begin!

So sixteen year old Xanxus discovers that he’s “adopted” before Enrico gets fatally shot in the back but instead of going to talk to his brothers he still goes through with the Cradle Affair tantrum.

>Enrico, Mas, and Fede are confined to the Iron Fort by Coyote because of paranoia about the Varia being more loyal to Xanxus than the Vongola overall.

>Squalo is bereaved because his Sky is frozen solid and proceeds to lose it on Enrico when confronted about why Xanxus went bonkers and now Enrico knows everything.

Enrico, of course, proceeds to tell Mas and Fede why Xanxus tried to kill Nono dead.

>Fede points out how interesting it is that Xanxus waited until all of his brothers were outside the Iron Fort before attacking.

>Enrico points out that Xan had been noticeably avoiding Nono but hadn’t cut his brothers out of his life.

>Mas digs up the security footage and notices that Xanxus said many nasty things about Nono but didn’t so much as mention his brothers during his ranting. (My how interesting…)

Enrico proceeds to move into the Iron Fort to “help Papa out” which translated into actual intent means “scope out the security system with an eye for breaking it and locate Xan’s iceberg.”

>Mas moves into the Varia mansion to “keep an eye on things”

>Fede invades the CEDEF on the regular to find out what they know and also to sow confusion because fuck you Nono is why

Consequences are suffered by those who took action without thinking! 

>Enrico also gets an up-close view of Nono’s bullshit in action, which he never saw in canon because it was never pointed out so blatantly until Nono (i) lied about matters of succession and (ii) froze Enrico’s littlest brother in ice.

>Mas gets to conspire with the Varia and has tons of fun pretending to be thick while plotting the demise of his enemies.

>Fede undermines Iemitsu in the CEDEF without actually joining that branch because Mas is the one who wanted to play spy games for a living and Fede is much better suited to being the Family troubleshooter. Also Mas and Fede poach several CEDEF agents because Sky Attraction and Iemitsu Doesn’t Deserve Nice Things bwahahaha~

Shortly after Nono’s sons finish “establishing order” after the Cradle Affair Nono and Iemitsu go on a trip to Japan (we all know what happens here) except this time:

>(i) Fede is keeping a close enough eye on the CEDEF to discover what the purpose behind the trip was and (ii) the Bros di Vongola are making plans to rescue their baby brother and leave the Vongola hanging without any Heirs at all because Nono certainly doesn’t care about the succession so why should they?

Instead of possessing people to arrange the deaths of the 10th Gen Vongola Heirs, Daemon Spade’s ghost is very much in favour of the boys rejecting their father because anarchy and Fuck Them All Very Much

>Daemon doesn’t approve of Nono, so the more the bros work against Nono the more Daemon likes them. The irony of them all packing up and moving to Japan to force Nono to clean up his own fucking mess is too brilliant to sabotage. He needs to know how this ends.

It takes two years for everything to be in place for the 10th Gen migration. Many changes from canon occur during this time.

(i) Enrico finally tracks down Xan’s Mama and Harmonizes her as his Mist.

>Goes to the Falco Heir’s piano recital and bonds Bianche as his Storm. Is horrified by Hayato’s treatment and frequent poisonings, draws emotionally driven parallels between Hayato’s treatment and Xanuxs’, and intercepts Hayato’s first attempt to run away to take Hayato in as his ward.

>Manages to Harmonize with Lal as his Rain over the course of several meetings with Fede for information exchanges.

>Visits the Bovino and finds Ottavia to be his Lightning, and she brings newborn Lambo with her because her sister died.

>Snags M.M. to be his Sun out of Paris’ Underworld Theatre District before she crosses the line and is arrested by the Vindice. (He’s there on business but yay new Element!)

>Enrico is somewhat disturbed by how much younger than him his Storm and Sun are and hopes that his Cloud will be closer to his own age or older.

(ii) Mas met Sparta (the OC I have as his Cloud) in his last year of the Mafia Academy. She gets along well with the Varia.

>Mas is being very careful and low-key about Courting Oregano and Tumeric into his Harmony because Iemitsu is a giant bag of dicks and also a toxic influence.

>Moretti the Murdered is Mas’ Mist and it’s hilarious because the Varia are So Offended.

Fede’s Lightning is Romeo Bovino who is ultimately distracted by finding HIS SKY!!!! and entirely forgets to flirt with Bianchi and thus survives yay

>Runs into Lancia while out shopping with Hayato and his Intuition says “Look it’s your Storm” and also Hayato is a vicious little savage who charms Mukuro and Co. and can sympathize with their experiences re. being tortured by your family. Frequent interaction with the Varia gives Mukuro and Co.s vengeance drive a constructive outlet so they don’t murderspree their way into Vindicare and also the plan to abscond will leave the Vongola Alliance in shambles and Mukuro wants to see that. So. Let’s be friends!

>Fede picks up Basil as his Rain while stalking the CEDEF because Iemitsu doesn’t deserve to have such a cute little minion and also the family resemblance is pretty obvious even if the kid isn’t a Sky.

>Accidentally Harmonizes Shamal as his Mist while tracking down Hayato and Bianchi’s medical records and lambasts Shamal for not treating Hayato’s poison damage just because he’s a boy (you irresponsible asshole) Shamal spends a significant amount of time repenting for that bullshit because Fede’s Not Having It.

Despite all the Harmonizing happening Nono continues to believe that the men he assigned to his sons are their actual Guardians.

>The bros let Nono think this because it a good distraction tactic and it gives them a guaranteed way to feed Nono misinformation about what they’re up to.

Two years is a long enough time for people to start noticing the shenanigans but the bros are good at being sneaky and also they all have Mists so good fucking luck getting a clear picture of what they’re getting up to. Then Nono goes to an Alliance Boss meting at Mafia Land and takes Iemitsu with him which means now’s our chance.

>As soon as Nono’s plane takes off the 10th gen defrosts Xan, rolls him into a blanket burrito, shoves him at his very confused Guardians, and packs the entirety of the Varia plus the Vongola 10th Gen’s personal following into a series of transport containers and take off for Japan.

>Enrico shoots Ottavio in the head execution style with one of Daniela’s crossbows before they leave because “fuck you, traitor” is why.

The Alliance is shook.

>Dino is still in training with Reborn (being around 16 or 17) and is high-key jealous that his Vongola counterparts got to fuck off and ditch their inheritance. Romario’s the one who digs up the old Tradition about “escaping” the Mafia by moving to Japan (which also includes a kind of “diplomatic immunity” agreement with the yakuza.) Dino wants to go to Japan too T-T

MEANWHILE IN JAPAN

>Xanxus is really fucking confused right now okay this is not how he was expecting his confrontation with Nono over his heritage to shake out (His bros picked Xanxus over Nono WTF)

>The Varia are honestly just happy to have their Sky back they don’t even care about technically being in hiding.

The Vongola 10th Gen buys a Japanese Mansion in Namimori and happily settle in.

>Of course their first order of business is to go see their baby cousin~ because “fuck you, Iemtisu, answer your wife’s phone calls” is why and also they need to get that Seal off Tsuna and also, also it’ll give Hayato, Mukuro, and co. a local guide in Namimori.

>Of course, the second Enrico peels the Seal off Tsuna’s Flames the kid goes into HDWM and Harmonizes with Hayato and Mukuro on reflex and also Hyper Intuition.

Nana is over the moon because her baby boy has friends now and also she 100% takes over as the 10th Gen’s Head of Housekeeping and before anyone really has time to think about it Nana and Tsuna have moved into the mansion

>Please take a moment to consider the repercussions of having five active Skies living in a single house who all love each other and want their family to be happy. The Harmony effect is soporific, wide spread, pervasive, and Namimori is a happy, peaceful town.

Hayato is once again Tsuna’s Right Hand but this time it’s Mukuro who is the Left Hand and the chaos is beautiful.

>TBH the way a less traumatized Hayato and a more rational Mukuro mesh and work together is surprisingly functional and cooperative. Also I’m pretty sure that the first thing they do is go track down Nagi for kidnapping purposes because of psychic links and Harmony is helpful for strengthening things like that.

>Which means that Chrome doesn’t get squished by a truck! Yay! Yes, they still change her name. It’s so her parents can’t find her neener-neener

Hayato and Mukuro are little assholes and are Not Pleased by the way Tsuna has been and is still being treated at school. They proceed to concoct a multi-layered, three tiered plan to take vengeance in Tsuna’s name. There are several lists, charts, graphs, and at least one Venn Diagram because Mukuro is artistic like that.

>Kyouya is angry at first because his territory but then notices how the herbivores have started to behave themselves and that means more time for uninterrupted naps and that’s beautiful. Tetsuya is torn between elation and terror because on one hand Kyou-san has friends but on the other, far more traumatizing to the citizenry hand they’re all amoral bloodthirsty monsters.

>Anyway Kyouya founds the DC, Mukuro sets up an informant network, and Hayato takes over the student council.

Tsuyoshi isn’t sure what to make of the Sudden Assassin Migration into Namimori but at least the Sword Emperor is too distracted by his Sky being on bedrest to be hunting down retired Swordsmen.

>Tsuyoshi should maybe think about starting Takeshi’s sword training because Tsuna’s gone and made friends with Takeshi now that he’s unSealed (Fuck Everything Tsuyoshi doesn’t deserve this sort of stress)

TBH Ken probably joins the Boxing Club and Ryohei’s so happy to the extreme.

>Kyoko will join the Mist Collective in Managing Everyone’s Lives because she’s nonviolent and also a bit of an emotional manipulator. Hana is the DC Secretary and gets along far too well with Hibari-sempai for anyones comfort.

>I honestly have no real idea what Haru is up to in this AU but she probably takes over Midori and has a very loudly dramatic rivalry with Hayato for brain-crush reasons.

Chikusa is getting roped in as Hayato’s VP and they rule Namimori Elementary with decidedly Iron Fists. With spikes on.

>TBH the fact that Tsuna becomes the Chairman of the Home Ec Club is the Best Thing because Tsuna loves his Mama and he’s only fifth in line to inherit still so he can do whatever he wants and that means fluffy homemaker comfort Sky who cheers on his Guardian’s shenanigans instead of a panicked stressed out punching bag.

>Tsuna’s favourite Vongola Head is the Fourth because FORKS! and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

TBH I have NO IDEA how long it takes Nono to find Ottavio’s body but it’s probably really gross by then because Italy’s a hot country and also between them Enrico and Mas and Fede stole all of the CEDEF’s upper management and Iemtisu is pants at sorting paperwork.

>Then there’s panic and anarchy and very strained Alliance politics until Reborn finishes training Dino and then Reborn is sent to Namimori to train the “last” Vongola heir only to find the entire Vongola 10th Gen

>Be aware that at no point did the Varia stop taking missions which drives the 9th Gen into frothing fits because they still can’t find where they’re hiding.

This time when Tsuna says he doesn’t want to be a Mafia Boss the actual heir is still alive, sitting right beside Tsuna at the table, and is laughing at Reborn.

>Enrico straight up tells Reborn not to waste his time and that when Nono dies/retires he’ll take the Rings but not a moment before then.

>Nono forced their hands when he lied to Xan, left him for dead in the ice, and tried to force his sons to accept ill-suited Guardians without ever admitting he’d fucked up or done something wrong.

>Oh yeah, Xan needed to be revived when Enrico defrosted him it was a damn good thing all three of his bros were there to help with that and GUESS WHAT HE DID TO TSUNAYOSHI?

Dino shows up and well now the Alliance knows where the Vongola 10th Gen are hiding out.

>Drama, politicking, shenanigans, IDEK at this point I mostly just want to see the FSW!AU Tsuna and co. get dragged into a canon!TYL adventure because that shit’s hilarious and is also an entirely new story all on it’s own if I want to handle it right.

>Because there’s no Varia Arc, although if Iemitsu shows up he’s gonna be hella surprised when the “weaker” Skies kick the shit out of him because the Vongola Bros have real bonds now plus their Five Sky Harmony and shit’s insane, friends.

Shit with the Arcobaleno will go down at some point and by now I’ve internalized a preference for Reborn being Aria’s Sun Guardian because “I’m my daughter’s Sun” is a glorious clusterfuck of pun combined with a Dad joke and Reborn would revel in that so much.

>Skull is Fede’s Cloud, which is fabulous and a match made with the intent of making the world a more interesting place and also I may indulge in my secret love for Reborn/Skull in this verse because Aria’s going to marry Fede. XP

>Consiquently, Verde is Mas’ Lightning, Collonello is Enrico’s Second Rain, Mammon is (of course) Xan’s Mist, and Fon’s going to be Tsuna’s Second Storm.

I kinda wanna see Spanner be Byakuran’s Lightning in this verse because reasons but also I think I’m done for the night.

Yay. XP

[dreamingincerulean]

Bad Decisions.

I just cut my hair. Again. For the past few years, now I’ve gotten sick of my hair and decided to chop it off. It really began when it started not being curly. 

Monday’s my therapist appointment. Wait… Tuesday is. In any case, It can’t come any sooner, honestly. 

On some levels, it’s like if I don’t have my family around to screw up my hair, I volunteer my services to myself and none of these options are good, sound options. We’ve never went to school for this shit. There’s a reason there are schools for this shit. It’s not as simple as it seems. 

And I’ve come to realize that, after so many times of attempting it. Yet… I do it anyway.

It’s not freeing. It’s not “Oh man… I feel so fucking fabulous and free!” it’s more of a panicky feeling. And lots of frustration. Is it a control thing…? Hmmmmmm… that’s a possibility. 

This week’s art council meeting was total bullshit, just like the last one. It was chock full of people staring at me while I try and add to the conversation.So I froze up, in my head, but my mouth kept at it so it didn’t come out right.

 It also sounded like I was bragging about sitting at the table with the mayor and his right-hand man… but I was just meaning that from what they said something was going to happen… but the way they stared at me made me second-guess my information so it just sounded like I was clueless and dumb and inarticulate and just… pathetic. 

It’s really hard to communicate with strangers on a meaningful level. 

They also shot down my digital art ideas. Like… the digital art world is booming, and that’s where the future lies… but they were “scared” of it and even though I mentioned how cost-effective it would be, in the long-run… everyone didn’t like that idea. I was like “Well we can hold classes…” but it was just left on the drawing room floor, like all my other ideas. 

Oh the fuck well. 

I’m not as proficient in the other styles of art… I love my ctl+z, and delete layers function.  I’ve had a graphics tablet for about 8 years now and it’s just… it’s my favorite way to create, damn it! I would even help tutor people willing to learn to use a graphics tablet. 

Maybe.

Perhaps.

Ugh. 

I just really fucking wish I could transplant my ideas into someone else’s mind and they could articulate them for me. I wouldn’t mind if they took credit… so long as there was a digital art space for my use in the near future. 

Even the seemingly nice people who I thought I would potentially get along with were pretty dismissive of my ideas.  

I guess because I’m an Unknown. A Mystery. 

And… I don’t want to bother waiting around for them to want to get to know me better. I don’t want to volunteer shit about myself. 

This is one reason why I can’t get along with people, I guess. My inability to effectively communicate, my inability to want to bridge the communication divides. To inform folks about myself. 

I don’t stomp on someone’s ideas when I hear them. I’m trying to put myself in their place… watching and listening to my self stumble over sentences and look all over the room and never make direct eye contact and… it’s a lost cause.

 If I was sitting at a table with myself, acting that way, I would probably treat me like they treated me. Well… maybe I'd have some compassion and kind of say heeeey, and be kind and try and conquer my own awkward social problems in favor of trying to put them at some kind of ease. It’s hard to feel inadequate, and I know it’s plain as day when someone is feeling that way. There was one woman who did try to kind of talk to us, the week before. She wasn’t there, this week. The Rich Bitch and Graphic Design Bitch were both absent.

I am pretty sure this next Wednesday is the end of the focus group meetings, thank god! 

By this Fall, I’ll have a place to go that I could potentially walk to, to get out of the house and be creative. If they offer free stuff. Which I hope they do offer. I know I could offer my tutoring services free or next-to-free, for instructing a very small group (like three people)… in the ways of crochet and digital art (if someone performs a miracle and they do incorporate at least one digital art “kiosk” … because you better fucking believe I wrote that in on the survey paperwork they had there that night. 

[thefandomships-imagines]

Ship

hi. ❤️ could i get a avengers, x men and suicide squad ship? 5'9, inverted triangle body shape, brown hair with bangs, heterochromia ( blue eyes, left one’s mixed with hazel ), baby face, dimples. slytherin. isfj. bi-curious. at first, i’m shy, quiet and reserved. usually playful, dirty minded and fun around friends. a perfectionist, control freak, slight clean freak. stubborn, jealous, emotional, punctual, impulsive, selfish, socially awkward. if i’m annoyed or impatient, i can say something mean or witty which later on i may regret. i put on a mask of confidence, but i’m really not due to my body insecurities and the small gap between my front teeth. when i’m hurt, i turn petty and may complain. when i’m nervous, i talk a lot. hate crying in front of people. don’t like to be forced into stuff or being compared to somebody. i don’t like to ask people for help. i can’t fall asleep without music. dislike romance. i stress over little things, like - make a big deal out of nothing. nervous whenever i do something out of my comfort zone. hopefully, one day i’ll find my true calling, but right now i’m thinking about becoming an actress. motherly towards kids. fashion is my passion, as well as reading and role playing on tumblr. after finishing high school, i want to travel the world. overprotective over my mom and lil’ sis, knowing my mom is a single parent. daddy issues. bad at cooking. spontaneous road trips with loud music on is life. prefers tea over coffee. dress to impress. thank you so much!

Note: Gifs or characters are not mine! I just get them off of tumblr or google, if you see one that’s yours and isnt credited, please contact me and i’ll fix that :)

Hello lovely! 

Avengers:

I ship you with Bruce Banner!

You strike me as a person that spends a lot of time in their ‘shell’, and isn’t very comfortably with others very quickly due to your reserved nature and said ‘ mask’ you tend to wear in front of people you don’t know very well.  It takes some time in order to get comfortable with others and that’s okay, and if there’s someone that understands that it’s Bruce, the only one who could see trough the confident banter next to Wanda Maximoff. It’s one of the things that made him interested in you from the moment he met you.  He is not the most extraverted person himself, not really going with playful conversation like the rest of the group tries to do.  It wasn’t until you two had both stayed behin while the rest went out into town that you realised that you had more in common than you thought. You got into conversation and somehow he immediately felt comfortable around you and started opening up to you bit by bit. This encouraged you to, unawarely, do the same. He kind of dragged you out of your shell and you started hanging out together more and more, which your friend Wanda did not take long to notice.  How you got together: Stupidly, Bruce had confided in his friend Tony about talking to you and about how comfortable you made him feel. Big mistake. Because if Tony smells drama, a way to draw his friend out of his comfort zone or both, he loooves to exploit it. One of the things bruce told him was that he did not understand how insecure you felt sometimes. When Tony asked why, the answer was that he found you absolutely breathtaking. You were beautiful, unique and you made him feel accepted and made him laugh. You’re honest, protective and smart. In short : he sounded like a lovesick puppy.  And since Tony knew Wanda was your friend, he went to her. Turned out she shipped it too and together, the unusual duo concocted a plan…… Bruce would NEVER hurt you, or make you feel small in a bad way. He respects you immensly and understands about 9/10 of the time. You’re the only one allowed completely into his mind, and hopes you trust him excactly the same. You’re also the only one allowed to tease him. Ever. 

X-men:

I ship you with Havoc!

Alex seems like a real asshole at first, and he probably was when he was younger. Tough from the moment that Charles and Erik went to fetch him out of jail, he changed completely. When you joined the group, it took time to get used to him . A LOT of time. Actually, he used to think of you as a little rude, and had trouble reading you so he didn’t usually make contact with you. This was the biggest problem in the beginning, not being able to get a read off each other causes a lot of fights and snarky comments, making the rest of the group unhappy with you seeming like enemies more than comrades. He began to feel more like understanding what you were about after spotting you in your free time. The way you were with your little sister, the bond you had reminded him of his own little brother. He saw how protective you were over her, for example when you got in trouble with a couple of jerks and you got them to fuck off. It made him want to be a better person for his own family.

When you got back, he acted completely differently than how he had seen you with your family. Your wall was back up and that was something he did understand. After all, he was the one that tore everything apart, landed in jail, all because he acted differenly, to not be vulnerable. He kept notincing more layers of yours after that. The way you spoke so indifferently and playfully to Raven and Banshee, wheres you were much more considerate of ‘Bozo’ aka Hank. The way ‘the claws’ came out when you were pissed, and the way you sat by yourself, buried in a book pretending to read while half-sulking later.  He started admiring you, though you never picked up on that and just kept doing so until Hank, while annoyed wih Alex,  uncharacteristically told him ‘to stop being a little bitch and do something other than swooning from afar, if he’s so tough’. So thats what he did. At first you really didnt understand why the hell he was interested in you and you actually thought it was a joke. Luckily that didn’t last very long. Alex is now the most attentive and protective guy you could wish for, though you’d never even thought of him being an option. 

Suicide Squad:

I ship you with Rick Flag! 

Rick, after all that happened was broken, lightly said. He didn’t know what to do with himself after the battle. Sure, he’d go home, shower, eat and sleep, but his visions of the world and of right and wrong were twisted up. Almost as if he’d lost his purpose. Good guys had turned out to be bad and a firebreathing-god gangster had sacrificed himself to save the rest, his family he had called it. So he just pretended to have moved on. The baddies went back to jail and he went back to work.

Rick and you hadn’t been on good or bad terms. You just accepted the fact that you co-existed. Sometimes you dares joke with each other. You see, Rick automatically hated criminals and didn’t hate figures associated with the law in a good way. The thing is, you were neither.  Well, you didn’t have a record, though your reputation was…..interesting. Which is why you got in the team, you were granted full immunity for the future. To be honest you would have done it for free, since you kinda do live on this planet and rather not have it detroyed. You weren’t as overpowered as your late friend El Diablo or as crazy as Harley, but damnit if you weren’t a badass.  Knives were your thing, and at your thing, you were the best. Granted, being about 5 times as agile and 3 times as fast as the average human also helped. And all while looking slayin’. Yeah, let’s pass the spandex. So, after the battle you simply returned to your old life as well, occasionally standing by on a A.R.G.U.S. mission, which is, after a couple of months, where you saw Rick again.  When you saw him, you almost flinched. He seemed so lost. Dark bags under his eyes, abviously thinner, paler than ever and he barely opened his mouth. Mr. gruffypants certainly didn’t deserve this.  When Rick saw you after a couple of months, his reaction was more the opposite of yours. He was slowly recovering from all his emotional damage, and now, he felt guilty. Very guilty as he looked at you. He was moving on but he felt wrong looking at another person, and finding that he enjoyed watching the way their outfit hugged their curves. He did not speak to you that night. 

Fastforward three weeks. A group of agents  were chasing an installment of the Triads. Yay, which meant you were called out of your comfy bed again since annoying you was easier that getting Boomerang, who would try to escape….. In the meanwhile, the guilt had been another factor combined in crushing Rick’s mental condition. The chase was going nowehere, well, apart from four killed and two wounded at your side, It was safe to say it was a shitty night.  When your team lost track of said Triads at 3 o’clock in the moring shit hit the fan. You had to call it in to Walker, who was not amused. Ambulances and coroners where called in an you were making sure everyone that needed it got help. You were not that much of a villain. All were accounted for, except your brusque Captain. Damnit.  When you finally did find him, you did not know excacty what to do. He was huddled against the wall of an abandoned building, your silly little superiour.  Slowly, you approached him, sliding against the wall next to him.  You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. 

You awoke to a car honking. Great, you thought. Six in the moring, in an abandoned builing, half asleep with Flags’ head on my lap…. FLAGS’ HEAD ON MY LAP. Shit. He did look cute, relaxed.  After about an hour he started to stir.  ‘I haven’t slept this long since months.’ he smiled.  ‘Great.’ you deadpanned. ‘I’m oficially functional as a plushie.’ 

You might be an odd couple, and you might not have been a ‘good guy’, but you were Captain Rick Flag’s salvation. And now, whichever idiot tries to mess with you  hasn’t just got a knife-wielding superhuman after them, but also a very pissed of Rick Flag.  The rest of the squad loved to tease you guys about it all. And that’s all fun and games until there’s another knife stuck in the wall at A.R.G.U.S. headquarters, which, lightly said, makes Walker, not amused.

Hope ya liked them all :3

WELL THAT WAS ONE HELL OF A RIDE. 1560 WORDS HELP.  Extra elaborate because IM OFICCIALLY BACK *cheers*. Let’s just hope i wont have any forced hiatusus anytime soon again (@.@) Also, thanks for sending me a message and being so sweet! 

I might be a lil rusty so if you find any silly errors made by me please send in something so le me can fix it :D

[artificialqueens]

Different Worlds (New Year, New Au) (Trixya) – Ellen Thwoorp

Summary- Katya is a misunderstood Goth who everyone thinks eats bats and Skype calls with Satan. In actuality she’s just a bit of a dork with the biggest crush on Trixie, the cheerleader. This is the story of the first time they met and how things never quite go as you expect them to.

A/N: Obligatory High School Au.

This is the first installation of my ‘New Year, New Au Series’. I’m challenging myself with a bunch of random AU oneshots because my usual is long multichapter fics. The more random the Au the more I like it so things might get a bit crazy. Enjoy! (These will likely all be lesbian Au because I find Brian and Brian hard to write but we’ll see.)

Katya took a drag from her cigarette as she watched the football players run around the pitch from her spot just beneath the bleachers. She chose this spot for two very important reasons. The first being that the teachers couldn’t see her smoking here. The second, and most important, reason was that it had the best view of the cheerleaders without compromising reason one. Although in actuality she only had interest in one specific cheerleader. The beautiful, bubbly Barbie doll that was Trixie Mattel. The girl had moved up from Massachusetts just over a year ago after her mother remarried and immediately stolen Katya little black heart.

Katya knew that they were an almost laughable match. There she stood with her unevenly braided black and blonde hair decorated with large bat clips finished with googly eyes. She was text book weirdo Goth. Heavy black eyeliner and all. Trixie was the brightest explosion of pinks and fluff and cuddly kittens. Not to mention Trixie was popular. Everyone liked her. Katya wasn’t so lucky. When her family first emigrated her English wasn’t great which prevented her from making many friends. People mostly seemed to either look down at her or were afraid of her now. This was most likely due to all the rumours. Some of which were true, some of which were ridiculous but that didn’t seem to stop people believing them.

Her long layered black skirt brushed the top her platform boots as she shifted her weight, resting her elbow against her hip. She imagined what people would think if her and Trixie were to walk down the corridor hand in hand. What would people think of her then? Not that that was going to happen anyway. First Trixie would have to know she existed, which Katya was fairly sure she didn’t. And even if she did she probably thought she was a freak.

That didn’t stop her though. She was stuck on this girl. She had been for over a year and it didn’t show any sign of stopping anytime soon.

That was when one of Katya’s actual nightmares came true. One of the practicing players kicked the ball sending it hurtling towards the bleachers. It hit the ground with a thud and rolled. The players sighed, pushing their friend with jibes about not being able to kick for shit.

“I’ll get it.” Trixie shouted behind her as the football rolled under the bleachers. Katya panicked as the football hit the toe of her fake platform Doc Martens. Maybe if she kicked it now Trixie wouldn’t even-

“Oh, hello.”

Never mind.

“H-hi.” Katya stuttered, almost dropping her cigarette after forgetting it was between her lips. She took it from her mouth, holding it behind her back with her shaky hands. This wasn’t happening. All the times she’d crafted their first proper meeting, laid in bed at night, pretending they weren’t part of two different worlds. This was going to be a disaster. She had never seen Trixie be cruel towards anyone the way some of the other cheerleaders could be, but that didn’t mean she was chums with people like Katya. She was kind and beautiful and laughed a lot and it honestly made Katya want to cry with the sheer honesty of it all.

“Oh, I love your shoes.” The other blonde commented as she stooped gracefully to pick up the ball. Katya blinked, her brain proving that it was in fact just a pound of lunch meat as it refused to function. She could do this. For god sake, she’d been dreaming of the opportunity to talk to this girl. She would say something profound. Something devastatingly poetic that would make the other girl swoon.

“Really?” Katya blinked looking down at the boots she’d painted herself. So much for profound, she thought as she kicked herself. Trixie smiled at her, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder.

“Totally, I’d prefer them in pink though.” Trixie leant forward, whispering as though it was some kind of secret the girl wore basically nothing but pink. It was certainly no secret she hated the cheer uniforms for their deep shade of green and white. She never wore her uniform around school like most of the other girls. Katya thought she looked quite dashing in green but pink was much more Trixie. “Hang on.” She added, turning and throwing the ball hard across to the boys on the team. Katya tried to hide the pain on her face as the cigarette burnt her finger. She dropped it to the ground and squashed it with her foot, kicking it away, while the other girl was distracted. Trixie turned back with a smile.

“Wow, with a throw like that you should be on the team.” The Russian commented, surprised by the girls upper body strength.

“Eh, it’s too violent for my liking.” She shrugged. “So where did you get those and do they do them in different colours?”

“Um, my mum got them for me online and I painted them.” Katya confessed, pulling on one of her long braids behind her back. She hated that it made her feel bad to confess they didn’t have a whole lot of money. It felt like people judged her.

“Wait, you did these?!” Trixie gasped, ducking down again to look at the boots more closely. “Wow, you’re really talented.” She said enthusiastically, touching a painting of a floating eyeball with wings.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, they’re amazing.”

“I could do you some if you like.” Katya blurted out twisting the end of her braid around her fingers. For a moment Katya wished she could reach out and snatch the words from the air where they hung but then Trixie looked up at her. She had a bright and surprisingly hopeful smile on her face.

“Really?! Would you paint me different things on them?”

“Like Barbie and hearts and a sassy little cat who don’t take nobodies shit.” The Russian suggested, pretending she’d never drawn or designed anything for the girl. Smiling as though there wasn’t a book of sketches and silly designs surrounded by hearts hidden under her bed.

“Oh. My. God. You get me.” She laughed, getting Katya to turn her boot so she could see them better. Katya laughed as well, her stomach doing a little flip as Trixie’s fingers touched her exposed ankle.

“Trixie what’s taking you so-” A voice called, abruptly stopping as Brenda came around the bleachers. She took in the scene in front of her and wrinkled her nose. “I’d watch yourself in that position around her.” Trixie stood with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a dyke. Everyone knows she’s got a wide on for you. Don’t get too close.” Katya’s blood ran cold as she watched this girl she barely knew lay out her heart and dissect it for Trixie to see. She swallowed, eyes darting around looking for an escape.

“Why would you say something like that?”  Trixie asked, her voice sound indignant as she stared at the other girl.

“It’s true. She’s always staring at you. David saw her drawing you in her sketchbook in biology.” Brenda insisted, looking at Katya with barely veiled disgust. “She’s freaky Trix, you don’t want to spend time with the likes of her.” She added, flipping her hair.

“That’s horrible.”

“I know right?!” She snorted as a tear dripped from Katya’s eye. She wiped it away quickly. She should have known. God, she was so stupid. If she slipped away now they might not even notice. She took a slow step back, only to halted by a hand on her arm.

“No, you’re horrible! That was cruel.” Trixie clarified, looking at her friend as though she’d never even met her before.

“Trix she’s-” The cheerleader began, looked just as shocked by the situation as Katya was.

“Don’t talk to me. Go away.” The blonde snapped, waving a careless hand towards the other cheerleader.

“C’mon Trixie.”

“I swear to God if you talk to me again I will tell, and yes I mean that thing.” She threatened, staring the other girl down. Brenda took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“You’re such a bitch.” Brenda snapped, turning on her heel and storming off.

“I’m sorry about her.” Trixie apologised, leading Katya to sit on the nearby bench below the bleachers. “What she did was shitty. Please don’t cry.” She said gently, rubbing Katya’s arm as black streaked down her pale face.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Katya confessed quietly, avoiding eye contact with the other girl as heat filled her cheeks.

“Here I know what’ll stop you crying. Knock knock.” Trixie said, clapping her hands cheerfully.

“Who’s there?”

“Little old lady.”

“Little old lady who?“

"I didn’t know you could yodel.” Trixie replied excitedly, holding her hands out in what appeared to be jazz hands. Katya frowned at her in confusion for about thirty seconds before she suddenly got the joke. Her shoulders sagged as she let out a sigh deep from within her soul. Trixie began to giggle.

“Oh my god that was supposed to stop me crying? It makes me want to weep even more.” Katya snorted, unable to fight the laugh as Trixie continued to giggle.

“It was pretty fucking stupid.” She conceded, nudging Katya’s shoulder. “But at least now we’re both embarrassed.” A small smile touched Katya’s lips at the affectionate gesture. She chanced a quick look at the other girl, accidentally catching her eye.

“I should really get back to practice.” The cheerleader said with a sigh turning to look through the benches behind them. The cheer squad seemed to be having quite an animated conversation, with several of the girls looking over in their direction. No prizes for guessing who they were talking about. Trixie turned back and stood but didn’t leave. “Um, is what they say about you true?”

“What specifically? People say a lot of things.” Katya snorted, looking up at the other girl.

“That you like girls.” Trixie clarified, raising her eyebrows. Katya sighed and pulled out her packet of cigarettes.

“Yeah, that’s true.” She nodded, trying to look as though she wasn’t on the cusp of a heart murmur caused by this line of questioning.

“What about the other thing?”

“I never ate a bat.” Katya groaned, letting her head fall back. She didn’t even know where that came from.

“No not that, although that is a relief.” Trixie laughed, twirling the end of her long ponytail around her finger. “I mean the thing about liking me.”

“I- um.” Katya stuttered, looking down at the ground to avoid looking at the other girl at all. She squeezed the lace of her dress where it was bunched up in her hand as she felt heat fill her cheeks. Her face was going to bright red, she stressed as her eyes shut tightly. Swallowing thickly, she nodded, preparing herself for heart break. She was already mentally counting the money in her pocket to figure out if she could afford the biggest tub of ice-cream they sold at the nearby convenience shop.

“Good.” Trixie said brightly.

“Good?” Katya asked, prying one eye open to look at the other girl. “Really?”

“Would you like to go out and get some coffee with me? Maybe we can talk more about these boots? Maybe you can come around mine after, we can design a little.”

“Design…” Katya repeated, somehow not managing to fathom the words coming from the other girl’s mouth. This couldn’t be happening.

“Or at least that what I hear the kids calling it these days.” Trixie winked. Now this was too crazy.

“Wait, hang on either I’m having a really good dream or I slipped down a rabbit hole on the way to school.” Katya said, putting her hands on either side of her head in confusion. “You’re saying that not only are you a lesbian but you want to go out for coffee with me and design a custom pair of boots with me whilst potentially doing other more adult based activities?” She asked almost incredulously. This sort of thing didn’t happen. This was some night-time fantasy, Glee level shit. Things don’t just work out like this do they?

“No.” The cheerleader snorted, quickly continuing as she noticed something in Katya’s eyes begin to fade. “I’m saying I’m bisexual and I want you to go on a coffee date with me and maybe do the other more adult based activities, the boots are just something extra.”

“Right. Ok. Oh my god, um yes, I love you.” Katya rambled, disbelief clear on her face. Trixie blinked. The Russian’s blood ran cold when she realised what she said. “I mean I’d love to.” She corrected quickly, nudging the ground beneath her to see if she could find a spot soft enough to swallow her whole. Trixie blushed, smoothing a hand over her ponytail bashfully.

“Fabulous. We’re friends on Facebook yeah?”

“Yeah.” Katya replied, remembering the day Trixie sent her a friends request on Facebook and she’d danced through the house to Cyndi Lauper until her parents had come home and walked in on her. That had been embarrassing. They’d insisted to know why she was so happy. After she begrudgingly told them they became insufferable, asking her almost every day how Trixie was until one day Katya just cried at the dinner table. She knew they weren’t trying to rub it in, they only wanted her to be happy but it hurt to be reminded of it all the time.

Oh my God, she would have to tell her parents when she got home that she was going on a date with her. They were going to flip.

“Great, I’ll message you later.” The cheerleader said with a nod. The way she said it, it sounded like a promise.

“Ok.”

“Cool, bye.” She smiled, waggling her fingers as she turned to leave. The girl looked behind her once again, shooting Katya a surprisingly shy smile before stepping out into the sun.

“Bye.” Katya waved, watching the girl bouncing out of sight as she joined the other cheerleaders. “I love you.” She breathed, blinking rapidly as she tried to fathom what on Earth had just happened. She lit another cigarette as she slouched back on the bench and tried to organise her thoughts.

Trixie Mattel, love of her life, her everything that didn’t even know she existed, just asked her on a date. This couldn’t be happening. She pinched her arm. Ouch! That definitely felt real. A small caterpillar caught her eye as it crawled along the bench she was sat on. She looked around her before leaning in to the creature.

“Who are you?” She whispered, this was her final reality check. If she really was down a rabbit hole this caterpillar was about to pull out a hookah pipe and be quite rude to her. Nothing. “Listen mate, if this is an acid trip do something weird if not just keep crawling.” The caterpillar just kept crawling. It came to sudden stop when Katya let out a whoop and clapped her hand.

“What’s got you so happy and why were you talking to a caterpillar?” Ginger asked as she walked over to her friend. The girl was a year older than her and already had a lit cigarette between her fingers.

“This is real. She is real and we are real.”

And that’s how the local Russian Goth got the local Barbie cheerleader.