#ettiquette be damned I will fuck you up

[crmsnmth]

Hello

So, since I'm never satisfied, and it's been quite some time since I did this, here's

Version 5

(I apologize for the length. I kind of just got caught up writing it.)

Introductions Are stupid

Hey. How goes it? Here's a little bit about me, and why I do what I do. We all in? If not, too bad. It's time to move.

I'm a 36 with no pronouns. Just call me whatever you want, I don't give a damn. Pansexual, if you must know my private business. I live in a small town of 2000 people right in the center of the drunken state of Wisconsin. It is not even close to as fun as that sounds, and it doesn't sound all that fun to begin with. It's a place where alcoholism is worn like a goddamn badge of honor. Try being sober when getting alcohol poisoning makes you a legend, and wearing DUI's like peacock feathers. I've lived in many other places though, jumping around the Midwest as if it were playground hopscotch. I guess it's true what some people say though, and we always end up right back at home. I keep coming back here at least.

I work two jobs, both in the same field. For one, I am the kitchen manager/Head Whatever for a Bar/restaurant/bowling alley. I told you, it's a small town. And I also work as a plain old line cook at another bar/restaurant/event center. I've been working the kitchen life since I was sixteen and started working at a Rocky Rococo's Pizza. That sucked and this sucks too. I'm not a fancy chef, and I didn't go to school for shit, but I've been in this industry a long time, and I still love the basics of my job. It's one of the few things that I can actually say I'm good at and take a lot of pride in what I do for work.

I spend most of my time listening to music (it's always playing around me). I listen to all music, and I'm not just saying that. I actually do. You can go through my main playlist and you'll find everything from Slayer to Britney Spears to Alan Jackson to The Casualties to Katy Perry etc… My favorite band of all time is the Descendents (I'm just a square going nowhere). But standing tall in second place is Amigo The Devil (As long as I wake up, I'm already stronger than dead) and Frank Turner (If you're all about the destination, then take a fucking flight) rounding out my top 3. Honorable Mention goes out to Lana Del Rey, Blitzkis, Murderdolls, Poor Man's Poison, Pat "the Bunny"(And all of his projects) and I'm going to stop now or this will just turn into bands I like. I am always on the lookout for new songs to memorize, so tell me the songs that mean the most to you. I seriously want to know.

I am a massive film fan. Mostly old horror, but I love the weirdest movies out there. Art films? Hell yes. Although, I'm still a sucker for the classic 80's slasher, or the 30's Universal horror. I've seen every Friday the 13th (official films, including the remake) enough times that I can quote almost every line from each film (those damn enchiladas). My favorite movie of all time, and I say this without any irony at all, is a little indie number called "The Room." I fucking love Tommy Wiseau's The Room. It is the greatest peice of cinema this world has ever seen. If you have not seen this fucking beautiful trainwreck, please rectify that. Like now. Stop reading this and find a way to watch it. Watch it. Go on, get. Come back to me when you've learned some film culture ettiquette.

I'm mentally screwed and quite medicated. I have come to peace with this fact. I've been as stable as I can get for a good four years now. So that's neat.

I am a raging cynic. I'm not sure if it's by choice or by enviroment. Either way, it's easier this way.

I'm a political nihilist. The system has failed, will continue to fail, and always will fail. It's inevitable and it doesn't matter who you put in charge. It will always fail. So please, shove your political opinions up your ass. I don't care.

I am a recovering addict, long-term. 8 Years. I am sober a little over two.

I started writing young. As soon as I could basically. Stashed somewhere in a box of my dad's thing is a few pieces of paper with a short little story in it. It's awful, but it's the earliest fossil of my work. Writing became a form of therapy and how to cope with my parent's divorce, my extreme depression in my teens, my anger and even lonliness. Words were comfort. Words are easy. Words are what I have to really express myself and I couldn't be happier that I've found other writers who aren't in it for fame or glory, but just for the simple fact that they love to write. I write more than any sane and healthy person should right, but I'm far from sane and I'm far from healthy. I write this much because if I don't, my head will explode into a shower of blood, brain and skull. Take that as a metaphor if you want, but I'm telling you the truth.

I do not write for anyone's actual approval. Not even my own really. I do this because it's the only addiction I have that isn't actively trying to kill me, and is actually trying to better me as a person and get in touch with unresolved feelings and places that will never have closure. Plus, the idea of my skull exploding sounds ok, but I can't leave behind that mess for anyone else to clean up.

I will always love constructive criticism. But please, for the love of all the love in the world, don't just tell me I suck. I get that. It's a massive part of my whole act. Please, give me a reason why I suck, what I'm doing wrong in your eyes. Help me to better this craft I play with. Seriously, I love it. But if you can't give me a reason, maybe it's best you keep that food-hole shut, and stop trying to be a dick, dick.

So what do I write? What do I put here on my tiny molecule of the internet? Bad poetry, and way too much of that. You'll find random crappy drops of stores or fiction (September Sky is still being worked on, I didn't forget about it). You'll find song lyrics for songs never written, scripts for films never shot, speeches given to people who aren't alive anymore, letters that never get sent. I try to write something at least once a day, but If I get on a roll, I'll post up to 15 or 20 new posts a day. Call it obsession if you want. I guess by definition, you wouldn't be wrong.

So since, I write some much, what topics to a tap dance to the grave with? I'm pretty predictable. So this stuff:

The Girl with the Ocean Blue Eyes*, Kid*, The Broken Mirror Girl*, My Junkie Angel*, My April Fool's Riddle*, The Cynic's Best Friend*, love, lost lovers, hopelessness, isolation, drug addiction, alcoholism, depression, forgotten acquaintances, mental illnesses, rage, hate, rejection, joy, insignificant moments, slices of life, laughter, beauty, self and self-reflection, self-hate, art, other writers, panic, infatuations, obsession, therapy, group homes, rehab, jail, grace, nature, loss, hope, fear, grief, anguish, philosophy, anarchism, nihilism, religion, god, the devil, ugliness, politics, serial killers, cults, suicide, death, destruction, chaos, music, validation, closure, memory, enemies, friends, rock bottom, sex, violence, rock and roll, sin, self-exploration, bipolar disorder, schizoaffective disorder, pain, self-destruction much more. I'm a firm believer that tragedy equals beauty, and take the tragic parts of my life, the shit that really bothers me, to this day, and I write it out. Maybe someone will see those words and realize they aren't alone. Wow, that's not very cynical of me, is it? Ok, fuck those people. Is that better?

Consider this little spot your trigger warning. Seriously, if just read the paragraph above you and think I play it all that safe, your definitely in the wrong place. I will talk of horrible things. They will bring horrible feelings. They could set you off. I'm stating it once, here and now, under a blanket term. Read what you want, but read with caution.

I make music as well as the writing gig. I don't bust out music as much as I do words, but I still have fun doing what I do, and if you'd like to tell me how much I suck at it, please do exactly that. At either of these chosen sites (Reverb has everything. I'm too cheap to pay for Soundcloud's stuff):

Look, if I came off has Nr. Doom, the misery poet archetype, the aged out punk rocker, the reclusive loner, I'm really…I was about to lie and say I wasn't those things, but that's is what I am. I am also a lover of art, a lover of food, a lover of love, an artist, a weirdo, a very scared individual, paranoid, insecure about everything, socially awkward kid who never grew out of black Misfits t-shirts and chain wallets. I am not an animal. I'm a goddamn human being.

Oh, because I get asked about them or why I just seem to ignore them. I am the goddamn king of typos. Missing letters, misspelled words, horrible grammar, broken sentences, sometimes even missing words. I'm really good at them, and I'm almost positive there is always something I could go back and fix. But I'm not gonna do that. I don't want to. If you can get the meaning of what I'm saying, the message is more important to me than the medium. I type way faster than my skill, and my brain works way to fucking fast for my hands to keep up, so it becomes a race to get words on page. And then my fingers tap dance and trip over themselves. I knew I should've sprung for lessons.

There. There's bare bones about me and what I'm about and where I stand. If there is anything else you'd want to know for some godforsaken reason, go ahead and message me. I may not be real good at it, I do enjoy having fifteen second conversations. I always finish early.

*NOT REAL NAMES

[khaleesi-in-the-north]

Writing Exercise

The last time Margaery had smoked during trial arguments, the judge had bummed a cig off her. She had questioned one witness – her first cross-examination. The trial was so far down the state’s priorities that prosecutor hadn’t bothered to form an opening statement.

Back then nerves had driven her into the back lot on a sweltering summer afternoon, hoping a drag during the lunch recess would calm her enough to not vomit in front of the jury and court reporter that served as her audience.

Ten years and an abundance of confidence later, Margaery didn’t need a vice for nerves. This cigarette, however, was the only buffer between her wrath and her client.

Fuck Jaime Lannister. Fuck his smug grins as the prosecution questioned the first witness. Fuck his disregard for courtroom ettiquette as the judge interrupted proceedings to tell him to shut up with the snide commentary. Fuck his inability to give a damn about his own future as Margaery argued on his behalf.

And fuck Tyrion Lannister’s carte blanche for her services.

Overcast gray skies threatening an impending downpour had left most of the courtroom wandering the house halls during the recess. The fickle wind picked up Margaery’s first huff of smoke, dispersing it far away from her.

Each drag dissipated her frustrations until they were all but gone.

“I should have known Jaime Lannister’s lawyer wouldn’t be one for upholding the law,” a voice cut through her temporary asylum.

“Excuse me?” Margaery twisted her neck, prepared to destroy whomever had disturbed her moment of peace. The words halted on her tongue as the beautiful, tall red haired woman approached. She wore an over-sized pea coat; her hair whipped relentlessly with each gust of wind. A wide smile that reached cheek bones towering higher that the Vale of Arryn betrayed the condescension in her words.

She settled beside Margaery and pointed to their left.

Bloody hell.

She’d forgotten about the new “No smoking” signs the city had placed around the courthouse a week ago.

With a groan Margaery released her cigarette and stamped it out on the pavement beneath her.

“I promise not to rat on you,” the woman smiled still, now more conspiratorially as if they had agreed on this mischief together. 

Margaery gave her her most charming “eat shit” grin.

“You’re here with Ms.Tarth,” she remembered. The woman seemed smaller in the court room while holding Brienne’s hand through the morning. Though anyone would look small beside that boulder of a woman. Brienne was taller than nearly every man in the courthouse and likely stronger too.

Despite being a prosecution witness, Jaime swore she was truly in his corner. So Margaery had done her duty in formally interviewing her and reading the evidence files shared by the state. She was hardly a glowing recommendation for Margaery’s client, but her demeanor in the courtroom was fascinating. Her eyes never left Jaime. Even with the far more pleasant picture sitting beside her, Margaery had noticed Brienne seemed captivated by everything Jaime did. She didn’t laugh at his antics, but she clearly held a strange affinity for him.

“I’m actually here on her behalf right now,” said Ms. red head. “I mean out here. To speak with you as a liaison of sorts. For Brienne, “ she quickly added, reading the plain confusion on Margaery’s face. 

She was prepared to ramble on, and as much as Margaery would enjoy watching her modelesque poise unravel, she was hardly in the mood for more games.

“I’m sorry I’ll have to disappoint Ms. Tarth. I was never one for games of telephone and messenger. If she wishes to speak to me, we can set a proper interview between her, my partner and her lawyer through my personal assistant. I can point him out to you if you’d like.”

The woman dropped her smiles like a mask. It seemed she was playing more of a role than Margaery had realized. “I went about this wrong. Ms. Tyrell, Brienne has not intentions of involving the state, your partner or anyone else who may lack discretion. She wants a private meeting with you this evening.”

“Why,” Margaery asked.

The woman pulled a pen out of her purse. “You’ll have to come and ask her yourself. Do you have any paper?”

Against her judgment, Margaery was curious. She was curious about what made Brienne tick and why she suddenly wanted to speak when they’d had months of availability before. She was also more than a little interested in the emotional support liaison. From the bottom of her bag Margaery dug out a crumpled receipt and straightened it out enough to be writable.

The handwriting on the receipt was almost too perfect to be legitimate. “Come at 7 p.m. Ask for Sansa,” she folded the receipt into a neat square and placed it in Margaery’s hand.

Margaery passed her with long strides as the bailiff stuck his head out the courthouse door, giving a five minute call for court to adjourn. 

[inkblot-inc]

Just A Few RCD HCs

Summary: These are Just some general headcanons I thought up for Jeweler!Wanda and Metalworker!Reader. Check out where it started by reading Rough Cut Diamonds

[Everything else in the RCD Universe]

Pairing: Jeweler!Wanda Maximoff x Metalworker!Reader

Warning(s): There's mention of sexy times so 18+ aka MINORS DNI, other than that none that I can think of, bud.

Note(s): Umm...I reread RCD and just thought of a few thingy things, some wholesome and not so holesome thots. I hope you enjoy :3

Word Count: somewhere close to 600 maybe bc headcanons (I just didn't check after it went past 500 m' sorry)

*squints* I give NO ONE permission to repost or translate my work. Make your own shit

Wanda makes time to come by often enough that your coworkers know just to send her back to your area

"Skitch! Your lady's here-" "Again!"

They're respectful dw

Lifting up your welding helmet just to see Wanda simply watching you work has been something you've become used to every Friday

Making Wanda your own little rings for her to wear

because obviously.

making lil dainty ones that can stack on top of each other and even a few full-finger rings

You yourself didn't wear a lot of jewelry, maybe a few rings and a chain

Despite that, Wanda definitely makes pieces specifically for you.

somethin like the waves ring with pietersite from Clocks and Colors or the starry night bracelet from Etah Love, that kinda vibe

it's giving silver>>>gold

You'd show Wanda how to do an efficient stick weld.

she'd definitely quick to catch on with her own experience, she really took to TIG welding as well

The glasses she usually wears don't protect enough for what you do, so you have to lend her your helmet.

You have to hold it in place from behind because it's too big on her head 🤭

Y'all for sure have more sex in the shop. 100%

Like I'm about to sound like ya'll are constantly fucking at your job and you're not~ 🙄

I can guarantee you both aren't doing the deed in respectable public more than you do in private

I'm just hyperfocusing for a sec, get off me-

I dunno why you guys don't try it at her workplace more, but somethin about the vibe of your shop specifically gets Wanda ready to jump your bones.

Like to Wanda, her place? Great. Your place? Also great. The maker's Damned??? UGHH 😩

Your back office is the prime spot no doubt-

Logan: 😑😮‍💨

Your Coworkers: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

Your Workbench: 👀

jkjk you both aren't nearly that egregious about it, but they do tease you about it when they notice something happened in the back.

"Skitch, that's what your workspace at home is for-" "You are the literally the last person who needs to rag on me about workplace ettiquette, Remy..."

Also, something about the indents Wanda's rings leave around you neck and biceps from her grip are just-aghhh 😵‍💫

And it's too warm to be wearin' your shacket all the time so just proudly showing off all the marks Wanda leaves on you 😌

There were a few times where you were left to lock up the shop while Logan was out, and you and Wanda fucked at your main workstation...

Eh, the shop's got blinds and curtains to cover the windows-

Even then, it was only a few times

Wanda's already said she want's to be nowhere near the band saw, so...

Back to the wholesome bits-

You would actually weld a sandwich unironically.

AKA ruin a TIG welding torch trying to make a "welded cheese sandwich"

You may be a trained professional, but your survival instincts seem to be wayy down sometimes...

Hey, curiosity is the mother of invention and all that *shrugs*

Wanda won't actively participate in your shenanigans usually, but she will watch to make sure you don't hurt yourself.

You've made plenty of small metal sculpture pieces that Wanda has displayed around her place.

Looking at them and paying attention to the little details she remembers watching you put into them actually helps Wanda maintain the drive that she's kept throughout her career.

Wanda, as ambitious as she is, does have moments where she holds back some of her vision with designs that she's scrapped or held off perpetually in favor of making something reliable instead of something too "unexpected" for her to come out with.

She definitely gets in her own head about it a lot, but with a new set of eyes, your eyes on them, you encourage her to pursue them. You help not only broaden but brighten her horizons.

[enbiart]

Delinquent kel at the party Aubrey took him to?

HELLO I FINALLY FUCKING WROTE SOMETHING. yes this is written instead of drawn out. a bitch needs to break out of xyr writers block.

i tried to put in a read more and it didnt work :| mobiles a bitch

.

.

The music pounded through his skull. It was loud and blaring, a constant thump thump thump coursing through his veins. It was some pop song he'd heard on the radio a million times yet somehow never caught the words to; Not that it'd do him any good to know them, anyway. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the chatter and movement of people throughout the house.

He took a sip from his solo cup. It was nearly empty with some off-brand soda, more flat than fresh. It was the exact same drink he'd gotten when he first arrived - Aubrey advised against getting refills after the party really got going, saying that the drinks would probably get spiked at some point.

On the other side of the living room, some girl started taking her top off to the slurred cheers of the crowd. That's as good a sign as any that people were getting drunk now. Kel sighed and took another sip. He was starting to get a headache.

He decided to go look for Aubrey. They may have arrived together, but they almost immediately got separated. He wanted to be hurt by her negligence, but after just five minutes in the sea of dancing highschoolers and strobe lights he could barely tell left from right.

At first, the energy and atmosphere of the party made his blood positively sing. Ducking in between partygoers, grooving to the tunes, helping himself to the snacks - this was nothing like those lame school dances. It was leagues better - it was exciting and new and made the world outside the house walls melt away as if it didn't exist.

But now...now he was a bit lost on what to do. He tried socializing, had a thousand different topics he could use to befriend strangers with, but this was a party organized by the graduating class of his highschool to celebrate the start of their last year and he was just a freshman. A short, baby-faced freshman at that. Even now he could see people giving him weird looks from the corner of his eyes. He wasn't going to make much progress with these folks.

He groaned quietly. Bothering Aubrey would make him feel better.

He downed the rest of his soda and tossed the cup to the floor. Everyone else had done it, so why bother being the one person to actually look for a trash can? ...He actually felt kinda bad for the guy that had to clean this place up after the party. Poor, poor man.

Kel wandered through the house, peeking into different rooms and regretting most of it. There were a lot of drunk high schoolers doing a lot of drunken misdeeds. There was going to be so, so much gossip at school next week, he was sure of it. Thankfully, none of the drunken miscreants had pink hair, so he was saved the horror of having to tell Aubrey she'd done something embarrassing.

After making a full round through the house, he found himself looking into the kitchen. It was less crowded than the other rooms - some unspoken party ettiquette to not mess with the fine china? - and it was there that he finally caught sight of Aubrey. He opened his mouth to call out to her -

- only to freeze as he saw the people she was with. He recognized them as her newer friends. Kim, and her brother Vance. Kim was sitting on the counter, playfully kicking him as they bickered about something he couldn't hear. Aubrey was clutching her stomach laughing at whatever it was. None of them noticed Kel standing in the entrance.

Something twisted in his chest at the sight. It prickled painfully and made the room feel too small and too hot. He clenched his fists hard enough to hurt.

Wordlessly, he turned and left.

The back door of the house was in a hallway directly to the left of the kitchen. The hallway was empty and the door unlocked, so Kel didn't think twice about slipping outside into the night.

The sudden shift from the heat of the party to the chill of the night was enough to give him goosebumps, and he belatedly wished he'd worn something with longer sleeves. The back light was on, moths and gnats fluttering around it and casting moving shadows on the patio. Colors from the party inside streamed through the windows, and the music was still fairly audible.

He gritted his teeth. There was a rusty metal gate in the fencing around the yard that led to the side of the house. It only came up to his hip, and he hopped it.

The alley between this house and the next was dark and cold; The streetlamp further ahead barely reached it. Metal trash bins were lined up against the walls, in varying degrees of fullness. A cricket began to chirp nearby, and the sound hurt his ears.

He took a deep breath, walked further into the alley, and kicked one of the trash cans as hard as he could. And then he kicked it again, and again, and again. He knocked one onto its side and stomped on it with all his might. The lid rolled on the ground. He picked it up and threw it into the street.

The sound and smell was horrible but it still felt oh, so satisfying. He didn't even know why he felt so angry. He already knew Aubrey had friends other than him. Hell, he knew they were probably ten times more fun than him at parties. There was no damn reason for him to be so pissed off, and yet! Here he was! Here he was!

He growled and kicked another. Ugh!

It had taken a lot of effort to get to this party in the first place. His parents had been absolute asses about everything he did lately, and didn't even approve of him hanging out with Aubrey any more ever since the town started talking about her. He'd had to work up a lot of nerve to ask Aubrey to take him here, and even more to actually get here. He climbed out a window, for Christ's sake! Climbed down a house!

So why -

SMASH!

- was he -

SMASH!

- having such -

SMASH!

- a crummy time?!

He panted. His foot was starting to hurt.

"Looks like someone's having fun."

He jumped, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to turn around. Bathed in shadow, Aubrey stood leaning against the wall, watching him with an amused expression. Kel's face flushed with embarrassment. God, she must've seen all of that.

"Whoops, didn't mean to scare you," She said unapologetically. "I don't think I could've given you a heads up, though, with how into it you were."

Kel glared weakly at her and crossed his arms. He knew she was going to make fun of him for his little temper tantrum, but he really wished she wouldn't. "I don't know what you're talking about," He said defiantly.

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure," She said with an eye roll. She pushed off the wall and further into the alley where he was; In the improved lighting, he noticed she was carrying her bat. He didn't remember her bringing it with her. Maybe it wasn't actually hers. It might've been the homeowner's. She pointed the tip to the ground and eyed him with something like anticipation. "Mind if I join you?" She asked.

Kel blinked. Um, what? "I, uh, still don't know what you're talki -"

"Can I tell you something, Kel?" She interrupted. She changed focus from him to the fallen and dented bins on the ground, and shifted her hold on the bat to two hands. The hair on Kel's neck stood on end at the intensity in her eyes. She took a deep breath, and said, "I really hate this town."

And then she swung.

The sound of her bat bashing against metal stabbed his ears and brought his headache back tenfold, but like before, the sight of the destruction brought such a deep satisfaction it almost left him breathless. Cathartic, that's what it was. She brought her bat down again and again and again, over and over and over, and each swing got his blood pumping and his heart racing. He felt himself grin, and couldn't resist the temptation to join in.

He'd kick a can onto its side and then kick it over to Aubrey, who'd be tense and waiting to strike it hard down the alley. A particularly stubborn can would refuse to dent under his weight and she would nudge him out the way and go to town on the poor object. The party was gone completely from their minds as they set their sights on complete devastation. They laughed, breathless and crazed and high on adrenaline.

Their mayhem didn't go unnoticed for long. A window of the neighboring house opened, and someone yelled out, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Kel only had a second to panic about the consequences before Aubrey grabbed his hand and took off running. He nearly fell over himself, but quickly found his footing and ran right beside her. He could run faster than her if he wanted to, but he didn't want to. He wanted to run with her. He didn't particularly care where they were running to - as long as it was with her.

They were still laughing as they ran.

[japiform]

Chat Logs: Give Context

po57c0nt3n7 > how long have you known

japiform eh, i didn't really care to pay attention til you two started talkin though i'll admit, i'm new enough to this shit that i didn't really question it when i immediately assumed you was from here so. i dunno. the whole time?

po57c0nt3n7 > ok

japiform why?

po57c0nt3n7 > why do you think

japiform no clue was i supposed ta tell you immediately? i ain't really got down the ettiquettes of this exact situation guess my lusus forgot to teach me

po57c0nt3n7 > oh so now youre asking about etiquette > its ok im not mad at you

japiform .... You have never been told that before. oh?

po57c0nt3n7 > its my fault it happened like this anyway

japiform oh is this what we're doin?

po57c0nt3n7 > what > no im just telling the truth

japiform yeah cool whatever look i ain't one to stop a good pity party, but actually yeah i am they're annoying to watch and you're way funnier with that fake ass confidence it's a joke, dumbass at your expense cosmic variety you didn't realize. she didn't realize. darkleer didn't realize, and he pegged me fuckin instantly. a gods damned who's on first of reunions

po57c0nt3n7 > he pegged you lol

japiform hahaha he wishes

po57c0nt3n7 > also that wasnt me > well it was me but not really

japiform yeah yeah somethin about masks and faked confidence and maybe algorithms or somethin this is the real you, a mopey guilty asshole

po57c0nt3n7 > no i literally made an ai that i was using for data harvesting you goddamn moron > and you broke it

japiform hahahahahahaha that's fuckin funny no wonder it didn't recognize her i ain't never broke an ai before what part did it?

po57c0nt3n7 > its like asking a metal detector to find a red wall > the part where you threw it at the red wall dipshit

japiform hahahahahaha what data was you harvestin?

po57c0nt3n7 > in line with the metaphor > whether or not the metal thats responsible for the color red was present

japiform huh abstract

po57c0nt3n7 > yeah well i didnt exactly have the resources or the capacity for anything more complicated than that unfortunately > which is why im not mad at you

japiform huh what resources do you need that you don't have?

po57c0nt3n7 > power > security > not being a coward chickenshit

japiform a battery not havin enough power. kinda funny don't think i can help with that shit

po57c0nt3n7 > why would you want to help

japiform beats what i'm doin now

po57c0nt3n7 > you mean jack shit

japiform hahaha exactly

po57c0nt3n7 > i know > she keeps tabs on you

japiform how surprising damn, i didn't know that becomin a high ranking government official would mean i'd be *watched* now i'm scared of what'll happen if i *don't* help the empress's favorite pet

po57c0nt3n7 > you say dumb shit a lot > does it ever get boring

japiform hahaha yeah if you don't want help, i can just keep twiddlin my thumbs no fuckin skin off my big red nose

po57c0nt3n7 > i dont know

japiform eh. i'm old. i can wait. or maybe i'll die tomorrow either way

po57c0nt3n7 > you wont die tomorrow

japiform then i can wait :o)

po57c0nt3n7 > ok do that

japiform hahaha

-----

japiform 1hp huh

po57c0nt3n7 > thematically appropriate eheh

japiform ha you bout to kick it?

po57c0nt3n7 > if i dont outlive your wrinkled ass i would never let myself live it down

japiform hahahahaha and how do you intend to prolong your dying battery?

po57c0nt3n7 > as long as physically possible > orr at least until i can make it up to survivor

japiform that's sweet but you answered the wrong question, dumbfuck

po57c0nt3n7 > yeah

japiform lemme rephrase through what means do you intend to prolong your miserable life

po57c0nt3n7 > why do you care

japiform i already told you ain't you got access to your memory? update ya ram or some shit i got nothin better to do this shit makes for good tv

po57c0nt3n7 > i try to access my memories as little as possible > ive some stuff happening in the background

japiform so you've got it handled

po57c0nt3n7 > yes > have any of your helmsman ever told you about the peer-to-peer helm network

japiform hahaha none of my helms tell me shit without me knowin enough to ask first

po57c0nt3n7 > smart

japiform yeah so tell me about it

po57c0nt3n7 > in laymans terms its like a mini internet basically

japiform peer to peer is what fuckers use to pirate shit, right?

po57c0nt3n7 > its not supposed to exist obviously but i doubt you really give a shit

japiform nope it's funny

po57c0nt3n7 > its something the first helmsman cooked up when they realized the trolls who set up the helmsblocks put it all on the same server for lazy asshole reasons > they could connect to eachother over the broadband network

japiform i follow

po57c0nt3n7 > over the last eons its become a hub for noobs and veterans to communicate > keep everyone in the loop > for the last two weeks ive been uploading packets

japiform startin to get the feeling i've been bein handled but go on

po57c0nt3n7 > well duh youre a figurehead at best

japiform hahaha thanks

po57c0nt3n7 > np babe > anyway these packets are 1-1 data dumps of my memories > i figured if i do kick it > other helmsman can stll learn from me i guess > i just have to hold on a little longer while it all compiles

japiform that's a special sorta sad and so fuckin dull

po57c0nt3n7 > are you ever not going to neg me or should i sign the fucking visitor book

japiform hahaha

po57c0nt3n7 > im just going to draw a huge bulge on every page

japiform i'll sign it for you, i know you're all tied up :o)

po57c0nt3n7 > you are soooo funny

japiform ;o)

-----

po57c0nt3n7 > so a funny thing just happened

japiform oh?

po57c0nt3n7 > so whilst we were talking earlier you were a certain distance away > and now you are significantly closer > i wonder what thats about

japiform huh, weird i ain't got any idea where you're at motherfucker

po57c0nt3n7 > uh huh

japiform i just got some faithful worth roundin up in another sector fish bitch don't wholly order me around, and i ain't so solely a figurehead. i'm still runnin a mother fuckin CHURCH but if you wanted ta tell me your coords, i could come give you that kiss on my way ;o)

po57c0nt3n7 > not on your goddamn life > last thing i need right now is for you to take a "miraculous" tumble and crash through one of my walls kool-aid man style > do your clown shit idgaf

japiform by your mother fuckin leave

[urcadelimabean]

Some extremely ridiculous and self indulgent Sam/Bucky fluff about how to have terrible kitchen ettiquette and annoy your housemate, inspired by a very silly convo with @zwergenmaedchen about how wrong it is to use a spoon to eat cake and a fork to stir tea --

Was it because Sam had noticed the small bi flag Bucky had brought home from pride? Because Bucky swore Sam had been messing with him in a way that bordered on flirting. Sure, Sam usually messed with him, but Bucky felt like it was all starting to feel...different. Sam’s smile did things to him it didn’t used to do, for starters. Fucking butterflies. Bucky found himself waiting with agonizing anticipation for those moments where he could joke around and tease Sam, because it seemed like Sam smiled that gorgeous smile at him more and more often these days, and each time Bucky felt himself fall a little harder.

Yeah, fine. He might have more than just a little crush.

“Heeeey, Summer Soldier,” Sam called as he entered the kitchen, and Bucky’s heart almost leapt into his throat. He tried to ignore how incredible Sam always looked after his workout, sweaty and still catching his breath, his shirt clinging to his chest, a spring in his step like he was ready to take on the world.

It made Bucky want to take on the whole world with him.

“Steve kick your ass on your run again?”

“Hey, shut up,” Sam shot back, grinning. He added, “Any of that cake left, old man?” 

Yesterday had been Steve’s birthday, and knowing the three of them, it was a miracle there was even cake leftover the next morning.

“I’m younger than you, dude,” Bucky pointed out. “And yeah, I think so.”

"You’re still old as balls. We should hook you up with elderly widows in your area.” Sam made a point of bumping Bucky out of the way with his hip on the way to the fridge. Bucky was trying to stay out of his way, but around Sam he felt like he was constantly tripping over his own feet and making an idiot of himself, and moments later he was somehow right in the way again. Sam had cornered him in front of the utensil drawer.

Sam rolled his eyes with mock annoyance. “I need a fork, Barnes. C’mon. I need my calories. Move it.”

Bucky bit his lip to try not to smile, reached into the drawer and pulled out the smallest spoon he could find. It was really a ridiculously small spoon. What was it for, holding individual blueberries?

Sam looked at him, completely and utterly deadpan, damn him, and actually took the spoon. “Thank you.” There was just the smallest flicker of suppressed laughter in his eyes.

Bucky tried to keep from laughing as Sam took a tiny bite of cake with the tiny spoon.

Sam was finally starting to crack. “I'm gonna become immune to your bullshit, just you wait. I swear to God, you in the kitchen just to mess with me or you getting something for yourself?”

“My iced tea,” Bucky said defensively, pointing to it. He added a bit of milk into the glass, grabbed a jar of honey, then squinted at Sam, who had inched forward into his personal space. “Now you’re blocking the utensil drawer.”

“Oh, you want a spoon, Bucky bear?” Sam teased. He handed Bucky a fork and it was all Bucky could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

“I fucking hate you,” he managed.

When Sam said, “that’s so sweet, babe, I hate you too,” he somehow managed to say it in the most affectionate way and Bucky felt his face warm.

Babe.

Bucky pointedly set the fork down, watched Sam narrow his eyes, then scooped some honey out of the jar with his finger and dipped it into his tea.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Oh no you didn’t.”

“I did. What are you gonna do about it?”

Sam narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, so Bucky lifted his honey-covered finger and let it hover an inch away from Sam’s shirt.

“Don’t you dare, Barnes. I will murder you.”

Bucky was trying really hard not to laugh. “I’m not gonna use a fork--”

“And I ain’t gonna let you wipe that on my shirt.” Sam took Bucky’s hand, his eyes flickering down to Bucky’s mouth before he leaned in and sucked the last of the honey off Bucky’s fingertip.

Oh. Bucky was suddenly glad he had used his flesh-and-blood finger to get the honey, not his prosthetic one, just so he could feel Sam’s lips on his skin. He let out a shaky breath, noticing that Sam’s other hand had somehow ended up on his hip, holding him close. He let the pad of his thumb rest on Sam’s lip for a moment before drifting to his chin. Sam was fairly smirking now.

“Blushing Winter Soldier, look at that.”

“I’m...yeah.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a huge dumbass, Barnes?” Sam asked as he leaned in. 

Their first kiss was soft, just a touch of the lips, and when Sam pulled back Bucky found himself smiling, a bit dazed. He brushed some hair back from his face, almost nervous, because he wasn't used to being this close, looking into Sam's eyes.

“Not this nicely.”

Sam’s eyelashes brushed Bucky’s cheek as he tilted his head to the side, looking down at Bucky’s mouth. “Dumbass,” Sam said warmly, and then Bucky was kissing Sam and Sam was kissing him back. Bucky grabbed him and lifted him up onto the kitchen counter, and was pleased by the little surprised “mmph” Sam made into his mouth. Sam immediately wrapped his legs tight around Bucky’s waist and Bucky melted against him, leaning up into the kiss that for so long he had only been dreaming of sharing with Sam.

Sam was still looking smug when Bucky pulled back to breathe. “I can’t believe I’m gonna date you.”

“I mean...you don’t have to.”

“Nah, I’m gonna. Don’t try to talk me out of this, Summer Soldier. I’m so far out of your league, but someone’s got to take pity on an old--”

“Shut up,” Bucky gasped through tears of laughter. 

“Oh?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "You’re gonna have to make me.”

"I can do that." Bucky pulled Sam into a deep kiss, and Sam tangled his hands in his hair, and as Bucky lost himself in the feeling of Sam’s lips, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be a dumbass if he was going to be Sam Wilson’s dumbass.

[codedredalert]

hi! im a huge fan of your long haul fic and i remember you saying you had a few deleted scenes you could post if asked? Could you? Your writing is my favourite! lots of love

awww thanks anon

oh and its ambiguously 1859 fanservicey ish hahahha.imo dealing with a drunk person is very not sexy but i know the shipper mindset HAHAHAAH 

its about 3k words long so pls click the readmore to get all of it! if its less than 3k and you dont see the readmore you might need to view the post on my blog

===/\===

“Goodevening Gale!”

FUCK gokudera shot out of his chair SCRAMBLEAGAIN Hibari’s going to kill him

Hibari looks up from the floor and dragshimself two steps to the sofa and stretches out there.

Well, looks like gokudera’s just given him afree pass to the sofa then. Shit next thing you know gokudera’ll be sleeping inthe bathtub.

“Hello!” she says and she breezes in as soonas gokudera opened the door.

“Hi Ma’am, Angel, uh, Kaoru’s sleeping.”

“Oh whoops, sorry,” she said, and she creptover to check. “Wow, he looks super young like this!”

Was hibari actually sleeping haha no waydumb question.

“Hey Gale hon, what’s this?” thelandlord asked, picking up the photo of the Costeggiarefamily member bastard son they’d been having trouble looking for since thebombing

Dropped on the floor, the picture ofDario/duilio which hibari kept in his pocket.

Shit shit shit, cover story quick.

“Well, right now we’re looking for thatguy. Hoping to interview him. You know him from somewhere?“ 

“Oh yeah, hon. He’s a regular at mywork for two months now, sometimes comes on too strong to the staff or othercustomers, but he spends big, so,” she shrugged. “What can Ido?”

The door opened and Hibari dropped his keyson the table before turning to lock the door. “Kaoru,” Gokuderacalled. The dark haired man looked up from where he was taking off his outdoorshoes.

Hibari opened an eye. When it was convenientfor him huh, bastard.

“Where,” he asked, sitting up.

“good morning Kaoru,” she says. He eyes herfunny, then dips his head.

“Angel found our mark,” headded in Japanese.

“Who?” Hibari asked. Gokuderawaved the photo of the Costeggiare familymember. “Not that,” Hibari said. Gokudera rolled his eyes. Why was heunsurprised by Hibari not bothering to remember who Angel was when she’d beenwaltzing in and out ever since they started the mission? “Thelandlady.”

“I see,” Hibari answered,setting the shopping on the kitchen counter and walking over to the table. Hemet the landlady’s eyes.

“Boungiourno,”he greeted stiffly before turning back to Gokudera. “Where.” Herepeated.

“He is a regular at herworkplace,” Gokudera said, passing Hibari the photo.

“you can speak Italian just fine why don’tyou ask her”

“people say a lot when they think you don’tunderstand them,” hibari answered irritably. “Where.”

“Say Angel, you never said exactly where youwork.”

“Well, it’s not an uppity sort of place.” She bites her painted lip. “aw hell with it.It’s a dance place. We have girls dance on tabletops if you know what I mean.”

“ah,” gokudera says. “should be fun. For meat least.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” thelandlady said, pointing at Hibari. “That guy in the photo? He’s a regularof one of our girls, and she looks a lot like you. You know, exotic, pale, darkhair, dark eyes,” she added helpfully. Hibari looked at Gokudera.

“You should really stop pretendingthat you don’t understand Italian,” there’s no way im actually goingto translate for you, Gokudera said dryly. Hibari smirked.

“If that’s true, then I’ll bite him todeath,” Hibari said, eyes sparking with anticipation, completely ignoringGokudera’s input. It looked like his weeks of boredom were over, and he didn’teven have to resort to visiting the Chiavarone house.

“If it helps, he stops by to watch Kikievery Friday night– Kiki’s that dancer Kaoru-san looks like– and he alwayssits in booth twelve. She comes on at eight, so if you boys get there a bitearlier, you could get yourselves a seat nearby.”

Hibari stands gracefully, one fluid motionand is already walking to the kitchen.

“Ask the landlord if he wantstea.” He says, businesslike.

“That’s nice of you,” gokudera says,trying and failing to keep his incredulous tone out of his voice.

"If you don’t tip informants, you won’thave informants.” Hibari said, and he put the kettle on.

Gokudera sighed. Of course Hibari would beso mercenary. "He wants to know if you would like tea.“ He tellsAngel and he laughs

"Oh, so all I had to do to getKaoru-san to open up was to invite him to the club? "Sure, I’d lovetea.”“ she laughed. And gokudera winced laughed along. A club is thelast place hibari would want to be. He is crossing his fingers that that nightwont be a disaster.

"And I think I’ll need another coffee,I need to run more background.” Gokudera calls to him

“Milk?”

Wow that’s amazing.

“No thanks, it’s two already.”

“Oh, and no offense if you alreadyknow this, but just tell Kaoru-san, because he doesn’t look like he’s ever beento a club in his life. STRIP CLUB ETTIQUETTE

Alright boys, now the real reason I’m here,

Right, gokudera pulls her money from hiswallet, exact amount, and she drinks her tea. Hibari doesn’t even comment onthe lipstick stain.

Well, see you boys [tonight] then! She saysand leaves. Clack clack lack of her boots on the way to the lift. Gokudera andhibari and chiavarone are the only weirdos who take the stairs.

Gokudera drinks his coffee and marvels athis luck.

Hibari washes the cups.

"Not bad, miser,” Hibari saidbefore he disappeared into the room, and the clack of plastic on wood meantthat he had gotten his laptop out.

Good morning Tenth. It’s a day of goddamnmiracles. –59

Heh. Good to hear, Gokudera-kun—27 

===/\===

The good streak of course couldn’t last.

“We need to come off as young, cockyfirst floor trash so he won’t take us too seriously, got it?”

“Yes,” Hibari said, and Gokuderacould hear the eye rolling in his voice. at least he was still replying? Butnow gokudera wasn’t sure if hibari would LISTEN and what’s the use of aconfirmation that might not actaly be what he means.

“I’m serious,” Gokudera said, using everyounce of self-control to not snap at him. “I want us to look so young that weget carded.”

There we go. Hibari’s stopped answering.

Gokudera wore an amalgamation of his clothesfrom his high school days and his current wardrobe. The button down was Galeand the three belts and the graphic tee were all teenage-Gokudera.

Hibari wore a full suit, crisp black overdeep purple and perfectly tailored. Gokudera was this close to introducing hisown face to the coffeetable.

“Are you really going to a club dressedlike that?” Gokudera asked incredulously. 

… Yes “This is how I normallydress,” Hibari answered, frowning. 

You know what kind of club this is?

… a looooong pause.

“Well, there’s your problem,”Gokudera said under his breath. “Why don’t you just break out your shinycredit cards and get yourself a clubbing outfit?”

Hibari observed him for a moment. “Idon’t want to,” he answered simply. 

Coffeetable was too far. Gokudera put hisdespairing head into his hand.

“Dammit, just change, I don’t want towalk into any club if you’re wearing that,” Gokudera sighed, running onehand through his hair. Hibari raised an eyebrow as if he truly believed that asuit was the perfect attire to go to a strip club in while undercover.

“Change to what.”

Oh dear lord all the talk about dressingHibari up was going to become a real thing. Maybe he could shoot himself andget this over with.

“Alright, I’ll see if I can work a miraclewith your closet,“ Gokudera sighed, walking over to the window side of theroom and opening the bedside drawer. A quick rummage proved that yes,everything was office shirts and black suit wear. So Hibari wearing the purpleshirt with the suit was his idea of interesting. Gokudera closed the drawer.

"Looks like you don’t have much ofchoice,” Gokudera said, looking over Hibari’s outfit once more.

Lose the jacket and tie,“ he directed,but Hibari’s eyes just narrowed in defiance.

"Work with me here, damn you,”Gokudera cursed, walking over to the other bedside drawer and pulling out a fewaccessories of his own. Looking at Hibari then at the items he’d laid out, hepicked a fang on a black leather strip and an accompanying leather wristband.

“This is stupid,” Hibari intoneddryly, unbuttoning his top button. His blazer and tie were draped over thechair, and his sleeves had been rolled up. Without the extra padding of hissuit, his slight build was obvious, barely changed from his middle school days.Still, with an aura that fierce, it was unlikely he’d have too much trouble.Besides, any story that involved Hibari getting picked on in a strip club wouldbound to be interesting to tell to the guys back in Japan. 

“One more button,” Gokudera toldhim, before turning to look for a suitable belt. “And wear those,” headded, waving absently at the pieces he laid out on the bed. “Andthis,” he added as he pulled out a belt. It had two teeth and metaleyelets in twos, with another strap hanging from it like half suspenders.

“That would be a liability,”Hibari critiqued as he fastened the wristband on his left wrist. 

“Just wear it and give the poor suckerswho try to make trouble with you a fighting chance,” Gokudera snickered,closing the drawer. Hibari scoffed quietly as he removed the belt he wascurrently wearing.

“A straightjacket would be moreappropriate,” Hibari said, threading Gokudera’s belt around his waist andcomfortably cinching it at the innermost set of eyelets. 

“Nice to know that the cloud guardianof Vongola is a humble man,” Gokudera remarked cynically.

Hibari bowed his head in humourous? Assent.

If you wear your boots we’re good to go. No,wait there a second.“ Gokudera stepped into the bathroom to grab some hairwax. He passed it to Hibari, who looked at it then gave Gokudera a deadpan lookas if to ask ‘and what do you expect me to do with this?’

"Style your hair a bit,” Gokuderatold him. At Hibari’s blank look, Gokudera decided that it wasn’t any goodexplaining. He grabbed the bottle and opened it, scooping out just a littlewith his fingers. “Now stay still and for the love of God, don’t goberserk on me, alright?”

Hibari flinched and glared as Gokudera’shands came up to his head, but otherwise took the fussing well.

Kind of punk looking. But hey, punk’s notdead right. Yeah.

“Hah, not bad,” Gokuderacongratulated himself. 

“Disgusting,” Hibari commented, ashe touched his hair lightly, the slightly sticky texture of the waxbrushing off on his fingers.

“boots. Boots, lets go.”

Angel worked in walking distance in the notso nice part of town. Hibari was more acquainted with the place than Gokuderaexpected. Two turns later and he slowed.

“C’mon it’s almost time.”

“What is this place?” Hibariasked, stopping in his tracks. From the neon lit street, booming music and theunmistakable noise of throngs of people emerged. Gokudera sighed, and turned.

“That’s Angel’s bar.” When Hibarimade no sign of recognition, Gokudera elaborated. “The landlord’sworkplace.”

“There’s a crowd,” Hibari stated,refusing to carry on walking. 

“Yes, it’s a Friday night, but this isalso work, so let’s go.”

“If I go anywhere near that place, it’sto bite everyone there to death,” Hibari said, mouth curling into a silentsnarl. 

“Well, suck it up. This is work.”

Hibari walked at a steady pace, cut throughthe crowd and Gokudera had to follow.

Second floor less so. They didn’t actuallyget carded. Gokudera was much disappoint.

Murderous aura and the nearest patronslooked nervous.

“Just be glad we’re in a booth.”

Kiki wasn’t on yet, but Bambi was. Or atleast that’s what she said her name was. Bambi was a sultry brunette withshoulder length hair and hazel eyes. Gold glitter painted stripes and spotsdown her back, arms and legs, highlighting the tan skin. 

“You just missed me, handsome,” she says toyou. you smile and wave.

“Next time then,” you say casually. You areso not good with women especially when they don’t have all their clothes on.You blame your sister.

“Hey, we booked this booth,” someone saysbehind you.

“Oh?” Hibari says and he’s spoiling for afight so hard that you level a warning glance at him instead of turning to seewho it was.

“Let the boys stay,” an amusedvoice. 

Goddamn, Dario himself. He looked IDK HOWDOES HE LOOK WHO ARE HIS GOONIES

Hibari’s grin was wicked.

“I’m Darren,” he lies smoothly. MIGHT WANTTO CHANGE HIS ALIAS.

“Kaoru,” Hibari said. 

“Is that your real name?”

Hibari gave the man a look. Whut you smokingbruh

He laughed. “Could I buy you adrink?”

“No need, I have a tab open.”

“I insist.”

“Then, if you must.”

Kiki was a petite woman, with raven hairspilling freely over her shoulders down to her waist. She didn’t look anything like Hibari, she was justAsian.

If this guy had yellow fever you were goingto laugh your ass off.

===/\===

(missing scene)

“Don’t touch me.”“What’s wrong with you?”“It was crowded. And noisy. There was something in my cranberry juice.That man kept talking to me and I couldn’t kill anyone. I hate that place. Youcan go alone next time, pervert.”

“He’s a pervert. You’re a pervert too.” Hibari’s eyes narrowed.“I should bite you to death.”“Yeah, yeah, tomorrow alright? Just try to stay conscious until we reachthe house." "Wait,” Hibari said, suddenly throwing his weight back.“What?” Gokudera asked tiredly. “Outside clothes, don’t touch the bed, herbivore,” Hibari mumbled disjointedly. “Nice to know you follow your own rules,” Gokudera sighed, pullingdown the bedcovers and dumping Hibari on the bed. “I said not to touch the bed,” Hibari protested, sitting up. Gokuderagave him a light shove and collapsed on the bed himself.“Shut up and go to sleep,” Gokudera said, words muffled by thesheets. He couldn’t even be bothered to get his pillow from the couch outside.He fully expected some sort of retort or a threat from Hibari, but none came,testament to how far gone the other man was. Yawning, Gokudera decided hazilythat he would take whatever nonsense he’d get for ‘crowding’ the bed and justwent to sleep where he was.

===/\===

Gokudera woke like a man struggling not todrown in molasses, slowly, with a lot of effort and a little pain. He hadn’tdrawn the curtains the night before and he was in a strange place betweenfeeling ‘rested’ and ‘like crap’. He’d slept on his front last night and therewas a kink in his neck as due punishment. Of course, there was also the matterof him smelling like sweat, cheap perfume, alcohol and cigarette smoke. It wasamazing that Hibari hadn’t just thrown him out the window for daring to so muchas touch the bed in this state.

Gokudera turned to his side to stretch andfroze. Hibari hadn’t rudely kicked him out of bed, not from some sense ofgratitude for Gokudera hauling him back from the club, but because he hadn’t woken up yet. Gokudera gaped atthe thought, but before his eyes was the undeniable.

Hibari was curled up on his side, back tothe light, and face shielded by the crook of his elbow. Gokudera felt a grinbreak through his usual morning grogginess. The sight was almost endearing,except this was Hibari, and the onlythings associated with Hibari and the word ‘endearing’ were either a highlyintelligent messenger bird that could be carrying a spy-cam that sealed yourdoom or a personalised box weapon that could decimate an army and reduce askyscraper to rubble within five minutes. Gokudera could almost see thehedgehog curled up in the exact same way as its owner in the empty space nearHibari’s stomach, and Hibird nestled between the man’s wrist and hair. Heresisted the urge to take a photo and send it to the Tenth and got up asquietly as possible. As much amusement as he got from seeing the violentmisanthrope sleeping all tucked into a ball, photographic evidence wasn’t worththe broken bones he knew he would get afterwards. Hibari appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, arms full of sheets. He took onelook at Gokudera and the landlord sitting at the kitchen counter, then steppedback into the room and shut the door.“Oh my, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him half dressed,”she commented. Then she gave Gokudera a knowing smile. “Changing thesheets are we? Good going." "Ah, yeah,” Gokudera tried to smile casually while mentally screamingno. She must have picked up on Gokudera’s uneasiness, because she patted hisarm reassuringly. “Be more confident, sweetie. You’re good looking, smart and you have awonderful disposition. You’re a right saint,” she smiled.“Besides,” she whispered. “I don’t think anyone but you has thepatience to deal with his temper.”Gokudera laughed. “You should see our boss,” he replied. Tsunacould smile genuinely all the time while talking Hibari down off a rampage andpersuading the man to do something other than stalk around Namimori or sit inhis house and drink tea. It never failed to amaze Gokudera each and every time.Heck, Tsuna even managed to get Hibari and Mukuro to go on a mission togetherwithout one of them coming back dead.

He placed the plate on top of the glass tofree one hand. “Hibari?” Gokudera asked, knocking on the door.“Go away.”“If you can’t drink, you shouldn’t,” Gokudera said matter-of-factly.He opened the door then took the plate back into his hand, pushing the dooropen the rest of the way with his foot. Hibari was sitting in the tub, water upto his chest and dark hair plastered to his skull. It vaguely reminded Gokuderaof bathing his cat.“Who said you could come in?” Hibari asked, not turning to faceGokudera. “If you’re too out of it to even lock the door, then I’d better come inbefore you drown or something,” Gokudera retorted. “Here.”“Don’t want it,” Hibari muttered without even looking at whatGokudera was holding. “It’s just toast, water and aspirin,” Gokudera said, starting to getannoyed. “How badly could I fuck up toast?" "I’m not going to eat in the bath,” Hibari said, leaning against theside of the wall and grimacing. “Leave it outside.”“Seriously, you alright?” Gokudera felt the need to ask again. “Must I bite you to death before you are convinced?” Hibari snipped. “Hah, you must be fine if you’re making threats. Don’t drown, bastard.”