#i used to think that in my late twenties i'd have all this stuff figured out.....HAH

[irgendwiepoetisch]

why is there so little going on in my life that a simple crush on a person i barely know takes up so much space in my brain...why

[authenticmiya]

Boston - Chris Sturniolo x Reader

Summary - Based off of the song ‘Austin’ by Dasha. You were Highschool sweethearts and suddenly that all went away.

Words - 1.6k

Warnings - angst /small mention of alcohol

“We had a plan, move out of this town, baby

West to the sand, it's all we talked about lately

I'd pack the car, bring your guitar and jane for smokin'

First thing at dawn, you'd queue the songs and we'd get goin'

But you weren't home, waited on the porch for ya

Sat there alone, all throughout the morn' 'til I

Got a hunch down in my gut and snuck around the back

Empty cans and I'll be damned, your shit was never packed”

"We hit twenty five thousand subscribers baby." Chris declared excitedly as he burst into his room. You were just chilling, awaiting the finish of the triplets' filming.

"No fucking way!" Excitedly jumping up, he embraced you into his arms.

"I'm so proud of you." You whispered, treasuring the moment as their success was very evident.

"We're gonna be in LA sooner than you think." And that was the promise you knew he'd keep. The problem was, that sentence would have the worst outcome in the future.

"Wrap around porch with a puppy?" He nodded excitedly, oh the plans you guys had ready and waiting. They had been planned for the years you'd been together.

It wasn't unknown that being around the Sturniolo household was a daily ritual. You guys were known as the 'Highschool Sweethearts'. How cliché?

"YouTube is kicking off for us and so will your music Y/N." Chris couldn't stop embracing you, excitement yet anxiety filling both of you. That was potentially the most gut wrenching memory to think about. All of the empty promises and plans.

Just like that, a couple of months had gone by. The 'Highschool Sweethearts' seemingly both on board with the thought of going back and forth to LA. They had hit just short of 500k. You had a label willing to sign you in LA. It was all falling into place and before you knew it, the days were building up to the ultimate move across the states.

"I really hope you know what decisions you're making Y/N. I feel like this is all very overwhelming and too good to be true." Your best friend declared and you looked at her funnily.

"I'm not laughing, has Chris even replied to your last eight messages about your flight tomorrow?" And come to think of it, no he hadn't. But he was definitely just busy finalising his packing, wasn't he?

"I'm going to walk to their house after I add the finishing touches to my suitcases. I tried texting Matt but he's not answering either..." Your thinking face came on immediately but quickly faded when you thought there was nothing to worry about.

"He's definitely just sorting stuff out." You muttered.

"We've been together for nearly three years, I don't think he's having doubts." Defending him again.

"I never said anything about him having doubts, that's on you." And so she left you to your own device of figuring out what really was going on with your boyfriend. She wasn't angry, of course not. However, best friends - true best friends always have the better instinct on situations regarding those they care about.

With Travis Scott blasting through your AirPods, your walk to the Sturniolo household began. It was nearing 2pm. Their parents' cars weren't in the drive once you arrived but the minivan was. You had pre-warned quite literally all three of the triplets that you were on your way over, none replied but Chris had the audacity to leave it on read.

"I'm on your porch and you're ignoring me." Sadness suddenly waved across you. What was the real reason none of them were answering?

"Chris?" You knocked on the door. After a solid 45 minutes, your heart was practically hung. There was one last option, head around the back. What a terrible option to pick, you should've just made your way home.

"What the fuck?" Mixed cans of Pepsi, BUD Light and Dr Pepper pretty much everywhere and what sounded like a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in the back yard. What hurt the most was three very familiar voices could be heard, those of whom had ignored you all damn day.

The question was, do you or do you not go in and make your hurt known to all of them?

"Y/N?" Torn from your heartbroken thoughts, Nate noticed you were there and called you out in front of everyone. Making solid eye contact with Chris, he was like a deer in headlights.

"So, this is what you guys have been up to today?" You questioned, an eyebrow quirked in confusion. If it wasn't awkward before, it definitely was now.

"I wanted to call you-" Nick began but was cut short.

"Boys night." Chris stated.

"It's 2pm Chris, hardly a boys night."

"Well we're continuing this through the night." Why was he being so blunt?

"Are you guys all packed and ready for LA at least?" The colour drained from Nicks face, Matt remained silent and Chris was damn right being rude.

"Your shits not even packed?" Everything you were saying seemed to be going over his head.

"Stop fucking ignoring me Chris!" The band had snapped but you were the one breaking.

"Are we going as a team? A couple? A fucking pair of friends? Are we going together at all?" You deemed an answer.

"Jesus Christ Y/N, I can't do this with you anymore. We're gonna be social media influencers and you're gonna jet off on world tours. We've changed, it's not gonna work." Chris' words felt like venom. The cat really had your tongue. Not to forget that he had just called you out in front of everyone both you and him cared about.

"You can't be serious..." You're too strong to cry in front of him, surely you're too strong to cry in front of him.

"Deadly." He stated coldly.

"We might be on the same flight out there but we're not jetting off to the same life like we had here." His triplet brothers were always going to side with him but they had awfully guilty looks as they watched this whole scene unfold in front of them.

"That's it? You're just going to give up on us? You've not even made it to the West Coast and LA has already gotten to your head? What about the wrap around porch?" You didn't even have it in you to stay any longer, the tears were threatening to fall and that was enough to send you running home. Chris had a flash of sadness cover his face but he quickly subsided this, not wanting to let his 'guard' down.

"There's no way that's what just happened." Nick was out of words, confused by his brother and heartbroken for you, his so called best friend.

"Well it did, let's turn up the music."

That was the last you heard from all of them. Chris unfollowing you on Instagram just before boarding your shared flight. Of course without a secure clarification of whether you to were together but it was evident now. If LA was going to be the fresh start then hitting that big red block button was also on your list. You just couldn't do it.

In the studio, a few weeks later.

"Y/N you can take five if the chorus is too much." Your manager politely offered.

"This is the verse, the sealed deal, I'm not backing out of it." You'd gotten a bigger following in a short amount of time. Having one single already teased seemed to bring you lots of attention. Writing songs based on your personal experiences were becoming both a blessing and a curse.

“Did your boots stop workin'?

Did your truck break down?

Did you burn through money?

Did your ex find out?

Where there's a will, then there's a way

And I'm damn sure you lost it

Didn't even say goodbye

Just wish I knew what caused it

Was the whiskey flowin'?

Were you in a fight?

Did the nerves come get you?

What's your alibi?

I made my way back to LA

And that's where you'll be forgotten

In forty years you'll still be here

Drunk washed up in Boston”

You’d proudly gone over your chorus multiple times very well and without tears. The first time you’d written down the lyrics and actually sang them out loud was very different. The feelings and emotions of the situation with Chris really became a reality.

“Y/N, this is gonna be one hell of a fucking hit!” Your manager screeched. Reaching LA, your genre of music was solely gonna be based on your personal preference.

“Hell of a bluff, you had me believin'

How many months did you plan on leavin'?

What happened? Bad habits?

Did you go back? Go batshit?

I loved you, how tragic, oh-oh”

After wrapping up in the studio, you headed straight home. Thankfully you were successful in renting out a 2 bedroom apartment. Of course being in the upcoming limelight was a dream come true but deep down, it was lonely. Three people completely missing out on what would be your success. After a warm bath and some listening to snippets of your single, you couldn’t help but check up on the Sturniolo’s social media’s.

Very quickly, it was a deep regret. They were ‘happy’ and it hurt like hell. Why couldn’t you have all been happy together?

“Alexa why are you fucking playing Kelly Clarkson right now?” You grew emotional, bringing your kneels to your chest as you rested in the sofa.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.”

“Fuck you.” You muttered.

“Y/N, your song already had two million hits. They’re going to play it on the radio!” You were quick to burst into cheers and tears as your team surrounded you. Your manager silenced everyone and turned the radio up.

“Here we have the new and quite frankly, most requested upcoming artist. This is Boston by Y/N. Her song debuted just three days ago with her team telling us that she worked incredibly hard.” As the song played on the radio, it all became surreal. The small town Boston girl who had always dreamed about this, finally got her wish. One of the producers wrapped you into a hug as you began sobbing.

“You done it and you deserve it, here’s to Y/N!” That night, they had informed you that there was a party. This was all for you to celebrate not only your single, but your future to! Applying the final touches of mascara, your phone pinged.

Instagram

christophersturniolo sent you a message: Boston?

[apprenticestanheight]

you put the idea out there and now i cant stop thinking about it, any headcannons on how poly!chainshipping would go down?

Poly! Chainshipping headcanons

Hi!! I have had this idea on my brain for a while now and I posted the poll referencing it more than two weeks ago! If my memory serves right this came in around the time that the poll was posted, so I apologize for the wait--a lot of personal stuff has been going on as has planning for NaNoWriMo this month hasn't been the best in terms of my writing frequency lol.

Fic type- this is fluff mostly! Mentions of the bathroom trap, though

Warnings- mentions of smokes/smoking--the reader gets put into the trap due to a nicotine addiction in part so it's discussed a lot

Okay, so

the way that the three of you meet is through the bathroom trap--Lawrence is put there due to a lack of empathy and for cheating on his wife, Adam is put there because of his spying on people via photography, and you're there because of an innate sense of cynicism and hopelessness that's reflected through your personality and the way that you move through life coupled with a minor nicotine addiction.

Adam takes the cigarette when you all find them but you refuse despite the craving because all that Jigsaw had said in your regard was to let go of former vices and trust those around you--let yourself have hope and be optimistic.

Letting go of former vices was obviously in reference to your nicotine use, and you fought the cravings you were dealing with despite the fact that fending them away made you want to bite off your own hand.

in the end, as the story goes, Lawrence cut his own foot off. He told you and Adam that he would be back with help, and you had no choice but to trust him.

The following days were pretty bad--you and Adam would talk through the darkness, telling each other about your lives and reminding one another of Lawrences promise.

Eventually, John Kramer came around with one of his apprentices. They knocked you out with the top of the toilet, which Adam had used to kill Zep Hindle, and you were taken to separate hospitals in the Jersey area.

You give a statement to the police and book a hotel for a week--you were taken from your apartment and going back kind of stings, so you prolong the fact that you'll have to do so anyway.

In the week you stay at the hotel, your manager at work gives you paid time off rather than unpaid because you're traumatized and they feel guilty.

It's not a dampener on your paycheck, either, as they did something that's probably a little illegal and wrote off the shifts you missed in a way that still lets you get paid for those days.

You start going for walks and eventually wind up at the Jigsaw support group. You know Adam would find it stupid but Lawrence would probably appreciate it, and you know that a support system is what you need

even if the support system is made up of strangers, even if your trap is a hell of a lot more tame than some of theirs, it's still nice.

Lawrence ends up at the support group, and when you see him it's like your world completely flips over.

Adam also shows up that day and you're startled to realize your world has flipped over twice in under twenty minutes.

Your conversation goes something like this:

"Lawrence! I didn't expect to see you here--I've missed you lately, how've you been?" and then you look at Adam and you're like "You are the last person I thought I would see at a support group. I've missed you, though. A lot."

Lawrences response is "things aren't so great. Heard about this in the paper, figured I'd see what it's all about."

Adams response is: "Heard about it on the news. Thought I'd come around for some half decent free food, but seeing you guys again is a nice bonus."

And things just kind of...develop from there?? Afterwards Lawrence is like "let's grab a coffee--my treat!" and you and Adam both agree because you never thought you'd see him or each other again but holy fuck is it nice.

Things are a little stilted for a few weeks as you all develop feelings for one another. You're all distracted because you're deeply in love but haven't told one another yet and so the conversation comes and goes, but like--it's obvious from the get-go that you support each other and are consistent in that support.

After the trap, you decided to quit cigarettes cold turkey. A bit of a rash decision in hindsight, but Adam and Lawrence devise a system where they learn what your tells are when the cravings kick in and they do something to distract you instead.

Lawrences mode of distraction is to tell you about his day or, when the weather is cold, offer to go on walks.

You end up adopting a cat that you leash train. Adam finds that HILARIOUS because you genuinely take the cat outside on leash for a solid half hour once every few days. Lawrence even laughs a little to himself when he suggests a walk while the cravings are getting so bad that you're starting to shake because--

it's a cat. on a leash. Actively enjoying time outdoors. It's not the norm in Jersey so seeing it is kind of a spectacle.

Adams way of distracting you is like his love language--physical touch

especially after you've all confessed your feelings to each other and are actively romancing it up

Adam will pick up on one of your tells--grabbing the lighter you have and flicking it a few times is your biggest because the lighter is what you grabbed first, then you'd find your cigarettes and go out onto the porch for a bit.

Adam just kind of,, grabs the lighter from you while pressing a kiss to the side of your head and pockets it while saying that you're stronger than your addiction.

You give in because there's no point in fighting against him, let him smother you in kisses and affection instead while trying to avoid thinking about the fact that you'll have to go into work the next morning

There are two ends of the scale. Lawrence sits on one side of it while Adam sits on the other--Lawrence is a law abiding citizen who regularly makes a point out of sleeping eight or nine hours, makes sure he eats healthily and doesn't engage in anything like drinking or smokes too often.

Adam is the opposite--because he doesn't have insurance, he's not been to the doctor in quite some time (other than the trip post-trap, which he spent several hours contesting the bills for to get it down from nearly $7000 to $250) and he likes his cigarettes and takeaway food.

You are somewhere in the middle--you have insurance because you worked the mandatory 2000 hours and two years of work to become eligible so all of your current health records are up to date. However, like Adam, you had to spend several hours calling the right people and getting your charges reduced because there was no way you could afford $7000 in medical bills if you were paying it out of pocket. You don't really care enough to watch what you eat, so to speak (you, too, are a semi-regular enjoyer of takeaway but you monitor things like your hearts BPM and you try to avoid stuff that will just make living more difficult via health issue) and because of your addictions you avoid cigarettes vehemently but you don't mind things like weed or the occasional glass of brandy

It's like--Lawrence isn't chaotic at all. Adam has moments where he's chaos incarnate. You?? you bounce between neutrality and chaos somewhat infrequently.

Generally, though?? it's a very nice existence. You watch SO MANY SUNSETS together and you and Adam somehow convince Lawrence to smoke weed with you which is a fun experience

[sidhewrites]

Twelve!! Listen we are skipping an entire 3 scenes using the bracket method and I don't care, I wrote, I have written, I will write again. The chapter is also 90% Dialogue which will almost certainly be pared down in later versions, so it'll make up for it lol.

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[Josie suggests bringing renfield to the graveyard and holding their own seance, to recreate the ritual that summoned it and see who's haunting them, since weird stuff has been happening in the graveyard lately and at josie's home and nobody can figure out why. Eventually, Kaz lets herself get talked into it. or moreso strongarmed into it when she complains to lucy who thinks it's a great idea.]. kaz finds it completely ridiculous and shows up anyway

Note: possibly change ren to Kaz's kitty, and josie was going to drop thigns off at kaz's apartment and let him out?]

#

[Scene opens with Kaz and Lucy chatting at the graveyard, josie arrives]

"Who are you talking to?"

[What do you mean?

there's nobody there?]

"What? of course there is. She's right here. Josie, this is Lucy." I gesture vaguely.

[ha ha very funny. can we just get to work? the sooner we do, the sooner you can get rid of me.]

"Are you kidding? She's right here. Lucy, say something."

"Good evening?" she tries.

"Kaz, stop it. There's nobody there."

[and anyway at this point kaz realizes lucy's a ghost,]

"Wait you...actually can't see her, can you?"

Josie shrugs, exasperated.

"Uh... Lucy, how old are you?"

"Forever twenty-one."

"No, I mean...what year were you born?"

[1880s or whatever]

"You're being funny, right? Josie, she's being funny, right?"

Josie rolled her eyes. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you, there's nobody there."

"I'm not in the habit of lying," Lucy said.

I don't believe it. I mean -- she can't be, right? She's goth, and she's adorable and spooky, but she's not... She can't be... "You're a ghost, aren't you?"

"I am rather spectral inclined, yes."

"What's going on?" Josie asks. Her frustration has given way to a shocked confusion. "Kaz, who are you talking to?"

"Lucy. She's, uh...Lucy, what's your last name?"

She gives me a smile, either pleased that I've finally put two and two together, or irritated that it took so long. I can't quite tell which. "Blue."

"Shut up."

"I'd rather not."

"You're not Lucille Blue," I say.

"You're talking to Lucille Blue?" Josie asks.

"I always preferred Lucy, if I'm honest."

[Transition]

I'm honestly a little surprised to see it. Josie has never trusted spirit boards, much less an actual Ouija board. She's definitely too steeped in pop-culture. In her mind, not only do ghosts exist, but so do demons or malevolent spirits or whatever.

Oh.

Uh.

Hm.

I glance at Lucy, then back to Josie. I may have to put more groveling on my to-do list.

Reluctantly, I join Josie on the ground, sitting opposite her with the candles and Ouija board between us. Renfield's breathing is unusually quiet as he watches us from his bed.

[Uh Mrs. Blue can you sit over there?] She points to the empty spot to her left.

"Is that meant to be me?" Lucy asks.

"I think she prefers Lucy," I say, glancing over my shoulder.

"Right. Sorry. Uh, Lucy, can you...sit over there?"

Lucy does as instructed. This time, I notice there's no noise when she walks, nor does she seem to disturb the grass at all. I watch her skirts swish over the ground, but there's nothing to suggest she'd ever been there at all.

"And Kaz, you sit..." Josie gestures to the spot on her right.

I can't help but make a face for being pulled into something like this. But Lucy is sitting there smiling at me as prettily as ever, with her dress so black it almost looks like shadows in the night, that I force myself to swallow. "I'm gonna have to do a lot of existential exploration after this, aren't I?"

"I'm not going to say anything," Josie says, while her tone says more than enough.

When the two of us are settled, Josie looks over to the Carrier again, considering the mass of shadows within. Renfield is a skinny cat underneath his fluff, and he's squished himself as far back as possible, looking like a ball of blackness with two gleaming eyes reflecting the dim light outside.

"He okay?"

She nods weakly, and reaches over to unlatch the door and take up the lead attached to his little harness. "Come on, baby boy. Come out." She takes him out carefully and places him in the cat bed, expecting him to curl up and go to sleep like he normally does when confronted with a flat surface. Instead, however, he stands stock still like he doesn't know how to handle four legs. He watches his front paws, and takes a single step forward, off the bed and onto the grass.

She watches him consider the next placement of his foot, then look up and regard us three. His gaze lingers on Lucy, and begins stumbling directly over to her.

"Can he see me?" she asks with delight. "Hello, darling!"

"Where's he going?" Josie asks. "Is he going to Lucy?"

"I think so," I say.

But there's something wrong in how he walks -- something worse than usual. He's getting tangled up in his paws, missing steps. My worry grows, wondering if he's got a neurological issue, up until he stands upright. Suddenly Renfield appears much more confident in himself. His steps are awkward but more confident, and he fixes his eyes on Lucy. There's a focus there that hadn't been present in years. A single-mindedness towards...something that none of us understand.

Lucy reaches her hand out, and I wonder if she would be able to pet him. But once he's just barely out of her reach, his focus wavers. Renfield regains his usual wall-eyed expression, and falls back onto all fours. He regards the grass for a minute, sniffing the cold air, and meeps.

"I'm coming," Josie coos, and scoops him up. This time, when she deposits him back into the cat bed, he curls up like nothing happened. She scratches behind his ears until his wheezy purring fills the air, and she looks up at me.

I don't have anything witty to say.  Josie was right -- that was weird. I'd never seen anything like that from any animal before outside of scary movies. If that had been happening for a month now... I swallow around a lump of guilt in my throat. I should have believed her earlier.

"Josie...?"

She doesn't look at me for a moment. "Let's just get this over with so I can put him to bed."

Lucy and I watch helplessly as she sets up the rest of the scene. She [does stuff to set up. Pulling candles and ash and stuff from her bag,] and finally a pendulum -- a small crystal on the end of a silver chain.

"That's quite the toolkit," Lucy observes

"She prides on herself on being prepared."

Josie sits, holding up the pendulum and considering it. She's the one running the show tonight, but I really hope we don't have to sit here watching a shiny rock wiggle back and forth for an hour before doing something more fun.

"If she asks a question, I can't promise I won't tap it."

"You're evil."

"What?" Josie looks up. She must have decided against the pendulum, because she puts it away while looking between me and where she thinks Lucy's sitting. "Are you guys talking about something"

"No."

Lucy places a delicate hand over her heart, the picture of innocence. "It's extremely tempting to sabotage attempts to contact the deceased."

"Lucy-- wait." I run a few calculations in my head. "You're... you're the deceased. Right?"

"My body is enjoying an eternal rest, but my mind still yearns to wander."

"Right. Cool. So doesn't that mean... -- Josie, she likes to interfere with people's seances and stuff. Doesn't that mean ... Lucy, doesn't that mean you're just giving them a successful ghost encounter? If you're -- you know ... that?"

Josie nods. "That sounds right to me."

[But i'm just having a bit of fun, I'm not actually giving them a ghost encounter]

"No...Lucy..." I frown. "Josie can you pick up the pendulum?"

Josie does, confused.

"Okay now...ask a question."

"Like what?"

I gesture vaguely. "You know. Anything. Something you'd ask a ghost."

"Okay...?" She holds her hand out and balances the pendulum. "This is yes..." she starts, letting it swing one way. "This is no," she says, letting it swing the other. "Does anyone... want to talk to me?" She grimaces, looking to me for some sort of hint of what else to do.

I nod, then point at Lucy. "Okay, go touch the pendulum."

She doesn't.

For a moment, nobody moves. Then Lucy shrugs. "Well, now I don't want to!"

"Luce!"

"What's going on?" Josie asks.

"She's got stage fright."

"It's not stage fright!" Lucy frowns. "I simply... don't care for performing just to prove a point. I'm not going to tap a crystal because it can channel energy between worlds.  That's not how it works."

"No, you're going to go touch a shiny rock because other people thinks it channels energy between worlds. Please."

"What's going on?"

"I will not!" she protests, indignant.

A breeze shifts around us, swinging the pendulum and sending a shiver down my and Josie's spines.

It's a fight not to argue when Josie says, "Maybe another time."

Lucy nods.

She puts the pendulum down, and shifts uncertainly. "So, Missus Blue -- Lucille."

"Lucy," she says.

"Lucy," I say, so Josie can hear.

"Lucy. Right. I don't know how much Kaz told you, but we're recreating the Ouija board session from the Haunted Archivists video as best we can. Hopefully that will attract the attention of whoever they spoke to that night, since they thought it was you."

"It wasn't me," she confirms.

"It wasn't her," I reiterate.

"Right."

It's about time we get started.

Tag List

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter One, Part 7

"Come on, Let's go to my truck and we'll figure it out from there. Most likely somewhere close," she said as we walked out into the afternoon sun. A cool breeze blew past, causing my arms to get goosebumps. I shivered slightly. I didn't have a jacket or anything. Addison was wearing a denim jacket that looked as if it had seen much better days.

Without thinking, I took the books from her hands. It came naturally, and just like the right thing to do. In some ways, I still had a brain from an era long gone.

"You don't have to do that," Addison said with a smirk that could cure anyone's depression.

"I technically don't have to do anything," I came back with.

"Fair point, but still. I can carry my own stuff." For a second I couldn't figure out if she was seriously upset or not. Then she smiled.

"Chivalry may be dead, but I dress like a corpse," I said, deadpan, back.

She laughed loudly. It was brighter out because of it. "Alright, alright. You win, cadaver boy." And she looked at me with a real smile. A smile that shouted interest. A smile that I would do anything to see. A real full on smile. She really was beautiful. I know how redundant this is, but fuck off, this is my story.

I'd never actually been in the concrete box that was the parking garage. I never had a reason to. I didn't drive at all. So, I relied on public transit and my feet to get me where I was going. And my feet got used more than anything. I like walking. I like just jamming to music and wandering around the streets. And even with the risk of being mugged or shot, I loved late night wandering.

Addison led me up to a small maroon Ford truck. The thing had to have been from the late 90's. It didn't even have a CD player. Just a tape deck that Addison had put one of those tape to headphone jack things in it.

She unlocked the driver's door and pushed her seat forward. She turned around and took the books from my hand, tossing them behind the small space between the seats and the cab's end

"Thank you," she said as she climbed up into the driver's side. I just smiled and nodded, not having a witty or smart thing to say back to her. I went around the truck, hopping in the passenger side quickly. It was almost like, if I moved at a normal pace, she'd come to the realization she's hanging out with this strange scrawny fucking weirdo. It didn't make sense, that I'd get this lucky. Three fucking years. Three fucking years. How the fuck did it get me here?

Addison started the truck up, and music blasted both of us, making us jump. I only needed a second to recognize the song. It was the last few seconds of 'Pretty in a Casket' by Blitzkid.

"Hey, alright! I love Blitzkid," I exclaimed, excited not only because it's good music, but also by the fact Addison and I now had a common ground. Even it was just a simple band. Conversation grows from seeds planted. Not what falls from it.

"Me too!" Addison said over the music, before turning it down. She gave me another one of those smiles I keep talking about.

Addison backed out the spot she was in and made her way out of the garage. The street outside was quiet for the time of the day. Any other day, I'd be waiting at a crosswalk for fifteen or twenty minutes because, and say it with me, pedestrians don't matter.

"So did we decide where we're going?" I asked.

"I guess we'll just go to The Uptowner. It's a dive, but it's really close and it'll work." Addison said. So she must live around here then two. The Uptowner was a dive, but I liked this dive.

"Awesome, cool. I know the Uptowner. I saw Mischief Brew play there once."

"Oh cool. I wanted to see that but ended up working. Plus, it's really close to where I live."

"Same. It's only a two or three block for me. I live over on Booth."

"Oh neat. One of my friends lives on Booth. Maybe there your neighbor? I live over on Fratney. You know that Irish pub on Fratney?"

I shook my head. "Not really no. Basically anything on the other side of Center is unknown territory."

"So that's why I haven't seen your pink hair around."

"I'll have you know, it's Midnight Magenta."

[birdylion]

2, 4, 17 and 24 for the aro asks

Thanks for the asks, anon!

2. When did you first realise you were aro-spec?

Quite late because I didn't have the words for it for a long time, and getting there was complicated. I don't recall it with certainty, but I think I first thought about maybe being ace because clearly there was something unusual about my attraction. At some point I'd heard the word and its definition enough and that it just made sense for my life experience of, for example, mostly just ending up in friends with benefits situations and never wanting anything else out of it. So, mid-twenties, I guess?

edit: I just re-read a bunch of older stuff. I realised when I was very close friends with benefits with someone, with a commitment you could call queerplatonic, but definitely without romance or romantic feelings on either side. Other people kept telling me that I was in fact in a relationship and just didn't know it, and I was SO annoyed by that. That's when I started using the aro label.

4. What moments make you think, “Well, I’m definitely aro”

Well there's all the times when I'm bewildered by other people's amatonormative assumptions, about wanting to find a partner, about needing a partner, about what it means to be in a relationship, about what romantic partners can and can't do (like voice disagreement with their partner about how much they like the color of a wall).

There's Valentine's Day, which is just such a non-issue for me that I'm entirely bewildered how there can be such an industry around it. I used to be annoyed by it, but that was before I figured out I was aro. I was so frustrated that apparently it was so important and I didn't get it, but it made no sense, and that made me angry. Now I can just shrug and say it's not something in which I want to take part.

There's bound to be more, that's just what comes to mind.

17. How do you feel about sex/love songs?

First, what moves me most about music is the actual musical part, the melody and harmonies and rhythm etc. I only listen to the lyrics half the time. So I often don't notice unless I pay attention, but then I'm bored when every other song is about that. Human experiences are more than just romance. I'm sure "I want you but I can't have you" feels like something you have to cry out loud, but ... there's so much diversity in the human experience, aren't you bored to sing about romance all the time?

Sex/love songs that come to mind that deeply move me:

I'm you man, by Leonard Cohen (devotion)

Ready to call it love, by Mika (uncertainty about (queer) feelings and commitment)

Nothing else matters, by Metallica (deep trust between lovers)

Arguably sex/love songs:

You're my best friend, by Queen (look Deacon wrote it about his wife)

Songs about other topics, just for the fun of it:

Cats in the Cradle, by Harry Chapin (familial love and the passing of time)

Streets of London, by Ralph McTell (social misery)

Riez, by Stromae (starving artists)

The Islander, by Nightwish (being forgotten by the world, I guess)

For Good, from the musical Wicked (two people having changed each other for the better)

Gracias a la vida, by Mercedes Sosa (being grateful for your life)

Fade to Black, by Metallica (depression, suicidal ideation)

Eleanor Rigby, by the Beatles (lonely people)

Wanderlust, by Nightwish (wanderlust)

Fils de joie, by Stromae (how society treats sex workers)

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free, by Nina Simone (being able to be yourself)

I am what I am, by Gloria Gaynor (being yourself)

Friends will be friends, by Queen (friends being there for you and vice versa)

24. Best part of being aro?

Best part of identifying as aro is that I can do away with all the little excuses I found before for not dating or looking for relationships: I'm too busy with school/uni, I'm going abroad soon and it wouldn't be fair to start something now, etc. And internally, I feel just so much more chill about the whole thing now that I can just shed society's expectations and say 'no thank you' while still acknowledging that it is a thing that's important for others.

Best part of being aro is ... it seems other people are very stressed about romance, and I'm just not? Sure, I'm sometimes frustrated and feel alienated that others seem to live in such a different internal world than I do, but from what I see, I wouldn't want to think that much about dating and partnering up and being with someone just for the sake of being with someone. The best part of being aro is definitely that I had an easier time dissecting amatonormativity; it was easier for me to get there and I think that changes my life for the better, all in all. Alloromantic people can do that too, but I guess it's not as intuitive.

[frogsandfries]

I've bought sixty grams, about a quarter of a cup, of this color, Miyuki 15-152FR, for what it's worth. I've spent just over twenty-five dollars on this color alone. Also, I think that might be too much of this color, but I haven't even done the second outer piece, never mind the face or the tail.

In other news, I've also started designing a carousel. I'd like it to be functional with the horses going up and down, and two rows of horses. I don't know if that's ambitious or crazy or what. I just hope I can stick with this for a while. My mental health/neuro issues seem to be more powerful than my actual brain when it comes to my projects, but at the same time--

So there was this post on Reddit asking how people got into beading.

When I was extremely little, before I even started preschool, I lived with the woman who gave birth to me, and my first sister. I remember one day, seeing a bead loom in that woman's stuff and just.......I don't know how to describe it, but that may have been the first thing that I remember being...... entranced, fascinated, intrigued, curious, obsessed with. Obviously, I was not allowed or encouraged to interact with the bead loom. Beads slipped into the recesses of my brain for a while, until middle school. I don't know what it was, but I rediscovered beads and I was obsessed, but I was also stymied, frustrated. I couldn't figure out how to do much more than basic peyote stitch and tubes, and my parents were....... actually, now that I think back on it, I think they were actively getting in my way of figuring it out.

Then in college, I caught a whiff that there were people out there who made their own plushies, and I was so intrigued, but I had absolutely no time to figure it out at that time. Later, when I might have had time, I had to remind myself that I absolutely cannot have all the hobbies.

And now, here we are. I'm mashing two hobbies together, and squeezing in some other minor obsessions, like carousels.

Also, it is taking every last drop of willpower not to just bust out and buy this order of beads that has more Catbus brown, just so I can have my dumpster green.

Off on a slight tangent, I can't find the pins I was using to shorten my curtain. I was thinking about just sewing it into place. Either way, I'd really like to get some sound baffling going on in my office. It's far too echo-y for my taste. I think I know where my sewing needles are, but the dog was being crazy earlier.

Oh, speaking of the dog, so I don't know if I've mentioned:

My sister who is married with kids, her husband bought this blue heeler (?) from a backyard "breeder". The dog was for her. I guess he was threatening to kill him, so she gave the dog to our younger sister. Our parents watched the dog for a while, in the most maximally hands-off way possible 🙄

Anyway, he's apparently about a year and a half old. He's completely untrained. His fucking toenails are completely unkempt, so when he jumps on me, personally, I'd rather be climbed by a cat.

He's a fucking working dog.

I would never choose a dog to live in my home. My sister, who's supposed to be caring for the dog, was only even trying for our sister, and she's fucking busy. She has an insane commute, insane work hours, not to mention, a whole house, with utilities, a mortgage, four cats, four guinea pigs, a hedgehogs, an unknown number of rabbits that I guess our parents have also been "watching", and she wants to start a garden this late (?) in the season.

Anyway, she's going to take him to the shelter. I'm sure she feels even more guilty than I do, but it truly is for the best. He needs a family who is as high energy as he is, with either the space, the time or both, to train him and get him moving.

[sunbeamstress]

i struggled for a very long time to understand why i didn't want to make art.

it was such a mystery! some blind spot in my psyche i couldn't get a fix on.

"why haven't i drawn in months?"

"why am i sitting here playing video games? i still can barely draw hands"

"why don't i post my work online?"

"why haven't i started a webcomic yet? i wanted to over a decade ago"

why? why? why?

why was i torturing myself? all i could see in the back of my mind was my mother, seated in her armchair, the dated old phone stretching across the living room with her at the center of its web. she would always couch the phone against her cheek and shoulder and lay her knuckles against it for stability; her left hand - the one i use, myself - would reach for a pen and fill page after page of doodles into a notepad.

i remember beautiful filigree designs and landscapes and pretty flowers and sometimes an instance of something lovely in the faces of her husband or her children, captured on paper without her even having to think about it. entire worlds spilling out of her fingertips while her mind was occupied with other things.

but she stopped.

she can't draw, now. she no longer has the talent. she used to beg me to sing because my voice was a gift to god, but she had a gift from god and she left it in a dumpster. these days i don't believe in god, and i don't believe in my mother, either.

in a circumspect way i'm grateful to her for this. i'd think about her every time i picked up a pencil. this unforgivable act of waste, in my eyes, was a fire under my ass that kept my hand moving. it gives me pleasure to admit, with honesty, that while i rarely sketch or paint, i only ever seem to get better at it. to this day, i'm not half bad. in my late thirties, i'm at a skill level that i was seeing out of the very most gifted artists in their mid-twenties.

but isn't that a silly way of looking at it? "i'm 37, and i draw at least as well as a really good 24 year old". what nonsense is this? this is the sort of invasive thing that likes to run amok in my head. what sense does it make to compare myself like we're talking shonen manga power levels? why am i racing other artists? why do i have to compete?

it took me a very long time to realize that Competition Itself had supplanted what i loved about art. it wasn't something i did consciously; it just sort of happened when i was in my late teens, my early adult years, and the internet's artistic community had exploded, a detailed landscape peppered with talented people, all with their own gifts from god, gleaming and gilded and razor-edged. they were doing things i'd never imagined. they were making comics and putting their work in indie video games. they were doing animations in flash. holy shit - they were making porn! this might sound quaint to you, O reader, but by internet standards i'm what you call an "old-ass bitch" and in those days, this was pretty novel.

god, i wanted what they had so bad. i wanted a webcomic. i was going to call it "Absolute Vertigo", whatever that meant, and it would have been garbage, but i didn't care. i wanted "Absolute Vertigo by <SCREEN NAME>" at the top of a kitschy website and i wanted people to gush about how cool it was and put it into their RSS feeds and--

this was the beginning of the end, in many ways. i really wasn't cut out for competition. it would take a really long time to figure this out. my peers were putting out improbably cool stuff and i felt like i was flagging. i didn't realize it yet, but the internal language i was using to talk to myself about art was changing. suddenly i was "worse" or "better" than other artists. suddenly they were "doing more" or being more "successful" than me.

art had become a commodity.

it's wild how this sort of mindset can take a mind of its own, can build its own character, can work its way deeper into your brain. at first art was discouraging - it was this thing my mother was good at but neglected. it was this thing i felt like i was worse at than everyone else. but then it became depressing. Art, this platonic ideal of it, this idea of it in the abstract, was turning into a weapon i was using to torture myself. reader, you have no idea how many nights i couldn't sleep. to merely ideate failure was to hurl myself back through time, back to the moment i realized my mother had given up.

"why haven't i drawn in months?"

"why am i sitting here playing video games? i still can barely draw hands"

"why don't i post my work online?"

"why haven't i started a webcomic yet? i wanted to over a decade ago"

i didn't have an answer for these questions, but still they were there. they weren't important or meaningful questions, they were tools i used to torture myself. i was supposed to improve for the sake of improvement, and to enjoy art as an act of pure creation, but instead it was a hammer i would hit myself over the head with because i wasn't doing it good enough. crazy how you can talk about your own talent the way you can talk about a dead-end job.

looking back now, it's astounding that i didn't understand all of this. it seems to make so much more sense. i've always had stories and characters floating around in my head - it's literally my favorite pastime - but it took me a very long, very painful time to realize that having stories and having characters doesn't mean you're a failure if you don't immediately march to the nearest sketchbook and jot them down.

the gift of art does not obligate you to produce it. if you cast it aside, the world isn't made better or worse.

your art exists for you. it should please you, should bring a smile to your face or evoke feelings you don't dare face on your own. art should help you work through trauma. it should express when you're happy. art is a frame for the picture of you.

it should even be okay to let it go.

it's going to take me a long time to forgive my mother. but i think i understand her a little better.

[mid-student-hannah]

ok SO I'm gonna expand on this later but basically posting htis now tupos and all so that I don't forget.

I need to average 10 hours a unit a week. that's 40 hours study a week including classes. This is not something I got when I was studying before and that was in part bc I went 'well... gotta Study All Day' and then simply didn't. So I need more structure.

I work decently with half hour blocks, more so than 25 minutes I think. If I can get myself to focus it works well. (I need to expermient with self-medicating with caffiene, honestly, maybe try energy drinks as well - anything that I can figure out that might help, even if a placebo efect.) This means I need to average - anyway, I did figures earlier today and they came down to if I try and aim for 15 blocks a day, which gives a bit of leeway if I'm planning on studying six days a wekk give or take. Hence if I aim for 8-10 blocks in the morning (assuming studying at home and no classes) and the remaining 5-7 in the afternoon (ideally I'd then get the evening off). Classes of course are included in this. I haven't looked up time for commuting from my planned residence. Depending on how long the commute is I might go in to uni to study even when I'm not classes.

Need to look up when there are assignemtns and also work out the whole taking notes situation. Basically I would need ideally to make a list of these are the things I have to do everyday and the things I ought to do (there is a difference). I want to try the whole pull a random task out of a hat thing too, a combination of that and also what do I want to do. I need fun things in there too.

Ideally I need to hit the various food targets I have (gradually assembling an additional-to-meals plan as time goes by, and trying to get a better idea of portion sizes; this is daunting but I need to figure it out beforehand or it won't happen I know that).

I need to get work of some kind I think but that's not something I want to deal with just yet. I need to look at how much classes I have also. Honestly I'd consider trying to go back to my old job briefly even though it's not very fulfilling in terms of experience or career. Anyway.

I want to keep up with my hobbies as best I can. Need to set up stuff for art, like plan out things so that I can work on that without too much brain required at least to some extent if I just wnat to art without thinking. Probably want to pull my stories into places where I can be doing smth with them every day or every couple of days, somehow. I ought to go walking every day. Honestly vaguely considering getting an exercise bike or something because then I can read/listen to audiobooks for uni while still exercising I dunno. Could turn into bad fueling ED tho. Then again I think it's very likely I'm gonna relapse to a greater or lesser extent bc of uni. With whatever bad coping mechanism/s. Need to look further into electric pianos so that I can play piano whenever as a stress reliever. All of these things are dealing with stress ina healthy way. That's the worst for me I think. Also photography helps and helps me ot feel like I'm doing something good and useful.

Need good sleep schedule. I'm thinking of trying to end up with nine hours sleep time, which includes tucking self into bed and also more pertinently Ransom. Gives leeway for terrible sleeping at times too. Not getting enough rn both bc brain won't switch off and also bc I keep going to bed too late for the hour. Like rn even if I slept right now I'd get seven hours twenty minutes bc my alarm goes early.

But yeah I need to work out something more structured with studying or whatever. need to look up my units too to figure these things out. I need to have textbooks and I need to read them. I didn't really last semester and that was a mistake. And I need to figure out how to take notes. Possibly brother's graphics tablet will help. Maybe look at getting a ReMarkable if I can see one for cheap somewhere. Need to practise handwriting in whatever form too because yeah that's a problem.

I need to figure out something to do with various problems that consume my brainspace. A bunch of htem were more repressed bc of giving in to ED and now they're louder again bc I'm in recovery.

I'd also have to work out how to take care of Ransom while I'm away at uni during the day. He's also a stress reliever too.

I don't know how accommodations for mental health problems work there either but I need to get accommodations I think (talk to psych).

Structure is good for me but I need to make sure it's not something that will make things worse and make me overwhelmed also. Need to give myself enough downtime so that I can cope. Anyhow things as they were last year didn't work, and if anything my mental health is significantly worse than it was then, even though in some ways it's improved.

Need to go back to doctor so I can pursue ADHD diagnosis stuff too. That was supposed to happen this year. It. Didn't.

I need to find an app that I can use to record the time blocks in some way. Maybe on my phone so I can have it next to me. I'll need to have some kind of time lock on Discord I think and maybe tumblr even though I want to be using this sideblog or stuff. Then again I can post from my backup account perhaps if I sign out of my main, since I have all my sideblogs shared with it. I dunno. Thoughts be thoughtsing. Also this is way longer than I intended. Maybe I shall come back and edit or add to it and put in dot points.

Gonna ramble about my units soon tho once I've looked them up and all. Also gotta check with student connect. Am I repeating myself? who knows.

[slippyandthelandsharks]

[Entry #1]

Hi Journal,

Is that how you start these things? "Hi Journal"? I haven't had a diary since I was probably twelve, and that's what this basically is, except I'm trying to be a little manlier about it. Except, you know. Butcher?

Anyway, given that Perry just told me my memories can't be trusted, I figured I'd pick up one of these things and a quill because I heard somewhere that writing things down helps with memory. I don't remember who, but it's for actual I didn't think it was important to remember reasons, not somebody put arcane locks on my brain reasons.

Before I get ahead of myself, lemme just give you the run-down of the team here, Journal.

First there's Trinity, who I feel is our leader? I dunno—I've never really seen a team with a bard leader, but she did run, like, twenty miles and somehow talked us all into doing a circus act once, so I'm not gonna question her. Not that I don't trust her. I close-to-trust her. Trinity's like a cross between Adelaide and Gale, I think. Like, she's a lot, I can tell, but she's good. Heart of gold, the sort of person you just want to do stuff for. In other words, I'm glad somebody's got the ability to round us all up and make us do things as one big unit, because I sure as hell can't. That was Gale's job.

Then there's Zaa, this artificer who . . . you know, I admit Zaa's not someone I know all too well. They don't say much. Or she? I think? I just realized I never asked, but either way, Zaa's not bad. I appreciate anyone who's down-to-earth and punches things hard. You're far less likely to get in trouble that way. But then again, from what I understand, you need to be smart to be an artificer with all your fingers accounted for, so I think that stands to reason that Zaa's got a good head on their (her?) shoulders. Also, they were part of a circus at one point? So that's neat.

Third's Perry, our resident wizard, and I admit I wasn't fair to him at first because I was just nearly flambed at sea by a dumbass wizard when I met him. (Long story.) The fact that one of Perry's hobbies was swan-diving off crows' nests did not help matters. (Probably shorter story but still not worth telling.) But last night, we had a bit of a heart-to-heart because he was the only one left to invite out for a drink (not as long of a story but still a tangent), and I realized that he's probably the one person in this party I could come the closest to fully trusting. I mean, he's still right; it's a bad idea to trust anyone fully, especially given my mission and all, but Perry's actually got a good head on his shoulders. And it's nice to know I can come to him and do something like let him read my mind, and the most he does is give me sage words of advice, not turn me in to our guild leader Sori or something. Turns out, he's just eccentric, not an idiot with a death wish. Maybe it's a wizard thing.

Fourth's Ophi, a monk who came from this peaceful-sounding monastery somewhere out in the country. Really did sound like a nice place to hang up one's hat after a long adventure. And it must've been nice to turn out someone like Ophi. Soft-spoken, little sisterly, never would've thought she could throw punches like that just by looking at her. In a lot of ways, she reminds me of Luka. I don't really get the feeling she's been traumatized by the sorts of things you see when you adventure for a long time, and I almost want to take her under my wing and protect her because of that, except that would be demeaning. Luka certainly hated it when I tried to do that. Anyway, she's been hanging out with the next member of our party a lot lately, and on the one hand, that means she's got someone looking out for her, but on the other . . .

Okay, so I admit I have no idea what the short one's name is. I'm pretty sure they told me at some point, but the first time around, they were all ghost-like and I was a little freaked out (long story again), and the second, my dead wizard friend was standing in front of me (another long story). I've been calling them Bob this entire time, because I feel like if they found out I'd called them something like "the short one," they'd deck me. Anyway, Bob's . . . a lot. Loud, impulsive, will absolutely mouth off to the fae if given the chance—I once watched them steal a bowl of candy directly from a shopkeeper who was beaming words into our heads. While they were watching. Perry's just graduated from Most Likely to Get Us All Killed with Antics because I'm pretty sure if anyone's gonna do it, it's Bob. This isn't to say I don't like Bob. I mean, to be fair, they have good opinions when it comes to whether or not we should trust the random being who openly admits to working for the fae. But the point is I don't know much about Bob, and what I do know involved terrible decisions.

(Which I realize Sori would say is rich coming from me, but hey.)

Tangents aside, that's about it for the fighting members of our little crew. Then there's the seventh member, Slippy, who's this weird little blob that we carry around for some reason. It's sentient and telepathic and incredibly excited to be alive, and honestly, I shouldn't be surprised by anything at this point.

Anyway, that's us. We're Slippy and the Landsharks. We beat up giant crabs, tentacle beasts, and robots for fun and profit. We also incidentally are collectors of these weird reality-warping artifacts, just incidentally.

This team is the best hope I've got, and I have no idea how to feel about this.

[kiridarling]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

[drc00l4tt4]

Had an idea, went with it. This isn't a second part to my previous one, but it is a shortstory for Melvinborg trynna be lovey <3

Tommy is off his rocker again making Melvinborg x Reader stuff 🤘😎 (This'll be in the reader's POV btw)

The Café Down the Street

(Melvinborg x Reader)

You paced around your livingroom, thinking on how you were going to pull this off. What were you attempting to pull off? Well, you had managed to snag a date with the one and only Melvinborg, and you wanted to help him feel comfortable around you. Admittedly, it's been more difficult than you expected.

He has trust issues to the brim and had formed a habit of being cold and distant, making it hard for anyone to actually become friends with him- let alone date him. You still had no idea how you managed that, but should you really question it?

With a sigh, you stopped your pacing, picking up your phone from your coffee table to look at the time. Only twenty more minutes until you'd have to meet him, and you were beyond unprepared. Yet you managed to stay confident in yourself and began to finalize your appearance before heading out.

Your mind raced with thoughts as you walked to the Café you had invited him to. It was close enough not to need a car- at least for you it was. You honestly had no clue where Melvinborg lived, you'd have to ask him later.

Before long you had entered the Café, the bell above the door letting out a soft 'ding' as you opened and closed the door, walking inside. You spoke to the waitress at the front before finding a place to sit, deciding against ordering anything until Melvinborg had shown up.

Would he even show up? You didn't take him as the type to backout unannounced- especially to an event like this that he could brag about (after being single for so long, you were certain he'd rub it in his coworkers' faces that he finally had someone). Albeit as time went on, you got more and more anxious.

Luckily, five minutes after the scheduled time, he had shown up, seemingly rushed and out of breath. You weren't sure what had happened to make him late, but it definitely wasn't something small considering he has never been late to anything without proper cause.

Melvinborg ran his fingers through his hair as he glanced around the Café before his gaze landed on you. He seemed to sigh in relief as he walked over, sitting infront of you in a straight posture (as expected).

"I'm assuming you're wondering why I'm late?" He questioned, noticing how you were silently thinking to yourself and nearly zoning out. "Hm? Oh, yes- What happened? I'm not mad, not at all, but you worried me." You responded after fully zoning back in, inching your hand towards his on the table (though he retracted his hand ever so slightly as the tips of your fingers grazed it).

He waved his hands around in an animated fashion as he spoke, "I expected as much. It was nothing important, my car broke again and I figured it'd be easier to walk here instead of fixing the car for the fifth time." He seemed to glare at the table before muttering, "I shouldn't even trust the car anyway."

You knew full well how he felt about using that car. If it weren't for him being so neglectful about himself, he probably would've bought a new one by now, but he was insistent on fixing the one that crashed because it was 'salvageable'. You disagreed but there wasn't a way you could win in an argument against him.

"I could've used mine, Melvin," You stated, "Besides, don't you live quite a bit away? How far did you run from?" You asked, seeing him look at you with an unsure stare before answering, "I only drove the car a few feet away from my house before it broke again, so I'd say I walked about six and one third miles."

You gave him a concerned stare and he sighed, "(Y/N), it's fine. I need to be more mobile anyway, the doctors said so. I was just doing what they wanted, that's all." He said rather dismissively, but he had ran over six miles in less than six minutes and that was concerning to you.

You had opened your mouth to argue but didn't manage to say anything, as one of the waitresses had came up to the table for your orders. You ordered your favorite pastry and preferred beverage while Melvinborg ordered a blueberry muffin and tea. Once that was done, the waitress left and your attention was back on Melvinborg as his attention was on you.

"Just-" You hesitated, reaching your hand out to hold his human one as you continued, "Don't strain yourself, alright? I know you're always perfect and don't want to show any flaws, but you need to take care of yourself."

Melvinborg just stared at you for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face as his hand stayed relaxed while you held it. Eventually, he held your hand back, his face changing to a soft glance as he looked up at you.

"You know I can't promise that." He said, letting out a small huff that symbolized a sort of laugh. You gave him a reassuring smile as you responded, "I do, I know. Could you at least try? I could help you, you know."

He let out an audible chuckle at that, "(Y/N), you couldn't help a fly if you tried, you definitely can't help me." His hold on your hand tightened slightly as he continued in a lower tone, "Especially not with something like this."

"I can try, though." You said before leaning over to peck his human cheek with a kiss, adding on, "A bit of faith never hurt anyone."

Melvinborg seemed to freeze up for a second, his face ever so slightly tinted pink as he looked at you. It took nearly a full minute for him to unfreeze from whatever trance that kiss had put him in, responding with, "I think the word your looking for is denial, but believe what you want, (Y/N)."

Shortly after, the waitress had come back with your orders and placed them swiftly onto the table before leaving once again. Wordlessly you and Melvinborg had began eating your food, the both of you glancing up at each other on occasion without saying anything (afterall, you both had food in your mouths).

As you began drinking your beverage, having finished your food, you took a glance out the window. More time had passed than you expected, as you could see the sun lowering ever so slightly. It definitely wasn't late, but you had indeed been there longer than you thought.

You looked back at Melvinborg as he took a sip of his tea. "Should we be heading out? I feel like we just set a record for 'longest date at a Café'." You asked, giving a light chuckle at the end of your statement.

Melvinborg glanced out the window before looking back at you, setting his beverage down before speaking, "Eh, probably. I wouldn't say we've been here that long, but it's definitely been a while."

You set down money to pay for the meal, though Melvinborg had quickly also put down money for the meal. The two of you shared a glance before chuckling a bit, deciding to split the bill half and half.

"We should do this again," You suggested as you both exited the Café, you then added, "Maybe I'll pick you up next time." Melvinborg rolled his eyes but you could see the smile on his face as he spoke, "Whatever makes you happy, (Y/N)."

"Well you make me happy." You blurted out, Melvinborg's face turning a light shade of pink as he processed what you'd said. "Oh don't get mushy on me now," He huffed, crossing his arms as he forced a frown on his face (you knew what his actual frowns looked like, and that wasn't one of them).

You let out a faint chuckle as you wrapped your arm around his human one, holding his hand gently. He looked down at it for a moment before squeezing your hand and muttering, "I'm still not used to that."

You sighed, a smile on your face as you kissed his cheek before saying softly, "You'll get used to it eventually, Melvin, trust me."

[one-boring-person]

Can You Do Me A Favour?

Barney Ross (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: injury, drinking, sexual content implied, mentions of violence, swearing

Context: the reader is a member of the Expendables and has a crush on Barney. After a job, the two have some time together.

A/N: as promised, here is some Expendables stuff! I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it! (Just a heads up: I have more Rambo and Escape Plan stuff coming, and most likely some more TLB content, too.)

Masterlist

(I'm also going to tag @yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh in this, because they expressed interest in Expendables stuff earlier😊💛)

The cold water is pleasant on my heated skin as I cup my hands under the steady stream flowing from the tap, splashing it into my face when a suitable pool has formed in the space. A gasp escapes me from the stark contrast in temperatures, using my fingers to rub slightly at my skin, trying to work out the headache that has set in, only to hiss when I accidentally press into one of the new scars on the side of my face. Pulling back, I repeat my action, doing my best to distract myself from the plaguing thoughts in my head, still disgusted at myself for having them.

But even now, as I massage the contours of my face, I can't get the images of my boss out of my head. Not the sight of him taking out a ring of attackers using his revolver and sharpshooting skills, not the way his exposed arm muscles flexed with each movement, not the determined look on his rugged face and certainly not the fierce eye contact he made with me when he turned around again. At the mere memory of this, a flush of heat goes through me, eyes squeezing shut to force myself to blank them out, not quite realising that his stare is branded into my subconscious. Biting my lip, I shake my head, forcing down the picture of his muscular body and large hands on my body as he dragged me from the collapsing building, not five hours ago.

Growling, I reach over and grab hold of the beer bottle nearby, glancing at my haggard features in the mirror before taking a deep drink, wincing at the stale flavour, having had the drink for far too long. I can see the tension in my body, each muscle tight and uncomfortable, my posture ramrod straight and clearly wrong, my eyes clouded with exhaustion and what I can only assume is loneliness. 

As soon as I'd gotten in from the last job, I'd headed straight into the bathroom, grabbing a beer from the fridge as I went, needing to clear my head. Nothing I did could help, my head always circling back to that one person. Frustrated, I slam the bottle on the counter top, wincing when it shatters from the force, a particularly sharp shard slicing into my palm.

Damn him. Damn Barney Ross for getting into my head.

I clean up my hand, just bandaging it up when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. Frowning, I look over at it, confused. Nobody calls me. Nobody, except my boss.

Picking up the phone, I groan to myself as I realise it is, in fact, Barney. For a second, I debate letting it go to voicemail, before I finally give in, accepting the call and placing the phone to my ear.

"Sir?" I greet him politely, wondering what he needs.

"How many times have I told you not to call me "sir"?" Barney's gravelly voice sounds through the phone, a low chuckle evident in his tone. I have to ignore the effect his voice has on me, the sound giving me butterflies in my stomach.

"Sorry, sir- ah, shit." I sigh at my own habit, "You alright?"

"Yeah, guess so. Just lonely. Figured you might be, too." He admits, tone going soft as he speaks.

"Bold of you to assume that." I tease, but continue, "Though you are, as always, right."

"Should tell Christmas that, might listen to you." The veteran laughs again, the joke drawing a similar reaction from me.

"We all know he listens to no one but himself." I quip back, still waiting for him to tell me why exactly he called.

"True, true." Barney's grin is almost audible, my mind instantly bringing up an image of that particular expression into my head, much to my chagrin, "You got any plans for tonight?"

Surprised, I take a second to reply, unsure of where this is going.

"No, it's too late. Ain't really got many friends outside work, anyway." I inform him, going out of the bathroom and into the lounge.

"Fancy coming over? I've got a couple of beers that need drinking, and the hangar is pretty lonely this time of night." 

His offer stumps me for a moment, though I am quick to recover, my mouth working before my mind can catch up.

"Yeah sure. I'll be over in twenty." 

"Great. See you then." He hangs up, leaving me wondering why the hell I accepted that, knowing how much I spend too much time thinking about him (in totally inappropriate ways considering he's my boss) anyway.

Annoyed at myself, I steel myself before going and grabbing a coat, pulling on that and my boots as I leave the flat, taking my motorcycle keys with me. I lock my door behind me, leaving the apartment block quickly, glad to have the fresh air on my face as I make my way over to my motorbike. Looking on it fondly, I climb on and kick out the stand, easily getting it revved up, the vibrating engine beneath me a pleasant feeling. 

Thankfully, the roads are mostly clear this time of night, cutting the twenty minute drive short by five minutes as I go at speed through the nearly deserted outer city. The hangar is usually a pain in the ass to get to, the traffic in the roads leading up to it almost always horrific, so I am only too happy to be able to go much faster now that there's not many other drivers around. With the wind rushing around me, I find that my head clears a little, my attention on navigating the roads rather than the thoughts of my boss doing things to me I'm sure he'd find grotesque in nature. 

I arrive quickly, pulling into the hangar slowly, knowing Barney is most likely in the plane, as he usually is. Stopping the bike, I put it in park before climbing off, hanging my helmet on the handlebars as I do so, taking the keys with me as I walk over to the old plane. Nearing the aircraft, I frown a little at the sight of the new bullet holes riddling the side of it, unaware that we'd taken so much damage earlier in the day. Sighing, I go inside, ducking in through the small door, only now hearing the music playing from the stereo in the cockpit.

"It's gonna need a new lick of paint." I call out to Barney, who I can see sat in his seat, the muscular man turning to look at me as he hears me.

"It's been a long time coming, so I'm not complaining." He replies, grinning at me as I walk into the cockpit, dropping into Christmas' usual seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach from his stare on me again. As I enter, he rakes his eyes over my body, subtly taking my every curve in from where he is.

"Fair enough." I shrug, leaning back slightly, having missed his look, "Got a beer?"

"Yeah, here." Barney hands me a bottle, opening it for me as he does so.

"Cheers." I thank him, taking a deep drink from it as he chuckles lowly, voice sending a bolt of heat through me.

"You're starting to sound like Lee." He remarks, sipping his own bottle with a smirk.

"Should I take that as a compliment? Or an insult?" 

"Up to you." He looks over at me.

"Eh, I'll take compliment. You two get along like an old married couple, after all. Must mean something if you're comparing me to him." I decide, teasing him.

Barney laughs at my comment, lifting his bottle.

"I can agree with that." He hums, staring out of the front window.

For a couple of moments, we sit in companionable silence, drinking our beers, Barney eventually lighting a cigar. Taking a deep inhale, he offers it to me, which I decline, choosing to finish my drink instead.

"What do you usually do after a job?" Barney suddenly asks, glancing back at me.

Surprised, I think over the question for a second.

"Nothing, really. I get myself cleaned up, have a drink, then get some sleep. I don't do much else with my life." I tell him, knowing how pathetic I sound.

"What, you haven't got anyone you can hang out with?" He questions, seemingly confused.

"No. As I said before, I don't really have any friends outside work."

"Really? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

I shake my head, grimacing at the turn in conversation, just missing the slight darkening in his eyes as he looks me over once more.

"Huh. That surprises me." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I look across at him.

"Why?"

He shrugs, making eye contact with me.

"Well, you seem like the person who wouldn't struggle to make friends. You're kind, funny, pretty. You know how to behave in the right situations, you're a good friend to have." He clarifies, seemingly unaware of the impact his words have on me, my heart throbbing as I listen to him, longing building up in me again.

"You think so?" I ask, not quite believing him.

"Yeah, I do." He frowns, looking over at me, "Why, don't you?"

I don't reply, knowing my answer well. He doesn't push it, observing me carefully, his gaze making me blush furiously.

"What'd you do to your hand?" The veteran suddenly asks, gesturing to my bandaged appendage.

"Hm? Oh, I just cut it on some glass back home." I inform him, flexing my hand a little, only to wince at the sharp spike of pain. 

Wordlessly, Barney reaches across and takes my hand in his, his touch setting off sparks through me despite the gentle nature of it. Pulling my arm closer to him, he runs his fingers lightly over my skin, the rough calluses rubbing over the palm of my hand, each stroke making it harder for me to fight off the rising need within me. Being this close to him, able to smell him in nearly every surface around me, feeling his hand on mine has sparked the feelings I've been suppressing as long as I've worked with him. 

Awkwardly, I pull away, swallowing tightly, trying to suppress the urges I'm suddenly feeling, needing to get myself together again. He doesn't stop me, his dark eyes regarding me quietly, observant as always as he seemingly considers something, his gaze sliding over me once more. After a moment, he puts out his cigar, leaning back in his seat.

"Mind doing me a favour?" The muscular man cocks his head at me, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"Er, sure? What do you need?" I agree hesitantly, knowing that expression means only one thing: he's got something up his sleeve.

"Check that control panel up there, would you? It's been giving me trouble for weeks." Barney's eyes are glittering now in the dim light, clearly up to something.

"What, now?" I frown, confused by the instruction.

"If you wouldn't mind." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I place my beer down and get to my feet, awkwardly reaching up to check the panel, which just so happens to be right above his head. I try to keep my body from leaning across him too much, but this is made difficult when I realise that the particular problem lies in the switches even further over. As I go to flick them, a pair of hands takes hold of my waist, suddenly yanking me down towards the chair.

Yelping in surprise, I feel my eyes widen as Barney pulls me down onto his lap, hands tight on my hips, pressing my back flush against his chest. His nose instantly finds my neck, the older man nudging at my skin until I tilt my head to give him access, goosebumps spreading across my skin as I try to process what the hell is happening, my brain short-circuiting with every one of his breaths. They fan out over the sensitive area, my own hitching in my throat as his scruff scratches over my skin, his lips not quite touching me yet, though I can feel their every movement. 

I try to get back up, unwillingly, only for him to loop one of his arms around my front and slip his hand under my shirt, flattening his palm on my stomach to hold me against him.

"I'm not blind, you know, (Y/n). I've seen the way you look at me, the way you behave differently when you're with me. You're not as subtle as you hope." Barney practically purrs into my skin, his smirk obvious against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as I try not to groan.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, sir." I manage out, not quite catching the sound of anticipation that escapes me when he suddenly presses his lips against my ear, whispering into it.

"Really? I think you know very well what I'm talking about." He grins to himself, the hand on my stomach running down to ghost over the waistband of my jeans, my body tensing in his grip, "Want me to demonstrate for you?

[stevenbasic]

8:10, there she is, good fucking god, I thought to myself, peering surreptitiously under the cheap window blind of my second-floor apartment, out into the parking lot. Already several strides from her white beemer, Melissa’s outrageous, hourglass figure grabbed my eye, my attention, my whole fucking beng. Tuesday morning, and I hadn’t actually seen her since Friday; I’d cloistered myself away in my office all day yesterday, refused to see anyone. So, now, watching her utterly magnificent hips in her tight black pants, her long legs strut her towards the building, her huge chest wobbling in a too-small, skin-tight turtleneck top...it was like filling a deep need of mine. What’s wrong with me?!? I fretted, as unconsciously my hand began stroking the huge erection already growing down my thigh...

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

He’s watching me he’s watching me I can feel it don’t look don’t look up at his window

<clack-clack-clack-clack>, the sound of Melissa’s new, size-12 red heels on the pavement, carrying her past other parked cars in the lot of Far Horizon Medical Associates. It was early - 8:10! I’m late! - but her mind was already on the big task at hand today: him. She hadn’t seen him since last week, he hadn’t taken as much as a single step out of his office yesterday, and his absence had confused her, bothered her, made her actually upset. Despite being so busy with all the excitement of yesterday, all the new girls, the new construction, an emptiness nagged at her, and there was an itch inside her skin that needed scratching. But now that feeling of his eyes, the thought, the mental image of him spying down at her from his little room upstairs, trying to catch a peek of her as she walked into work, animated her. She had grown used to the gazes of men, had learned to tolerate them and be patient with them. She’d grown accustomed to being the object of their attention, a magnet for it since middle school, but with him, these days, it was different.

She wanted him, she wanted his eyes on her. She craved his attention. And even beyond that, she ached for more from him….more than just him ogling her from a faraway window. She needed more than to be able to have him sit alone all day in his little office, doing whatever it is he does in there, when she’s outside, right there. She needed him to need her. Yes, he was married, technically, still, but she was impatient, now. She wanted him to realize it was over, that his life was changing. She needed him to realize what his next step should be...how much he needed her…

She needed to get him to sign those papers.

She put an extra sway in her hips.

Someone else is watching me too…

<clack-clack-clack-clack>

...there’s someone in that truck.

<clack-clack-clack-clack>

She smiled crookedly at the naughtiness of the plan that just materialized in her head.

Okay...okay...yes...let’s see how he likes this...

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Oooo, okay, yes, there she is… AJ thought, sitting low in his truck, surveying the lot, waiting for her white beemer to pull in. 8:10 in the morning and he was technically late to work; he should have been on the job ten minutes ago. But he’d been here all night, and damned if he wasn’t at least going to get a look at her, this boss-girl Melissa. He at least needed that, to cheer him. Angie had broken up with him, for real, yesterday, and he now had nowhere else to go. He was, now - ffff, shit - basically homeless.

Holy fucking shit, he thought to himself, as her tall, TALL body stretched up and up and up out of her 3-series. Jesus christ, he marveled, as his hand went between his legs, no woman should be allowed to be built like that.

She was walking across the lot, towards the building and closer towards him. She was going to pass right in front of his truck, right by him. He watched her, wide-eyed, and grasped himself through his utility pants. Though his windows were up he swore he could hear the <clack-clack-clack-clack> of her heels as she came nearer, now within twenty feet or so, now just right in front of his truck. He could actually feel them, through his truck, shaking the pavement. God she moves the earth, this girl, he goggled, agape at her huge ass as she passed, and right as - ohmigod! - she turned and looked right at him, over her right shoulder...

...and smiled at him.

Oh shit, he panicked, swiftly taking his hand out from between his legs, sitting up straight, and trying to smile back through the windshield at her. He was sure, dead sure, that she’d caught him gaping. That smile told him everything.

Oh god, no...no no no...he lamented, she’s turning around. She was turning around, bending over to look through his windshield, and - with a smile of recognition - waving at him.

Flushing red, AJ did everything he could as a man who’d just slept the night in his truck to look put together, calm and collected. She was coming back, around to his side of the car, and he began to roll down his window. He couldn’t help but goggle at her tits, right at eye level.

“Hiiii..!” she sang as she leaned in towards him, forearms resting possessively on the lower edge of the window frame. Her big hands were inside the space of the truck and, not even realizing it, AJ had backed away a bit from this larger person. “You’re Aaron, right? Angie’s, uh…”

She’s fucking gorgeous, AJ couldn’t help but think, momentarily dumbfounded by the twinkle of her eyes, the brightness of her dimpled smile. He knew he was staring, and- had she asked him something?

“Oh, uh - heh heh, yeah, sorry - boyfriend?” he finally managed, recovering his tongue. C’mon, Shaw, he thought, working to rally himself in the face of a beautiful girl, an opportunity to make something happen, you can do this, turn it on. “Well, ex-boyfriend…”

To that, Melissa smiled, and AJ’s heart skipped a beat. The body language this chick was giving him was all-signals-go. Leaned in as she was, she filled the space between him and the outside. Her body moved languorously, slightly rocking at the hips; anyone watching from the building would be getting quite a show as she swayed that ass slowly to and fro...

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

What is she doing?? he fretted, what the hell is she doing??

He’d watched her, covertly gawking from his little upper-level window, and had immediately started to worry when she’d stopped in her tracks, turned to talk to some guy in a pickup. A guy! One of the construction guys, he grumbled, knowing the jealousy that immediately tightened his throat was unreasonable, she shouldn’t be talking to a guy! She’s flirting, she’s totally flirting.

His pulse quickened, a cold shiver prickled his skin. He, this meathead, was probably tall, young, strong. Someone she’d find cute, attractive, maybe funny. It burned at him, and he hated it. But, from where he was, all he could do was watch.

Good fucking lord look at that ass…

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Melissa felt them on her, she felt his eyes, from that upstairs window. They were on her rear, and the gaze of them warmed her, brought a moist heat between her legs. In response she embellished it, displaying herself to him, lazily rolling her hips as she leaned over, talking to this skinny, nervous guy in the truck. He could watch her from his little post, from that little window, he could watch all he wanted. I like him looking at my butt, thinking about it. And he could have it, it could be his, she thought, presenting herself, getting wetter as she imagined him staring at her, maybe getting hard...

“I was a model, yes,” she answered, as AJ’s questions had come predictably to her appearance. She did her best to act flirty, though her thoughts were distracted, elsewhere, upstairs in that apartment. “That was me, the Mega-Milk girl…”

=====================

my apologies but I have no idea who did the morphing in the first image. I've left it untouched/no faceswap so if anyone can figure it out, I'd love to credit the artist. In the meantime, enjoy the curves.

More GITJ stuff at my Patreon

[bedlamsbard]

So, I get the distaste for Rebels and The Bad Batch (definitely that last one), and I can certainly suggest @agoddamn's series of watching Clone Wars (because wow, I'd forgotten how poor that series could be), but with The Mandalorian, the most I can understand of your dislike of it is how it handles previous characters. Which, yeah, Filoni and his Precious OCs, but other than that, what about it? I mean, the plot/theme seemed simple to me: focusing on the relationship between Din and Grogu.

Ack, I didn't realize that out of context of my past ten years of fannishness and fannish engagement the takeaway from recent critical posts would be "Bedlam hates Star Wars," let alone "Bedlam hates Rebels"!

Look, I love Star Wars -- I genuinely do love Rebels and TCW, I'm very fond of Resistance and most of the films, and there are other parts of the ancillaries (books, comics, games) that I love, like, and/or enjoy. There are other parts of the saga that I dislike, a lot of it that I'm pretty neutral on because I just don't care; there's very little that I outright hate. (There are things that I avoid because I know I would hate them; I won't read Dark Disciple because the old EU Republic/Clone Wars comics from Dark Horse were formative for me and I'm not really over how Quinlan Vos's story line got retconned for TCW and thus the novel, so I don't feel the need to rub my face in it.)

I think, especially with Star Wars, there's a tendency to think that people only complain because they dislike or hate whatever it is they're complaining about it. I don't talk about the parts of Star Wars I actually hate because I frankly don't see the point in talking about the stuff I have no emotional investment in, or where my emotional investment only is distaste -- that's why I'll almost never talk about the ST. (And why I've only talked about the back half of Rebels S4, which I do genuinely hate, a handful of times over the years: I don't want to think about the thing I actually hate.) I talk about Rebels and TCW because those are the parts of Star Wars that I love and because I occasionally want to dig into why there are parts of them that just don't work for me. (And I do realize that if anyone pays attention to what I reblog and don't it may come off as me not liking them particularly; 99% of the time I only reblog TCW or Rebels gifsets immediately after I've rewatched episodes, and I haven't been doing rewatches lately for various reasons.) Critique doesn't mean "I hate it," it means "I want to think about this more on a critical level." It means "I love the puzzle pieces, why does the way they were put together not work for me? How could they have been done differently so that it would have worked for me?" Like I said a few weeks ago, while I don't want to actively add negativity to the fandom, I also don't really want to sit down and shut up if something isn't doing it for me if otherwise I love the thing; I want to figure out why it doesn't work. This is the flip side of "if you can't say anything positive, don't say anything at all" -- I'm not talking to Dave Filoni or the other showrunners (and I would never say any of this to the face of anyone at Lucasfilm), I'm sitting here talking to myself and to my friends about why the puzzle pieces don't quite come together for me. (And the bonus of me putting it on Tumblr is that I can actually find it again, because sometimes I do want to go back and see what I said about XYZ.)

If I'm not actively talking about all the things I love about Rebels or TCW it's because I don't particularly feel the need to justify why Thing works for me, because I already know it works for me. Or because I spent the first two years or so of Rebels and big chunks of TCW doing episode liveblogs, which are on the back end of my "Bedlam watches Rebels" and "Bedlam watches TCW" tags, and I don't feel the need to come back and say "I love the way XYZ happened" six or seven times. Or because I think it would be obvious because I've written something around a million words of fanfic about the two of them. Or because I have three Rebels tattoos and am a Rebels cosplayer, which obviously I don't really talk about on Tumblr but is something that I personally know. I mostly have not talked about The Bad Batch publicly (and only a little privately) because mostly it's not doing much that triggers strong feelings in me one way or another, though I do have the whole "why are these puzzle pieces not working for me, how would I have put them together differently" feel about parts of it.

As for Mando specifically -- look, Mando's fine. I understand why it appeals to a lot of people, even if I am not one of those people. I don't particularly find Grogu appealing either on a character or an aesthetic level. I find that for me personally the show varies wildly in quality from episode to episode; I find it to be a little too clever about itself in how it deals with both the world, its plot, its place in the saga, and its characters in a way drives me up the wall. It hits a couple of really specific things that are huge do not wants for me and some of that is on a shallow note of "I don't like how they do their Twi'lek prosthetics" and some of it is "I don't particularly like the aesthetics" and some of it is a weightier "I'm confused about what the thematic points of the show are because they're all over the map" and yes, some of it is, "I don't like how Mando intersects or does not intersect with other parts of the saga." Or the way that it gets valorized for being live action rather than animated by a lot of the fandom and then gets elevated over the other parts of the saga that I care about the most (TCW and Rebels). I've talked in the past about how Mando genuinely made me feel gaslit, even if that was no one's intention and thus was not actually gaslighting; it just managed to hit on my specific issues. I don't talk about Mando that much because mostly I just don't care and when I do talk about it it's because it managed to trip into something I do care about.

And if I sound particularly cranky right now, it's because every time I say something critical and it starts making tracks out of my usual circles, someone comes in to go "wow! you must hate Star Wars!" or "wow! you care a lot about [aesthetic choice]! why would you care about that!" or "wow! you're an idiot for thinking XYZ would happen/not happen!" or variations thereof. I've been in fandom for twenty years. I've been in this fandom since George W. Bush was president. I know how it goes. I'm going to reiterate the post I made after the Mando finale:

in any expanded canon, people are going to have different deal-breakers on where they can suspend their disbelief and it’s not a judgment on you and yours if theirs is different than yours. nor does it automatically say something bad about them! it just means y’all have different priorities and that’s fine! neither one of you should be jumping down each other’s throat because their line in the sand is “this contradicts something in previous canon” and yours is “the CGI is unconvincing.”

I feel like I’ve been seeing a lot of condescension (rather than hostility, which tbh is par for the course in SW so I just tune it out) recently and like…people can have different priorities. it’s fine. they’re not stupid for having their priority be “I don’t like the prosthetics” when your priority is “character A was mean to character B.” don’t worry, Lucasfilm isn’t listening to any of us.

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 1-B

(Part B, for length- see Part A first.)

Zero and @eternalfarnham are Looseleaf and Saelhen du Fishercrown, a mothfolk animist and a half-elf conwoman whose travels take them to Blacksky University, where the discovery of an unknown magical artifact sets them on the path to discovering the secrets of a shattered world.

Saelhen du Fishercrown has just involuntarily bonded with a magical bracer under false pretenses. The deans of the School of Natural Arts and the School of Arcane Arts have reached a compromise- send Looseleaf (equipped with a wand of Locate Object) to keep an eye on her. None of this bodes well for her plan to skip town and pawn the thing- if she doesn't follow the magical arrow, it's going to be hard to explain.

So... she figures she might as well find out where it's pointing, and see if there's a way to remove it and/or shake her tail at the end.

Saelhen du Fishercrown:Saelhen is best served by seeming a bit silly, here. So I think she's going to follow the arrow directly and just straight-up cross over the fences. Looseleaf:Looseleaf fidgets a bit. "I mean, honor has to tarry for things like, classes, and stuff, occasionally, right?" "Not to mention, you still, like, need to do a whole interview." "And you can't just- like, at the least I'd want to get the campus news department involved, y'know, put this in the news and stuff, right?" Saelhen du Fishercrown:"I will be proud to answer any questions you have as we go, Madam Looseleaf." Saelhen approaches the campus fence and begins to struggle over it. Looseleaf:Looseleaf is only vaguely sure that this campus has anything like a newsletter, but something about this lady's insistency on walking off into the sunset as quickly as she can is making Looseleaf's antennae twitch, a little bit. "Uhhhhhh," Looseleaf says. "Okay, sure, then."

They take a pretty direct route to where the arrow's pointing. On the way, Looseleaf puts the screws to Saelhen by poking at her cover story.

Saelhen continues to roll crazy good on Deception, vs Looseleaf's History, and Looseleaf can't find any fault in Saelhen's staggeringly-detailed hand-calligraphied forgery.

Benedict I. (GM): So- it seems like this was written by someone who's at least read A Flawless History of the Elven Peoples cover to cover. There aren't any obvious contradictions, and a lot of supporting details- it's hard to believe someone could've just made all this up. Looseleaf: But, okay, wow, Looseleaf is... absolutely engrossed in this book. This is the good stuff. Benedict I. (GM): You're familiar enough with the vagaries of the biographical tradition that there could easily be creative reinterpretations or doctored facts in here, but you don't have any way to distinguish them from reality. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen keeps up a running commentary while they walk. Looseleaf: But presumably there is no mention of any kind of accession ritual? Saelhen du Fishercrown:Jack nothing! Looseleaf:And definitely nothing along the lines of a stone bracer being involved in some kind of ancestral spirit worship ritual.

Yeah, something's fishy here. But it's a long book, and it takes a long time to read, and before Looseleaf can get through it, the arrow starts to swerve.

The bracer seems to have lead them to Yoshimimoto Plaza, a wide pavilion in the middle of a ring of government buildings owned by the Oyashio Port Authority- the city's secular government. Saelhen recognizes the design as remarkably similar to the floor of the Ryokou Temple in Kanzentokai.

The Ryokou Temple, hundreds of years ago, was once a great hub of teleportation, where travelers from all over the world came and went. Thanks to teleportation magic, the concept of "cities" and "nations" and "regional governments" didn't make a lot of sense back then, and the world was something of a fragmentary monoculture featuring several different competing governments- distributed governments which claimed authority over their members, not over geographical territories.

(If you've read anything of the Terra Ignota series, they were basically like the hives.)

Two or three centuries ago, though, something called the Blackout occurred. Teleportation magic suddenly failed- planar travel broke, as did the teleportation hubs in each of the world's major cities. Suddenly, the world was shattered into geographically distant territories, which suddenly had to administer themselves without contact with the rest of the world. The world as it is today was shaped by the effects of this Blackout, and how people rebuilt.

Yoshimimoto Plaza, now an unremarkable empty square, used to be the city's teleportation hub.

Saelhen, following the arrow, touches the bracer to the center of this plaza, and all hell breaks loose.

The bricks underneath them all suddenly fall into a pit, landing about twenty feet down on a squishy surface that yields under the impact. Despite the cushioning, Saelhen takes 5 bludgeoning damage from the fall. (Looseleaf can feather-fall with her moth wings, so she's fine.)

So, what you've landed on... first and foremost, it smells. It smells of mildew and decay, of something sealed up and left to rot. The walls of the pit aren't dirt or stone- you're not sure what they are. They're gray-green and porous, interwoven with what might be vines. The floor has a ton of bricks on top of it, but where those bricks fell unevenly, you can see the floor is a mass of these squishy vines- or maybe tentacles, it's not entirely clear.

What's not fine is the old man who was feeding the pigeons on the plaza, who's broken his legs and is screaming for help. Also not fine are a couple of Oyashio Port Authority guards, who were chatting there and are now very perturbed.

Also not fine are the walls of this pit- they've got holes in them. Holes from which horrible little fleshy winged creatures are crawling:

These bloodsucking fiends claw their way out of the weird porous walls, and begin divebombing people with unholy shrieks.

The party rolls for initiative! Saelhen readies an action to intercept the enemy, and it's a good thing- she downs one of the stirges with a hidden blade when it gets close. (Looseleaf notes how suspicious it is that a noblewoman had a hidden blade up her sleeve.)

Looseleaf uses Rend Spirit on another one- a magical attack that uses animism as a blunt force weapon. The spirit of something is different from its soul- a living thing has a mind, but it also has a spirit, which is just sort of a semi-sentient magical handle on its body and the nature thereof. The spirit of something's muscles says "I want to expand and contract in response to nerve stimuli"- and Looseleaf can tell the muscles "No, you want to snfdkdfrksfjklafdr." The muscles' spirit gets real confused by this and tries to make its physical host do some snfdkdfrksfjklafdr, which makes no sense and results in chaotic flailing and tissue damage. Or, uh, "force damage", D&D's vaguest damage type.

She seizures the other stirge to death, but three more crawl their way out of the walls. Two go for the guards, who call for help and manage to take one down- but the third goes for the defenseless old man. Saelhen whiffs her thrown knife to intercept it, and the stirge buries its proboscis in the man's side and begins to drink.

Looseleaf: Holy shit, this woman is going to get people killed. Her nonsense- and probably confabulated- ancestral quest is going to get people killed.

Saelhen follows up by charging the stirge and slaying it- but four more stirges crawl out of the walls. There's no end to the damn things!

Looseleaf, who has wings, remembers them- and also remembers her starting gear! When do players ever do that? She gets out her 50 ft of rope and drops a rope ladder to help people escape.

The stirges are on the move, though- those not distracted by the guards go for Saelhen and Looseleaf. One of them gets through and impales Saelhen- who only had 6 hit points left after the fall damage, at level 1. It rolls well, and she goes down.

One of the guards grabs the old man and begins climbing out of the pit, just as reinforcements arrive with crossbows- but it's too late for Looseleaf, who gets herself divebombed by a stirge, which beats her AC and latches on. She tries to Rend Spirit it off her, but fails- and its next attack finishes her off. Meanwhile, Saelhen is still down in the pit being fed on, and rolls a critical failure on her first death save, counting as two failures! The party is completely KO'd by these horrible bloodsucking monsters they uncovered.

*

Luckily for them, they went down... in the middle of the administrative center of a highly populated city, surrounded by emergency services personnel who were actively trying to save them. As a result... they wake up in the hospital, not dead.

Looseleaf: "When the inquiries come in, I just want to make it clear, miss du Surplus," Looseleaf says in her hospital bed, "I do not know you and I do not know who you are and I am pretty sure that this is all your fault." Her antennae are swishing furiously, which is moth for 'fuck everything about this'. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "In my defense," says Saelhen, "I have no frigging idea why that bracelet summoned infinite bats, haha." "Ow."

It seems- from the chafing on her wrist- that someone tried to steal the bracer off her arm while she was unconscious, to no avail.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "If your university wants it back, you're maybe going to have to use a cleaver. Ha ha. You know, I've actually been to places where they chop off your hand for stealing." Looseleaf: "You better hope they don't decide to chop off your arm," apparently Looseleaf's got more of a vindictive bent to her than you'd expect! "You folk only have two arms." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Gonna be a super dishonorable wound." Looseleaf: "Yeah, we're dispensing with the whole, elegant elf politese thing entirely now, are we." "Not that it exactly made sense for a dignified hyper-polite elf to run around with a dozen daggers tied to them under the robes." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "For what it's worth, if you weren't dogging me so closely, I would have probably screwed off, tried to sell it, found out I couldn't and... I guess left town with the next circus. Amazing halfbreed with bad taste in jewelry." "But it's obviously not your fault, right? No idea your actions would lead to that." "Yeah, the mysterious maiden of the orient thing gets old after a while but so many people buy into it." "I am disowned, though, if it helps."

Saelhen pretty much spills all the beans to Looseleaf- and tries to lay out a plan for how they can both avoid taking the blame for this. Looseleaf is shocked that Saelhen has the audacity to try to keep up the con, after what happened- and horrified at the implication that she was somehow responsible for this.

Looseleaf:"You're thinking of trying to keep up the scam," Looseleaf says in disbelief. "By Harmony, you actually want to double down." Benedict I. (GM):"...suspects, wanted for...!" "...my students..." "...jured patients!" There's an argument happening outside your door. Looseleaf:"Oh, there it is," Looseleaf sighs. She folds her arms and looks up at the ceiling of the hospital room and resigns herself to be utterly annihilated by terrible inexorable fate.

The door opens, and in walks... uh. A nurse? It's a round tiefling woman dressed in... not so much a nurse's outfit as a sexy halloween costume of a nurse's outfit. It's... a lot. She seems to be playing the part of an actual medical professional, though, and after a quick checkup, asks which of their two guests they'd like to speak to first.

Who are these guests? Well, the first one is Provost Hamori, from the school. The drow lady. Something in Looseleaf's moth bones shudders as she enters the room and the trailing of her dress masks a skittering noise.

Luckily for them, the provost is very happy with them! Earth-shattering magical discoveries that unleash hordes of blood-sucking monsters on the populace of the city are not at all occasions to be mourned, in her opinion. There's so much new research to be done! It's exciting!

Plus, apparently, while they were out, refugees crawled their way out of the tentacle-floor in the pit! Supposedly descendants of people who disappeared from the face of the Jewel when the Blackout occurred. They'd managed to survive in that sort of horrible Stranger Things-ass upside-down horror-world for hundreds of years! Very exciting!

Provost Hamori reassures them that everything will be fine, and asks them to tell the truth to the nice police lady who's about to have a friendly chat with them.

Said police lady takes her turn to speak to the hospitalized party.

Benedict I. (GM): "My name is Stella Lastwave. I am captain of the Port Authority city guard. I am required to disclose this information." Then she leans in. "Would the two of you like to tell me what the fuck is happening in my city?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: Good question! Benedict I. (GM): "Dozens of bloodsucking hellmonsters are menacing the citizens, a troop of ultraviolent feral children are wreaking havoc in the streets, and the Yoshimimoto Plaza is a ruined crater of necrotic energy!" "I have fourteen witnesses stating that you walked up to the middle of the plaza with a magic item, touched the ground, and unleashed hell on the innocent citizens of Oyashio!" "You're going to explain what the hell you thought you were doing, right now!" Looseleaf: “Um. It was an accident?” Looseleaf begins, and then hedges, because this intimidating cop lady is intimidating her, and all of her prepared lines of explanation have gone right out the window. Benedict I. (GM): "An accident." "Again."

Captain Lastwave is highly suspicious of Saelhen's story- as the de la Surplus family doesn't exist in any of the shipping records they have for the world's busiest port city. If they're not in the records, they either don't exist, or they're smugglers.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "We have... fallen on difficult times as of late. It is a stain on our honor that we have failed to contribute to Kanzentokai's glory, I realize." Saelhen sighs. "...it was my hope that I might restore our reputation by completing the succession, when the means were lost to us for so long." Benedict I. (GM): "Yeah? And your 'succession' means siccing demons on a city of innocent people?" Looseleaf: “They just assigned me to her as an anthropology assignment,” Looseleaf babbles. “I was supposed to follow her doing her rite thingy and write it down and turn it in as an essay for my self-directed project.” Whatever the splash radius of this negotiation is going to wind up being, Looseleaf is absolutely making sure that she ends up outside of it. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Strange are the ways of my ancestors. It is my hope that I will be allowed to serve the free citizens of Oyashio, as I have served those citizens long-imprisoned by the Blackout." Benedict I. (GM): "This is the seventh goddamn evil magic apocalypse that witch up in Blacksky has tried to wipe out Oyashio with! Even when it's not them, it's them, or-" "-what, are you talking about the murdercrazy teenagers running wild in the streets?" Looseleaf: Looseleaf looks at Fishercrown. ”Oh.” Saelhen du Fishercrown: "So I have been told." Looseleaf: "So that’s what the Provost meant by... whoof." "So, ‘we found humans on the other side of the portal’ was definitely a euphemism, huh.”

Thanks to Saelhen once again rolling absurdly high on Deception, Captain Lastwave lets them off with a warning, and leaves. They leave the hospital- or rather, the Temple of Karou, Heartlifter, God of Joy.

as you leave the Temple of Karou, you learn that the Temple of Karou comprises the upper floors of the building, 2 and up the first floor, run by the local bishop of Karou (Vermillion Hansen, the tiefling "nurse" you met) is the Pink Lips Pleasure House- an official government institution funded by the Ecumene of Joy. it is a brothel. the Ecumene of Joy is a little weird.

So with that crisis officially Not Their Fault, Looseleaf and Saelhen return to Blacksky, where the Provost- in exchange for keeping it Not Their Fault- will be having them conduct further research on this bracer- which has sprouted a new arrow, pointing off somewhere to the northeast.

Next session, we'll see what that research entails!