#its weird to me that i was able to push past some of my social anxiety in order to get a job. but that only happened bc i was fully forced

[be-good-to-bugs]

i wish i wasn't so shy

[yoshirage]

Body Swap Diaries: Tristyn

My sweaty body glisten under the Dubai sun after a hard workout session with my brother Tyler. “Hey bro, I’m gonna go back to the room, are you almost done?”

“You go on ahead, i have some more sets to do.” I said

“Ok Bro! Sounds good” Tyler leaves.

I looked at the mirror and pleased to see the amount of work i have put in this body coming together from my huge social following which i learned from from my past life as a CEO of an advertisement company to my strict workout and diet regiment i learned while winning multiple Olympia as Ronnie Coleman; further pushing away his dreams of being a soccer player ever since i accidentally swapped bodies with him when he was thirteen.

I picked up a barbell to do some curls when i hear a text coming in from Blue. He told me he was coaching this guy named Ryan and was ready to switch to a new body.

Hey shortie, how do you like my new body? the text said with a picture attached

I feel myself hardening. Damn Blue! You really outdid yourself this time!

How about you Cyan? You ready to switch bodies? Now that the body your in is at least 18 years old, you should be able to?

Nah i’ll stay! It was great reliving my high school days and being a kid though experiencing puberty again was a little weird, but now ive been enjoying my large social following and im taking this kid to the top!

Ok Man! Sure! Lets meet up again once you come back to the States.

Ok bro! Nice talking to you!

Standing alone at the hotel’s outside gym, I looked at Blues new body and my 7 inch cock fully hardened as I remembered the times ive fucked him when I was Ronnie and he he was still Jay, and now imagining him moaning like a little bitch in his new body as my hard cock rams his hole and finally cum all over that new pretty boy face of his. The suns ray heating up my body even more as sweat formed as I stroke my cock. I couldn’t hold it much longer as i came all over my phones’s screen covering Blue’s picture with my cum. I breath deeply wiping the cum of my phone and cleaning my self up. I looked at the clock to see that its almost 12:45 pm, and finally leaving the gym to meet up with Tyler and continuing our dubai vacation.

[pjsk-writin]

I had an idea for Rui and Mizuki with a shut-in reader, it can be either platonic or romantic idc.

Foreground: The reader used to be friends with the two of them in middle school, as they were another social outcast. The reader stops showing up to lunch one day without a word.

Present day: Mizuki or Rui run into the reader outside, and they're both happy to see eachother, but the reader is a complete ball of anxiety. It turns out that after some severe bullying, the reader left school and went full hikikomori. They work online and only ever leave their apartment to get groceries, and they've developed a fear of just going outside.

Feel free to pass on this if it's too angsty, I'm kinda just projecting my life onto a pjsekai prompt XD

waaa its ok dw, im doing this separately unless you wanted them combined, and ill leave it up for interpretation- i hope you like this!! <3

♡ OUTCASTS - Rui Kamishiro and Mizuki Akiyama x Reader

Rui:

Rui was used to people pushing him away for being weird, so he was always grateful for you and Mizuki's presence

He was expecting one of you two to leave him eventually. It still hurt when it was you though

Fast-forward to a couple years later. Rui has become an expert with robotics, and is well known for his eccentric plans

He was buying some more parts for his robots when he bumped into you

He would pause, looking you over before calling your name cautiously. Your eyes widened before you mumbled, "Rui?..." "Ah, so you do remember me! I thought you had forgotten about me completely back then." There was barely hidden hurt laced in his tone

You had detected it, and was quick to stumble an apology out. You spoke about how you had been bullied, how you shut yourself in your room, how you had grown a fear of going outside for anything except your essentials

And then, the hurt was gone, replaced by sympathy. "Ah, is that so?" He hummed, placing a hand on your head and patting you, "I apologize, I would've tried to help if I knew...How about I make it up to you?"

After that run-in, he went over to your house often. He would come with his robotics, and would talk and catch up with you as he worked. Sometimes, he'd bring Nene with him, since you were acquainted with her when you were younger

He makes a robot for you, one very similar to Robo-Nene that you can use. It can leave the house, and you were able to maneuver it from the comforts of your home. Rui would just need to accompany the robot to make sure that things didn't go wrong. He'd do anything for you though <3

Mizuki:

Mizuki was learning a lot about themself during middle school, so it was a show of trust that they let you and Rui into their life when they did

Of course, that made the sting of you suddenly not meeting with them worse. They could never find you at school either. Where did you go?...

Fast-forward to a couple of years later. Mizuki had become more sure of themself, and was as comfortable as they could be in their identity today

They were out buying groceries when they bumped into you, and it was a shock for you both

They called your name with awe, and you stared at them for a bit before your eyes went wide. "Mizuki?..." "Yeah! How have you been? I haven't seen you since..." They would trail off, looking to the side before sighing. "Ah well, that's in the past-"

You stutter out an apology before quickly and quietly explaining what had happened. When the bullying had become too much, you had shut yourself in your room, too anxious to do much outside except buy groceries

They had nodded the whole time, a sad smile on their face. "Ah, I'm sorry it reached that point..." They took your hand, squeezing it gently, "You're like one of my friends- I won't force you to go out too much, but we should really meet up again. I missed you!"

So, after that day, they go over to your house as much as they can. Sometimes, they call Niigo while they're at your house, and introduce you to them! You and Kanade bond over your hatred of going outside

They buy a lot of gifts for you since they know you fear going outside. Ena asks why they have so many bags and they respond that they're for a very special person <3

[thahxa]

uh. 2023 huh. what a year.

it was many many things. one of them was getting ai that i actually enjoyed using! it's definitely not like. a 10x boost but it definitely is one

this was a really weird year for me. i think if we put years in a stagnation/growth cycle this one is more grow-y but only as a part.

i think probably the biggest highlight for 2023 was how busy it ended up being. if anything maybe its recency bias but of the past few years this one probably had the most year/year. probably part of it is that i got more social, part of it is that more things happened, but all-in-all it ended up being a fairly busy year

i wanna say it was stressful? but honestly, i'm not really sure how relatively stressful it was compared to other years, but this might just be understatements/recency bias or something

in terms of non-personality things? honestly this year was pretty normal. weak labor market at the early part of the year combined with not putting enough effort in meant that job searches went eh.

beyond all that though, i think 2023 was probably best-stated as the year of me socializing more, and going outside (fairly obvious given that it was the year a lot of the pandemic restrictions seemed to go away)

now looking forward.

2024? well, obviously i hope it'll be more of the best of 2023 :p but beyond that i hope that i'll be able to spend more time honing technical skills and figuring out how to expand my abilities. i know what i can do (code), so now i need to figure out what to specialize in. i hope i can spend more time with cool people, maybe some of my mutuals too, if i get the chance :D

now obviously this mostly is "more of the best" of 2023 so maybe something more specific? i wanna get "better" at fashion. i gotta Win at that shit. i'm doing like. vaugely better than when i was younger i guess, but theres part of me that feels like i gotta put more energy into it!

other stuff is of course the normal: more productivity, more work, more ability to work, more focus, more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more. to be bigger. to be better. to push through everything. no matter what.

The arrow of time moves inexorably onwards, i hope i can too

[astralspock]

DTA First Read, Chapters 2-5 liveblog

Finally finished Week 1's chapters! Highlights, all in quote form with some comments italicized throughout and lengthier commentary at the end:

"To this day, he still isn't sure what he would have done if he was able to find Castiel's body in that reservoir; most of it is a blur of sleeping, eating, and searching that precluded anything like actual thought that only ended with Sam's insistence that he needed to stop, that maybe there wasn't a body to find." OKAY I am very glad we're getting this-Dean's s7 trauma worked out in these interesting ways

"for a second (only for a second) Dean feels a hot rush of bitter envy (of the Apocalypse, how fucked up is that?) because he's never been this to anyone, for anyone; no one's ever looked at him like this" I. Was. So. Fucked. by this line.

"If Dean needed him for something, Cas would show up. Late," he adds with a faint smile, almost affectionate, reminding him that Chuck is probably just as crazy as Cas these days. "But I'm pretty sure that was deliberate." "Dying of Croatoan is the least of our problems," Chuck answers with a snort. "Weird thing, international epidemics cause panic. Like mass panic, social breakdown, fragmentation revolution, any of that ring a bell?" I have got to admit this part was Something to read in 2022.

"Destiny is bullshit." "Destiny is a word far more vast than the definition would imply...sometimes, what you've become makes it impossible to see all potential paths. What you know limits what you believe can be achieved." "You can't believe that." YO this is the free will shit that I am here for exploring.

"We weren't always on speaking terms, but neither were we always...not on speaking terms." ohhhhhh

Commentary:

I highlighted approximately 75 quotes from this swath of chapters, and I also hit the part where I stopped reading before -- the very beginning of chapter 3, right before Chuck and Cas have their conversation about Dean and they go on the saving-Dean's-ashes mission. I DO NOT KNOW WHY I STOPPED GOOD LORD.

I think it's official that I'm in, now, and highly invested. I also realize how little I know about this fic beyond its basic premise and I am so stoked to see where the plot is going.

The Chuck/Cas dynamic is one that I'm very interested in, as well as exactly how Chuck's prophet-status will play out in both revelations of the past and in the current plotline.

The entire fucking scene where they get shitfaced and end up cuddling and then the immediate SHIFT in the morning after Dean takes a shower was such a sucker punch to my gut. "You seem to be under the impression that we have developed a bond due to excessive alcohol consumption while you shared your feelings in monotonous detail and I pretended to care." STOP.

The undercurrent of Sam's presence is both heartbreaking and comforting. I find fics where Sam is dead/permanently gone (as far as I currently know/expect) to be quite hard to read sometimes because either they ignore Dean's grief or else acknowledge it and it's all consuming and I am too Dean-coded to read it, but this story is treating Sam's presence with this tenderness that I am very grateful for. Dean is such a little SHIT to Cas (entirely warranted) and the layers of character interactions that happened to push their relationship forward in the span of 3 chapters is an absolute masterclass that kept me devouring it the entire time.

On to week 2! Chapters 6-10 liveblog coming later this week...follow the tag #camppodsquad!

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Forging Ties - Chapter 10 - Part 2

*Warning - Adult Content*  

There was a special kind of inner content he'd only ever been able to get through human orgasm and it felt even better now that he didn't have to hush away dark thoughts around how they'd been achieved.

Someone moved closer to them and Duran cracked open his eyes.

Eli had gotten a rag to clean up Roman's back with.

Duran swept his hand out and brushed the mess away with his magic.

Roman and Hamish had gotten their seed all over the bedsheets but he'd clean that up later.

"Wow," Eli exclaimed.

"You're so cool."

Roman rolled over so that he could look at Duran.

"That was a new experience for me. You certainly know what you're doing."

Duran liked the way he said that, liked that it probably hadn't even occurred to him how Duran had come to have that knowledge.

He deliberately hadn't turned his back to any of them since he'd taken his shirt off.

He hated that his past had to taint everything, that it claimed these parts of him as its own.

He made eye contact with Hamish and then tilted his head towards where he'd discarded his shirt.

Hamish got it for him and he put it back on.

He doubted Roman or Eli would question the exchange when they were all huddling against the cold.

Duran finished cleaning everyone and everything up and then they all bundled together under the blankets, Duran at the edge next to Hamish and Roman on the opposite side with Eli next to him.

Hamish had a contented smile on his face as he pressed a kiss against Eli's cheek, another against Duran's and then snuggled down deeper in the blankets and shut his eyes.

Duran shut his eyes as well as Roman put the lights out and then opened them again and stared up at the dark ceiling.

He really wasn't tired.

The sex had been good but this was pushing what he was comfortable with.

He'd fuck a stranger, but cuddling up and sleeping with one was a different matter.

It was hard to tell that to three men who seemed so happy to do just that, though.

Telling them he was leaving felt so mean, so dramatic.

So he didn't tell them.

Being a slave taught you many skills, such as patience and how to tell from the sounds of someone's breathing how deeply asleep they are.

Duran lay there, still and silent, until everyone else was asleep and then he slipped out of bed, got dressed and left the cabin.

Duran wandered aimlessly down the road, not really knowing where he was going.

He didn't have a plan for where he would spend the night.

He probably should have just stayed put but he was wary about putting 'shoulds' over what his instincts told him.

The only reason he'd been so good at resisting the training he'd been put through as a slave was his unwavering trust in himself and he wasn't about to lose sight of that now.

Of course, maybe that became more complicated when you could actually do anything you wanted.

There were more or at least different, things that needed to be considered when your world extended beyond the walls of a single house.

As the sound of a whistle reached his ears, Duran lifted his gaze to see a figure seated in the shadows on the grass, waving at him.

Slone.

There was something about the way he moved that always seemed laid-back.

His size also set him apart.

Duran walked across the grass to join him.

"Everything good?" Slone asked.

He had their bags with him and had taken off his shoes but was still fully clothed.

"Yeah, just needed some space," Duran replied as he knelt down next to his bag and unstrapped his sleeping bag.

"Ah. Me callin' you over here counterproductive to that?"

Duran shook his head.

"You're fine. Just... strangers. They're a bit much. Is it weird that I'll fuck someone I hardly know, but I'll draw the line at sharing a bed with them?"

"Nah. Everyone's different, right?"

"I guess I'm just wondering if I should ignore my own feelings and preferences in order to conform to social norms and gain acceptance," Duran explained, adding with a hint of cynicism. "

I don't want to sound negative but sometimes doing what we want isn't the best option. If part of our role here is to act as diplomats, maybe I should try harder to make a good impression."

"I reckon you make a pretty good one when you're just you."

"Hmm. Thank you."

Duran settled onto his sleeping bag and gazed up at the stars overhead.

While the bed had been more comfortable, he rather enjoyed the idea of spending the night outdoors under the open sky.

********

Half asleep, Hamish reached out for Duran but his hand only found empty space.

He squinted his eyes into the darkness and patted around but Duran was definitely gone.

Hamish got up and found his clothes, as well as a lack of Duran's.

He dressed before the cold could seep in too deep and left the cabin.

A chittering sound next to him had him reaching for the knife but it was just Cookie.

When she started walking, he followed.

He didn't have to walk far before he saw Duran and Slone laying out on the grass, a ball of mage-light making them a beacon in the darkness.

He headed out towards them and by the time he got close, Cookie had disappeared again.

Slone waved.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Duran asked.

"I could ask you the same," Hamish countered.

"I woke up and you were gone."

"Too crowded."

"Fair."

"You may as well enjoy having a bed for the night if you were comfortable there, though."

"Nah."

Hamish knelt next to his bag and unstrapped his sleeping bag.

"If I cared that much about comfortable beds, I'd have stayed home. Not that I have a home right now or a bed for that matter but I've never had much trouble finding someone willing to share."

Hamish spread out his sleeping bag between Duran and Slone, took off his boots and coat and settled in.

It wasn't as warm as a bed full of naked men but it was cosy enough.

Duran spun his mage-light in the air above himself as he let it slowly fade out.

"Goodnight, my sweet boys," Hamish said into the darkness.

"G'night," Slone said.

Duran let out a soft laugh.

"Goodnight, Hamish."

[prince-tulip]

Im so terrified. I dont want to get hurt. Its not even been a month and i am so fucking obsessed and invested and i definitely want to be, i know what i feel and do want but its like damn I got hurt so fucking devastatingly bad this year that literally killed me, the levels of despair i cannot feel again, i am not strong enough for that, i barely have made it back to reality and its like as soon as i get the hang of things, things get crazy again and its like everything is exactly how ive always wanted them to be right now and i couldn't be more happy cause i truly know what i feel and when things are at its best, god its so fucking perfect but i feel im not able to talk to anyone yet or be more open about stuff cause i feel like a secret, like ill get casted out again..like i worry i am getting kept in the dark so i dont see or experience something bad, like for example they dont have me on their social media at all and i feel weird and scared about asking or getting on there and getting triggered by something and that maybe im just being used for validation and as a rebound because im so forgiving and easy to talk to or something.. in return its causing me to not know what's really happening, am i what they want? Are they talking to anyone else? Do they think so highly of me like i do them? Do they recognize the way we move together and talk to eachother? Is it as meaningful to them as it is me? Its like i know would lie about where they were or what they wang and their true intentions before, so why wouldn't they lie again? But at the same time thats not fair, cause its like i coukd very well be accused of being shitty too and still actually not be doing anything shitty and its like man..i feel like ive been living a honest and decent life, i maybe do keep to myself a bit much but i just enjoy my company and also not feeling like i have to explain myself caused ik people often times feel they have a say in things when they do not..i dont think bad things are happening behind my back the last two weeks or so and things have been magical and passionate and full of conversations, synchronized behavior, mutual understanding, growth, literally alway being able to meet in the middle on something, the dynamics i adore, we are so different but so much alike and I love it with all my being and im continuesly betting on the good things but that first week and a half idk..things seemed really off at certain moments that maybe hinted at things but again i can get very paranoid and of course cant control someone's actiona..I just dont want to throw awayy boundaries in attempts to please and i feel ive done that already in a lot of ways but by simultaneously finding such new perspectives and found love that was always there just stuck and idk i guess the feeling of trust has become so hard this year. Ever since January and in between i felt very used and thown away and lied to because i was to a degree i guess and even if ive done wrong in the past and yeah did i royally do some stupid fucking idiot type shit but ik it doesn't justify getting hurt back and i had to really come to terms with that. I had let go of that crazy person in me that would stay up two days straight crying and obsessing over what was and what is and whats happening without me, while drunk or high out of my mind constantly and go through the loneliness, the guilt, the shame, the loss all on my own in a small room with literally no one to talk to and forcing myself to come as close to dying as possible and finally move on from everything aweful in my life ever and do my best to block out every single god aweful image or notion in my head that i would get, causing insecurities and paranoia that i didn't know i was capable of...im really trying to make sense of everything cause everything is so fucking touchy right now but still having to push through and communicate and understand and love with all of my heart and vice versa I think wins every time and i feel life has been showing me that

[softichill]

THREE THOUSAND WORDS YEAH! Woob! It's been fun so far. How are you holding up? Get those insoles? Got water bottles in case you need to leave in the heat wave? I know I don't ask things very often. I am bad at that. Most of the time it's freeform rant. I guess I'm not used to conversations. Oh well. I still have trouble in conversations that aren't one to one. I bet a lot of autistic people have that. But for most of the posts I've read it seems to be worse. I'm at this weird crossroads of autism that I'd likely be undiagnosed if I were from the past not by lack of want but by lack of typical symptoms. Or diminished. I don't really stim. When I see a post about it I feel bad like " I'm autistic too, right?" I have Trichitilomania ( can't spell it, it's hair pulling) but aside from a habit I can stop if need be I don't really do anything. When I see people with stickers on them I just think that sounds uncomfortable like I would be CONSTANTLY aware there was a sticker on me. Bandages suck. I hyperfix but have learned how to extend time to the point where it can be a year to two before anyone notices it's lost its spark. I'm just stubborn. I've learned how to deal in most social situations but it's always been uphill. I still mess up a lot but at the point where it's dismissed as being odd. Hell, I've learned how to deal with sound sensitivity to the point where I recently realized I don't cringe at ( far away) babies regularly. One was crying in front of me as a customer pushed a cart past. Loud plus high pitched equals ouch. That's all I can say. Sometimes I feel like I'm an imposter then I stumble with directions or overexplain/overshare. Imposter syndrome gang rise up! Hehhh.... Sis showed me a song called Fakinaso by some random British guy named Harry Miles Watson. He only has two songs online. She says it's mean. I think it's swanky!

I've gotten my insoles!!!!!! And we've stocked up on plenty of water and ice so we don't burn up. We live in Texas so we'll be able to stand the heat a little longer (as long as we barely leave the house fjdbfjdn)

Autism shows up different for every individual!!! A lot of the things you describe sound like autistic traits to me, just bc they're not what you always see doesn't mean that's not there :>

I've really liked the song Remote Controller by Wonderful*Opportunity!!!

[comfortbucky]

Hey! If requests are still open I was wondering if I could request a fluffy fic where reader is having a bad day and Bucky notices and cheers them up? 💗💗

HELL YEAH!!!

REQUESTS!!! ARE!!! OPEN!!!

𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗲𝘁 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚

pairing: bodyguard!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack

tags: grumpy!bucky, bodyguard!bucky, fluffy bucky!!!

A/N: okay i have never written bodyguard!bucky before but i just thought it would be such a sweet concept to see him being soft🥺

sorry if the ending is kind of bad😭 i didn’t know how to quite wrap it all up, but i hope u enjoy!!!!!!!! <3 i had so much fun writing about bodyguard!bucky!!!!!

word count: 2.9k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

Y/N groaned as her phone alarm went off and hit snooze for the fifth time. She reached her hand out, head facing away and resting on her pillow, fumbling for her phone to turn off the incessant sound. Before she could shut it off, the noise stopped. Y/N turned her head slightly to see a large, dark figure in the corner of her eye. She turned her head fully to see her bodyguard with a frown on his face as he shut her alarm off.

“Your alarm, it’s annoying,” Bucky grumbled. “You should get up anyways, busy schedule today.” He walked out of the room before she could respond. Super soldier hearing was no joke if he was able to hear her alarm from his bedroom down the hall. Y/N sighed as her face planted into the pillow.

She was not looking forward to the events planned out for the day. During the day, there was a slew of interviews she had, back to back, and at night, a gala she was being forced to attend by her father.

Being the daughter of a wealthy tech tycoon had its perks for sure, but Y/N did not consider all of the press she did as a part of them. She never liked being in the spotlight but was forced to be, a birthright she had. Growing up with her dad, she’d developed a fascination for tinkering with computers, game consoles, and everything in-between. She spent a lot, practically all of her free time, with her dad when her mom had passed away. Her dad ended up throwing himself into his life’s work and she worked with him closely in the beginning, but slowly started to drift apart from him as she started to make a name for herself.

Earlier that week, her dad had sent her a text, informing her that a big announcement would be made at the gala. Big parties and large crowds weren’t really her thing, but it seemed like she didn’t have the option to avoid this one.

She got ready for the day, walking down to her kitchen to see her bodyguard, Bucky, sitting at the table, reading a book. As soon as he heard her come down the steps, he stood up and put his book away.

“C’mon, we’re already running late,” he mumbled, making his way to the door. Y/N rolled her eyes in response, grabbing a granola bar as she briskly followed behind him.

When her dad became a big name in the world of tech, the last thing Y/N thought she needed was a bodyguard, but her dad felt otherwise. It took one, very close call, of her almost getting mugged for her dad to immediately assign a personal bodyguard for her. She insisted that it was unnecessary, seeing that she was a fully grown adult, but her dad refused, as he was the one paying for Bucky’s salary.

Bucky had always been rather closed off since the beginning, and not much had changed since he was first assigned to her a little over a year ago. He kept their relationship very professional, only speaking when necessary and leaving the room whenever he wasn’t needed. She had tried to get him to open up more, learn about his past, but he always shut her questions down by either ignoring her or changing the topic to discussing something work-related. He was an enigma to her, which only left her wanting to solve the mystery that was James Bucky Barnes but couldn’t seem to crack the code.

Her first two interviews went smoothly, exactly what she was used to. A couple of questions about her current projects at work, some about her dad sprinkled in, and what she had planned for the future. It was a format she was used to and had come to appreciate, not exactly enjoying being the center of attention. During her last interview, however, she was caught off guard by one of the last questions she was asked.

“I know this might be an awkward question to ask, but I just have to! The people want to know: do you think your dad’s ever going to return to the dating pool?”

Y/N choked on her saliva. She knew her dad was an attractive man, seeing posts on social media of people fawning over him. Although she found it to be very weird and uncomfortable, she just brushed it all aside, not wanting to think about it as it only led to her thinking about the loss of her mom, a sore spot for her.

Y/N cleared her throat and forced out a chuckle. “I think that’s a question only he can answer, I don’t always know what’s going on in that crazy head of his.”

The interviewer laughed and proceeded to transition into the next segment. Y/N quickly thanked the interviewer and left, Bucky swiftly following behind. He had a feeling that something was off, as Y/N would typically stay behind to chat with the interviewer, crew members, even the service staff, whenever she finished an interview. It was always something he admired about her, how down to earth she remained, despite all of the privileges she had. She went out of her way to thank everyone on set, no matter how small their role might seem. He always told the drivers to pull the car up a little later than originally planned, just so she would have the extra time to talk.

Y/N pushed the doors open, only to find an empty street. She turned around and gave Bucky a curious look.

“Sorry, the driver just texted me,” he said, as he sent a text to the driver, telling him to come now. “He’s running late.”

Y/N nodded and leaned against the wall, looking down to fiddle with her hands. Bucky leaned against the opposite wall, facing her, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You okay?”

Y/N looked up at Bucky to find a gentle look in his eyes, slightly taken aback at the sight. She always found herself drawn to his piercing blue eyes, but they usually had a colder glint to them. This was a look she’d never seen before.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” she replied, averting her gaze down as she felt her cheeks flush at the sight of Bucky’s soft gaze.

The car arrived, cutting off Bucky’s train of thought as he was thinking of what to say to her. For a moment he debated on continuing the conversation in the car but figured she already had a long night ahead of her and didn’t want to push any further.

After a quick pit stop back to Y/N’s place, allowing her to change into an evening gown, the car headed to the venue of the gala. Bucky got out of the car before her, walking around to the other side to open her door. Before she stepped out, Y/N took a deep breath in and exhaled, plastering a fake smile on her face as a surge of flashing lights from cameras greeted her. Bucky watched, seeing her seamlessly transform from Y/N, the girl who needed to set a million alarms before actually waking up, to Y/N, tech extraordinaire, one of the most powerful people in the tech world.

Once they were inside the venue, Bucky stuck to his usual routine. Scope out the exits, look for any potential threats, and make sure Y/N was in his eyesight. Bucky kept close by but also kept his distance. He wanted to make sure that he gave her enough space whenever they were out, knowing that having him around was her dad’s idea and that she wasn’t too fond of having security detail in the first place. So he did everything he could to make himself blend in with the crowd, allowing her to roam freely, only following her when she moved out of his line of vision.

Y/N walked around, not knowing a single soul but making polite small talk with the rest of the guests. She became accustomed to knowing how to act at these types of events over the span of her adult life. Food, drinks, more food, home. Crowds made her uneasy, but she always felt calmer when she saw Bucky in her peripheral vision. Y/N would never admit it out loud, but over the last year, he had become a constant source of relief at these public events. Just knowing that he was there if she felt uncomfortable, unsafe, or wanted to leave early made her public outings much more bearable.

“Hey, sweetie! I’m so glad you made it.” Y/N turned around at the sound of her dad’s voice and smiled, moving in to hug him.

“Yeah well, you said you had a big announcement, so I figured I’d stop by,” she joked, eliciting a chuckle from her dad as they pulled away from each other.

“I’m about to make it now,” he started, placing his hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “And I was wondering if you could join me on stage for it? I know that’s not your thing, but it would mean so much to me, Y/N.”

While she absolutely hated the idea of having to stand in front of thousands of people, she reluctantly nodded. Y/N and her dad had slowly grown apart the past several years, only talking a couple times a month to catch up. With both of their busy schedules, they always seemed to miss each other. Despite their growing apart, she would do anything for her dad, especially if it meant so much to him.

Bucky slowly followed behind, as Y/N and her dad walked up to the stage. Y/N glanced behind her to give a slight smile to Bucky, to which he nodded back. He stood backstage, watching them from behind the curtains.

“Hi everyone, thanks so much for coming out tonight,” Y/N’s dad spoke into the mic. She was standing beside him, hands clasped in front of her, trying to look calm and not totally anxious.

“Since the success of my brand, people have said that I am a man who has everything. And I definitely have a lot to be thankful for, my company, my friends, and most importantly, my daughter.” Her dad extended a hand out to point to Y/N and the crowd cheered. Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. Despite his brooding attitude, he had come to grow fond of Y/N, being able to see her for who she truly was. She was smart, witty, and had a heart of gold.

“The only thing I’ve been missing,” her dad looks down at the ground for a second, before looking back out at the crowd. “Is someone to share it all with.” Y/N’s smile faltered and felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t fully register the words coming out of her dad’s mouth.

“After Sarah, my wife had passed, I didn’t think I would be able to love again. Until I met Alyssa.” Y/N was frozen in place upon hearing her dad’s confession. She’d never heard of anyone named Alyssa during any of their catch-up calls and now he was saying he loved her? Y/N quickly turned as a woman walked out on stage. The woman walked over to her dad and he wrapped one of his arms around her waist before speaking.

“Now I feel complete, now I have everything.” He pulled Y/N to him and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, smiling for the cameras ahead. There were a lot of strategies Y/N had devised over the years to deal with potential unexpected and uncomfortable situations in a composed manner to avoid having a PR nightmare.

She didn’t have one for this.

Tearing herself from her dad’s hold, she ran off stage, heading towards the exit that led to the outside. Y/N took in the fresh air, trying to stop her hyperventilating. It wasn’t working. Her chest felt tight as she began gasping for air, struggling to take in oxygen.

She was having a panic attack. It was nothing she hadn’t experienced before, but it had been so long since she’d had one. The last time she remembered, was at her mom’s funeral.

Her mom. Her dad. Alyssa.

Her thoughts were pushed aside as her vision blurred, her eyes swelling up with tears. Y/N felt like she had no control over her body and shut her eyes, allowing the panic to consume her.

Then, a firm, but gentle, warm feeling in her hands.

Y/N blinked her eyes open to reveal Bucky, standing in front of her. She looked down and saw that it was his hands in hers, holding them tight.

“Can you breathe for me, honey?”

His voice came out in a soft whisper, accompanied by the warmest and welcoming smile. She shook her head, unable to control her quick and rapid breaths. Bucky squeezed her hands a little tighter, rubbing his thumb in small circles on the back of her hand.

“Yes you can, just breathe with me, okay?”

He started to breathe in and out slowly and eventually, she was able to follow his lead, deciding to focus on his eyes. There was that look from before the ride to the gala, the gentle look in his eyes. She’d always felt that his blue eyes reminded her of stormy seas, but now, now they made her think of the calmness of the ocean in the early morning, waves crashing softly on the shores.

As she regained her composure, she realized she’d been staring into Bucky’s eyes for, probably, far too long. Bucky felt her tight grip on his hands loosen and reluctantly let go of her hands. He immediately missed the softness of her hands and how small they were in comparison to his much larger, calloused, hands.

“T- Thank you,” she stuttered out, her gaze locked on the ground, as she placed her hands to her sides.

“It’s no problem. I get them too,” he replied. She looked up at him as he clarified. “Panic attacks. PTSD from serving overseas.”

Y/N face drops, her stomach churning at the thought that Bucky had ever experienced panic like she had. She returned her gaze to the ground as a silence washed over them.

“He didn’t tell me about her,” she spoke in a quiet voice. “Never brought her up once. But I guess she must be pretty special for him to do all of this.”

Bucky stood a couple steps in front of her, seeing teardrops fall from her face. She lifted her head up to wipe away her tears, her hands shaking from anxiety. Y/N placed her hands on her face and started to sob.

She was slightly hurt by the idea of her dad loving any other woman than her mom but knew that he’d have to move on eventually. What hurt her the most was the fact that he didn’t tell her, not until they were on stage, standing before a crowd of people. It was too much for her to handle and she reached her breaking point.

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sight. He cautiously stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly. Something his PTSD had taught him was how pressure from a hug could help relax the nervous system and calm him down. He held her firmly in his arms until he felt her breathing slow. She looked up at him, remaining in his embrace, her eyes glassy from crying, nose red and sniffly. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat and immediately pushed the thought away.

“You wanna leave, honey?”

She nodded in response, staying in his arms for just a second longer before pulling away. Y/N longed for his warm touch, feeling like a child who had their security blanket taken away. It didn’t help that it was also cold outside, sending a chill down her spine.

Bucky noticed and shrugged his suit jacket off to wrap around her shoulders. She beamed a smile at him and he smiled back.

The pair walked around the outside of the venue to find the car when they ran into a mob of paparazzi, shouting questions at Y/N about her sudden exit. Like a reflex, she grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand and he gave her a comforting squeeze as he cleared a path towards the car.

Bucky and Y/N were sat next to each other in the car, which was not the typical seating arrangement they usually had, usually sitting on opposite ends of the car. But Y/N hadn’t let go of his hand, not quite ready to separate herself from his warmth. Bucky had absolutely no problem with that, mindlessly rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. She felt safe. She always felt safe with Bucky around.

Y/N felt her eyelids become heavy, struggling to keep them open. She was exhausted from her long day, and her panic attack had taken most of her energy away.

Bucky felt a weight on his shoulder and turned his head slightly to see Y/N’s head resting there. He felt a warmth rush to his cheeks and smiled, resting his head on top of hers.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed. “You always make me feel so safe.”

Bucky felt a surge of tenderness rush through him. That was all he ever wanted to do. He wanted to keep her safe. He kissed her forehead, causing her to snuggle closer to him.

“Of course, honey. I’m here, always.”

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” ™ is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[quarthly]

Twilight characters as random animals that I think are oddly fitting

(Also yes, I am roasting the animals as well)

Edward: He would be a Cheetah. Now I know, seems like a cop out just because of his speed but hear me out. Cheetahs are, at face value, pretty cool. They used to be my favorite animal as a child, but then I grew up.

Cheetahs, through no fault of their own, are severely inbred. Now thats mainly because of poaching, but the cheetas anxiety also comes into play. In captivity, cheetahs are usually given emotional support dogs. I will admit it is cute but it negatively affects the population. Excluding one in the wild, cheetas can be to anxious to breed and thats not good for conservation efforts.

Cheetahs can hit up to 80 miles per hour in a couple of seconds. They are designed for fast running and agility. Their claws are similar to that of a dogs for better traction and they have elongated spines for longer strides. They have a thin build, long legs and a long tail for balance.

This has downsides though. Many times after making a kill, it will get stolen for them by larger predators. Thats right, they get absolutely bodied by the other animals. I should probably make these shorter but I'm on a rant now, so I guess this will be semi educational.

Throughout the series, we see Edward over estimated his abilities and value, constantly getting bodied by others. He's essentially a perfect mormon, though thats on S'meyers. He constantly judges others, dehumanizing them to their baser flaws, without doing any self reflecting. Him viewing himself as a monster doesn't really count to me. While he definitely hates himself, the only thing he is truly demonizing is being a vampire.

Bella: Picking up from Edwards, Bella is a Chocolate Labrador. Yes, she is his therapy dog. I feel like this is really fitting for her. I know Golden retriever would make more sense, as thats the most common breed for service animals. However, I kind of focused on her appearance. Only at first though! I just know that Edward raved about her human qualities and that would pass over as animals as well. Her chocolate eyes and brown fur, very average and boring. Thats essentially Bella. Even Edward wasn't into her until he got a wiff. Labradors a very loyal dogs and while they have more personality than Bella, I just couldn't shake it. Their also very stupid. Ok that's kind of mean, they're not stupid but when it comes to love, then yeah they are stupid.

I used to have a lab, loved him to death, but god he was something else. Very much danger prone, from their own stupidity or their lack of survival instincts. I know that labs are almost aquatic. They love water, swimming, all that jazz. We can just say that bella has a few screws loose in her dna and is just "not like other labs."

Rosalie: Now she was hard. There are quite a few animals that I think would fit for her. I'll list the other ones, but that one I went with is the Swan. Like Edward, seems a little on the nose, but I have my reasoning.

I was going to pick a predator for her, as she is shown to be very vengeful and viscous. I would have pick some type of cat, most likely a purebred, from a rich family. It could still work, but the swan just speaks to me on this one.

Swan's are known for being beautiful, graceful, and are pictured as the symbol of love. They are also very vain. Edward constantly brings up Rosalies vanity. She was constantly valued for her beauty as a human, so of course that crossed over in the transformation. She was raised to be married into wealth, she was used as a bargaining chip to increase the family's standing.

Rose has a very strong character and makes her opinions known. She's assertive and aggressive at times. She's not afraid to get dirty.

Swans mate for life and like geese, are known for being great parents. I was also going to choose geese as an option for the maternal instincts. I was wary at first because swans can be really aggressive. Like actually, you think geece are bad? Yikes bestie...

I was conflicted because swans are known for drowning dogs and sometimes people. However, I can actually see Rose drowning Bella. It's not that unbelievable lmao.

Emmett: Now this one is just ironic. I only associate him with bears. Its inevitable, but picking a Grizzly or Black bear is too obvious. So I went a slightly different route...

So I was going to pick the Sun bear just because of looks alone. Like, I'm not exaggerating, it looks like someone wearing a bear costume. I don't think it fits him but I know for a fact that he would dress up as a sun bear and sneak into a zoo to see if anyone would notice. I'll put a pic of it here

Like look at this thing. I have no words...

Anyway, what I picked was a Sloth Bear. Now Sloth bears are mostly nocturnal, which either way works consider vamps don't sleep. Their diet is also odd but honestly so is the cullens. They're native to the Indian subcontinent, and are known for being aggressive towards humans. Its said that for the most part they're pretty calm, so I think its just fear of humans that make them act aggressively. Honestly, that's a good thing because they are listed as vulnerable on the IUCN Red list.

They have some similarities with sloths, which is where they get the name. They have long claws and unusual teeth. They are known to hang upside down from tree branches, and is described as having a messy appearance. Honestly, Emmitt has a messy personality. Sorry bestie but you're a lot of work.

Now heres the biggest reason for choosing this bear. Aside from Baloo from the jungle book being a sloth bear, they are known to run fades with Tigers. Honestly, how fucking badass is that!? Now I don't think there are recorded instances of a Sloth bear killing a Tiger, but when push comes to shove, they can hold their own and I find that incredibly impressive.

Carlisle: This one was somehow the easiest as well as the toughest. I know Owl seems like the obvious choice, and I can see it. However, I believe Carlisle values emotional intelligence as much or if not more than academic intelligence. He is so charismatic and values other's above himself. He might not be as Saint like as Edward thinks, but he does try and I think he genuinely cares about others. For that reason alone, I choose a Elephant.

Elephant's are very social animals and are extremely intelligent. I could rave about them for ages, I love them so much.

Now elephants live in a familial unit and are usually matriarchal. Bulls usually are on the outer edges of the herd or form little groups with other males. Honestly, they're not that bad aside from when their in musk.

In the group of males, the elder ones will teach the younger where to get the best food, water, how to use things as tools, and every other thing that will increase their odds of survival. This is really cute to me tbh, they do this because the females usually choose the older males because they've proved that they are intelligent and strong, that they have survived and will continue to for awhile. Teaching the younger males these things are to make the odds of them getting chosen to mate more likely. The whole unit just reminds me of a father that has to deal with rowdy teens.

Carlisle likes to take in strays, he might not have a herd but he will make one and teach them to thrive. That's how he envisions it anyway. He just has a found family and is trying his best.

Esme: Now this might seem like an insult, but I promise it's not! This is in no way misogynistic. I love cattle and ever since I took animal science in highschool, I have appreciated these grass puppies like they deserve. Call me Castro because I love cows.

Yup! I chose a Cow for her. Specifically a beef cow. That might sound weird but its because beef cows have higher maternal instinct than dairy cows. I'm thinking Scottish Highland based on vibes alone.

They are nicknamed the Gentle Giants of Scotland. Super maternal and sweet and ugh look how cute they are!

Esme came from a abusive marriage and had just lost her child, she was depressed and desperate. Her changing was, in a way, salvation. She just fits in. She adopts all these strays along with him and will protect them to the death. She might be gentle by nature, but don't fuck with her family. She lost her first one and she isn't going to lose this one.

Alice: She's an odd one. There are so many possibilities and maybe I'm biased, but I feel like she would be a Crow.

Ok listen, I'm definitely biased but it just feels right. Crows get a bad rap, they are so cool! They are so intelligent and have the ability to actually sit and think about the past, prest, and future. I forget what its called, but this was only seem in humans! Maybe other apes, I can't remember exactly, but either way its awesome. They do live in groups, or murders, and remember people and faces. They remember locations and are able to pass down information through generations. They essentially have their own language! They are able to use tools too!

Alice's story is really sad. When we first meets her, it revolves around the death of her mother and her institutionalized. She was essentially tortured and forgot everything from her past. All she had was the future and even that wasn't constant. Crows a often viewed as omens, they are associated with death. I personally believe that instead of being the cause, they just know something is going to happen. They are very inquisitive and can be creative.

If you befriend a murder of crows, sometimes, depends or the group, they will bring gifts. Its can range from food to shiny metals and colorful plastic. Hell, I think I've seen a post of one stealing things from people just to gift it to their human.

Alice's love language is gifts. Even if they are focused around fashion, she still goes out of her way to get something that will look good and at least be a little comfortable. By that I mean she tends to forget peoples comfort zones, but she means well.

Jasper: Honestly not to sure what to put for him. I know a predator would be more fitting, but for some reason I can see a donkey working. I know, seems like I'm clowning on the confederate. Fair, but I'm serious about the donkey thing. Honestly, it would be perfect if it wasn't a herbivore. Porcupine would also work.

Being a predator would make more sense. Given his backstory and his characterization, it wouldn't make sense for him to be a prey animal. Usually I wouldn't count this, but given his gore filled past and trouble with the diet, it seemed fitting.

I see him as a Big Cat. Honestly, vamps in general just give cat vibes. Jasper though especially have some cat like qualities, which originates from hunting and being a soldier.

I specifically see him as a Mountain Lion. Aside from him being blonde, he just has the predatory stealth to him. In midnight sun, we see him use his gift to make the nomads overlook him. He's honestly really powerful.

Mountain lions are known for being stealthy with an air of grace and power to them. They are stong animals. And I mean strong. They can jump 40-45 feet.

They're very elusive and quite. They stalk their prey and tend to attack from behind but don't think they won't hold their ground if need be.

Jasper was changed during the Civil War and forced to fight in the Newborn wars. He was a soldier as a human and as a vampire. He's able to feel and manipulate others emotions. He's covered in scars and is very intimidating.

He still struggles with the diet and honestly I hate how the others handle it. Like they have no room to talk. I don't want to defend the confederate but it just pisses me off. He has to deal with his hunger on top of everyone else's. Like damn, besties always on edge! Everyone doubts him which I don't think helps any.

Also, Mountain lions and Cheetahs can purr!

@aquanova99 I'll do a Volturi one too. That one will be fun lmao

[five-rivers]

Medium Despair

For @sapphireswimming

.

Danny woke up gasping for air and fighting against his sheets. By the time he’d recognized his surroundings, he’d already rolled off his bed. He dragged in ragged, shuddering breaths. He could breathe. He could breathe. He wasn’t suffocating. He wasn’t at school, in his locker or otherwise. He could move he could stand. He did stand, skin prickling with the memory of electricity.

“Sydney?” he called, softly. “Is that you?” He could see a glowing form in the corner behind his dresser, and with that dream there weren’t a whole lot of other people it could have been, but it was polite to ask. At least in Danny’s opinion.

The ghost slid out, slowly, flickering. “Sorry, Danny,” he said, and he really did sound remorseful.

Danny might believe it more if it wasn’t 2:20 in the morning on a school night, and this wasn’t the third time Sydney had done this. Still, Sydney was something like a friend.

“What is it, Sydney?” he asked. “Did something happen at the school?” Casper High was one of the most haunted buildings in Amity Park, which honestly didn’t make sense.

Danny had done his research. The school was old, sure, but Sydney was the only person who had ever actually died there. That didn’t stop the Lunch Lady, Technus, and a whole host of others from hanging around the place, although most of those others were pretty weak. Hardly strong enough to even interact with Danny or other ghosts.

Sydney shrugged.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Sydney looked down at the ground. The puddle of not-light he cast on the ground – visible only to only Danny and other ghosts – rippled and glimmered.

Danny frowned. “I have fun talking to you during the day, Syd, but I do have to sleep. I’m human, you know?”

“I know,” said Sydney.

“So why are you here?” asked Danny, briefly spreading his arms in exasperation and the dropping them to his sides again. He was still unsettled by the dream he’d just had.

Being close to ghosts while he was sleeping was just a recipe for nightmares. They weren’t always about their deaths, but more often than not…

Sydney’s death was a particularly unpleasant one. Danny did not expect to get back to sleep. Not tonight. Hence his annoyance.

“I need to…” started Sydney, before trailing off. “I need…”

“Sydney?”

“Warn you.”

“About what?”

“Not what they seem,” whispered the ghost. He looked away and phased out through the wall.

Danny’s frown deepened. Usually, Sydney was much clearer than that. Sometimes, talking to Sydney, Danny forgot he was talking to a ghost.

Danny sat down at the edge of the bed and tried to work a kink out of his neck. He caught himself scratching at his skin as if he wanted to pull it off a minute later.

It was always like this since the accident. Especially after he had a dying dream.

Forcibly, he stopped himself. His skin was fine. There was no electricity flickering under his skin. He was alive. He was safe. His body was his body. His body.

(He was not floating above it, light as air, staring at its waxy pallor, at the glassy, empty eyes.)

He was alive, alive, alive.

Awake.

Not dead.

Slowly, he laid back down on the bed. He was alive, awake. A medium, yes, associated with more ghosts than could possibly be healthy, either physically or mentally, yes, but alive. Definitely, clearly, alive.

He didn’t like it when ghosts woke him up. Especially when they came with ominous warnings about the future.

Maybe Sydney would let Danny track him down tomorrow, but Danny doubted it.

.

“Something’s off,” said Danny, staring up at the tall front of the school.

“Yeah,” agreed Sam, “it’s Spirit Week. When the teachers participate in medieval rituals to brainwash us into supporting the troglodytes that ‘represent’ our school in sports.”

“I was going to argue,” said Tucker, “but that is about what it’s for, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “I don’t think it’s that. Probably. Unless there’s a ghost that appreciate the pun?”

“You appreciate puns.”

“I’m not a ghost,” said Danny, frowning at Sam.

“That’s true.”

Danny sighed. “I just have a bad feeling about this. I know you can’t see like I can, but… be careful. If you do see anything weird, let me know.”

“Hey, Danny!”

“Oh, I changed my mind. Kill me now, I want to be a ghost.”

Jazz ran up and threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “You left so early!” she said. “Are you excited about Spirit Week, too?”

“No,” said Danny.

Jazz paused, looked at Danny more closely. “You look terrible,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to the counselor?”

“Pass,” said Danny.

“You know, you’ll have to talk to me in more than monosyllables at some point.”

“Do I?”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go to talk to Mr. Lancer about my speech! Have a great Spirit Week, guys!”

She ran off.

“I will never understand her,” declared Sam. “But I think she does have a point about the counselor. Maybe they’d be able to help with the nightmares? At least the non-ghost-caused ones.”

“All my nightmares are caused by ghosts.”

“Eh,” said Tucker, giving a half-shrug.

“Will it make you feel better if I agree to go?”

“Yes,” said both Sam and Tucker.

“Ugh. Fine,” said Danny.

.

Danny walked though the deserted hallway, pass in hand, study hall abandoned behind him as he looked for the counselor’s office. He’d never been there before, but it should be around here somewhere, right?

A cold hand settled on his shoulder.

“You must be Danny Fenton! Your sister told me all about you.”

Danny turned to look up at a tall woman. She was dressed a lot more flamboyantly than Danny would have expected.

“Yeah? That’s me. Who are you?”

“I’m Penelope Spectra. Your counselor! Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with you?”

“Uh,” said Danny. There was something unpleasantly an unexpectedly pejorative and assumptive about that statement. Weren’t counselors supposed to tell you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you? That your feelings were valid.

He shrugged. He couldn’t put his feelings into words.

(Couldn’t open his mouth for fear of cold leaking out past his teeth, his soul exhaled with his breath.)

(Why did he feel this way?)

“Why don’t you step into my office?”

The room was… not what he expected.

“Sorry about the dust,” said Spectra. “I’m just moving in. They upgraded me.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. “So… like I said, your sister told me a lot about you, and I have a few things I’d like to try for your laz—Excuse me. Your difficulty with staying focused. It happens sometimes with traumatic brain injuries, that a promising young mind can be—Well. In any case. I am here to support you and find a way for you to succeed. What’s troubling you?”

Danny’s ginger perch on the dusty chair turned into a frustrated slump. “Nothing,” he said. He pushed himself back up. “I should go—”

“Oh, just humor me,” said Spectra. “There has to be some reason you came. Anxiety? Stress? Social pressures?”

Danny shook his head and stood up.

“Nightmares?”

He sat back down.

.

Danny leaned over the table to whisper to Tucker during English, when they were supposed to be reviewing vocabulary words.

“Have either of you seen the counselor before?” asked Danny, after what was easily the worst week of his life. He was starting to have suspicions, but…

“Yeah,” said Tucker. “When you were in the hospital. He was pretty cool.”

“He?” asked Danny. “He?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been seeing a ghost for the past week.”

“Ghost therapist? Well, if it’s working…”

“It isn’t. She’s from hell. I swear. A literal demon from hell.”

“Exorcism?”

“Exorcism.”

.

Jazz didn’t often come to school after hours, but she’d left several important things and she was the student body activity director, voted for and everything.

Important thing #1, her speech, which she had to practice.

Important thing #2, the—what was that?

Already spooked by the late-night atmosphere, she ducked into a doorway and peeked at the place she’d seen movement. There weren’t many classes held down that hallway, and she didn’t come down this way often, so maybe she was just—

No. That was her little brother and his friends conducting some kind of satanic ritual over a wastepaper basket.

Their parents were terrible influences. She was going to give them a stern talking to when—what what what what WHAT—

What had she just seen?

She looked back around the corner to see the… whatever it was dissolve in smoke and fire and shadows. Then Danny and his friends started cleaning up as if this was a perfectly normal Thursday night.

Jazz… Jazz was going to process this. Later.

She turned around and walked straight back out to her car. There was, after all, nothing that important.

.

“So,” said Danny, leaning towards Sam on the bleachers as he watched his sister give her speech. “Looks like we saved Spirit Week.”

“Never say that to me again,” said Sam.

“But we did. Look at all this spirit-filled people.”

“You were literally the only victim.”

“But Sam~”

“It does seem less grim, though, doesn’t it?” asked Tucker, contemplatively. “You are no longer the goth bird of happiness.”

“Maybe a bit,” allowed Sam. “I think that’s just because everyone’s glad this week is over, though. No offense, Danny.”

“None taken. I’m glad it’s over, too.”

[crazycatsiren]

In regards to the communism post...

This is just a theory on why some of the "left" people, I know, start calling themselves communists. Obviously ignorance of what true, lived communism is would be the biggest thing. But the other thing is like they think its like upgraded socialism like socialism plus?

A lot of the folks, I know, that identified with the term "democrat" shifted to wanting socialism over the past 5 or so years. Their stated reasons have been along the lines of universal healthcare, mutual aid communities, and in their minds trying to make the idea of "taking care of each other" a reality. Then the pandemic hit. I'll be honest, I have no idea how it happened but that's when I started hearing those same folks shift to calling themselves communists. Idk if it had to do with their media consumption because a lot of people have been chronically online even more because of the lack of face to face interaction or what... idk if there is some "exhausted, angry leftist" to "edgelord pseudo-communist" pipeline on reddit (or whatever place kids talk these days) but it seemed like a weird ass shift to me.

I don't know much about any of this at all. This has just been my observations of people I know.

I spent the first 11 years of my life in a communist country. I look back now at the indoctrination that had been pushed upon me, a child, by the communist party, and I shudder through and through. It was nothing short of fascist. It's seriously terrifying.

My feelings about communism runs deeper than my family having been persecuted under China's communist regime that was nothing short of dictatorial, and all of us having narrowly escaped their purgings. Those Russian extremists murdered the Romanovs and their relatives in cold blood. The Chinese ones wouldn't have blinked an eye about doing the same to the Manchurians had they been able to hunt us all down, simply because our people ruled the last imperial dynasty of China.

The worst of it had died down by the time I was born, and my grandmother was able to give me a Manchurian name, which she wasn't able to do for her two children. Millions of innocent Russian and Chinese citizens were genocided in the name of communism. The common people fared no better after the communist revolutions than under the monarchies. I don't know why this chunk of history is lost on the Westerners, that they would want to bring it back.

Also, the irony that plenty of times I'd been called a communist as an insult after I immigrated to the U.S. 🙄

[nctsjiho]

Burning Question

warnings: none

❀ Sungchan asks JiHo a rather personal question and some of the boys end up getting their “feelings hurt” (ft. Shotaro)

There were always moments during the year which were more busy than others, but with SM deciding to do another full NCT unit, like they did 2 years ago with NCT 2018, 2020 was just busy all year round. The practise rooms were always used to there fullest potential. 24 members jumping around and singing loudly in preparation for that year’s promotions.

Amongst the intense training there was some much needed time pushed aside for breaks, and the members made sure to enjoy every second of their breaks. Shotaro and JiHo, during this particular break, had been talking about everything and nothing. The girl asking Shotaro about how he liked being apart of the time so far.

Sungchan was seated next to the duo, preoccupied scrolling down social media on his phone. He had been excited to see what the fans were expecting from NCT this year, feeling a bit proud since he knew more than the fans did. But after a while reading comments got a bit boring and he turned towards Shotaro and JiHo, who were still very immersed into their conversation. He didn’t want to interrupt them, but he felt a bit left out, his Japanese lacking way too much to understand the two. JiHo who had noticed Sungchan’s gaze on them by looking at the mirror and changed her position so they were sat in a triangle, all able to look each other. Sungchan slightly blushed in embarrassment, causing JiHo to hold back a smile.

“What have you been up to?” The girl asked the younger boy, nodding towards the phone in his lap. “O-Oh, I was just reading comments from the fans.” Sungchan didn’t expect a question really, causing him to stutter a bit before finding the right words. They continued making a bit of small talk, of course including Shotaro in the conversation, before they had gotten to a comfortable silence.

As the three of them sat with their backs against the wall, Sungchan suddenly sat up straight. There was something he had been curious about for quite some time now and it didn’t help that JiHo wasn’t one to talk about herself a lot, so he never found out naturally. It came to a point where he was a bit afraid to ask her even, since there might have been a reason he still didn’t know the answer to his burning question, but no one else seemed as interested in it as he was. Maybe he was just nosy? Maybe everyone knew, everyone but him? He wasn’t fully sure at this point.

“What’s up?” JiHo chuckled a bit at the younger boy’s weird behaviour. After suddenly sitting up he had just stared out in front of him for a minute or two, seemingly lost in thought. Sungchan shook his head as if he was getting his thoughts straight before looking at JiHo. “Noona... I have a question.” He sounded a bit nervous which promoted the girl to sit straight as well. “You can ask me anything. Go ahead.” “But I don’t know if this is appropriate to ask you...” His words trailed of. “Don’t worry if you’re asking me who my favourite NCT member is, I’d probably say Taeil oppa.” She said seriously, only to receive a laugh from both Sungchan and Shotaro.

The other boys weren’t sitting too far from them and had heard her statement which earned her a few words of protest. “Hey! I thought I was your favourite!” Haechan yelled and JiHo rolled her eyes at that. “Dream on Haechan.” She waved him off and said boy scoffed. Her eyes than met Jaemin’s who was pouting at her. “You know, I would’ve been okay if you said Jisung, but Taeil hyung?!” He feigned hurt causing everyone to laugh and JiHo to quickly apologise.

Finally calmed down and with the mood definitely lightened at this point, JiHo turned back to Sungchan. “No seriously, you can ask me anything.” Sungchan nodded before speaking up. “So your mother is Korean, but you are half Japanese half French... And isn’t your father French? So how...” Sungchan didn’t dare to finish his question as he noticed some of the boys, who were closer to them, become more quiet and look at them. “I mean you don’t have to answer-” JiHo cut him off by putting up her hand motioning to calm down. He had started rambling. “That’s right, I guess you were never there when I talked about it. Don’t worry, Sungchan, it’s not a big secret or anything. I just never bring this up really.” She sounded so calm and understanding, but it didn’t help Sungchan feel much better with his hyungs staring at them intently.

“My real mother is Japanese and my real father is French, but they couldn’t take care of me. So when I was a year old my real parents wanted to put me up for adoption. However, my real father’s older brother had a wife and a stable job and they weren’t opposed to having children. So they adopted me.” JiHo explained. “It’s a bit complicated isn’t it?” Telling that story was clearly not something JiHo liked doing, but she still smiled at Sungchan. It slightly hurt his heart hearing about her family, definitely because he did know about how her mother got sick when she was 6, which resulted in JiHo living with her grandparents for around 6 years.

“So your dad is your real dad’s older brother?” JiHo nodded. “I look a lot like my real father, and they look like each other as well so that’s why I look like my adoptive father.” He didn’t realise it, but Sungchan was nodding along with JiHo’s words, his mouth slightly agape as he listened to each word attentively. “But if you were still a baby when you were adopted, how can you speak Japanese so well?” The boy was now very interested in everything JiHo could tell him about her past. Some of the older boy’s noticed and thought it was very cute. “At some point I just felt like I had to know Japanese and learn about the culture since it’s part of my blood you know? It almost felt wrong knowing more about Korea than Japan. That’s when I decided to learn Japanese.”

The conversation had continued on with Sungchan interrogating JiHo about her life. It was so interesting to hear about how it was like growing up in France. How she used to go to school with her friends with their inline skates or skateboards. How she had huge gatherings with all her friends and their families. How she had so many hobbies. It kind of made him sad in her place that she gave that up to become a singer in Korea, leaving all her friends and family behind on the other side of the planet. But he also felt happy that he ended up being in the same team as her, just being in her presence alone was so soothing yet fun. His respect for her had skyrocketed just because of that one conversation.

“Do you miss it?” JiHo looked up at the boy with wide eyes before thinking about it for a second. “Don’t we all miss some parts of our childhood?” That was a good question, Sungchan missed hanging out with his friends in elementary school, not having so many responsibilities yet. “Of course I miss it, but I love what I’m doing now, so I’m all good.” She said, her smile just barely reaching her eyes. It always hurts thinking about the past, and Sungchan could only imagine how much more it hurt for JiHo who basically had left her whole life behind and it wasn’t just an arms length away from her to reach back for it.

“And now you two are part of the team which makes it even better.” Both Sungchan and Shotaro blushed a little at the girl’s comment. Johnny noticed and couldn’t help but tease the younger boys. “Hey JiHo, calm down with the compliments, we don’t want the boys to form a crush on you.” JiHo burst out laughing the two boys next to her becoming even more flustered. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just being stupid.” She pointed an cautionary finger at Johnny who just walked away while laughing.

“Anything else you want to know?” JiHo asked Sungchan in an attempt to change the subject. In the corner of her right eye however, she sees a big shadow quickly approach her. After turning in its direction she found Yuta who had dragged Taeil along with him, sitting in front of her.

“I heard Taeil hyung is your favourite NCT member?” He raised a brow before shaking the oldest a bit. “Are you sure of that?” Taeil sighed not amused. “You’re right I’m sorry, I guess it isn’t Taeil.” JiHo replied which made Yuta smile brightly and he let go of Taeil’s arm. “Hey! Why not? I-” Before Taeil could protest any further Yuta intervened. “Who is it then?” He asked hopefully. JiHo smirked before reaching both her hands to either side of her and grabbing Sungchan and Shotaro by their arms. “Our two newest members.”

A new kind of chaos broke out in the practise room. Everyone of the members who felt worthy of the role as JiHo’s favourite member started yelling out their own reasons why. “I’d say run before Yuta catches you guys.” The girl warned the 2 boys before she ran away herself to hide behind Taeyong. 

[aressss1]

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 8

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 8

<Prev Chapter | Next Chapter>

~~~~~~

Techno and Ranboo were hard at work on the mine to the library in the stronghold. It had been two weeks since you had requested Techno to come help you out of your panic. When the two of you talked more on the subject, you were careful with your words. He could tell you weren’t trying to offend him when it came to Phil, but Techno picked up on your fear of Philza almost immediately. He wanted you to be comfortable around Phil, but that was obviously going to need some time.

 Even so, when Phil expressed that he wanted to apologize formally, Techno had shaken his head, saying it wasn’t the right time yet. Techno didn’t need to say anything else for Phil to get it. Though he still had a sad look in his eyes. The both of them had seen wars, and what they do to people. They had seen what can throw those people over the edge, and sometimes it wasn’t the war, but the aftermath when the war was branded into their minds. They wouldn’t push you, not until you were ready.

Ranboo had a satchel attached to his side, and every once in a while, Techno would watch him fiddle with it when the bag had gotten in his way. Raising his eyebrow, Techno said nothing, only kept swinging away with his pickaxe. He listened to Ranboo talk, easily throwing his thoughts in here and there. Ranboo was extremely easy to get along with. For that, Techno was grateful.

 “Let me just check our coords.” Ranboo pulled the flap of the satchel up searching around the bag. The thing that caught Techno’s attention was the rough texture of the black egg sitting inside the satchel.

 “Uhhhh, Ranboo?” Techno set the end of the pickaxe down and let some of his weight rest on the handle. “Why are you carrying the egg around?” Ranboo stopped, he nervously grinned, gauging Techno’s reaction.

 “Well, um… You see…” Ranboo fumbled over his words. “This egg,” he hesitated, “likes to follow me?” The piglin hybrid cocked his head to the side, his golden eyes showing confusion.

 “Alright, I believe it.” Techno used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead away. “You’re always finding out something weird about yourself, so this isn’t really that surprising.” Ranboo’s tail swished behind him, and he visibly relaxed.

 “Wanna see?” Ranboo asked looking eager. “I haven’t been able to show Phil yet, he’s been too busy.”

 Techno nodded, his eyes watching as Ranboo placed the egg down on the ground and went to walk away from the egg. It didn’t take too long before the sound of an enderman teleporting ripped its way through the strip mine, echoing off the walls. There sitting before Ranboo was the egg. Ranboo’s eyes twinkled as he looked back toward Techno. He carefully picked the egg up from the ground, stowing it back into his satchel. The action made Techno chuckle.

 “Ranboo, you remind me of one of those parents who carries their baby in a harness strapped to their chest.” Techno snickered.

 “What can I say, parenthood has snuck up on me.” Ranboo laughed with Techno. It wasn’t too long before they were back at work on the tunnel. They weren’t even halfway to the strong hold. It was going to take a while before they were going to be there. Especially since Phil wanted the library under wraps. They didn’t need anyone trying to sabotage anything.

 Techno let his mind wander back to you, the way you felt in his arms, your scent. Everything about you was alluring to him and he couldn’t understand it. But… He also saw the way you looked at Dream, he heard your giggles to Dreams jokes. He could pretend he didn’t see the light touches the two of you would share. He set his jaw, putting more into his swings of his pickaxe. This had to be some cruel joke on him.

 He rarely liked the company of others, always telling himself to be more social when people were around. Some even snubbed him when he tried. There were a few people that were good to him, he couldn’t deny that. He was fine being alone.

 Techno still lost in his thoughts, kept going, hitting harder and harder with his pickaxe. Ranboo was now looking over at him curiously, the sight making him worry for Techno. He didn’t know how to even approach it. Techno kept mining forward, his breathing becoming labored. He only stopped when his pickaxe had broken, crumbling in his hands. He stood there for just a second heavily breathing, his hands clenched. Why was he so tense?

 “You alright, Tech?” Ranboo leaned in beside Techno. Techno wiped the sweat from his face, his mind flashing to you, your face twisted like the others when they saw him. He hated it. If Dream had his way that’s how it would be. Maybe it was time to put his violent ways to rest? The voices be damned. He didn’t want you to see him as a monster. There was no need to fight anymore, he wanted to settle down.

 --

 Phil grinned at his invention for the ever-growing residential area of The Burrow. His arm was all healed up, after many persuaded him to take a health potion from the doctor. This left him able to do his projects. He had installed multiple elevators so that the people building their houses up high could easily reach ground level. His hands rested on his hips triumphantly as he watched some children playing with the elevators, with their parents watching. Phil tested his invention out one last time, going to the very top of the cavern that was eye level with some of the glowstone hanging down. His elytra hung from his shoulders like a cape.

This was something that he had been wanting to do for a while. He climbed over the railing of the landing that led into people’s homes.

 He allowed himself to look at the ground, his hands grasping the railing. It was a long way down but having flown across a void this was nothing to him. He let himself fall forward, feeling his fingers slip away from the railing, he fell, and he glided through the cavern toward the beacon on the other end. The wind on his face, the excitement in his chest, his emotions were heightened. He let out a triumphant laugh, as the structures around him started whizzing by. People were cheering for him as he zipped past them.

 When he had gotten to the beacon, he let his feet touch down, the adrenaline still pumping. What he wouldn’t give to find a gigantic cave and fly through it. This cavern was only a taste of it. But cavern’s like that were rare. His eyes scanned the area of people busy at work.

 His eyes landed on the newest addition of the cave; a hospital carved into the wall right next to where the old med bay had been just two weeks prior. Wilbur was put in charge of the building plans for this, and it turned out beautiful. It was mostly made of quartz from the nether, and it was nicely accentuated with bricks. The inside was very nice as well, with plenty of room for everyone who needed care. A voice broke him out of his thoughts.

 “Ey Philza! Big man!” Schlatt approached Phil. “How ya been?” The goat hybrid stopped a few feet away from him. He was acting like he hadn’t called Phil out two weeks ago. “I had something I wanted to talk to ya about.” Phil sighed in irritation.

 Before two weeks ago he hadn’t minded Schlatt, now he was just a pain, because people were still treating Phil as a traitor, and those that spewed that hate usually expressed how they wanted Schlatt as the head of The Burrow. Phil would gladly step down, but he never received any official answer from Schlatt. Phil didn’t want the stress, but he was thrust upon this role, he would take the role until someone else wanted to step in. He kind of hoped it would be Schlatt.

 “So,” Schlatt grinned at Phil. “I’ve been noticing people’s morale around here is plummeting and I am here to talk business.” He clapped his hands together. “So… I propose, a sort of… arena.” He stood up straight his arms fall behind his back. “We need some sort of entertainment, so why not let people beat the shit out of other people for the amusement of others.” Phil gave him a dead pan look.

 “An… Arena?” Phil sighed. “I do have my concerns Schlatt,” Phil looked at Schlatt uneasily.

 “Oh, I know you do, Phil. That’s why I’m here to tell you… That there will be rules, to abide by, legal forms and all that.” He waved his hand at the mention of the legalities. “This could really be the start we need for the economy.” Schlatt’s goat eyes peered down at Phil almost expectantly.

 “Economy?” Phil felt his face twist up in confusion. “What are you on about Schlatt?”

 “Well, you see Philza. I’m glad you asked because I have a shiny new currency, just ready to be used.” He fished around his pocket, pulling a gold coin engraved with an s out. “Introducing, the Schlatt coin!” He gave Phil a huge smile. Phil quirked up an eyebrow at him.

 “Sounds like a waste of gold mate.” Phil crossed his arms and shrugged. “Emeralds are a good currency to use.” Phil’s words caused Schlatt’s smile to falter. Phil inwardly sighed, would he really give this man leadership if he asked for it? Maybe… But he was scared that Schlatt would use up resources for meaningless things like the Schlatt coin. “I’ll tell you what Schlatt, you can run your arena. You can allow gambling, you can sell Schlatt coins for gambling purposes, but outside your arena they are worthless.”

 “So, what you’re sayin’ is my Schlatt coins are nothing more than poker chips.” Schlatt gave a grimace pocketing his coin.

 “Take the deal or not. Emeralds have higher value than gold.” Schlatt pondered over his words. “Not to mention it wouldn’t be hard to fake a Schlatt coin. There’s so much gold in the nether.” Schlatt rubbed his chin, pondering.

 “Alright Phil, you do have some good points. This might also allow me to expand into other business ventures.” Schlatt had his smile back on. “Did you know I always wanted to be a landlord?” Phil shook his head. The conversation went on, about Schlatt’s wants in life. This conversation revealed more of Schlatt as a person, than of the businessman. Schlatt was about to turn and walk away when he stopped and faced toward Phil once more. “Ey, tell Technoblade, that if he wants to come fight in The Pit, I would be more than happy to make some money off of him.” With that he chuckled and walked away.

 Phil let out a sigh of relief. What an… Odd conversation. He couldn’t deny the people needed somewhere to let their frustrations out, whether it was actually fighting in the pit or gambling their money away. Having an economy would hopefully serve this place well. Services couldn’t be free forever, and trading when there was already lack of resources was proving hard.

Phil started walking toward the new hospital to check on everything. He had a lot to think about, and hopefully this was a step in the right direction for everyone here.

 --

 You had earned yourself a good gig working for Niki. She gave you a place to sleep, and she fed you well, in order for your services. This was the least you could do for her. You did not want to make someone feel as if you were using them. You wanted to give back. The last two weeks you had healed nicely, due to a health potion Niki had scrounged up for you. You were running deliveries out to people; they were mostly deliveries of rations to everyone around The Burrow. Techno enjoyed walking with you on your deliveries every night.

 For whatever reason Techno was late today, he mentioned something about mining earlier. You shrugged it off when you didn’t see him waiting for you at Niki’s door. Making your way to the small cart that Dream had made for you, you start loading it up with the boxes of food Niki had prepared. You lingered for a second, your eyes scanning the area for Techno. Disappointment set in when you didn’t see your friend, biting the inside of your cheek you sigh. You really enjoyed walking with him.

 “Want some help tonight?” You recognized Dream’s voice; he had approached you while you were checking the wheels on the cart. A smile pulled at your lips at the sight of him.

 “Sure, thanks Dream.” Well at least you had a friend with you during tonight’s delivery run. “I appreciate it!”

 “Heh,” Dream chuckled, “It’s not a problem at all. You shouldn’t be pulling carts by yourself anyway.” His fingers lightly grazed your cheek. “How are you feeling?” His voice soothed your soul.

 “I’m alright,” You subconsciously leaned into his touch, feeling your heart flutter. “It feels good to be doing things again.” You let out a sigh of content. This cave was beautiful in comparison to the unfinished room you currently slept in. Techno was slowly but surely working to add a second story to the bakery, and to finish off what needed to be done in the main bakery. The second story would serve as Niki’s home.

 “I bet,” Dream hummed, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” The two of you talked, as you started your route. People were starting to get used to seeing you, and you pretended not to notice how they would look at Techno when he towered over them. You could smell their fear, you wished they could see the being that Techno was to you. It was a different story when Dream was with you. People greeted you more as well as Dream, people didn’t act scared of Dream like they did with Techno. The thought made you sad.

 You and Dream had just gotten done with the residential part of your route, on your way back to the bakery to collect more food from Niki. Your eyes looked around at everyone’s houses most of them were in the walls of the cave, but some were log cabins adorning the makeshift streets. What caught your attention, was a blank cave wall, ready to be mined out and built in. You stopped and looked at the wall.

 “You want a house of your own?” Dream asked as he peered back at you when you stopped. You bit your lip and nodded. Having your own space would be amazing. “We can do that for you.” Dream slapped a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close, you could feel the heat from his body. “Command me to move the world, and I will do it for you.” You could see his smile behind his mask.

 “Cheesy.” You let out a laugh. He laughed with you, his grip tightening on your shoulder.

 “I know you like it.” He teased, “But seriously, Sapnap and I can help you with your house. I’d say George too… But… I can almost guarantee that he’ll be off sleeping somewhere.”

 “Well at least you know your friend well enough,” You giggled. Dream sighed happily at your laughter. He let go of your shoulder, and you found yourself missing his touch. He returned to his earlier position pulling the cart.

 “We should get back and do the rest of the route.” You could hear the smile in his voice, and you nodded walking by his side. Your chest felt warm having him by your side. You hadn’t felt anything like this in a very long time. You dared to let your hand pull the cart with him, he only chuckled and you felt the weight of his hand on yours the rest of the trip back to Niki’s bakery.

 You still missed Techno, but you had failed to see him when you were immersed in conversation with Dream. Techno saw Dream’s hand on yours and he saw how happy you were talking with him; he couldn’t bring himself to do or say anything. He just stumbled back and gained his composure, his eyes flicked from you to Dream. He couldn’t ignore your smile, the way you laughed. He shook his head and headed back to Phil’s house.

 Maybe you were better off with Dream.